#even more nerve wracking of an idea than the one i already wrote <3

[fleurmatisse]

*looking at my notebook page getting covered in words* am i doing it?? am i writing???

#another ace fic perhaps???? #even more nerve wracking of an idea than the one i already wrote <3 #oh my god i can’t even remember the phrase i want. the opposite of averse. that’s mostly what ive seen this week so im 😬 w this one

[amethystina]

Hello, for the questions for fic writers :

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

<3 <3 <3

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

Since this question was listed twice I'll just go ahead and give two concepts/AUs!

The first is a Soulmate AU. I've always liked the concept but haven't really found an idea that I like enough to actually want to write it. I'm so busy and have so many other projects going on that I don't really have time to go searching for fic ideas. Instead, my brain has to present a fully formed idea and basically pitch it to me before I'm willing to even consider writing it. And since Soulmate AUs haven't really been high on my list of priorities, that hasn't happened yet. I guess my brain has been busy plotting other fics instead?

(Well, aside from that The Devil Judge Soulmate AU I suddenly came up with and am very intrigued by. So maybe? Who knows?)

The second is a Vampire AU. I cannot believe I've never written a Vampire AU. That's not to say that I'm necessarily obsessed with vampires (I like them a normal amount) it just surprises me that I've never written one. So that I definitely want to do at some point!

(And, unlike the Soulmate AU, my brain has actually tried to present me with a number of ideas for Vampire AUs (the latest one being a The Devil Judge fic, predictably) but I've kept myself at bay for now because I already have too many fics to write. Woe is me.)

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

The sequel to Gravitational Pull? Though "currently working on" might be slightly misleading in this case. I wrote 840 words two months back and have been staring blankly at the document ever since x'D I think I just need to sit down and force myself past that first hurdle because I know exactly what's going to happen, I just need to write it down. But yeah, here's an excerpt:

Ga On tried his best not to look at Yo Han.

The tension lay thick inside the car, the silence pushing against Ga On's eardrums. Judge Oh, who sat in the back, probably assumed it was because of the crisis at hand — apprehension at the thought of what lay ahead of them — but that was only partially true. Ga On was also struggling with an insistent, nerve-wracking hum of concern, making his spine stiff and throat tight.

Yo Han shouldn't be here. He was still injured — only just over a day had passed since he got shot.

No matter how grave the situation was, Yo Han should be at home, resting, not driving them to an area of Seoul that was quickly becoming as chaotic as an active war zone.

Ga On gritted his teeth — until his jaw began hurting from the strain — and looked down at his hands. They were tightly clenched in his lap, his thumb rubbing restlessly over the other. Perhaps Ga On was being too selfish, but he didn't want Yo Han to put himself in danger like this — not when he wasn't at his best. Ga On could admit that Yo Han hid it well but, since Ga On knew where to look, he could see the subtle delay in Yo Han's movements and how he held himself slightly more rigidly than usual.

Yo Han was still in pain.

He still had a hole in his stomach but pretended that he didn't.

And Ga On had to play along, since Kang Yo Han couldn't show any weakness. The people around them could know that the chief judge was injured. The fact that their opponents did was already bad enough — and was probably why they chose now to try and overthrow him. They didn't think Yo Han would be able to fight back as fiercely — with as much precision — as he normally would.

They were expecting an easy victory.

But, even injured, Yo Han was a force to be reckoned with and, as always, would do whatever it took to win.

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

Possibly TMI incoming and TW for bullying and verbal abuse.

I think I'll take this opportunity to say how happy I am that I started writing fanfics. Which is extra hilarious when you consider the fact that it started with a thought as basic as: "I want to write at least one before I die." And then, ten years later, here we are. And I'm in no way exaggerating when I say that it changed my life.

One concrete example is that had I never written Autonomy, I would never have met the people who finally told me I was a good person — after hearing the exact opposite for over two years. To make a very long story short, there were several people in my life at the time who, when in pain, took it out on me, often by projecting. They told me how selfish, self-centred, and unsupportive I was. That I lacked empathy and always put myself first. That I was arrogant and a bully, who belittled everyone I spoke to and thought way too highly of myself, my intelligence, and my worth. And, well, I believed them.

Because I can be very firm and dominant, especially in person. So it's very likely that I might (unknowingly) assert myself too much. And since this abuse only happened in private, none of my other friends or family knew about it. This narrative of me being a terrible person was, for about two years, the only thing I heard. Because, to all my other friends, I was so stable and confident — how could I possibly be doubting myself? And why should they remind me that I was a good person since, surely, I knew that?

Except no — I didn't. Because I only heard the opposite. For years.

Until, suddenly one day, I got a DM on Tumblr asking me if I wanted to join a Discord server because they'd read one of my Winteriron fics and loved it. And so I did. Despite being scared to death because oh no, now these people who really like my fic are going to find out I'm a terrible person and they're never going to want to read anything I've written ever again.

But, to my absolute surprise, the opposite happened.

The people on this server LOVED me. They genuinely seemed to enjoy my company. And I quickly earned the nickname Steve (it was a Marvel server — I promise it made complete sense to us at the time) because I kept everyone in line and, apparently, was always ready to throw hands for a good cause.

I even had my own gif! The command was !amy and was used when someone was misbehaving to signal "You're on thin fucking ice, buddy."

Sometimes, I'd even wake up to find that the gif had been used in my absence, when other members on the server had basically gone: "Oh man, Amy's going to be soooo disappointed in you when she gets back RIP it was nice knowing you."

And rarely have I been so confused. Or felt so much like a liar.

Because that's what I thought I was doing. I thought I was lying to these people about who I actually was. That I was somehow able to masquerade as a Good Person all while actually being a despicable, selfish monster behind the scenes who hurt every single person I came into contact with.

And, eventually, I cracked. Not in a very visible way to most people, but enough to ask my most trusted friends on that server if I was a bad person. And I was unanimously met with a VERY confused: "What? Why do you ask? You, of all people?"

Because, according to them, not only was I the one who kept everyone in line, but also one of the kindest, most considerate people on that server. I was the conscience. The voice of reason. The one who always listened. The one who always knew exactly what to say when people were hurting. The one who made sure to de-escalate a situation before it could turn into something dangerous or hurtful.

And that changed my life.

Because, all of a sudden, I had a completely different narrative that competed with the one I'd heard for two years. In a matter of days, my world was turned upside down. We're talking a full-blown existential crisis. Because everything I thought I knew about myself was suddenly called into question and I had to figure out where I ended and the lies I had been told by other people began. It was a painful, gruelling, and utterly exhausting process but well worth it for how much it helped my mental health and self-image.

All because of a fanfic. Kind of amazing, isn't it?

The point I'm trying to make is that you'll never know in what place or what shape you might find the support and stability you need to have the kind of epiphany that I did. Perhaps it starts with a gigantic Space AU you wrote because it sounded fun, followed by an invitation to a whacky Discord server? Who knows?

And that's why I still write. And why I still post. And why I try to reply to every comment and ask if I can.

Because I know there are people like the old me out there. People who aren't seen or heard in the way they deserve. And maybe I won't be able to give them that with my limited reach, but I can at least try. I can write stories they relate to, stories that give them solace, stories that make them realise things about themselves, that make them question the abuse they've been submitted to, without even knowing it. That makes them see. That makes them want to forgive themselves and love themselves. That can help them find community and like-minded people.

If my writing can offer comfort, safety, and a feeling of belonging, then it's all worth it.

If I can help one person in the way those people on that server helped me, then it's worth it.

And that's why I'll always be grateful for deciding to write fanfics. Not just because of how it's helped me, but because it's given me the opportunity to help and bring people together.

It's never "just" a fanfic.

So, if you've ever read one of my works, I'm so grateful for your time and attention. And I hope I was able to make you smile or, perhaps, made you feel a little less lonely, even just for a short while.

I appreciate you and wish you all the best. Take care 💜

Questions for fic writers

#Amethystina Does Ask Memes #Anonymous #Well #That went to places I didn't plan #I guess I'm a little sentimental or something xD #But genuinely #Find your people #Find your support #It doesn't matter if it's through fanfics #Or music #Or knitting #Just whatever #Find the people who will help and treasure you #It will do wonders #Also brief sidenote: #No my name is not actually Amy xD #It's just the shortened form of Amethystina and it caught on #So to many I'm known as Amy

[magniloquent-raven]

soulmate au part 3!!!!

(read part 1 and part 2 here)

it takes three weeks for anything to happen.

they see each other at school, exchange glances in class, brush past each other in the hallways, fingers grazing as their shoulders bump, incidental touches that wouldn’t draw attention but still leave billy tingling and giddy and embarrassed at himself but…

he’s still getting used to having a soulmate. a real, tangible person he can reach out and touch.

and maybe he’d get used to it faster if he could touch him more, but life keeps conspiring against them. they can’t seem to get a second alone. when it isn’t steve’s kids are crawling all over him 24/7 it’s neil breathing down billy’s neck because he ran out on one fucking class.

well, and then had to lie to neil about why, which was probably what put neil on high alert, but still.

three goddamn weeks.

and neither of them have been patient about it. steve keeps writing billy notes. in the middle of class scrawling things like you have nice eyes and i wanna spend time with you and billy can fucking feel how smug steve gets about making him blush. it’s all he can do not to make a scene in front of half their peers. sometimes he’s not sure if he’d punch steve for being an asshole or kiss him for being sweet.

or both. he can do both.

but mostly he wants time, and somewhere to just...be. with steve.

and he gets that, three weeks after their conversation in the parking lot. steve’s parents will be out of town, and his kids have some stupid game night planned. max keeps asking to go but pretending she isn’t, badly feigning disinterest, and best of all, neil and susan are planning a weekend trip to visit susan’s bedridden aunt a few hours away.

billy is determined to take full advantage of those thirty-six hours. neither of them will acknowledge it directly, but he knows max will tell neil he was home all weekend if she has to. he has no reason to be nervous about being caught, or anything else. it’ll be fine.

it’ll be fine.

he tells himself that over and over but it doesn’t stop him from checking every corner of the house in case neil’s hiding behind a door somewhere before he can even think about getting ready to leave.

he checks again after he’s showered and dressed.

thankfully max is already gone, so she’s not there to see him pacing around like a neurotic rat in a maze.

it almost worse that he isn’t just anxious, he’s excited. and it’s making him twitchy.

there’s no plan. they aren’t going on a date or anything. he’s just...going to steve’s house. steve’s empty house. he’s going to be alone with his soulmate. the list of reasons why that scares him is endless.

and he’s not sure if he’s more terrified of the possibility that steve won’t ask about the makeup thing or the possibility that he will.

knocking on the harringtons’ front door is. an experience. it shouldn’t be. it’s just a fucking door. but billy’s palms are sweating and suddenly he has no idea what he’s even going to say, and he keeps glancing over his shoulder even though he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for, and it feels like he’s been standing on the porch for a fucking eternity but—

his worries don’t exactly melt away when steve opens the door but there is a warm flutter in his chest that’s...new. and distracting.

and steve smiles at him all sunshine and chocolate, and the second the door closes behind them he grabs billy’s hand, wide-eyed, questioning, watching billy’s reaction.

his palm is just as sweaty as billy’s and it’s gross, but also kind of comforting.

“hello to you too,” billy snickers, and steve visibly relaxes, lacing their fingers together properly.

“hi,” he breathes quietly, his gaze soft, but intense, focused. “waiting sucked, okay. i’ve been wanting to do that forever.” he shakes their joined hands for emphasis.

“...that all you were waiting to do?”

steve’s grin turns sly, and his gaze drops a little. “no.”

billy wants to kiss him. he wants to be kissed. he wants steve’s mouth on him, somewhere, anywhere, right now. it’s a nice mouth. he’s spent a lot of time looking at it, and thinking about it, about the way the steam from the showers turned his lips so, so red, wet and slick and both too close and too far away, wondering what he’d taste like—

but steve turns away, taking all the air in billy’s lungs with him. it’s so jarring a shift that billy actually sways a little before he gets ahold of himself and lets steve tug him by hand and lead him upstairs.

the wallpaper in steve’s room has to be some kind of hate crime, but billy doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because there’s a beige bag sitting conspicuously on top of steve’s neatly made bed. the clear plastic top is zipped shut, dusty with age and spilled powders, but billy can still make out tubes of lipstick and eyeliner pencils through the haze.

he stops in the doorway and stares at it, thoughts at a stand-still.

steve’s still clutching his hand, tighter now, and no longer pulling him along. “i—uh. the bag was my mom’s, i think. found it crumpled up under the sink, so, like. she probably doesn’t even remember it exists. and the stuff in it is...new.”

“...new,” billy echoes faintly.

“yeah. yeah, i—i bought it. had no idea what i was looking for though, so i hope i did alright.”

billy blinks at him.

“was—was that okay? i know maybe isn’t exactly a yes, but i kinda hoped it could be, y’know? it’s—it’s totally cool if it isn’t. if you’re—if you’re not up for it. or…” he trails off awkwardly and grimaces.

billy takes a breath. “i’m up for it,” he assures steve with more confidence than he feels.

and steve absolutely beams at him. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

turns out steve not knowing what he was looking for meant he bought...everything.

as billy pokes through the mess he tries not to feel too apprehensive. or at least tries not to let it show. too much. he chews his thumbnail, picking up an eyeliner pencil with the other hand. it’s good shit, all the products are, with fancy names for colours and designer labels. it’s all leagues better than the drugstore clearance shelf crap he lifted as a kid. which doesn’t make this any less nerve-wracking.

“it’s been a while since i did this, so. don’t expect it to be, fucking, art or anything.”

steve shuffles closer from his spot at the foot of the bed and touches billy’s knee. “the eyeliner earlier this year…?” he gestures vaguely at his own face, eyebrows raised.

“friend of mine did that,” billy mutters.

and then his whole goddamn life came crashing down around him because of it.

his anxiety spikes, and he drops the pencil back into the pile, shoving the bag away. “i can’t fucking do this,” he snaps, and he’s halfway standing already when steve reaches for him, alarmed.

“billy, wait—” the hand on his elbow is soft, gentle, but he still flinches away. steve withdraws, fingers curled, lips parted, shock and hurt at war on his face. “i’m sorry. i—shit, i’m sorry—”

“don’t.” billy shakes his head, pulling away further. his lungs hurt. there isn’t enough air in this room. “just—forget it. this was a mistake.”

he’s through the door and heading down the stairs before he can think about it, before steve can respond. he wouldn’t have heard him anyways, not over the echoes of his father’s voice that follow him no matter how fast he flees.

but he stops just short of leaving. stands on the ugly little mat by the front door and stares down at it, his forehead inches away from resting against the wooden doorjamb.

he doesn’t want to leave.

he doesn’t want to go anywhere but back upstairs.

and...he kind of hates it. he has no reason to want that. he barely fucking knows steve, and he certainly doesn’t owe him anything. not a look at his authentic self or even a fucking apology. nothing.

so why does he want to give him all of that and more.

why.

it’s fucking terrifying and ridiculous and confusing and…

“billy?” steve calls out tentatively, far enough away that billy doesn’t startle. he’s making his way down the stairs.

if he’s gonna run, it’s now or never.

now…

or…

he turns around, and leans back, his shoulder thudding heavily as he hits the wall. his eyes itch, and rubbing them doesn’t help.

“billy…” steve’s right in front of him now, hovering just shy of being close, worry etched into every line of his face. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have pushed, i’m sorry—”

“not your fault,” billy mumbles, muffled against his palm. “stop apologizing, harrington.”

steve sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “i...uh.”

“you were gonna do it again weren’t you.”

“...no.”

billy snorts quietly, head falling against the cold wallpaper at his back. “fuck,” he exhales, hand dropping to his shoulder. “look, this is...threatening to be the best fucking thing that ever happened to me, and good things don’t just—it never lasts. it always blows up in my face, and you should know that before you get caught up in it too.”

there’s an awful, drawn-out pause while steve purses his lips and tilts his head and looks billy up and down, his gaze gentle despite the scrutiny.

“i want to touch you,” steve says quietly. he waits for billy’s hesitant nod before he wraps his arms around and tucks his face into the crook of billy’s neck. “i’ve been waiting for you my whole life, hargrove, you’re not scaring me off that easily.”

and...billy always wanted to believe in the romantic notions people wrote about in songs. soulmates being destined for each other. epic, unconditional love. he never had any reason to believe it was real, but he clung to it anyway. despite the part of him that was wary, afraid of putting too much stock in something that might break his heart later on.

so for steve to just outright say it like that…so matter of fact. the reality of the situation smacks him in the face a little.

he puts his hands on steve’s waist, slipping under his shirt to rest against soft bare skin. touching him feels...right. when he lets himself feel, lets himself be here, in the moment. the sweet scent of steve’s hair, the warmth of his breath, the soothing pressure of his fingertips smoothing the wrinkled fabric of billy’s shirt. it all adds up to a feelings that billy can only describe as home.

not home like the place, but home like the warmth of sunlight and sand between his toes, ocean spray on his lips. a feeling he’s always had to chase to capture, but somehow it’s...here. quiet and still, and nothing like he’s used to, but it’s here.

and his touch seems to put steve at ease as well, he practically melts into billy’s embrace, which does strange and addictive things to billy’s heart.

but he can’t just shut his fucking mouth and enjoy the moment.

“bet i could, though. scare you off. i might, some day.”

“billy,” steve sighs, and pulls back enough to look him in the eye. “trust me when i say, you’ll never even make the top ten scariest things i’ve seen.”

and he wants to scoff, or feel insulted, or push the issue, start a fight, but. there’s a hollow look in steve’s eye. it’s not the face of some sheltered rich boy who thinks he’s a big man, no, there’s truth there. billy believes him.

stopping the tide of questions is almost physically painful, but he knows there’s no going down that road today. he’s hiding enough of his own skeletons to be sure they aren’t ready for that yet.

he might just be ready for something else though.

“i wanna try again.”

steve blinks at him, confused for a beat, two, and. “oh!” his lips part around the exclamation, distracting billy for a moment. “the—the makeup? you don’t— you don’t have to.”

“i want to.” he hesitates, and then presses a brief kiss to the tip of steve’s nose, startling a smile out of him. billy grins back. “i want to.”

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #a raven's writing desk #soulmate au #yall this au is getting out of control this fic was supposed to be one lil scene #and i didn't even do the thing i wanted to do because billy was like NO IMA DO THIS INSTEAD #so then this whole ficlet got derailed because he's a drama queen #so #there's gonna be more dlkjfkltgfd #cuz im GONNA do the idea i had #im gonna

[brightgolden]

2021 Fic Fests I participated in

Thank you @kingsofeverything for the tag!

All my fics are born out of fic fests, so without the fests, my fics are basically non-existent. Thank you to the mods who organised the fic fests!

My contribution to fests in 2021 in chronological order:

1. Love in the Dark for @onedirectionbigbang

This was my first fic in my whole life and the longest to date. I'm going to say - the most creative, almost? Because of the worldbuilding elements. It will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Collaborated with @lapollypocket-detianguis and basically fall in love with how she portrayed my characters. Forever thankful for Big Bang and Dani for choosing my fic.

2. The Money Mark for @1daboficfest

This is MY trope. Omega Sugar Baby with Alpha Sugar Daddy, sprinkled with age difference. My most popular fic to date and I loved writing it. There wasn't any difficult phase, even if I changed the outline every two weeks.

3. Sugar at Night for @hlmpregficfest

Looking back at it now, I wish I wrote more for this. I still freaking loved it, literally the first glimpse of dark characters that I may actually write more in the future.

4. Lover Boy for @bhficfest

This was supposed to be a crack fic, but we all know I will never be able to write crack so this is soft angst. I loved how simple everything is in this fic, everyone was literally on their best behaviour mixed in with a healthy amount of silliness.

5. Heartbreak Anniversary for @1dreversebang

I signed up because someone convinced me to. It was sooo nerve-wracking to write something based on an art prompt, but I fell in love with art by @kingsofeverything the second I laid my eyes on it and after short research later, I decided to write Great British Bake Off au. The fastest fic I ever pulled out, so easy to finish it and I freaking loved the dynamic of the characters in this one.

Oh, I have to say this was where I struggled to come out with their relationship background (why they broke up) because this was literally my third exes to lovers fics in a year, but my beta and Dani came through for this so cheers!

6. Opulence Thrills for @subharryficfest

No one wants to know how hard I wrote for this. Literally blood and tears. It was published several days ago, and I finished writing it not more than 2 weeks ago. That said enough.

But, I'm forever happy that I managed to write a 60k BDSM fic. When I first started outlining, it was supposed to be 30k. Plus, I came up with Louis' work on a whim (while I was writing the scene). Never planned for it to be elaborate as it was in the fic, but I loved how it turned out!

Number of fests: 6

Numbers of fics: 6

Favourite fest/fic: I love them all for different kinds of reasons!

Fests you would love to do again this year (if they come back): I skipped Big Bang this year, because I ran out of original ideas LOL. Already got my eyes on a prompt for A/B/O fest. Already finished a fic for BH fic fest.

Everything else is based on the prompts.

Tagging my lovelies who love fic fests as much as I do,

@thinlinez @parmahamlarrie @stylesthebrave @zanniscaramouche @greenblueish @neondiamond @solvetheminourdreams @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

#i'm the type of person who outlined fic before signing up #just so I won't panic #anyone else? #about fics 2021

[gra-sonas]

I deeply apologise for this, I honestly don’t have anyone else to talk to about this and you’re so nice and kind that I feel like I could do it with you. Please, ignore me if you want to, you don’t have to answer or post this. I’ve recently started writing fics (my first time doing it), and I’ve published 3 of them so far. But I cannot help but feel like they are bad, that I shouldn’t be writing them. I don’t get many "hits" and the ones that I get, don’t leave kudos or anything which makes me think that people hated it. They are "short" (the longest one has 4000 words) and I feel that that is not enough. I’m just having a hard time. I know that I shouldn’t care about if people like it, if they comment or leave kudos because I’m writing for me and all of that. But I really can’t help feeling like shit about it and comparing myself with other fic-writers out there. And every day I’m struggling with the idea of wanting to just delete everything. Maybe I just don’t have the mental state to deal with things like these and maybe I should just stop. Thank you for reading and I’m sorry again, you don’t have to answer this. Have a great day!

First of all, there's no need to apologize for anything, nonnie. *sends you a looooooooooooong virtual hug*

Secondly, I'm so sorry that you're feeling the way you do. Putting any kind of creativity out there is always nerve-wracking, especially when you're "new" to doing it. I can imagine how difficult this must be for you, especially bc you don't have anyone to talk to about it.

When I posted my first fic (well, technically not the very first, but the handful of things I wrote long before RNM don't really count imo) 3 years ago, I was dying inside. If it hadn't been for lovely fandom friends, I NEVER would've posted it.

As a non-native English speaker I always felt inadequate/not articulate enough to write in English, plus a million other things I thought my writing was lacking, so I never even tried (before RNM I hadn't written anything in over a decade). Until Malex came along and the urge to write was so overwhelming that I gave it a shot.

And man, I'm so happy that I did. But again, I only posted it bc I had friends who beta-read it for me, who encouraged me and told me it wasn't in fact crap. And lo and behold, I've written a couple more fics over time, and I feel more confident about it nowadays (still dying inside tho when I post something new, that will probably never change :P).

Something that's really hard is not comparing your own writing to that of other writers - especially those who get tons of kudos and comments. In that same regard, it's really hard not to compare the number of hits and kudos your fics are getting to the numbers other writers' writing generates.

Anyway, comparing ourselves to others, that way madness (and unhappiness) lies. Looking at other writers' writing as an inspiration, YES, comparing our own writing to that of others, NO. Easier said than done, I know. :/

Anyway, I think what could be really helpful to you, is joining one of RNM (I'm assuming that you're writing RNM fic, if not, please replace that with the fandom you're writing for) Discord servers. Many fandom writers gather there, chat about fics, bounce ideas around, organize writing sprints, offer beta-reading, and so on. Getting input from others is just so cool and reassuring.

Additional plus: when you post a new fic, there are already a couple of people who know about it and they are often willing to signal-boost a new fic with reblogs.

As for the length of your fics: 4K is amazing, but by far not a necessary word count to attract readers. Most of my fics are shorter, and while I'm certainly not the queen of Kudos/comments, people are kind enough to read my fics. So, really, shorter fics are absolutely okay.

I really hope you'll reconsider re deleting everything. It would be a loss - for the fandom, but also for yourself. You put a lot of work into writing these stories, be kind to yourself and just take the [current] lack of "interaction" for what it is: you are new to this, and most people probably just haven't realized that there's a new writer in town. (Also, if you're writing RNM fic... fandom is still in total hibernation mode, I really hope that changes when S4 starts airing)

Sending you lots of love and writerly encouragement, nonnie. Please keep writing. Please keep putting yourself out there. And most importantly: find "your people", a "cheerleading squad" (and if it's just a squad of one person, squad is squad!) that has your back.

YOU CAN DO IT, I BELIEVE IN YOU! ❤️

P.S.: Funny enough but I'm not a member of any of the open RNM Discord servers, so, if anyone knows of a server or even runs one, please drop a link in the comments or send me a DM and I'll add a link to this post, thanks! 🙌

#nonnie asks

[whatta-babe]

Date Crashers (Obvious pt. 2)| Peter Parker x Reader

Taking place months after the Avengers found out that their youngest member, Sider-Man, had a crush (Obvious), the team only wants to meet Y/N officially. They will achieve their goal through any means necessary… This takes place before Infinity War and Endgame and can be read seperately.

Disclaimer: I wrote the first part of this two-shot over three (3) years ago and just never finished this part until now. Some of the characters are definitely out of character, but I am following the same characterization I used in part one (1).

Warnings: Minor cursing, OOC characters, and soft Peter Parker

Word Count: 1,247

On a random fall day in a random small café, Peter Parker is nervously bouncing his leg at an empty table, waiting for his girlfriend, Y/N, to come back from the restroom. Even after finally making the relationship official after months of aggressive flirting via text and shy stuttering flirting in the high school highway, and after approximately four (4) months of dating, the young brunette still gets jittery and bashful at even the thought of her.

Sure, he faces mutant people and aliens trying to take over the Earth on a surprisingly regular basis, but it just isn’t as nerve wracking as being in the presence of his loving girlfriend.

As Peter’s leg bounces, in a random small café, on a random fall day, he is being surrounded and spied on by the people he considers family- the Avengers. If he hadn’t been so obvious with his infatuation of Y/N all of those months ago, unintentionally drawing notice from his superhero familia, maybe the events that are currently playing out would have never happened.

Various pairs of eyes located from inside the café to the rooftop of a neighboring building snap to focus in on movement heading towards Peter’s tiny black table. It’s Y/N in her favorite skirt and- is that Peter’s decathlon sweatshirt? Wanda is already at risk of blowing her cover as Vision attempts to stop her from vibrating excitedly.

The girl finishes patting her hands dry on her clothes as she sits down, but before the couple can greet each other again, Peter’s name is called. He shoots out of his seat to dart to the pickup counter to collect his girlfriend’s and his drinks and freshly warmed pastries. Located in a dark corner of the café, Steve nods to himself in silent praise. Good job for paying for and collecting the food for his partner; what a gentleman.

The brunette swiftly walks back to their table and sets Y/N’s order gently in front of her, and as he sits down, their easy conversation starts up again. It seems that neither one of the teenagers notice that they are simultaneously playing footsie under the table as they discuss topics of interest- maybe it’s Star Wars or something nerdy like that as Bucky shakes his head slowly.

This boy is hopelessly in love, and I can’t with this young teenage romance any longer. He silently contemplates heading back to the compound. Why did he even agree to this anyway? Oh yeah, to get more dirt on the kid to tease him with it later.

Now the couple’s conversation switches to future plans. “Saturday is supposed to be really nice. Do you want to have a picnic in Central Park? I’ll pack all of your favorites!”

Peter grabs her hand and smiles sweetly as Y/N nods in excitement! “That’s a great idea, Peter! And we can look at all the sculptures! I haven’t been there in so long…” She trails off.

When Peter brings the hand that he is holding to his lips in a sweet kiss, Sam has to say something to his frenemy. “Man, who knew this kid had game? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

Bucky can only nod silently in agreement because yeah, who the hell would have thought?

Another peaceful and giggle-filled hour passes by as Natasha records the entire date from afar, not only for her own pleasure of rewatching it later but also because she promised Bruce that she would record their interactions for him to see. He had some type of life-changing and important research he had to conduct instead of joining the team for this bonding experience- lame.

In the end, it’s Clint that exposes the team to the happy couple, but was anyone expecting anything different? It seems that the café’s air vents were not as stable as he would have liked because its Clint’s body tumbling from the ceiling that leaves the café customers and workers in horror and surprised confusion. The man in question rapidly stands up to dust himself off and cheerily waves “Nothing to see here! Just go on with your daily activities,” to try and act like this event is no big deal.

But it is a big deal to Peter who knows what’s happening the second he recognized the falling body. “You’ve been spying on us??” He stands up in disbelief while Y/N can only become more confused than before.

Tony, who has been shaking his head in disbelief at his teammate’s idiocy, quickly joins the fray from his inconspicuous hiding place (the same shady corner Steve is located in) to explain the situation. “Look, kid, what else were we supposed to do? You’ve been making excuses for months to not bring Y/N over when all we want to do is meet her!” Okay, so maybe he is doing more accusing than explaining.

“I-what-ugh! Where is everyone else?” Peter’s face is amusingly splotchy and red while Y/N can barely keep up with the drama unfolding.

As the Avengers assemble in front of the couple, a strangled gasp and the sharp sound of a hand being hurriedly placed over one’s mouth is heard. “Oh my gosh… It’s really you guys! I’ve heard so much about you, and I’ve so wanted to meet you all!”

As Y/N smiles bashfully in front of her favorite heroes, Peter seems to snap back into focus and turns back to his unhinged family. Before he can speak again, Vision loses his fight against Wanda as she flings herself at Peter’s girlfriend in a flurry of long hair and flying arms. The squeal that has been building up for the past half hour is now being unleashed, but somehow someway, Y/N doesn’t seem to mind the ear-splitting noise. In fact, all she does is hug the woman back with equal enthusiasm.

Natasha pries the Scarlet Witch off only to take her place as she sways Peter’s girlfriend back and forth in her arms whilst muttering compliments and encouragements into her ear.

Peter can only pout heavily from the sidelines, arms crossed and bottom lip jutting out as he childishly huffs. Steve pats the boy’s back softly and waves to his two best friends as they finally make their way into the café from their rooftop hiding spot.

Apparently, there’s a line of people wanting to talk to Y/N because as soon as Natasha loosens her arms around the blushing girl, Tony steps up to her and pats her on the shoulder in acceptance. “You should come over for dinner this week, kid. We’ll get to know you more.” The usually obnoxious man is surprisingly composed and sane which Peter is grateful for, and he knows that Mr. Stark is really holding himself back at the moment.

Y/N can only smile brightly and clasp her hands together in excitement because who wouldn’t be excited if they were invited to have dinner with Earth’s mightiest heroes? She is totally writing this in her diary later!

But as the girl realizes the current time, all she can do is frown and starts to reluctantly says goodbye to everyone that she has met and places a chaste but sickeningly sweet kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek as a farewell. When Peter blushes, she lets out one last laugh and slips out of the café, excited to make dinner plans with Peter’s family and eternally grateful that Peter warned her that something like this may eventually happen. His Spidey senses never miss.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #date #ruined #spiderman #Spider-Man: Homecoming #fluff #fluffy #Avengers #out of character #funny i hope #romance #teenage love #y/n #reader insert #x reader

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

Carry Me Home (A Din Djarin/Reader Fic)

Summary: Din and Reader find themselves on a jungle planet hunting a bounty, but nothing goes as planned, and secrets are shared.

***Based off this line from a previous fic in this series: "Then the mysterious bounty hunter told you his name one day when you were trying to hold his femoral artery together with nothing but bacta gel and hope."

No spoilers. Set in Season 1 between Episode 6 (The Prisoner) & Episode 7 (The Reckoning)

Pairings: Din Djarin/Reader; Din Djarin/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, gore, & violence. Brief mentions of past slavery. 

A/N: In true Star Wars fashion, I'm just writing shit out of order lol. But the idea for this fic kept bugging me, so i just had to get it out on the page. 

You don't need to read the previous fics to understand this one, though (since the others are set in s2.) I have some more ideas for out of order stories, too, so I'll most likely be continuing this series.But let me know if you'd be interested in a fic from Din's POV! I think that could be fun, but if y'all are digging Reader POV, I'll stick to that.

And in case anyone cares, the title is taken from the lyrics of Arcade by Duncan Lawrence, which I was listening to on repeat as I wrote this. 

As always, I’ve posted this piece on Ao3, but I’ll paste the text below. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763814

I’ll also include the links to the other two fics here: 

The Sea Like Glass Ch 1: Here

The Sea Like Glass Ch 2 (includes smut): Here

“Dank farrik!” you hissed as the wire in front of you sparked and sent a jolt of electricity through your already singed fingers. Not for the first time, you wished you could wear your gloves, but some of the pieces that needed repairing were too small to feel through the bulky material, so you could do nothing more than sacrifice your flesh for the cause.

Didn’t make it hurt less, though. You sucked the smarting tips into your mouth, glaring at the trashed circuit board in front of you, but the ruined hardware only crackled in response.

If you were back in Hanger 3-5 in Mos Eisley, you would have probably trashed the whole part and dug through Peli’s stock for a replacement, or gone down to the market and haggled for something newer, but you weren’t on Tatooine. You were smack dab in the middle of a jungle planetoid you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was up to you to get the Razor Crest running again on what you had available.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot.

You sighed as you sat back on your haunches, using the back of your wrist to swipe at the sweat trailing down your temple. The pre-Empire ship towered over you as you dug into her innards, having pried off one of the semi-melted lower side panels to access the appropriate circuits. Your thin tank top was already drenched, and the hair sticking to the back of your neck kept giving you phantom itches. You wanted nothing more than to tie it up completely, but you always felt naked when your nape was exposed. You weren’t necessarily ashamed of the scar there, or the past connected to it, since it wasn’t your fault you were born into shackles, but… still. It was a… personal story to tell, and you weren’t sure you were ready to share it with your new boss.

Well, “new” was relative. You’d been employed on the Razor Crest for several months now, but you didn’t know much more about the Mandalorian than you did when you’d first set foot onto his ship. You knew he was a bounty hunter, from a race of legendary warriors. You knew he had a partially sordid, and dangerous, past if your encounter with Ran and his crew of mercenaries was any indication. You knew the green baby was his ward, or foundling as he called it, and Mando was tasked with returning the little guy to his people. And you knew his Creed forbid him from removing his helmet.

That was about it. The Mandalorian didn’t talk much, but it didn’t particularly bother you. You’d always been a quieter person, and after years of Peli’s constant chattering, you were kind of relieved for the silence.

Most of the time, anyway.

“How’s it looking?”

You gasped in alarm, jolting yourself off balance and falling back onto your ass in the dirt.

“Maker, Mando,” you panted as you craned your neck back to stare up at the bounty hunter. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me when I’m working on electrics?”

The impervious mask of the Mandalorian stared down at you silently, blotting out the sweltering sun and providing you a modicum of relief. A moment passed, then two, and you shifted uneasily under his unblinking gaze.

“I thought you heard me approach,” he said finally, his modulated voice flat and unaffected, but he didn’t move from where he was looming over you.

“Well, I didn’t,” you grumbled as you flopped your head forward and popped your neck, stretching your legs out in the dirt.

The tight leggings you wore ended not too far past your knees, so your shins were streaked with the red soil of this planetoid. The dirt didn’t bother you, but the heat sure did. It was different than Tatooine’s dry desert. This heat was oppressive, stifling, almost cloying, and every time you took a deep breath, a small part of your brain panicked, images of drowning flashing through your mind even though you knew it was irrational. You were just grateful your clothes didn’t look a fraction as hot as the Mandalorian’s all black get-up and what had to be twenty-five kilos of armor.

“So,” the bounty hunter said after a few more moments of silence, interrupted only by the call of exotic birds in the canopy, “how are things looking?”

“Honestly?” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the ground, dusting the red dirt off your hands but not even bothering with your pants. “Not good. The bounty’s guns must have grazed us when we were still outside orbit, and entering the atmosphere certainly didn’t help matters. Some of the side paneling has been melted beyond repair, and a lot of the wiring is fried, too.”

“Can you get it flying?” Mando asked, crossing his arms over his chest and making his silhouette all the more imposing. The sun glinted off his silver beskar, and you squinted in the glare.

“Maybe.” You pursed your lips and averted your gaze, turning back to stare at the charred panels and sparking wires. Sweat trickled down your neck, and you reached back to cup your nape, feeling the bounty hunter’s eyes on you.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes.”

“You’re not paying me at all if you can’t even catch that quarry,” you snorted before your brain could catch up to your mouth.

You froze when the words finally registered, nails digging into the back of your neck. Stupid. Your mouth always did get the better of you. You used to mouth-off to your former owner until he backhanded you into silence, and now you’re starting shit with a bounty hunter you’d seen kill half a dozen men in just as many seconds.

Stupid.

You waited for Mando to say something, staring at the Razor Crest without even seeing it, and even if you didn’t really believe he’d hurt you for a simple off-handed comment, your body didn’t get the message. Muscle memory was a hard thing to forget, and every fiber in you braced for the blow.

The birds chittered in the towering blue-green canopy above your head as sweat poured from every single one of your pores, and you were just about to come out of your skin when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“Well, to catch the quarry, I need my ship to fly,” he said, and when you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you discovered he’d somehow moved further away from you, like he took several steps back.

Was he… giving you space?

His tone was still flat, but after several months spent in close proximity with the bounty hunter, you were now able to parse out several different minor inflections in his modulated voice. You were by no means an expert, but you knew for a fact he didn’t sound angry in this moment. When he was angry, his voice took on a softer, menacing quality. The few times you’d heard it—thankfully never directed at you—every hair on your body stood on end, and the lizard part of your brain had screamed to run and not stop running until you were in a completely different star system.

This wasn’t anger. This was… something else. You almost wanted to say… amusement, but that would have been crazy.

Still, the tension bled out of your shoulders like sand through a sieve, and you dropped your arms as you turned to face the Mandalorian fully again.

“Alright, this is the best I can do,” you said. “I can get her flying again, I think I can even get her shielded enough to withstand leaving the atmosphere when we’re done here, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“How much time?” he asked.

You glanced over your shoulder again at the damage, did some calculations in your head, and added some padding to give yourself a margin for error. Then you turned back to the bounty hunter.

“At least two days,” you replied, confident in your abilities. “Anything less, and we risk blowing ourselves to the Inner Core and back when I go to start her up.”

“Hmm.” Mando stared at you for a moment and then shifted to gaze into the jungle. “The bounty will most likely be off planet by then.”

“I don’t think so,” you contradicted him, and your heart actually skipped a beat when the T of his visor turned to look at you. There was something nerve-wracking about staring into the dark, reflective glass, but then you noticed your red-streaked appearance, and you cringed self-consciously as you looked away.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because,” you started, stooping down to pick up the tablet beside your tool bag, “when I first came out here and saw the damage, I was afraid we’d end up in this situation. But then I remembered that the quarry’s ship took more damage than we did in our little space battle. I know for a fact we landed at least one solid hit, I saw it myself.”

“And?”

“Well,” you said as you tapped at the screen, “given the make and model of his vessel, and the location of where we struck the ship, I was able to deduce that we most likely damaged his engines. If his engines are damaged, then there is a maximum distance he could have gone before he would have been forced to land, or even crash landed. With all this information, plus the fact that I knew the general location of where we lost visual of him when we entered the atmosphere, I’ve estimated the quarry can’t be farther than five klicks from our current coordinates. And with his entry trajectory, he’s most likely in this triangulated area three and a half klicks to the west, which should be easily reachable on foot.”

You turned the map on the tablet to face the Mandalorian, and he stepped forward to take the device from you. His gloved fingers brushed across your singed ones, remnant electricity shooting through your veins, and you stifled a flinch as you dropped your arm.

Mando studied the map for a long moment, cocking his head and zooming in to get a better look. You shifted uneasily in the silence, scuffing the tip of your boot into the red soil, but then the bounty hunter finally looked back up at you.

“When did you have time to do this?” he asked, and he actually sounded… impressed. “You were out here for less than ten minutes after we landed.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You shrugged as your cheeks flushed with heat, but you blamed the sweltering sun overhead and the soup-like air.

“I didn’t realize you were so good with numbers,” he said, his helmet staring directly at you.

“Numbers are easy,” you replied, shrugging again as you raised your hand to chew nervously on your nails, but you stopped yourself when you saw the crimson dirt still caked on your skin. “They don’t lie, once you understand the rules.”

“Did Peli teach you how to do this?” he inquired, and you were surprised by all these questions. Most of the time, the bounty hunter asked you one-or-two-word questions and expected one-or-two-word answers. You couldn’t figure out why this situation was any different, but you found yourself responding anyway.

“Partially,” you explained, and you wondered how you could phrase your answer to be vague but satisfactory. “She… taught me a lot of the specifics for bigger jobs like ships and larger machines, but I’ve always been good at numbers and tinkering.”

That seemed good enough. You didn’t think it was relevant that you first started tinkering because your former owner used to lock you in his shop’s basement with broken droids when you misbehaved, and putting the discarded machines back together kept you from going crazy when your punishments lasted days. You also didn’t think it relevant that when your former owner found out and realized he could profit off your skills, you fine-tuned your abilities to become indispensable. The bastard still hit you occasionally, and his other slaves weren’t treated any better, but you had to admit, him locking you in the basement all those years had saved your life. If you hadn’t cultivated the skills you had, Peli wouldn’t have bought you at auction when the bastard bit the sand, and she wouldn’t have dug out your transmitter chip and effectively freed you the moment you walked into Hanger 3-5. The tiny woman had said she needed an apprentice, not a slave, and so that was what you became. Now, you were a mechanic in your own right, and a damn good one if you did say so yourself. Mando just didn’t need to know how you’d gotten there.

The bounty hunter seemed to think the same thing, too, because he nodded once before he looked back at the tablet.

“This is good work,” he said, and something in your chest preened at his words before you squashed it down. “If these calculations are correct—”

“They are,” you interjected before you could stop yourself.

“Then I think I can set out on foot, find the quarry, and bring him back tomorrow just as you’re finishing the repairs,” Mando went on, and he glanced up at you again. “Does that time frame sound right to you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Should work for me, but it could take you a little longer. I’m unfamiliar with this terrain, and there are too many other variables, like jungle beasts or indigenous species, for me to be sure.”

“The terrain won’t be a problem,” the Mandalorian said as he handed you the tablet back. “And neither will any beasts or natives.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the bounty hunter but didn’t contradict his confidence. “Alright. Then, yes, I should have the ship up and running by the time you get back. Are you leaving now?”

“Once I grab some supplies,” Mando replied before he paused and seemed to consider you. “Will you be… okay until I return?”

It was a familiar question, albeit still surprising. The Mandalorian was a stoic, usually silent warrior, literally a wall of beskar steel. You’d seen him kill men as easy as breathing, and he threw each bounty into carbonite without an ounce of remorse.

And yet, every time he had to leave the ship alone, he asked you if you would be alright until he got back. The question and concern would have made no sense… if you hadn’t seen the bounty hunter interact with his foundling. He tried to hide it, but he treated the little green baby so gently you knew there had to be a warm, beating heart beneath all that beskar. You just never expected any tenderness to be aimed at you, so it drew you up short every time.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I’ll be fine. Besides—”

You trailed off as you felt something touch your lower leg, and when you looked down, big brown eyes set in a little green face blinked back up at you. Then little green hands lifted in your direction, and you laughed as you swooped down, picked him up, and set him on your hip.

“Besides,” you continued, still chuckling as you booped the child on the nose and left a smudge of red dirt behind, “I’ll have this little guy to keep me company. Right, kid?”

The baby cooed and reached out, his three tiny fingers settling on the bridge of your nose as he tried to boop you back. When he withdrew his hand, though, his skin was dyed black.

“Huh?” You frowned at the slick ooze on his fingers, your eyes crossing as you tried to bring his hand into focus. “What’s on your hand there, bud?”

“It’s grease,” Mando supplied.

“What?” you asked as you turned your head to the bounty hunter.

“Grease,” he repeated, and he touched the intersection on the glass T of his visor, right over where the bridge of his nose would sit. “You’ve got some just there.”

“Oh.” You blushed, your hand flying up to cover your face. Not only were you covered in dirt and sweat, but grease now, too. Typical. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you knew,” the Mandalorian said, but there was that faint undercurrent in his voice that you were sure was amusement now. “Don’t you have any rags?”

“I did,” you muttered as you tried to rub at your face with your shoulder, “but I had to throw most of them out after that oil leak we had on the moon we left about a week ago. It’s fine. I’m already a mess anyhow, and I’m just going to get dirtier as I fix up the ship.”

Mando seemed to stare at you intensely for a moment, and you had the feeling he was taking in just how filthy your clothes were. You could read nothing from his body language, though, and since he wasn’t speaking, there was nothing to infer from his voice, either. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck, and you suddenly felt naked in your tank top and leggings. You shifted the child in your arms a little to bring him more in front of you and block more of you from view, but the effort was useless because Mando was abruptly spinning on heel and marching toward the ship’s ramp.

“I’m going to gather supplies,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “Don’t let the kid touch any of the wires.”

And then he was gone, his cape flapping behind him as he disappeared into the bowels of the Razor Crest.

“Okay, bye,” you muttered, and you frowned after him before looking down at the kid and lowering your voice. “Your dad’s a little weird, you know that?”

The child blinked up at you and then seemed to nod his head in solemn agreement.

You laughed and kissed the top of his head even though you knew you were toeing a dangerous line here. You knew you were just the ship mechanic, the hired help, but you and the foundling had spent a lot of time together when the Mandalorian was out hunting bounties, and you couldn’t help loving the adorable baby like he was your own. He was mischievous and always looking to put things in his mouth that he shouldn’t, but something about his presence was calming, soothing. Plus, those big brown eyes were to die for. You weren’t even that surprised the kid had managed to wiggle his way under Mando’s beskar. It had only been a few months, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it came down to it, you would give your life to save this child.

Which was wildly inappropriate, but you chose to ignore that fact.

“It’s just gonna be the two of us again for a bit, little man,” you told the foundling, turning back to face the Razor Crest. “But we’re gonna have some fun, yeah? Do you want to help me fix up the ship?”

The child gurgled into your ear and patted your cheek, which you took as an affirmative.

“Alright,” you laughed as you set him on a large root right next to your tool bag. You dug around until you found a tool you would need eventually, and then you handed it to the kid. “Here, hold this until I need it, okay? But don’t put it in your mouth.”

The foundling seemed to pout at that last bit, but he dutifully wrapped his three little fingers around the tool and held it firmly.

“Thank you.” You smiled. Then you turned back to the ship, put your hands on your hips, and furrowed your brow. “Now, where to start?”

You spent the next ten minutes assessing what was completely ruined, what was salvageable, and what you had on hand that wasn’t necessary and could possibly be retrofitted to fix the damage. The skeletal beginnings of a plan were already forming in your mind by the time the Mandalorian was clomping down the ramp again. You set down the tablet you’d been tapping away at and picked up the child once more, and the foundling babbled as he waved around the tool he was still holding.

“Be careful with that,” you chuckled, and you craned your head back to avoid getting smacked in the temple. “I’ll need it soon, so keep holding onto it.”

The child cooed and then shifted to wave the tool at the bounty hunter as he approached.

“Putting the kid to work now?” Mando asked as he stopped a few feet away. The crescent-shaped hilt of his favored Amban rifle jutted out over his left shoulder, and a small bag was slung over his right, probably filled with spare ammo, cuffs for the bounty, and possibly some food. You’d never personally seen the Mandalorian eat, though, and a part of you was convinced he didn’t, even if you rationally knew that wasn’t possible.

“Nah, I’m just teaching him a thing or two,” you said as you settled the foundling more soundly on your hip. “You’re never too young to learn something new, and on the plus side, being my little helper keeps him out of trouble. For the most part, anyway.”

“Thank you for watching him,” the bounty hunter said, tilting his visor down minutely to stare at the child, who grinned a gummy grin and waved the silver tool again. “I know it isn’t exactly what I hired you for—”

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you glanced down to smile at the kid. “He’s pretty good company, and some of Peli’s droids have given me more trouble than he does. It’s really no problem.”

“Well, regardless,” Mando replied as his visor returned to studying you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded, flushing again under his scrutiny. Then you cleared your throat and gestured at the bag on his back. “All ready?”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter said. “Days are longer here, but the sun will set eventually, and I want to try and find the quarry before moonrise. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow before sunset.”

“Good luck, then,” you told him, and you lifted your chin with confidence. “I should have the ship ready when you return.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his helmet.

The baby suddenly burst out babbling something, and you glanced down to see him reaching out with his free hand toward the Mandalorian. His three little fingers made grabby motions, and the bounty hunter sighed.

“Listen to her while I’m gone, okay?” Mando murmured as he stepped closer into your personal bubble and held out his finger for the foundling to latch on to.

The child cooed, swinging the Mandalorian’s finger from side to side, and the breath stilled in your lungs as the bounty hunter’s glove brushed the edge of your mouth. You smelled something like leather and smoke, probably blaster residue, but then Mando was stepping back again, and the baby was forced to drop his finger.

“Keep alert,” he addressed you as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. “We’re pretty far from any civilization out here, so I don’t think you should encounter anyone, but don’t assume you’re safe. And get inside the ship once the sun sets. The jungle will be more dangerous at night. I’ll have my comlink on me, but it’s affected by proximity, so you most likely won’t be able to contact me until I’m on my way back.”

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you said, and you patted the blaster he’d given you that was almost permanently attached to your hip. “I can defend myself if need be, and I have no desire to be caught outside after dark. We’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. Either way, he seemed to compose himself because he nodded once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“We’ll keep a weather eye on the horizon.” You smiled. “Try not to die of heat stroke.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said dryly, but after one more moment of staring at you and the foundling, he turned on heel and marched off into the jungle without another word. The multi-colored trees swallowed him almost instantly, and suddenly you were alone.

The child cooed sadly as he stared after the Mandalorian, and he turned his big brown eyes on you as if to say, Where’d he go?

“Don’t worry, bud,” you said, turning back to the ship. “He’ll be fine and back before you know it. Now, let’s take a look at those power converters, shall we?”

You set the foundling down beside your tool bag again, but you couldn’t help glancing over your shoulder in the direction the bounty hunter had disappeared in.

He’ll be fine and back before you know it, you repeated silently to yourself.

~~~~~

Two days later, you were starting to doubt the validity of your statements.

The sun had set and risen twice, and there was still no sign of Mando. Now, the celestial orb was steadily making its way across the horizon for the third time, and you sat on the ramp of the ship and glared up at the chattering canopy.

The child was down for a nap in the hammock the Mandalorian had set up in his own bunk, and your eyes burned with a similar exhaustion, but the anxiety slowly mounting in you made it impossible to sleep. The past two days had passed uneventfully. You’d spent every hour of sunlight you had at your disposal patching together the ship, and since days were longer on this planetoid, you estimated you’d spent over seventy-two hours getting the Razor Crest in working order again.

And you’d done it. It wasn’t perfect, but the ship could fly, and you were ninety-eight percent certain it would withstand leaving the atmosphere.

Now, all that was missing was the Mandalorian and his bounty.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you grumbled under your breath as you dragged your singed, cut-up, and bandaged fingers through your hair. “Where the Maker are you?”

The chittering birds and critters in the underbrush didn’t have an answer for you, and you huffed out an aggravated breath as another bead of sweat dripped into your eyes.

By your estimate, there were about six hours left before the sun set again. Part of you, the illogical, irrational part, wanted to charge into the jungle in search of the Mandalorian. You had a general direction and location he should be in. Maybe you could find him.

But the rational side of your brain thankfully pointed out all the problems with that plan. For one, leaving the ship unattended was dangerous. You hadn’t seen anyone in the past two days, but that didn’t mean you were alone in the jungle, and now that the ship could fly again, someone could potentially walk right in and steal the vessel if you weren’t here to stop them.

Then there was the issue of the foundling. Sometimes, Mando took you and the kid along with him when he was hunting a bounty in a more populated area, but he was always there to protect the two of you if something went wrong. What happened if you brought the child with you into the jungle and you couldn’t protect him? And you couldn’t exactly leave him behind. Someone could steal both the child and the Razor Crest in that scenario.

The most compelling reason to stay with the ship, though, was Mando himself. Before he left, he’d confidently declared that neither the jungle itself nor the beasts or peoples therein would pose any problem for him. If he was wrong, and these things had posed a problem for the bounty hunter, what luck did you have of doing something he could not?

Anddddd that’s where the irrational side of you chimed in again with, Well, if he did run into an issue, he could need your help, so you should go look for him.

It was a vicious cycle, and your head was pounding with how fast it was running in circles.

You groaned as you dropped your face into your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets.

“Fine,” you sighed into the darkness. “I’ll give him until morning.”

If the Mandalorian hadn’t returned by then, you’d start up the ship and fly over the area you’d triangulated for him. If you couldn’t find him from the air… well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

~~~~~

You huffed in irritation as you tossed and turned in Mando’s bunk that night. You turned one way, rolled another, but then you found yourself with your nose buried in his pillow, and you instantly flipped back over, face hot with embarrassment even though it was dark and you were practically alone. You weren’t sure if he slept with his helmet on when he was alone in the closed confines of the bunk, but either way, the small space smelled of him intensely. You tried not to put words to his scent, told yourself it was inappropriate and he was your boss, a Mandalorian to boot, and you had no room or right to think of him in any way other than strictly professional… but that apparently didn’t work because you knew he smelled like the cheap soap from the fresher, and the rest was a blend of smoke, leather, and metal, the degrees of which varied by the day and yet was still always uniquely him.

You knew you were playing a losing game even just having these thoughts, but you somehow couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop yourself. Ever since Mando stepped between you and Ran’s crew all those months ago, blocking you with his body, a startling, protective rage in every inch of his armored silhouette, this little voice had come to life in the back of your head and wouldn’t shut the kriff up.

What if? the little voice whispered. What if it’s not just you having these thoughts? What if you could have him in more than just your dreams and fantasies in the darkness of this bunk?

Usually, you shoved the voice into the deep, dark recesses of your thoughts and recited equations until it grew quiet. You knew that was nothing but wishful thinking at best and delusion at worst. The Mandalorian was just that: a warrior closed off from the world by a shell of silver beskar. He cared for the foundling, yes, but that was entirely different and bore no correlation to the bounty hunter’s relationship with you. There was little he could possibly want from a former slave turned mechanic, aside from your skills, of course, so you clenched your eyes closed and tried to take shallow breaths through your mouth, but nothing you did could get his scent out of your nose, your memory.

You sighed for the umpteenth time and rolled to face the wall of the bunk.

When the bounty hunter was on the ship, the two of you usually slept in shifts so you could share the bunk, though sometimes the Mandalorian slept upright in the cockpit. It had been his idea originally. You’d been fine with a thin sleeping mat on the floor of the cargo bay, but he’d insisted in his strange, stoic, nonchalant way. So, you shared, and when it was just you and the kid on the ship, the two of you had the run of the place.

The child was currently in the hammock above your head, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t asleep, either. Every so often, he’d gurgle or make some other noise, and more than once you peeked up to find big brown eyes staring down at you in the dimness. You wondered if he could sense your anxiety, and you shifted so you could glare past your feet, out of the bunk, and at the closed ramp door.

You wanted to be angry with Mando, but by the time the sun set a few hours ago, you’d moved past that anger and straight into worry. The bounty hunter had never been gone this long before without contact, and your gut told you something was wrong and wouldn’t let you sleep. You wished you could blame your insomnia completely on your concern, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

As if on cue, a sudden, piercing shriek echoed through the ship, and all the muscles in your body locked up on reflex.

The child gasped and made a worried noise as he poked his head over the edge of his hammock and stared down at you, and you tried to plaster on a fake, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, reaching up to gently rock the foundling. “The ship’s closed and locked up. They can’t get us in here.”

The baby made an unconvinced sound, but he settled back into his bed without any further argument.

You sighed as you continued to rock the child, and you did your best not to flinch when another high-pitched screech sounded outside the ship.

You weren’t entirely sure what “they” were, but you knew they were nocturnal and carnivorous. And hungry. The past two mornings, you’d found bloody animal remains torn to bits and strewn along the edges of the clearing the Razor Crest was parked in like gory, crimson confetti. You’d kept the child practically glued to your side during the days because of this, but nothing ever attacked you during the day. They just circled the ship incessantly at night, howling and screeching and keeping you from finding a moment’s peace or rest. They hadn’t outright attacked the ship yet, but you were ready for it, your borrowed blaster a cold and heavy weight tucked under your pillow.

Reaching for it now, you curled your fingers around the familiar hilt and tried to block out the crescendoing, bloodthirsty shrieks of the mysterious jungle beasts.

You didn’t know how or when, but you must have dozed off at some point because all of the sudden, you jolted awake with a panicked gasp.

The bunk was dark and close around you, but since you’d left the door open at your feet, it wasn’t claustrophobic. Your vision was still blurry with sleep, so you swiped at your eyes with the back of your left wrist as you scrambled into a seated position. In your right hand you grasped the blaster, and you pointed it blindly in front of you, toward the rear of the ship.

You couldn’t remember what had woken you up, but it had been something. Your heart pounded a frantic tattoo into the underside of your ribcage, your arm shaking minutely with adrenaline. The ramp was still closed in front of you, so it hadn’t been Mando opening the door and returning. You squinted in the darkness but couldn’t see anything beyond shadows and vague shapes in pale, muted moonlight. It must have still been night, then.

You strained your ears, listening for the howling, but it was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The jungle beasts usually didn’t go silent until right before dawn, but it was dark enough in the ship that you estimated it was still the middle of the night.

Where had they gone?

Your heart rose up into your throat, sweat beading at every one of your pores, and your mouth was so dry that your throat clicked when you swallowed.

The child made a noise of inquiry above you, barely louder than a breath, but it still made you jump all the same. Your gaze darted upward to find brown eyes staring down at you, but they were wide in an alarmed sort of way. One three-fingered hand poked over the edge of the hammock, making grabby motions at you, and the noise he made this time was more urgent, louder.

Had he heard something, too?

“What is it, little guy?” you whispered, reaching up with your free hand and awkwardly grappling him from his sling-bed.

He tumbled gently into your lap with a soft “oof,” but almost immediately he was standing up, turning around, and frantically patting at your cheek.

“What?” you asked with a frown.

He babbled and continued to tap the side of your face, and his noises grew increasingly distressed until he was grunting with frustration.

Then his tiny palm actually slapped down right across your ear canal so hard that both of your ears rang, and you hissed as you jerked your head back.

“Kriff, what was that fo—” you started to ask, but another hiss cut you off, and this one wasn’t from you.

Your heart stuttered, eyes skipping over the child’s head and out into the cargo bay, and your right hand tightened around the blaster you’d lowered to your side.

But there was nothing there. Nothing moved in the shadowy ship beyond you, and you frowned, thinking your mind was playing tricks on your startled and sleep-addled mind, but then the hiss came again.

And this time, you recognized it.

“Oh, pfassk!” you cursed as you craned around and shoved your hand under the pillow. Your fingers scrambled wildly across the sheet but encountered nothing, and you growled in aggravation, shifting the child off your lap and coming onto your hands and knees. You tossed the pillow over your shoulder in a fit of frustration, and your right hand slapped at the wall around your head until the bunk light came on.

You squinted in the flood of harsh light, the child gurgling behind you, but when your vision cleared, you spotted the thumb-sized comlink off the edge of the cot, shoved up into the far corner of the bunk. You lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around the small device, and the words were falling out of your mouth before you were even sure you had hit the button.

“Mando?” you called into the comlink, cringing when your loud voice echoed back to you in the close confines of the bunk. “Mando, can you hear me?”

Mild static crackled back for a moment as you huddled around the tiny communicator, but then a louder burst of static—the hiss from earlier—exploded to life.

And you were sure you heard Mando’s voice in there.

“Mando!” you shouted as you heart did its best imitation of a speeder, and you cupped both hands around the comlink like that would help him hear you better. “Mando, it’s me! I’m here. Can you hear me?”

Another burst of static. Then…

Mando yelled your name, clear as day, followed by a scream of what sounded like “help” and a chorus of familiar howling, and your stomach bottomed out inside of you.

“Mando!” You were gripping the communicator so hard you were afraid you were going to break it. “Mando, where are you? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. You sat there frozen for a full minute, ears straining to the point of ringing, but only quiet static crackled back at you.

“Dank farrik!” you cursed, punching the side of your fist into the bunk wall.

The child cooed at you, brown eyes big with concern, and he put his tiny hand on your knee as you raked a shaking hand through your hair.

Your chest heaved up and down as you fought for breath, your mind spinning off into a million directions at once.

Mando was in trouble. Mando needed your help. He was fighting jungle beasts, and he was far enough away that you couldn’t hear the shrieking with your own ears, but close enough that he could partially reach you over the comlink. You had to do something. You had to go help him.

But what about the child? What about the ship? You couldn’t take the Razor Crest. It was pitch black outside, and you wouldn’t be able to see Mando below the thick, dark canopy. You had to go on foot.

And you had to take the kid with you.

“Come on,” you said as you tucked the communicator into your pocket, grabbed the foundling and blaster, and scooted to the edge of the bunk. Your boots were on the ground below you, and you shoved your feet in them blindly, tying the laces in three deft movements.

Then you were on your feet, turning on the cargo lights, and jogging the child over to his floating silver carrier. You grabbed the spare remote on top of it, pressing the button and watching the top slide open with a hiss. Then you set the foundling down inside of it, and in the same motion you were tucking the remote into your pocket, turning on heel, and striding for the armory.

Another button press, followed by the hiss of hydraulics, and you were left staring at several walls of guns and weaponry. Some of them you knew. Mando had even taught you how to shoot a few, but those were typically smaller blasters.

And based on those howling screeches, you needed something with more of a kick.

Your eyes skipped over the blaster pistols since you already had the one on your hip, and after a moment’s indecision, your gaze settled on a midsized rifle you’d shot once before. You hadn’t been very good at it, only hit four of the ten targets Mando set out, and you remember it being very heavy.

But it was better than nothing, and you needed something to fight back against the dark jungle.

So, you took the rifle down and looped it around your shoulder, pursing your lips as the strap dug into your skin. You spent a moment checking the power cell and gas canister, and even though both were full, you still stuck a few spares into a belt that you wrapped around your hips. You also added a few grenades to your arsenal, both explosive and ones set to stun, plus a pair of Mando’s vibroknives, as a last defense measure. If you were being honest, if the rifle and grenades failed you, you probably wouldn’t live long enough to use the knives, but it made you feel better to clip their sheaths unto your belt.

The rifle and belt weighed you down with an extra five to six kilos, but you had lugged far heavier burdens through Tatooine’s desert, so you knew you could handle it.

The last two things you grabbed were the head lamp you typically wore when working under or inside ships and the cuff you’d programmed to work the twin lights—along with a variety of other tasks aboard the Razor Crest—resting at each of your temples. The cuff was a haphazard creation of yours made of old leather, metal, and glass, but it worked and was comfortable, which was all that mattered. It also had a small magnetic slot that was specifically meant for the remote of the foundling’s floating carrier, so you fished that out of your pocket and felt it snap into place with a satisfying click.

You were armed and ready now. All you had to do was move.

“Mando,” you said as you stuck the comlink in your ear and synced it to your cuff, which had a built-in frequency booster. You were already moving toward the ramp, tapping at your wrist and listening to the foundling’s carrier humming after you. The rifle felt heavy as you maneuvered it into your slick palms, and your heart hammered a war song in your ears. “Mando, I’m coming for you. Just hold on, okay?”

Static crackled in your ear, and your chest began to heave up and down as adrenaline flooded through you.

“Okay, little man, you’re going to take a nap, alright?” you said as you looked down at the child in his pod, your voice shaking even though you tried to stop it. “And when you wake up, your dad will be back with us.”

He cooed up at you with a fearful expression on his face, but you only spared a moment to press a kiss to his head before you were tapping at your wrist again. The lid of the pod started to hiss close as the ramp of the ship began to clank open, and you slid your finger onto the rifle’s trigger as the door slowly lowered before you.

The ramp finally thudded to the jungle floor, and you took a moment to stare out into the foreboding darkness. The moon was pale and wan in the purple-tinted sky, and all you could see were shadows along the edges of the clearing. Your eyes darted back and forth, every muscle in your body locked and braced for an attack, but nothing happened. Nothing moved save the indigo clouds over head, and the only sound you heard was the muted chirps and hums of insects.

“Okay, come on, quit stalling,” you muttered to yourself even though your heart felt like it was about to roll off your tongue. “Mando doesn’t have time for this.”

At the sound of his name—or at least, the only name you had ever known the bounty hunter by—some of the fear inside you vanished, and you were suddenly jogging down the ramp without further thought. The child’s carrier trailed after you quietly, and you jabbed at your wrist to close and lock up the Razor Crest.

You spared half a glance over your shoulder to make sure the ramp was secured, and then you looked down at your cuff. Mando’s comlink had a built in GPS transmitter, but its range was limited. However, if he was close enough to briefly contact you…

A dot flickered in and out on the grungy screen on your wrist, and you spun in a circle to figure out which direction had the strongest connection. The dot flared brightly when you angled toward the west, and you started running before you even had a plan.

You crashed through the underbrush with the child’s pod hot on your heels, and the thick, humid air sawed in and out of your heaving lungs as you gasped for breath. The lights at your temples provided enough illumination to see several steps ahead of you but not much else, and you tripped and careened over root and vine as you tried not to lose your grip on the rifle.

The good news was the dot on your read-out was no longer flickering, and it was now a strong red point about a kilometer ahead of you.

The bad news?

The jungle was no longer quiet around you.

As your feet pounded into the red soil and carried you forward, static crackled loudly in your ear, and the howling returned, faint at first but growing closer. Shivers wracked your sweat-slicked spine, and every fiber of your being was screaming to run the other way.

But you couldn’t. Because now you could hear Mando grunting and shouting over the comlink, clearer and clearer with each step, and as you vaulted over a protruding root in your path, you distinctly heard a roar of rage directly ahead of you.

You would have shouted his name if there was any breath left in your lungs, but instead you just lowered your head and sprinted as fast as you could.

The howling was nearly deafening now, echoing all around you, seeming to come from every shadow in the jungle. Your ears rang with the soul-piercing shrieks, and the cacophony was so disorienting, you tripped over your own feet and crashed into the dirt.

“Kriff!” you gasped, your knees and palms stinging as you skidded to a halt. Dots danced in front of your eyes as you panted harshly, and the rifle knocked painfully against your sternum.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the child’s pod come to a stop several feet away, the silver orb glinting in the pale moonlight barely filtering through the canopy.

Then you saw something else shift in the shadows behind the floating carrier.

At first, you thought it was your swimming vision, but then the weak lights of your headlamp reflected off several glinting eyes, and the breath stalled in your lungs.

A guttural, wet growl echoed out of the bushes beyond the foundling’s pod, and in the next instant the beast was lunging forward, vaulting over the carrier in one bound.

You yelped as you scrambled backward, fumbling for the rifle’s trigger, and you got the barrel up just in time to block a bifurcated jaw of gnashing fangs. The beast let out a piercing shriek as it snapped at your face, and the familiar sound nearly popped your eardrum at this proximity, but the pain barely even registered as you wedged your legs up under the creature’s chest and heaved it off you.

The beast let out a high-pitched yip as it smacked into a tree trunk, but you didn’t give it the chance to regain its feet. In one swift movement, you brought the rifle up, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

The blaster must have been set on full-auto because a continuous stream of energy screamed out of the weapon, and the barrel jerked upward with the recoil. Bolts of energy shredded through the vines and branches overhead, and some kind of bat-bird creature screeched as it dove out of the canopy and swooped over you. It thankfully wasn’t trying to attack, merely flee, and the avian-beast cawed angrily as it disappeared into the jungle.

“P-Pfassk,” you panted, your voice as jittery as your racing pulse. Still, you scrambled to your feet, with the smoking rifle held tight in your shaking grasp, and you stared wide-eyed at the corpse of the beast that had attacked you.

The thing was almost two meters long, and six disjointed looking limbs jutted out from underneath it. Your would-be-killer looked vaguely canine yet also insect-like, with its long snout and what looked like scaled plates along its spine. The combination made your stomach churn. The blaster had carved smoldering holes into most of the creature’s flesh, but the uncharred remains were blackish-purple, mottled with spots of blue and green that matched the jungle’s underbrush. The beast was entirely hairless and slick-looking like an oil spill, and its bifurcated maw hung open to reveal rows of rotted black fangs. Two pairs of pale white eyes stared blindly up at the dark sky, and purplish blood seeped out around the carcass to stain the jungle floor.

Bile rose in your throat, but before you could even process your fear, terror, and revulsion, a very human sounding scream echoed through the dark night, and you whipped your head in the direction it had come from.

“Mando,” you breathed, and you spared the dead beast one last glance before you took off running again, every sense on high alert.

You didn’t dare blink as you crashed through the underbrush, and you pushed your aching limbs as fast as they would go. The din of snarling and howling was so loud now it was rattling your teeth, and all of the sudden you were stumbling out of the thick tree line and into a small clearing.

A clearing riddled with bodies, both living and dead.

Your brain stuttered as it tried to assess the scene before you. The canopy overhead was broken in a perfect circle, so the moonlight here was strong and bright after the deep shadows of the jungle, and it illuminated everything perfectly. The Mandalorian stood in the center of the carnage, half collapsed against a rotten log twice as tall as he was. Carcasses of the canine-like beasts were piled up in mounds around the clearing, some shot but some charred into blackened skeletons, and the stench of burnt flesh invaded your nose and sat heavy on the back of your tongue.

For every dead beast, though, there were two more still snarling, and boy, were they pissed.

The pack of creatures prowled in a semi-circle before the bounty hunter, all their attention centered on him, and they growled and snapped their bifurcated jaws in his direction. They didn’t seem to want to attack him head on, and a moment later you saw why.

One of the beasts must have reached its breaking point, because with the same piercing shriek that had kept you up the past two nights, it lunged for the Mandalorian, the moonlight glinting off the armored plates along its spine.

The poor bastard never made it.

While the creature was still in mid-air, Mando jerked his wrist up, and a blast of flames roared out of his vambrace. The beast screeched as it was swallowed by the inferno, and its charred corpse crashed to the ground at Mando’s feet a moment later. The remainder of the pack snarled in fury as they paced in front of the bounty hunter, but you felt your throat tighten with fear.

The flamethrower was obviously a great weapon at repelling these creatures, but judging by the radius on that last spurt of fire, you estimated Mando had enough fuel for one, maybe two more attacks.

And there were dozens of the beasts left.

What were you going to do?

You heaved for breath as your eyes darted around the clearing, trying to look for a solution, but you knew the answer was obvious: you were going to have to fight.

You blindly tapped at your wrist, and a moment later the child’s carrier rose up above your head and nestled against the lowest branch of the tree you were standing under. You didn’t know if the beasts could climb, but the pod was made of a strong, reinforced metal, so as long as the creatures didn’t notice the kid, he should be fine.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

Maker, you were going to regret this, weren’t you?

You didn’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

“Hey!” you shouted as you stepped further into the clearing, one of your hands dropping to the belt on your waist.

The chorus of snarls and growls tapered off for a moment as the pack whipped around in unison to face you, and the saliva evaporated in your mouth as you stared at the dozens of glowing white eyes.

At the sound of your voice, you could see Mando jerk upright in your peripherals, but you didn’t dare tear your eyes off the pack as they started to stalk toward you. Sweat dripped down your face and trickled along your spine as you palmed a cold, heavy orb in your right hand, and you watched the distance between you and the creatures shrink bit by bit.

Mando shouted your name, but you ignored him.

“Yeah, that’s right!” you yelled at the beasts instead. “You guys hungry? Why don’t you come and get me?”

“What are you doing?” Mando roared, but you still didn’t pay him any mind as you tracked the pack. There were maybe three dozen left alive, and they bared their black fangs at you as they drew closer and closer.

Twenty meters… fifteen… ten…

Now.

“Take this!” You heaved your arm back, aimed at the beast in the center of the pack’s line, and threw with all your might, and the creature yelped as the stun grenade struck him in the skull.

A moment later, a web of electricity exploded out of the orb and arced through half of the pack, and the poor bastards screeched and screamed as they fell spasming to the jungle floor. The beasts on the edges snarled as they jumped away from their sparking brethren, and you saw some of the canine-monsters retreat into the shadows of the clearing.

This was your chance.

You darted forward the moment you had a clear path to take, and you vaulted over the pack’s twitching bodies in three swift strides. When you landed on the other side of them, you spun around and faced the fallen creatures as they whined and spasmed on the ground. Then you lifted your rifle, aimed haphazardly, and pulled the trigger. You swept the barrel from side to side for a moment, energy bolts tearing and searing through flesh, but then you whirled back around and sprinted toward the Mandalorian’s prone form.

He was propped up against the log with his legs splayed out in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when you saw the dark stain of blood on the ground beneath his right thigh. His Amban rifle lay beside him, but since he wasn’t using it, you assumed he was out of ammo. The bounty hunter listed heavily onto what you first thought was a rock of some kind, but as you skidded to a stop in front of him, you realized the lump was the body of another humanoid, except it didn’t look to be breathing.

“Mando!” you gasped as you crouched down in front of him. “Maker, w-what happened—”

“What are you doing here?” he cut you off with a snarl, and the absolute rage in his voice drew you up short.

You gaped at his visor, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-What… you called—”

“I didn’t call you, he did, right before they tore out his throat,” Mando growled and shoved the prone form beside him.

The body flopped over with a thud, and you stifled a gag when you realized the poor bastard had been eviscerated. He was torn open from gut to gullet, intestines and innards gleaming wetly in the dark, and his bulging black eyes stared up unseeingly at the moon.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you breathed in horror. “What happened?”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet up to look at you, but then his gaze seemed to shift over your shoulder, and he was suddenly latching onto your wrist with an iron grip and tugging you forward.

“Watch out!” he shouted as you tripped over his legs and landed on the other side of him, and a moment later you heard and felt the roar of flames at your back as another beast met a smoldering end.

You scrambled up onto your knees and whirled around, rifle held at the ready, but there were only the two new dead creatures sprawled at Mando’s feet. Their corpses smoked as their blackened flesh crackled, and this time you weren’t successful in stifling your gag. You dry-heaved off to the side, tears blurring your vision, but when the chorus of bone-chilling howls started up again, you blinked away the tears and clenched your rifle in a white-knuckled grip.

“We gotta get out of here,” you panted, your eyes darting from place to place as you tried to track the beasts slithering through the shadows.

“Can’t,” Mando grunted, and all of the sudden, you realized his voice sounded off, slurred.

You whipped back around to face the bounty hunter, and your gaze immediately fell to the dark stain under his leg. It had grown since you’d first seen it, and then you realized a haphazard tourniquet was lashed around the top of his leg, right above the metal plate that covered the front of his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Mando’s head jerked up and down in an unsteady nod. “Just… happened. One of them got me… when I was trying to save the bounty. Pretty sure they nicked my femoral.”

His words were softer and definitely slurred now, and panic rose up in your throat like a burning coal.

“Then we need to get back to the Razor Crest now,” you said as you reached for his shoulders, but the Mandalorian sluggishly shoved you away.

“I’ll… only slow you down,” he grunted. “The bounty and I… are easy meals. The pack should stay to finish us off while you make a break for the sh—”

“No,” you cut him off, and the snarl in your voice surprised even you. “No, Mando. I’m not leaving you to die. We’re only a kilometer away from the Razor Crest. I have extra power cells and grenades. We can make it.”

Mando’s head thunked back against the log he leaned on as he stared up at you, and even if you couldn’t see the face underneath the visor, you could see the resignation in every inch of him.

And it ignited a fury in you unlike anything you had ever known.

“So, what?” you growled, bending down to bare your teeth in his face. “You’re just gonna sit here and die? What about the kid? You just gonna abandon him?”

You’re just going to abandon me? you didn’t say, but the words rattled against the backs of your clenched teeth.

“He’ll… have you,” Mando said, and suddenly his gloved hand reached up as if to touch your face, but he didn’t seem to have the strength, and the tip of his index finger barely grazed the edge of your jaw. His touch left behind a warm streak on your skin, and you didn’t have to look to know it was blood.

“That’s not good enough,” you snarled before you stooped down and grabbed the ends of his makeshift tourniquet, yanking tightly on both ends until Mando groaned in pain and latched onto your shoulders.

He murmured your name, his modulator crackling in your ear, but you ignored him as you looped his spent Amban rifle over his shoulder and shifted to slide your left arm behind his back, throwing his right arm over your shoulders. You took two deep breaths to brace yourself, and then you dug your fingers into his waist as you tried to leverage the both of you onto your feet.

It was nearly impossible. The Mandalorian had to weigh nearly ninety kilos in his beskar, and with the added weight of the weapons and grenades you carried, you could feel the muscles in your legs, core, and back scream at the strain.

“Dank… farrik,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, but you managed to get the two of you upright, even if Mando was practically limp against you. Still, you had to leverage your back against the log behind you to keep from collapsing.

“We’ll never make it… back to the ship like this,” Mando panted, his cold helmet brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Shut up,” you gritted out, listening to the howling beasts closing in again like they could sense your weakness. “I refuse to leave you behind. So, unless you want to kill us both, you need to get your ass in gear, Mando. I can keep them off our backs as we go, but you need to walk with me. Understand?”

“Cyare,” he slurred, and the unfamiliar word sounded pained as his helmet thunked into your temple. “I… don’t want you to die.”

“Then walk,” you grunted as you tightened your grip on his waist and lurched forward a step.

Mando staggered behind you, half draped over your back, but you widened your stance and refused to go down.

“Please… Mando,” you panted, shoving the barrel of your rifle into the loamy red soil to act as a crutch. “Help me save us. Just… just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Wait,” the Mandalorian said, and he actually lifted his head off your shoulder. “The bounty…”

“The bounty’s dead,” you grunted as your eyes darted to the trees again. You could see the sinuous shapes of the pack weaving between the towering trunks, but they kept their distance for the moment. They’d lost more than half of their numbers by your estimate, and you prayed to the Maker they would just give up, but you knew that would be way too convenient for your life.

“The puck… said dead or alive,” Mando sighed, his arm weighing down on the nape of your neck like a yoke, and it reminded you of the slave’s collar you once wore.

“I can’t carry both of you back, Mando,” you growled in frustration. “I can barely drag you.”

“Don’t need the whole body,” he clarified. “Just… the head. It’s… a big bounty.”

You groaned as you glanced down at the quarry’s corpse, and then you tilted your head back to try and look at Mando.

“Can you stand by yourself for a minute?” you asked.

“Maybe,” Mando grunted, but he shifted his weight off you bit by bit and leaned up against the tall log at your backs. His boots slid a few inches in the blood-soaked dirt as he almost collapsed, but he dug his gloved fingers into the rigid bark and stood there shaking.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes,” you parroted his words from days ago back at him in an attempt to take his mind off the pain, and it seemed to work because he actually huffed out a strained-sounding chuckle.

“Hurry,” he panted, and you nodded as you quickly stepped away from him, stood over the bounty’s corpse, and shoved the barrel of your rifle between his shoulder and neck.

It was so dark, and you were running on so much adrenaline you couldn’t even be sure of what species the man used to be, but you pushed the thought away as you took a deep breath and held down the trigger.

The rifle screeched as it tore through flesh like a hot knife through butter, and you tried to ignore the feeling of lukewarm blood splattering across your lower legs. Moments later, the jittery, rapid-fire motions of the gun ceased, and the bounty’s head rolled away from the smoldering stump of his neck.

Bile rose up in your throat again, but you swallowed it down as you picked up the decapitated head and started punching buttons on your cuff.

Instantly, you heard the familiar hum of the child’s pod drone closer and closer, and behind you Mando inhaled sharply as the jungle dogs yipped in curiosity from the shadows.

“You brought the kid?” he growled.

“Well, it wasn’t like you left me much kriffing choice, but you can fire me later for child endangerment,” you snapped as the carrier floated down to stop in front of you. Then you turned to the Mandalorian and held out your bloodied hand. “I need your fibercord whip. Eject it.”

Mando didn’t even question you, he just did as he was bid. Within moments, you had the thin but strong wire wound up in your palm, and then you started the gory process of wrapping it securely around the bounty’s bloody head. Your stomach churned at the slick warm goo covering your skin, but you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth as you tapped at your wrist again.

The child’s pod opened with a hiss, and you made sure to lower the decapitated head so it was below the carrier and out of the foundling’s line of sight.

“Hey there, bud,” you said as you leaned down and tucked the end of the fibercord into the interior of the pod near the hinges. “Look who I found.”

The foundling cooed and gurgled happily when he caught sight of the Mandalorian, and he lifted his arms and made grabby motions at the bounty hunter.

“Not yet,” you said as you stepped forward and blocked Mando from view. “First, we need to get back to the ship, so I need to close you up again. Don’t worry about anything you hear, though, okay? I promise we’ll be fine.”

The child murmured a soft sound as you bent down and kissed his wrinkled brow, but then you tapped at your wrist, and the pod closed with another hiss, locking the wire with the dangling head in place. You keyed in a few more commands, and the carrier rose up high above you, hovering at least six meters off the ground. Blood dripped from the severed stump of the quarry’s neck as it dangled from the pod, and you flinched when a speck of it landed on your cheek. It might be disgusting, but this way, the child and the remainder of the bounty would hopefully be out of reach of any of the beasts, and you could focus all your energy on getting you and Mando back to the Razor Crest.

“Alright.” You tore your gaze away from the silver pod and shifted your grasp on the rifle, wedging the stock against your right shoulder as tight as you could. You knew your aim would be abysmal since you were going have to shoot one handed while dragging Mando, but you hoped the full-auto setting would grant you some leeway. “Let’s go.”

“You really should—” the Mandalorian started, but you clicked your tongue to cut him off.

“That wasn’t a request,” you said as you sidled up against the bounty hunter and double checked that his tourniquet was secure.

“Fine.” He reluctantly draped his right arm over your shoulder, and you wrapped your left one around his waist. Then the two of you pushed off the log at your backs, and you staggered forward several steps, trying not to trip on any dead jungle dogs.

Mando’s cold beskar felt like it was burning you wherever it brushed against your bare, hot flesh, and he groaned in your ear as he practically dragged his injured leg behind him. The agony of his voice made you want to stop and sprint forward all at the same time, but you settled for stumbling several more steps.

“That’s it,” you panted in encouragement. “One step at a time.”

The pack howled and shrieked as you painstakingly shuffled your way across the clearing, but you haphazardly aimed your rifle into the jungle and held down the trigger. Rapid-fire bolts of energy careened into the darkness, illuminating white eyes and flashes of twining vines and snarling beasts, but several yowls echoed through the night, so you knew you’d hit at least some of them.

“Mando,” you gritted out as you neared the tree line. “I need you to hit my cuff. There’s a button on the side that will turn up my headlamp. I want it at maximum. Since these bastards are nocturnal, I’m guessing they don’t like the light.”

The Mandalorian grunted something that sounded like an affirmative, and then his left hand was swatting blindly at your cuff. After fumbling for a moment, his thick, gloved fingers encircled your wrist, his thumb brushing faintly over your thudding pulse point.

Your feet nearly tangled beneath you, but then Mando found the button on your cuff, and he pressed on it until the lights at your temple were bright enough to blind. The beams of white light cut through the oppressive darkness of the jungle, and the canine creatures yelped in pain as they darted back into the shadows. You swung your gaze back and forth, your lamp dragging over the scenery like a burning laser, and the beasts whimpered as their tails disappeared into the bushes.

“Come on,” you groaned as you dragged Mando forward, and the two of you finally stumbled into the thick of the trees.

You didn’t know how much time passed as you and the Mandalorian struggled back to the ship. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes hours. The moon appeared frozen in the sky above your head, and more than once you had the thought that you were already dead, and this was some messed up version of an afterlife where you were tortured for eternity.

In the end, though, you knew you were alive.

If you weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Left,” Mando slurred in your ear, half draped over your back, and your feet stuttered as you swung both of you around to the left.

The rifle screeched as it fired off into the darkness, followed by the yelps of dying dogs, and you hissed as the stock dug into your already sore shoulder. The pack snarled and gurgled as they encircled you, but they were hesitant now that you’d killed a majority of them. You wondered why they just didn’t give up, but you realized they could most likely sense you weakening, slowing.

Sweat ran in rivers down your face and spine, and every tendon in your body felt like it was on the edge of snapping. You could tell Mando was trying to take some of his weight off you, but he was becoming more and more unsteady with each step, his breath jagged and uneven as it rasped out of his helmet. He probably wouldn’t remain conscious for much longer, and if he passed out before you reached the ship, you were both dead. You couldn’t fully carry him, and you would not even entertain the idea of leaving him, so it was all or nothing.

Either you both reached the ship together, or neither of you did.

But, as you glanced up at the child’s pod hovering high over your head, you knew the second choice wasn’t really an option. The kid needed you. Needed both of you.

So, you were going to kriffing live, even if you had to break your body down to achieve your goal.

“Come on,” you encouraged as you stumbled over a tree root. “Come on, Mando. We’re almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

You had no idea if you were almost there or not. The homing beacon on your cuff was beeping steadily, but with all the howling, and the blood pounding through your ears, you couldn’t approximate how close you were to the Razor Crest.

“I’m… trying,” Mando mumbled, lifting his head just slightly. “B-Behind us.”

You cursed under your breath, letting the rifle dangle against your chest as you fumbled at your waist. Your fingers curled around a cold, metal orb, and you clicked the button in its center before you lobbed the grenade over your shoulder with all the strength you had left, which wasn’t much.

Then you staggered forward a little faster, dragging the bounty hunter behind you, and five seconds later, you heard the stun grenade go off, followed by the crackling of static and the yelping of beasts.

“That’s my last… stun grenade,” you panted, and the hair on your arms stood on end with all the electricity in the moist air. “I have some explosive ones… but…”

“But we’re not fast enough to get out of range in time,” Mando finished for you, his helmet bumping into the crown of your head as he sagged a little more.

“Yeah,” you huffed, but then a crunch to your right had you whirling and firing in one motion.

The canine yipped and screeched as the energy bolts tore through its chest mid-lunge, and it crashed into the ground at your feet as you staggered into a tree. The bark scraped painfully across your bare shoulder blades, and Mando groaned as you almost lost your grip on him.

“No,” you growled, tightening your arm around the bounty hunter and tugging you both upright. “Dank… farrik!”

The muscles in your arm burned hotly from the strain of keeping the Mandalorian on his feet, and you bit through your tongue to keep from crying out, the metallic taste of blood coating your teeth and whetting your parched mouth.

You stumbled forward blindly as you tried to work through the pain, but all the sudden, the claustrophobic darkness caused by the towering trees lessened a few degrees. You thought you were hallucinating it at first, but then you lifted your head a fraction and realized the trees were thinning out ahead of you.

And the beacon in your cuff was beeping like mad.

You were almost there. The Razor Crest was so close.

Of course, that’s when the snarling behind you reached new frantic heights, and you knew the pack was gearing up for one final assault.

“Mando, listen to me,” you gasped as you shifted to shove him against a tree, using your palm to keep him rooted at the sternum and on his feet.

He groaned as he listed there, mumbling something that didn’t sound like it was in Basic, but he remained upright, so you seized the opportunity to jab at the screen on your wrist. A moment later, the child’s pod swooped down from where it had been hovering near the canopy, and the bounty’s head dragged against the jungle floor with a dull crunch. You tweaked the carrier’s settings half blind, one eye on the encroaching darkness and the beasts therein, and then you grabbed the floating orb and shoved it against Mando’s gut.

“Ugh,” the bounty hunter grunted, his feet starting to slide out from under him.

“No, lean forward,” you rushed out, grabbing one of his shoulders and tugging him toward you.

Mando moaned as he collapsed onto the child’s pod, but since you’d cranked up the carrier’s power output to the max, the bounty hunter didn’t crash to the ground. Instead, he hung there half suspended, the pod whirling angrily from his added weight, his feet limp and dragging behind him.

“Mando,” you said as you tapped the side of his helmet, eyes still on the shadowy trees. “Mando, I need you to hold onto that pod as tight as you can, okay? Can you hear me?”

“Hear… you,” the Mandalorian just barely breathed, and you saw his arms wrap around the bottom of the silver carrier.

“Hold on like your life depends on it,” you instructed as you tapped at your wrist again. “Because it does.”

“What—” he started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish the question because the pod was suddenly surging forward, in the direction of the ship. The bounty’s head and Mando’s feet dragged loudly against the ground, but with one last jolt of power, the pod lifted away from the jungle floor and began to float away.

The pod would probably have just enough power to get Mando back to the ship before it died, but that was fine. That was just what you needed.

The jungle dogs howled and shrieked as they watched the Mandalorian drifting away through the trees, but as you listened to them start to skirt around you in his direction, you finally gripped the rifle with two hands and aimed into the dark.

Then you pulled the trigger, full-auto, and the shrieking of the energy bolts collided with the screeching of the canines and crescendoed into a deafening cacophony. You sprayed the jungle in wide sweeps as you slowly started to walk backward toward the Razor Crest, the rifle stock jolting into your shoulder in time with your racing heart. You just needed to give Mando time to reach the ship. You had programmed the pod to open the ramp at a certain distance, so they would just fly on into the cargo bay, and it would close behind them. Once they were safe, you could make a break for it and—

Suddenly, one of the shadows broke away from the trunk directly to your right, and you turned too late to see it was a slavering beast, its bifurcated jaw wide open and aimed for your throat.

“Ahh!” You stumbled back, trying to crane away from those jagged black fangs, but your feet got tangled up beneath you, and you came crashing down. A root slammed into one of your rear ribs so hard you heard and felt the snap as the bone gave, but you didn’t even have time to register that pain before the jungle dog smashed into your chest.

You instinctively shoved your arms outward, wedging the rifle between those deadly, snapping jaws. One of the beast’s jagged fangs scraped down your forearm as you tried to keep the bastard from swallowing you whole, and you screamed in fury and pain as blood spilled from your rending flesh.

Then you brought your knee up and smashed it as hard as you could into the jungle dog’s ribcage, and this time you felt its rib snap, and grim satisfaction burned like a wildfire through your blood. The warmth filled your limbs until you thought you would burst into flame, and you kicked the beast again and again as it yipped.

You were just starting to think you had the upper hand when the creature’s jaw started to close with a creaking sound of bone on metal, and your eyes widened in horror as the canine jerked its head back, taking your rifle with it. Then its bifurcated jaw snapped close with a horrible crunch, and the rifle shattered into shards of metal and sparks.

The beast roared in pain and rage as it tossed the remains of your rifle aside, but now you were acting on pure survival instinct, not thought, not logic, and you were already wrenching two grenades and a vibroknife off your belt when the nightmare dog finally settled its four milky white eyes on your face.

“Eat this, you bastard,” you snarled as its terrible jaws, rowed with serrated teeth, descended on you.

Then with one hand you stabbed the vibroknife into its neck just above the shoulder, and with the other you activated the grenades and shoved both of them down the jungle dog’s throat.

Warm blood sprayed down on you like humid rainfall, and you twisted the blade in to the hilt, feeling as it tore through flesh in a jittery fashion. The creature gagged and gurgled as its throat muscles convulsed around your other wrist for just an instant, but then you yanked your arms back with all your might, teeth catching on your elbow again, before you crashed into the dirt.

You were scrambling up in the next instant, barely listening to the creature heaving and choking behind you as you staggered forward into a clumsy sprint.

The rest of the pack howled at your back, but you were flat out running now, and you could see the Razor Crest through the trees. The pounding of paws on dirt sounded at your heels, and you couldn’t tell if you were gasping for breath or sobbing as you tore the final grenades off your belt, activated them, and let them fall through your numb fingers.

In the next instant, you broke through the tree line, and you could see the ramp of the Razor Crest, closing. You slapped at your wrist blindly as you sprinted as fast as you could, lungs heaving to the point of seizures, legs at the point of collapse. You didn’t know if the dogs were still right behind you, but the grenades…

You must have finally hit the right command because the ramp suddenly shuddered before it started to lower again, and you were ten meters away when the grenades went off like dominoes falling.

The first two explosions—of the grenades you shoved into the jungle dog—only shook the ground hard enough to make you stumble forward, but then the rest of them detonated much closer, and the combined shockwave hit you moments later and catapulted you into the air.

Thankfully, the ramp was just low enough that you scraped over it and crashed into the ship, smashing into a bulkhead with a dull crunch. The howling shrieks of dying dogs reached you through the ringing in your ears, and you felt a wave of heat hit you as the grenades engulfed the jungle trees. You curled into a ball on the cargo bay floor, your back to the ramp, and you just barely had the presence of mind to tap at your wrist one last time. A moment later, you heard the whirling of the ramp closing, and when it clanked shut a moment later, you rolled over onto your back and stared blindly above you.

You could just barely hear the roar of the building wildfire outside the ship, and the screeching of the jungle dogs died down within seconds. Your entire body—your lungs, your heart—heaved up and down as adrenaline pulsed through you like a bad hit of spice, and your ears ached in the relative silence.

Then the child cooed, and Mando groaned weakly, and you jolted upright like you had just been struck by lightning.

“Mando,” you rasped, flipping over onto your raw hands and bruised knees.

The bounty hunter half-sat, half-sprawled on the floor at the foot of his bunk. The foundling’s pod lay askew on the ground in front of the fresher like it had crash landed there when it finally died, but the child stood unharmed beside the Mandalorian.

Who was currently bleeding out on the floor of the cargo bay.

“Kriff!” You scrambled forward when you saw the spreading stain of blood below his leg, and as you drew closer, you realized his tourniquet must have been loosened when he collapsed.        

The Mandalorian barely even seemed conscious at this point. His chest stirred only slightly beneath his beskar chest plate, and if it weren’t for the soft groans he was exhaling, you would have thought him dead.

“Mando!” you shouted as you shakily rose onto your feet and staggered the rest of the way to the fresher. Your hands were shaking as you tore one of the storage compartments open in search of a med kit, and your voice cracked when you said his name again. “Mando! Stay with me. We made it back. We’re on the ship. Just stay with me for a few more moments. Please.”

You crashed down onto your knees beside the bounty hunter, tearing the med kit open with bloody hands and broken nails. His helmeted head lolled onto the edge of the bunk behind him, and you could barely hear his raspy breaths through the modulator.

The child stood between Mando’s splayed boots, eyes large and frightened, but you couldn’t pay him any mind right now. Your frantic gaze darted between the bacta gel patch in your hand and Mando’s bleeding leg, and even though it felt crazy, you set the patch down for a moment and reached for the last vibroknife on your belt.

Suddenly, Mando jerked awake with a gasp, and you reached out without thinking, pressing your left palm over his heart and feeling his faint, fluttering pulse.

“Mando, I’m right here,” you murmured soothingly. “Keep breathing for me.”

The Mandalorian muttered your name as his head lolled toward you.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m here,” you said, rising up on your knees and leaning over him. The vibroknife glimmered in your hand, looking like a real-life glitch, but you shook off the unsettling feeling and fixed your eyes on Mando’s visor.

“Mesh’la,” the Mandalorian slurred. The word was soft and elongated to the point of sounding like gibberish, but his hand settled firmly on the wrist you still had pressed to his heart, like he was talking directly to you.

In any other situation, your own heart would be fluttering with a feeling you didn’t want to name, but as the bounty hunter’s blood started to soak into the knees of your pants, all you could feel was dread.

“I need you to stay still, okay?” you said as you dropped your hand from his chest to grip the top of his injured thigh. “I need to cut your pants away from the wound.”

“O… kay,” he muttered, and his hand fell to settle over yours again on his leg like he was grounding himself by touching you.

“Nice and easy,” you cooed, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes so you could see to cut through his pants and not his flesh. “I’ll have that bacta patch on in just a moment. Why don’t you talk to me, huh? Mando, talk to me. Tell me something. J-Just stay awake.”

“Aw…ake,” he whispered, but it sounded like he was just repeating you now, barely clinging to consciousness.

Your hand shook as you slowly sawed through the blood-soaked fabric, and an aborted sob rose in your throat. But you shoved your hysteria down, down, down, you had no time for it, you had to stay level-headed, steady-handed, Mando was counting on you, Mando was dying.

“Mando,” you choked as you finally pulled the cloth away from his wound. Three parallel gashes, each nearly five centimeters deep, ran from his hip crease and nearly all the way to his knee, and blood pulsed sluggishly from the wounds in crimson gobs. “Oh, Maker, Mando.”

You dropped the vibroknife with a loud clang as you lunged for the bacta patch, and out of your peripherals you could see the child waddling closer, standing in between the Mandalorian’s knees, the hem of his little robe slowly staining scarlet. You didn’t have the heart or the strength to shove the child away now, so instead you focused on settling the bacta patch over the bounty hunter’s grisly injuries.

Mando twitched and inhaled sharply as the bacta adhered to his skin, and you sent up a million prayers to the Maker that you had administered aid in time.

“There y-you go,” you sniffled, unable to stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks now. “I got the patch on, Mando. You’re going t-to be okay. You… you have to be okay. Do you hear me, Mando?”

You felt like a glitching holotape repeating his name over and over, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You wanted, no needed, him to stay awake, and every time you said his name, he seemed to jerk a little, like he’d been recalled from a long distance at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, there was only the faint, raspy wheeze of the Mandalorian’s breath through his helmet, but then he suddenly mumbled something.

“What?” You shuffled closer, slipping in blood. You practically had your ear pressed against his visor. “What was that, Mando? Say it again. Come on, talk to me, Mando.”

“Not… Mando.”

The words were stilted, sluggish, and you frowned in confusion. “Huh? I-I don’t understand.”

“My… name isn’t… Mando,” the bounty hunter struggled out, and his helmet tilted forward a fraction like he had lifted his head and was looking right at you. “It’s… Din. Din Djarin.”

The shock you felt was muted, distant and removed, like a crack that formed deep in the heart of a glacier, buried beneath the adrenaline, horror, and helplessness warring within you.

“Din,” you breathed, and the word somehow tasted like the exact moment Peli dug out your transmitter chip. It tasted like freedom, like infinite possibility, and you didn’t understand why.

Mando—no, Din, Din Djarin—exhaled heavily as his head thunked back against the bunk, and even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell his eyes were slipping closed. “I… wanted at least someone to know before I—”

“No,” you cut him off vehemently, reaching out to cradle the sides of his helmet like you were cupping his face. “No, you’re not going to die. Not now. Not when… no, do you hear me, Din Djarin? I will not allow you to die. Not when I worked my ass off to fix this ship and drag you back onto it by the skin of my kriffing teeth.”

“Mmmm.” Din’s head lolled in your grasp, the weight of him growing heavier and heavier. “I knew I would like the way… you say my name.”

Oh, Maker. He was nonsensical now, and terror gripped you by the throat and squeezed.

“Then stay awake, Din,” you begged, and your heart felt like it was on the edge of a great precipice. “Stay awake for me.”

“’m so… tired,” he sighed.

“I know,” you breathed as you guided his head back to rest against the bunk, and you couldn’t speak above a whisper because your voice was thick with tears. “I know, but just listen to my voice, Din. Just—”

You trailed off as the child suddenly waddled into your line of sight, and you dropped your gaze slightly to find him standing between the Mandalorian’s thighs, right next to the bacta covered wounds. The foundling stared up at the bounty hunter with a furrowed, seemingly determined expression, and then he closed his big brown eyes as he reached for Din’s leg.

“Oh, buddy, don’t,” you started, reaching out to stop him, but Din—Maker, his name felt delicious and forbidden even in your mind—weakly placed his hand on your wrist to stop you.

“It’s… okay,” he panted. “He can help.”

“Help?” You frowned down at the child. How could he help? Was this one of the “powers” the bounty hunter had vaguely mentioned before? You thought the foundling’s ability dealt with physically moving things, not healing, but honestly you could do for a miracle right about now.

The child gurgled a small noise as his three fingers settled over Din’s wound, and the Mandalorian inhaled sharply at the same time that you felt… something. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like the very air shifted, became magnetic, charged somehow. The air stilled in your lungs as you feared even the barest breath would fracture this fragile spell you were bearing witness to, and you watched with wide eyes as the gashes on the bounty hunter’s legs began to close right in front of you.

Bacta worked fast… but not that fast.

Several still, endless seconds passed as the foundling healed the Mandalorian, but then just as soon as it began, the moment ended. The atmosphere snapped almost tangibly, time jolted back into motion, and the child suddenly started to pitch backward.

“Oh!” you gasped as you lunged forward, your hands cupping the baby and bringing him close to your body. The foundling’s eyes were closed, his face slack, but his little chest still moved up and down with breath.

“He’s okay.”

You snapped your head up, more tears spilling down your cheeks with the motion.

Din was sitting up a little straighter, and his helmet looked squarely at you. His voice sounded stronger, too, and you gaped at him in bewilderment.

“He’s okay,” the Mandalorian repeated when you continued to blink at him. “He usually… tires himself out when he uses his powers.”

“I d-didn’t know he could do that,” you breathed, and your tongue felt like a disembodied lump of flesh in your mouth. “I… wait, how do you feel? A-Are you okay?”

You suddenly realized how close you still were to the bounty hunter, practically kneeling in his lap, but you ignored this as your eyes darted back to his leg. It was a little hard to tell through the dried blood and blue bacta, but it looked like the three gashes had closed altogether, leaving behind faint pink lines.

“I’ll survive,” the bounty hunter sighed, thunking his head back against the bunk again, but he tilted it to the side to regard you still. “Thanks to you.”

“I-I’m not the one who just healed you with magic,” you stuttered incredulously as your cheeks flared hot, and you cuddled the child against your chest even though you realized you knew almost nothing about the apparently powerful foundling.

“No,” Mando said evenly, “but you did charge out into a dark, unknown, dangerous jungle, fight off a pack of wild dogs, and drag both me and the bounty back safely.”

“Well,” you snorted with an edge of hysteria in your voice, and you gestured to the discarded head that lay sprawled against the corner of the fresher. “I don’t know if I’d say he got here safely.”

Maker, you felt a little crazy, hollowed out and wrung dry by the sheer amount of emotions you’d just experienced in a span of a few minutes.

“I’m serious,” the Mandalorian replied. “You… saved my life. I am in your debt.”

“I-I’m not one for debts.” You shook your head to try and clear it, dropping your gaze to the foundling’s face, nuzzled against your sternum. “I don’t like to owe anyone or be owed. You’ve stuck your neck out for me before, so let’s just call it even… Din.”

You saw the bounty hunter freeze out of the corner of your eye, and you bit your cheek until you tasted blood.

You should have known that was too much to ask for.

“Sorry,” you muttered, peeking up at the Mandalorian through your lashes. “You… mentioned your name when you were—”

“I remember,” Mando said, cutting you off, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression hidden as always and his voice pitched in a way you didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, feeling the adrenaline starting to drain out of you and be replaced by every ache and pain you had ignored in lieu of survival. “Of course, I can just forget about it. You weren’t exactly in your right mind, after all. I’ll just… using ‘Mando’ is fine for me.”

The Mandalorian’s visor stared you down unflinchingly for what felt like an eternity. Then…

“You can… use my name, if you like,” he said haltingly, then quickly amended himself. “But only when we’re alone, on the ship. I… my name could be a dangerous thing in the hands of my enemies.”

You blinked in shock at the bounty hunter.

“A-Are you sure?” you asked, and you tried to keep the hope out of your voice, but you knew you failed miserably. “O-Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You’d thought giving up his name had just been a delusional, dying declaration, and you didn’t want him to regret it. What you said had been true enough. You were fine using “Mando,” even if the traitorous feelings buried deep in your chest said otherwise.

“I’m sure.” The bounty hunter nodded minutely. “I… trust you.”

The admission flooded your whole body with warmth, and goosebumps broke out across your skin. You’d known the Mandalorian trusted you, he wouldn’t have left his ship or his foundling in your care otherwise, but hearing him say the words felt like something out of a dream.

“Okay, then.” You smiled, heart thudding against where the child was pressed into your chest. “Din.”

At the sound of his name, the tension in the Mandalorian’s worn body seemed to bleed out of him entirely, and he sighed as his helmet fell back again.

“Let’s get off this Maker-forsaken planet,” he grumbled.

“I second that,” you chuckled dryly before you slowly clambered to your feet, careful not to slip in Din’s tacky blood or jostle the sleeping baby in your arms. You very gingerly leaned over the prone Mandalorian to set the foundling in his hammock, but you hissed when the movement jarred the bruised or fractured rib in your back.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked below you, and he was so close you could feel the rumble of his modulated voice against the bare skin of your stomach, your tank top having lifted up a fraction.

“Nothing.” You took a quick step backward, trying to put distance between you and the bounty hunter, but now that he was no longer actively dying, you were starting to realize you were a little more beat up then you’d previously thought.

The moment you stepped back on your right leg, your hamstring seized up, and when you went to grab at it, you realized your fingers were a little numb. You glanced down and saw fresh blood dripping down your forearm—your blood, not Mando’s—and the sight of the wound seemed to flip a switch in your brain because a moment later, pain crashed over you like a wave.

“Dank farrik,” Mando cursed lowly as he tried to shove himself up.

“No, no, no, no,” you babbled, holding out your less injured left hand in a gesture to stop him. “Don’t get up so fast.”

“You’re hurt,” he grunted, and you could practically hear the scowl in his voice as he tilted his helmet back to stare at you. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you stressed, even though you could still taste blood on the back of your tongue. “Also, you seriously have no room to talk. You were literally just bleeding out less than five minutes ago.”

“How much bacta do we have left?” he asked, completely ignoring your statement. “We should take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“Maker, you’re not even listening to me, are you?” You rolled your eyes as you leaned your shoulder against the bulkhead, but when the Mandalorian started to get up again, you held your hand out once more. “Alright! Alright. Let me at least set the coordinates to meet up with the client and get the ship in the air. I’m pretty sure the jungle is burning down around us as we speak anyway, so the sooner we lift off, the better.”

Din stared up at you silently for a moment like he wanted to argue.

“It will take me two minutes, max,” you reasoned with him. “I won’t pass out or die in that time frame, okay?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “Just… be careful climbing up there.”

“I’ll try my best,” you snorted, wincing when pain flared through your body, but you still slowly made your way to the ladder.

It took you way longer to climb five rungs than it should have, but you thought not falling back into the cargo bay was a feat in itself, given how every muscle in your arms and legs twitched in pain. The blood pouring down your arm also did nothing to help your grip, nor did your scraped up palms, but you still made it into the cockpit relatively unscathed.

Dawn was just breaking beyond the windows, but you could barely see it through the black smoke that hung thick in the air. Guilt sat heavy in your chest as you saw the charred trees and the birds fleeing the flames overhead, but you told yourself you did what you had to in order to survive.

And it wasn’t like you were walking away scot-free, either. Your arm pounded painfully in time with your slowing pulse, and every time you took a deep breath, you became a little surer that the rib in your back was, in fact, broken.

You punched in the client’s rendezvous coordinates without sitting in the pilot’s chair since you knew if you sat down now there was no way you were getting back up. While you waited for the Razor Crest to power up, you cringed at the blood you were dripping all over the floor, but there was nothing for it at this point. The whole ship would need a thorough scrub down the next time you made a pit stop, but that was a future-you problem. Right now, you were mainly focused on getting off this planetoid and out into orbit without crashing and burning.

You held your breath as the pre-Empire ship rose up above the now smoldering jungle, but no warning alarms or messages sounded. The Razor Crest glided steadily upward, and you leaned heavily on the control panel as you breeched first the clouds and then the atmosphere. Entering orbit rattled the ship and you more than you cared for, but nothing broke off or burst into flame, and before you knew it, you were drifting through the familiar black void of space.

“Thank the kriffing Maker,” you sighed as the autopilot took over, and then you turned and shuffled back to the ladder, exhaustion starting to make the edges of your vision go fuzzy.

Or maybe that was blood loss?

You were a little less graceful with the descent than you were with the ascent, but you at least landed on your feet before you nearly collapsed into the fresher.

“Careful,” Mando’s modulated voice murmured, and suddenly his bare hand was on your left, uninjured elbow, skin against warm skin.

“What are… you doing up?” You frowned as you studied the Mandalorian, trying to make sense of what you were seeing as he led you to sit in the open mouth of his bunk.

“I told you,” he said, reaching over and grabbing another med kit from the fresher. “We need to take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“You should be resting,” you grumbled, but you were too tired to put any real heat behind your voice.

“I’m fine,” Din parroted your earlier proclamation back at you. “The kid did a thorough job.”

Then the bounty hunter sat on a crate before you, a crate that hadn’t been there before, and you realized he was no longer wearing a majority of his beskar, save the ever-present helmet, of course. Instead, a faded but clean pair of duraweave clothes covered his body, and the bloodied outfit you’d basically sliced off him was piled up between his feet. It also looked like he had haphazardly tried to mop up some of his blood with the dirty clothes, and you wondered if you’d been up in the cockpit longer than you thought.

“Hey,” you chuckled suddenly, and you distantly noted that your voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. “Looks like I’ll have some new rags after all.”

You giggled a little loopily as you gestured to the Mandalorian’s blood-soaked clothes and then to the blood and dirt your outfit was also currently coated in, but Mando didn’t seem as amused as you were.

“Let me see your arm,” he said as his helmet stared at you impassively, but then he paused and added, “Please.”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tried to argue as you held out your injured limb, but since it was still actively dripping blood, your words didn’t carry much weight. Then the bounty hunter gingerly gripped your wrist with tentative fingers, and you hissed through your teeth as pain lanced up your arm.

“Osik,” Din cursed in a language you didn’t recognize, slowly rotating your arm to take in the extent of the damage. “Did one of those dogs get you? The bastard almost flayed you to the bone in some spots.”

“Yeah, well I shoved two grenades down his throat, so I think we’re even,” you gritted out.

Din froze and lifted his head, your blood, sweat, and dirt-streaked face reflecting back at you from his visor. “You what?” 

He must have really been on death’s door if he didn’t notice or remember you literally blowing the jungle dogs to Tatooine and back, but you just shook your head.

“Story time later,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. “Bacta time now, please.”

“Right.” Mando jerked back into action, and in the next moment he was shifting into medic-droid mode.

Few words were shared between you two as the Mandalorian tended to your bumps and scrapes. Beside the deep lacerations on your forearm, your palms and knees were scraped bloody from tripping your way through a dangerous jungle in the dead of night. Your upper back was in the same condition since you’d been wearing a tank top when you decided to grapple with blood-thirsty hounds, and when Din accidentally brushed against your lower back, a small whimper squeezed out between your clenched teeth.

“This rib is probably broken,” the bounty hunter said, and there was a heavy quality to his quiet voice.

“Thought as much,” you grunted, trying to sit up straight without breathing too deeply. “Too bad we don’t have a full bacta tank to soak in.”

“I could always… drop you back off on Tatooine,” Mando muttered. “With the payment that I owe you, of course. Should be enough to pay for a full treatment and then some.”

You froze sitting there in the doorway of his bunk. The Mandalorian wasn’t looking at you, too busy double checking the bandage he’d wrapped over the bacta on your forearm, but you could see how rigid his body was as he awaited your answer.

“Do you… want to drop me back off on Tatooine?” you asked hesitantly, the breath shallow in your lungs. You could hear the child snoring softly in the hammock directly behind your head, and the thought of leaving him opened a dark pit inside you.

And that was nothing to say of the thought of leaving the Mandalorian. Of leaving… Din.

Now that you knew his name, the feelings you had done your best to ignore came surging up to the surface, that little voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He told you his name. He trusts you. He wants you here. Maybe he wants you for more than just your skills.

You shoved the thoughts away as quickly as they cropped up, but that didn’t stop something small and fragile from unfurling in your chest. You almost wanted to call it hope.

“I—” Mando started, stopped, fidgeted on his crate, and then sighed as he scooted back a little to stretch out his injured leg. “No, I don’t want to do that. You’re a talented mechanic and… good company. I’ve… enjoyed having you on my crew.”

“Oh.” You blushed as the breath whooshed out of your lungs, leaving you feeling lightheaded and buoyant. “T-Thank you. Current circumstances notwithstanding, I’ve enjoyed being on your crew, too. A-And not just for the payment. Seeing new worlds, as dangerous as they are, was something I never thought I’d get to experience. So, even if the price to pay is a few bumps and scrapes, I think that’s a fair deal.”

“You have a skewed idea of ‘fair,’” the Mandalorian chuckled dryly as he reached down beside him, picked up a pair of his gloves, and slipped them back on.

“No kriff,” you snorted, the scar on the nape of your neck tingling. “But it works out in your favor, so I wouldn’t question it too much.”

“Fine.” Din held up his hands, but then he lowered them to his knees and cocked his head at you.

“What?” you asked when he didn’t say anything for a full minute. His gaze made your skin prickle even if you couldn’t see his eyes, and with each passing moment, you grew acutely more and more aware of how dirty and disheveled you looked and felt.

“Nothing,” he said, fingers flexing against his knees. “Just… thank you. Again. For saving me, the kid, the bounty, and the ship.” 

You fidgeted in discomfort. You didn’t know what to do with praise and compliments, having never really received them before, so you shrugged your shoulders as you picked at the bandage on your arm.

“I told you, we’re even,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” he argued, and something about his tone told you he wasn’t going to let this go. “So, how about this: after we drop off this bounty with the client, you can pick the next planet we stop on.”

“Really?” Your eyes flicked up to the bounty hunter and widened. He’d never let you pick a destination before. You’d always just been along for the ride.

Mando nodded. “And make a list of parts and stuff you need to keep the ship running. We’ll stock up wherever we stop off next.”

“Okay.” You grinned as your heart did a little jig in your chest, and you stuck out your bacta-wrapped hand to shake on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Din Djarin.”

His name rolled off your tongue like a grain of sand spiraling down a dune, picking up momentum as it went, and it sent a shiver of pleasure straight down your spine. You knew you were playing a losing game with your own heart here, but as you stared into Mando’s visor, you also knew there was no stopping yourself now. You would just have to deal with the future heartbreak.  

The Mandalorian tentatively reached out and grasped your fingers in his gloved ones.

“Deal,” he rumbled back.

“Good.” You nodded as a yawn cracked open your jaw, and you reached up to cover your gaping mouth and scratch your nose. “Now, given the client’s rendezvous coordinates, we should have a few days of rest before we reach our destination, and if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to start right now by taking a well-deserved nap.”

You made to stand up, but Din gently placed his hand on your shoulder to keep you seated on the edge of the bunk.

“Take the cot,” he said as he nodded behind you. “I’m going up to the cockpit to send a message to the client anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you murmured around another yawn.

“I’m sure,” he said, but then his gloved fingers were suddenly ghosting over the bridge of your nose. “By the way, you’ve got a little grease right here. Just thought you should know.”

You went cross-eyed as you tried to draw his finger into focus, but when he stepped back, you noticed the fingertips of his glove were shiny, and glancing down at the hand you used to shake his revealed that your palm bore the same black sheen.

“Hey, this is your grease,” you muttered indignantly, but then Din was pressing gently on your shoulder, guiding you to lay back on the cot, and you went willingly.

“Get some rest,” he said, turning off the bunk lights. “We’ll worry about cleaning up later.”

You tried to grumble something, but exhaustion was starting to tug at your limbs and eyelids, and your body unwound bit by bit as you buried your face in the bounty hunter’s pillow with no remorse.

A moment later, Mando’s boots were clomping up the ladder to the cockpit, but he left some of the cargo bay lights on and the door to the bunk open, like he somehow knew you were afraid of the dark.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips, but you spiraled into sleep before you could fully process the thought.

#din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian/reader #pedro pascal #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #my writings

[totallypathet]

UK Episode Five

UK Hun?

I know I haven't at all talked about Drag Race UK this season, but I have ~opinions~ and my flatmate is getting bored of me so here we are.

First episode back after lockdown! I feel so bad for these queens, started filming, get sent home for seven months, have no idea if/when they're going to start filming again, lose income for 7 months, it must have been so awful. But I'm glad they're all back! Except poor Veronica who got covid - I hope they do a Eureka and invite her back for season 3, I feel like she had so much more to show!

Of course they brought someone back to replace her, typical drag race gag, but nice that someone else got another chance! Having said that, it should have been Astina. She didn't deserve to go home in the first place, imo. I do think it was kind of harsh to throw that at everyone first thing though! Like the eliminated three didn't get to do anything to even fight for it, and for all the remaining queens, like its been seven months! Who remembers things that long?? Not me, that's for damn sure. I think that was kind of harsh, and I think a lot of people did go for Joe maybe as a safe choice, like there's always an argument for the queen who went home first, they didn't really get to show much. You know what I wish, I wish those three had been a group for the Eurovision (I refuse to say Rurovision) challenge, and then everyone got a chance to vote someone back. That would have felt fairer somehow.

Anyway. I was initially really glad we got Joe back, because I really felt like she did have more to show. I was soon to be disappointed, however 😂

I do love the music challenges, and I adore MNEK, I hope he is like the permanent music judge. One of my favourite moments was him, I think it was after Bimini's first take, going "well...its good that we have that..." very like Chrissy Teigen 😬 that was so funny to me, I loved it.

1. A'Whora

Before the covid break I really didn't like A'Whora, but I feel like she's come back a bit more relaxed, a bit more open, and I liked her so much more this episode. I feel like maybe when she came back she was a bit more relaxed because she knew (kind of) what she was walking into, so she felt a but more at home, maybe. Anyway, I think she did really well this week! She's not a singer, but she leaned into this moany sexy thing that some people do do at Eurovision, and hey, sex sells! I think it was a smart choice for her.

Her look as well... amazing. You guys it was a bag of chips! She had wooden forks as her earrings! The font of the newspaper was to scale! She was carrying a salt shaker! It was so sick, I loved it. I loved seeing her be fashion and polished and beautiful, but also whimsy and funny at the same time! Great week for A'Whora.

2. Bimini Bon Boulash

We LOOOOOOOVE Bimini Bon Boulash! For me, she was the absolute stand out this week, I just adored her! Her verse was amazing, her lyrics were great, her very East London attitude was everything, I just loved it. And her outfit! That mad pink cowboy barbie? Incredible! Also, so Eurovision. And the jump off the stool! That lives in my head rent free. "Somebody do a death drop or summing!" Perfect. The whole performance was amazing.

Also her runway looooooook! It was so beautiful, so fashion, I was getting Gautier from that lace and the umbrella... everything about it to me was so perfect. I know it was a team win, but to me Bimini absolutely killed it, and she was my winner 🥰🥰

3. Ellie Diamond

I love Ellie, but honestly I think she's too young for this competition. She's so great, but if you give her just a couple more years, she's going to be absolutely unstoppable. I think she did pretty well this week, her lyrics were fun, she is a dancer, she performed great! I do agree with Michelle, she did look a little bit like she was in her head for a lot of the performance, but that just comes with confidence, and when you've not performed for 7 months and then suddenly you're on the main stage, that's got to be super nerve wracking!

I also think Ellie was a victim of a bad group this week. I think the group as a whole didn't have a lot of direction or focus, the choreography wasn't that great, they didn't really feel like a group. It was unfortunate. I feel like she did the best she could.

I kind of loved her runway, I think the seagull thing was hilarious! She was a human size seagull! That's hysterical. The only thing I kind of wish is that she'd had ridiculous padding on. Like, what's funnier than a giant seagull with huge tits in a bikini. I think that's so funny.

4. Joe Black

Oh Joe. I was excited for Joe to come back, but as soon as she walked out to the Eurovision challenge in that dress with that wig and a belt, I knew it was over.

I'll get into the dress H&M/Primark drama in a second, but first let's talk about the actual challenge. Joe's lyrics were pretty good, but the way she performed them was just so at odds with the track. It's cheesy Euro pop, you know? I just feel like she could have done things differently. And then with the choreo...look I don't expect anyone to walk in being a great dancer and doing flips and splits and all that, but I just felt like she didn't even really try with the moves Ellie and Tia wanted to do. Maybe that was the edit, I don't know. I also feel like, as team leader, she could have found some solutions, like they could've had Tia & Ellie doing these amazing moves, and Sister & Joe could have done something more simple, or they could have found some comedy Joe could lean into while the others were dancing, but it just seemed like they didn't even try and find a way around it? It was just a bit weird to me.

And then she came out for the runway, and it was like chalk and cheese. Joe Black had by far and away the best runway look of the night. That's one of my favourite things that's ever been worn on UK Drag Race, it was amazing. But it was also like girl if you can do that, why were you wearing H&M during the main challenge? And like, I'd get it, if that dress was beautiful, or bold, or she'd used it as a base and done something to it, but it wasn't. It was so basic, and she even said she knew it was basic, and it didn't even fit her right. It was just so disappointing.

Honestly, I understand what Ru was saying about not wanting to see off the rack. I can't believe I'm about to be defending Transphobia Paul, but I actually kind of agree. And it's not about money, I don't think anyone has to spend loads of money to be a good drag queen, I think its just about it being a Look. A Moment. Like this is internationally available TV. And you're going to come out to perform in a dress off the sale rack that you just threw on and belted? I just find that disappointing. And I get what people are saying about Astina in week 1 winning with an off the rack outfit, but at least she did something with it. I mean, first of all it at least was a cool jacket. But then she built this outfit, and sold a character, she gave us an East London Moment, and it didn't matter that the jacket was from ASOS.

Joe didn't give us anything with that dress. She did nothing with it, and she didn't give us a character or a presentation, it was just an ugly dress. But then she came out in that incredible runway look, why such a disconnect? And I know that it was covid, and everyone had a loss of income, but girl the filming started before that. Like Joe should have already had the wardrobe for the season all ready before the lockdown. And if she didn't, she had 7 months to do literally anything with that dress. Stone it, glitter it, paint it, dye it, wreck it with bleach, make it a top, make it a jacket, do SOMETHING! You know? Also, that runway look? Idk if she made it or commissioned it, but baby that was not cheap. That took time, and energy, and effort, and money, so I'm calling bullshit on "maybe she could only afford a sale rack H&M dress 😔". Bullshit, Vivienne.

I was just so disappointed in Joe. I'm glad she went home.

5. Lawrence Chaney

I was worried for Lawrence this week! She's not known for being a singer or a dancer, and she was the only plus size girl in her group. As a big bitch myself I know it can be intimidating to be surrounded by thin people, especially when you're doing things you're not confident in.

But bitch she fucking turned it out this week! She wrote good lyrics, she kept up with the choreography, but most importantly, she performed the song. Like she leaned into not being a good dancer, she didn't look unsure or awkward, she just did it. I love that about Lawrence, she always just gives it her best, and I respect the hell out of it.

Her day at the seaside look was cute. It was a little bit obvious, a little bit literal, but it was well made, it fit her beautifully, and she looked fantastic. She did the assignment, and tbh I'm happy with that. She did a good job, and I'm proud of her!

6. Sister Sister

Honesly, the fact that Tia Kofi was in the bottom two when Sister Sister was right there is a fucking hate crime.

I genuinely forgot Sister Sister even existed. Like the only memorable thing she has done all season is her Morning Talk Show goth, and that was painful to watch. And she spends all her confessionals just bitching and moaning about other people! She spent the whole Talk Show episode complaining about Veronica and saying she didn't wanna work with her, but bitch what did you do?? If you think someone else is boring, you should have no trouble out shining them! And then she didn't!

I'm over it with her. Her performance wasn't that good, her lyrics weren't that good, and then her runway look was like the Wish version of A'Whora's.

I'm not totally certain that I buy that Sister stole it as a concept from A'Whora, but... maybe? Like, if Sister had really seen A'Whora's when they were filming the first time, and Sister had something totally different back then... I can see that maybe she thought "oh, thats a way better idea". All I know is, if you're gonna do the same look as someone else, you better leave them in the dust; and she didn't. She should have been lipsyncing this week.

7. Tayce

Tayce really pulled it out this week! Her rap was one of the best performances in the whole show, she killed it! Her lyrics were great, she really delivered them like a rapper, and them she performed the hell out of the song! Loved it. The only things I had to say about Tayce was that she seemed like the odd one out in the group in terms of outfits? Like everyone else went very Eurovision, cheesy pop pink, and she went with a very cool, edgy, darker look. Like, she looked stunning, and I looooved her hair, but it just didn't quite fit with the rest of the group. But that's a real nitpick, in terms of the actual performance, she was amazing!

Tayce's runway look. It was okay. It was a little bit literal for me, she went for shells and netting. It was cool, she looked beautiful, but it wasn't like a knockout for me.

8. Tia Kofi

Tia got a raw fucking deal this week. She was the best performer in her group by a country fucking mile, she had the best lyrics, she was the best rapper, and I think she looked the best out of the four in that group (during during challenge). I could not believe they put her in the bottom two.

Okay, her runway look was not great. It was a long way from great. But at least she had a unique concept (*cough* Sister), and she gave us some form of presentation. It could have been a lot better, but there was potential! I really wish that she'd had a much more defined look, I wish the skirt had been a high waisted pencil skirt, with some kind of cone-like texture somehow, really fitted and beautiful. And then I wish the top had been really big and over the top ruffles, maybe tulle, just something BIG. And that wouldn't have had to be expensive, you can buy cheap pencil skirts, she could have dyed one brown herself, and then she could have bought that cheap mesh that looks like tulle and made a really big rounded ice cream top out of it - I'm just proving my point about Joe Black and the off the rack thing now btw. But I wish it had just been a bit more considered than it was. And I also wish she'd had a flake head piece instead of a cherry, because when you buy those ice creams at the beach it's always a 99.

One thing I will give Tia's runway this week is that her face was stunning. I think that's the best her face has looked all season, the makeup was beautiful.

There was kind of a lot of drama this week with the whole off the rack thing, and then the A'Whora vs Sister Sister conspiracy, and I kind of loved it! I also really enjoyed this challenge, I feel like they've had much better and more interesting challenges on the UK series than the American one. Also UK Hun is going to be in my head for weeks.

I'm picking my top 2 of the season as Lawrence Chaney and Bimini Bon Boulash. Veronica Green would have been up there for me as well, it's a real shame that she got sick and couldn't finish this season! I really really hope they bring her back for season 3!

#drag race uk #uk drag race #rpdruk #a'whora #bimini bon boulash #bimini #ellie diamond #joe black #lawrence Chaney #sister sister #tayce #tia kofi #rupaul #michelle visage #graham norton

[fillingthescrapbook]

Rewriting The CW's Kung Fu, Part 9: Reflections and Moving Forward

And we have reached the end of our Kung Fu journey. If you haven't seen where we began, here's a handy guide to the previous posts:

Part 1: The Characters

Part 2: The Pilot

Part 3: The Mythology

Part 4: The Story Map

Part 5: Act I

Part 6: Act II

Part 7: Act III

Part 8: The Finale

Before I start with the lessons I learned and my other reflections, I want to thank @flailingbloo for all of her help and support in this endeavor. Without her to talk to and commiserate with, I would probably have gotten stuck in Act II forever and everything I've written would've been riddled with spelling errors and grammatical mistakes. So my eternal gratitude to flailingbloo. And now, we begin:

Lessons.

Going into this writing exercise, I already knew it was going to be hard. Writing stories is time-consuming, it's nerve-wracking, and it takes a lot of research...and patience. Writing, especially for television, is also not a solitary task. I mean, sure, the writing itself needs to be done alone--but everything that comes before, during, and after the writing needs input from so many people.

Although I have a lot (and I mean A LOT) of complaints about how The CW's Kung Fu was handled and written, I do have a lot of respect for the work that the writers put into their scripts. And I do appreciate all that they have done to have a show like this produced.

Doing this rewrite, I learned that it's really important to make the main character likeable. Like, every episode I broke down, I had to ask myself: is Nicky likeable here? Is she someone who viewers would want to root for? Like, for me she is, but only people who read what I wrote can say for sure. My perspective is now a bit skewered because I have bias.

Second, story maps are very helpful. There were times, especially during Part 6 (where I wrote breakdowns for Episodes 6 to 9) where I kept getting road-blocked by where I want the story to go. So I went back to the story map over and over again, to remind myself--where does the story itself need to go? How do I help the characters get to the point where they're ready for what needs to happen? (This is also where flailingbloo helped the most for me. Like, she really reminded me why I was doing this rewrite in the first place. Because I care about Nicky and the show. I wouldn't have funneled so much of my time and effort into this if I didn't.)

Another thing I learned, or rather re-learned, is the art of letting go. I created the character of Stanley to recur throughout the series as a reminder of who Nicky was and who she is becoming. And then I finished writing the first act without even mentioning him. By the second act, I was ready to use him finally--but, after multiple false starts, I realized Stanley was one of the reasons why I was having a hard time pushing Nicky's story forward. Because I kept trying to go back to the past. So I decided in the writing of the second act to shelve Stanley completely, only to find him popping up in the second to last episode in a, at least I hope, more organic way.

The last thing I learned in this exercise was that, whenever a new character needs to come in, I have to look at my existing characters first to see if any one of them can fulfill the role I needed for the story. Like, creating new villains for Nicky was fun, sure--but, at the same time, I realized that there were already existing villains that could recur. Like the Triad, who played villains in two more episodes after the pilot; and Henry's martial arts class at the community center became the source of two existing storylines from the actual show.

Reflections.

Do I think what my rewrite is better than the show? To me, yes. But, again, I am very biased. That said, I am proud of how I utilized the characters that the show created and didn't really give much importance to. Dennis, when he was introduced, felt like a rich character that could provide a very different point-of-view from the Shen siblings--but he was mostly relegated to being eye-candy. And I thought I gave him more meat by making him more involved in Althea's sexual harassment storyline, while also involving him in Nicky's stories.

That said, I also realize that I wasn't able to play up Nicky and Evan's past relationship as I was writing the episodic breakdowns. I was able to give them a lot of opportunities to explore their chemistry together, as I did with Nicky and Henry, but I kind of dropped the ball as a writer on guiding those planted moments into something more significant. Granted, I only wrote breakdowns and not actual scripts. Maybe I could've explored the romance angle more with a little sprinkle of direction and dialogue.

As I went deeper into the rewrite, I do see how easy it is to fall in love with characters as you write them. It's very easy to trap yourself into wanting villains to be more well-rounded. I keep having to remind myself that I don't have to redeem everyone. Just Nicky. Which became harder and harder as I went further and further into the story.

Another thing that became difficult as I went on? Keeping the mythology from just bursting open. That's how Henry, as I wrote him, evolved into becoming the son of a guardian--just so there's a reason for him to be so invested in Nicky's quest, while also having someone who can explain things to our main character. I'm actually really proud of that evolution.

All that said, I also have to recognize that I rewrote the show with the benefit of hindsight and the lack of budget constraints. In the real show, there's a group of writers who each have their own ideas of what the show should be. (This is where a head writer--not a show runner--would come in handy, so they could reel in the story to what needs to be told.) With more writers comes more chances for inconsistencies to happen. (And this is where a script supervisor, or a writing assistant, could come in handy.) And then there's production notes and budget. Not to mention, you know, the whole pandemic that's still happening. I didn't have to think about those things while doing this rewrite.

So, again, I want to give the writers kudos to actually producing scripts. I hope they haven't lost their minds--or their will to write--just because there are people like me who nitpick at everything. That's what people who love things do. We nitpick because we care.

Moving forward.

I do plan to stick with the real show for Season 2. I hope it's planned better. I hope they get researchers (plural!) and a writing assistant to help in the writing room. I hope the writers would sit down with the cast to discuss and develop the characters more. And I really hope they hire a better fight choreographer and fight director for the second season. (Like, rehire the people who choreographed and filmed the flashback scene in... Episode 11? The one with Nicky's maternal grandmother and Pei-Ling's own mother?)

I hope that the Nicky-Henry relationship gets explored realistically, and if a potential new love interest is ordered, they get introduced in a way that isn't antagonistic. Make them more well-rounded characters too, please. Make us want to root for their success. And while I think Nicky doesn't have an iota of chemistry with Evan, I do like Evan himself as a character. So I hope they get him more involved in future storylines--as an outsider looking in, sure, but also as an honorary member of the Shen family.

With regards to the Shen family, I do hope that we get to explore their relationships and dreams more before the show drops the reveal about Mei-Xue's daughter. I want Althea to have a cohesive storyline that doesn't pause for no reason. I want Ryan to explore being Asian AND gay as a first-generation Asian-American. And give the Shen siblings some recurring friends. They don't have to be semi-regulars (unless there's a story that can be explored) but let's not keep the Shens in a bubble. It was weird in the first season. Especially for Althea whose friends only showed up for her bachelorette party and never again. Not even when she was panicking about wedding preparations, which, considering how rich Dennis's parents were? They wouldn't let Althea be in charge of anything. They would hire a Chinese wedding coordinator. And an expensive and hard-to-book one at that. They donated an entire hospital wing, for crying out loud.

I want Jin to have an actual character, and not just be the supportive dad who loves his kids very much (admittedly my own rewrite also made this same mistake). And I want Mei-Li to be consistent as a character. Like, no more surprise twists about being the descendant of a legendary warrior without proper foreshadowing and plot-planting please.

Dennis shouldn't just be eye-candy. The same applies to Kerwin. Sure, I get that shirtless men are a must in a CW series, but please give their characters some meat too. Dennis's nerd-side was never showcased in the show, and Kerwin had that poor little rich boy background that didn't get explored either. Because the show was too busy keeping him and Zhi-Lan tearing each others' clothes off--when they're not tearing other people down.

Also, don't drop the ball on the tease that Bian-Ge is now everywhere. If I understood correctly, Bian-Ge is Kung Fu's version of Qi. If yes, then I hope they treat it respectfully as a force of nature--and not just the source of magic. The flowers from Bian-Ge itself can be magical, sure, I have no problem with a fictional flower being a McGuffin.

Finally, I hope the show also explores other Asian communities and cultures. Like, Kung Fu is great--but imagine if Nicky had to face someone who is versed in Silat Melayu? Or someone who uses Arnis? Someone who practices Kalaripayattu or Lathi Khela? Or Kuntao? Imagine Nicky having to use Wing Chun against someone who uses Karate or Krav-Maga? Asia is a big continent and there are so many different types of martial arts found from the Middle East to Southeast Asia. Kung-Fu is an umbrella term, so it'll be great to see the different styles found under it.

... This went long again. Sorry about that. Funny thing is, when I started this whole rewriting plan? I thought it would take three posts, tops. And look at us now. Nine posts deep, and it seems I still haven't run out of things to say. So I'm cutting myself off before I completely wear out my welcome.

But if you've read all my Kung Fu posts, please do reach out. Let's discuss the show and what it can do to produce a better second season.

#Kung Fu CW #tv talk #my words

[tsukikento]

The Gala

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Word Count: ~2500

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, second-hand embarrassment

Summary: Momo convinces you to go to a gala. After being abandoned, you spend the night complaining to Todoroki about just how boring this party is. Little did you know, Todoroki was the host of this party.

A/N: I wrote this during finals week and I’ve barely edited it, just look at that detailed header lol. Also posted on my ao3 @allie_win

(masterlist)

You had no clue how you got here.

Well, you had some ideas.

It all started a week ago when Momo Yaoyuozu, otherwise known as Creati, invited you to a gala.

~~

“It will be the perfect place to get your feet out there,” She exclaimed while rummaging through her closet to try and find a dress that would fit you.

“You don’t have to keep babying me,” You demanded while watching her pull out a pale green dress you had seen her wear multiple times. “Just because you were my buddy in my first year at U.A. doesn’t mean you always need to guide me.”

“Listen, Y/N-chan,” She sighed. She sat down at the glorious armchair by her closet, “You have been a hero for a year now and an intern with me since your first. I loved helping you during my third year, I loved seeing you grow!” She tucked her hair behind her ear and debated her next words carefully. “However, even after a whole year of hero work, you haven’t made a name for yourself. You are so amazing and should be in at least the top 100 heroes.”

You groaned and let your body fall onto her soft bed. “I hate how you are always right,” You mumbled.

It had been a tough year for you.

Mistake after mistake pulled you lower and lower on the hero ranking. It felt impossible to climb back up.

Yaomomo, as kind as ever, got up from her chair and made her way to you. She kindly moved your hair out of your face and scratched your scalp. “This is an important gala, going will get you an amazing opportunity to make connections.”

“Yeah,” You agreed, closing your eyes. “I want a black dress.”

Momo gasped and immediately got up. “I know just the one,” She exclaimed.

~~

So, now here you were.

You had just arrived with Momo, who immediately got you a glass of champagne before abandoning you to go say hello to some colleagues.

“Go ahead and make some friends,” She called out while being dragged away by some friends.

You sighed and turned around to looked around the room. You tipped your glass and chugged down the bubbly liquid courage. You immediately placed your empty glass on a dish passing by and grabbed another glass.

There were so many heroes around the room and all of them were chatting away with each other and exchanging cards. You saw a few familiar faces in the crowd, some being people you’ve worked with and some being past classmates.

However, the person that really caught your attention was Todoroki Shouto. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and matching tie with velvet linings. His hands were empty and shoved in his pockets. He was standing in a corner in a very similar way to you.

What really interested you in Todoroki was that he wasn’t chatting with anyone. He was one of the top heroes and rarely worked on his friendship with heroes or approval ratings. And yet, he was in the top 3 in approval rating.

You took another sip of your drink and pushed yourself forward. If you wanted to talk to anyone at this party, it was him. You wanted to find out how he climbed to the top without having to waste his time talking to people at parties.

“Todoroki Shouto,” You greeted once you were in range for him to hear you.

The reserved man looked up from the ground to see you.

“Ah,” He said, taking his hands out of his pockets and holding it out to shake yours. “Y/L/N Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

You graciously took his hand to shake it. “The pleasure is all mine,” You smiled.

“How are you enjoying this party?” He asked.

Although it threw you off that he would be asking you about the party or ready and willing to talk to you, the champagne in your stomach made it a little too difficult to figure anything out. “Rather boring, honestly,” You explained. “I haven’t been here long, but I’m not one for parties.”

He hummed in reply. “Neither am I,” He agreed which helped calm your nerves.

Talking to one of the top heroes could be nerve-wracking, so his comment about not being one for parties made you feel much more comfortable. “Yeah,” You sighed in agreement, “It’s not like this party is that great anyway.”

“Oh really?” Shouto inquired, his eyes piercing into you. “Please elaborate.”

His heavy gaze made your face feel much hotter than usual, but you ignored the feeling and continued on. “Well, the food is all seafood and garlic. By the end of the night, this place is gonna smell like alcohol and dead fish.”

You drank the rest of your glass and had it immediately replaced by one of the staff members.

“I do like the staff,” You noted while the young man holding a tray politely bowed to Todoroki.

You looked back to the handsome man in front of you. Maybe you were babbling more than usual because of how attractive he was and how nervous he made you. Regardless, the drinks in your system made it impossible to tell.

Suddenly the song changed to one rather basic. It felt like a pop song that was made in a lab to simply reach the top 100. It hurt your ears and your tipsy personality couldn’t help but comment on it.

“Oh,” You exclaimed, grabbing Todoroki’s attention. “I also hate this music. The DJ really sucks!” You shouted over the obnoxious beat.

“Would you like to move away from the stage then?” Todoroki offered.

That took you by surprise.

You were well aware of how much more loud you could get while drinking and you did not expect Todoroki to actually want to keep a conversation with you. You nodded and attempted to sober up while following him to one of the many tables in the back. Along the way, you were both frequently stopped by people greeting the multi-chrome man. You didn’t think too much of it because you were too busy trying to figure out why he actually wanted to keep talking to you.

Despite that, each person greeted Todoroki, complimented the party, and then curtly nodded at you. Of course, no one would want to talk to you or introduce themselves. You were a nobody. And you were sure you looked like a red mess with a glass of alcohol in your hand. If only they knew the redness was more for the man they were currently talking to.

By the time you made it to the table, the song had already changed again.

“You sure are popular,” You commented while maneuvering your dress to take a seat in the chair.

“Ah,” Todoroki began, “I am sorry I had to turn my attention away. I hope you understand.”

You smiled at the shy man in front of you. “Don’t apologize. I would kill to have had any of those people even know my name. I’m not the best publicly and I need a drink in me to really get me to start talking.”

Todoroki hummed in response. “I understand. I also find it hard to speak up sometimes. Although I am glad you had enough courage to speak to me tonight.” Cue the redness once again spreading across your face. “I’m enjoying our conversation.” Shouto looked up and smiled kindly at you.

To think the most handsome student from high school, the guy all your friends dreamed to be with even though they were two years younger, actually enjoyed talking to you? Impossible. You needed water. You really needed water.

Your mouth was dry and you were suddenly very hot despite your flowy dress.

“Are you okay?” Todoroki asked while observing your body language. You could tell he was about to go into hero mode.

“I’m fine,” You waved him off. “I think I just need some water.” You looked around the large hall in hopes of finding I tray with water on it.

Before you could spot one, Todoroki spoke up, “Allow me.” He grabbed your now empty champagne glass and filled it with ice. You used his opposite hand to slowly heat up the glass and melt the ice into water. He finished off by putting a few ice cubes back into the water to cool it down.

You graciously took the glass from him, surprised he would be willing to show off his quirk so easily in public. You took a sip of the rather refreshing water before thanking him.

“My pleasure,” He replied. There was a slight lull before Shouto spoke up once again. “So, please tell me more about this tragically horrible party.”

Laughter erupted from your stomach, not expecting him to ask you to complain more. “Hmm,” You mumbled, putting your chin in your hand in thought. “Well, the color scheme is tacky. Purples and golds are the classic color of royalty so whoever threw this party is pretty stuck up.”

“And what would you recommend?” Todoroki inquired.

Before you could really hold yourself back, each thought you had about this party began rushing out of your mouth. “Pale blue instead of purple, but keep the gold. Replace the seafood with more vegetable-based dishes. The egg tarts for dessert don’t even go with fish. You need something light like mousse. If they went with veggie dishes then I would have suggested elegant little cakes, like cupcakes, but smaller and less icing. It would help sober people up against all the drinking. Also! I haven’t even mentioned that they only have champagne! Jeez, they really should have white and red wine, especially white for the fish and red for the cake. Or whatever…” You faded out after realizing how long you had been babbling on.

“Sounds like you should be a party planner instead of a hero,” Shouto commented. You thought he may be trying to tease you, but the plain look on his face made him seem quite serious.

“Maybe,” You sighed, “It’s not like I’m doing very well as a hero. I hate all this politics and rating stuff.”

Shouto hummed in response. “Don’t dwell on sadness when you have a horrible party to complain about.”

“You actually like to hear me complaining?” You asked, quirking your eyebrows.

Todoroki simply nodded and motioned for you to continue.

“Okay,” You looked around the large hall. “Not to be too nitpicky, but this party is just boring. No one has gone on the stage to say anything. No one is dancing. Should people even be dancing? Or maybe I’m missing something. Who am I to say? This is my first hero gala.” You shrugged your shoulders sheepishly smiled. You were sobering up enough to know you were embarrassing yourself, but not enough to actually stop yourself from babbling.

Regardless, it seemed Todoroki actually liked listening to you complain.

The attentiveness made you all the more aware of everything. You suddenly felt sweat on the back of your neck. “Maybe I should just leave,” You mumbled to yourself, getting a little too frazzled as Todoroki’s attention.

“Are you not feeling well?” He questioned, perking up slightly.

“No,” You began, “It’s just that this party is so utterly boring--”

“Y/N-chan,” Mom called a few feet away. “I’m so sorry I lost you!”

You sheepishly smiled, too kind to tell her off. “It’s okay, I’ve had great company,” You explained while motioning to Todoroki.

“Ah, of course! Hello again, Shouto-san,” She greeted while politely shaking his hand. “You know, Y/N-kun, it is very unlike you to befriend people so easily at parties nevertheless the host of the party.”

It took you a moment to register what she said.

In fact, you almost started talking before shutting your mouth after realizing just what Yaomomo said.

Todoroki Shouto is the host of the party.

The party you have been bad-mouthing for the past half an hour.

“I-uh-I,” You babbled, unsure how to approach such a sensitive topic.

Before you had a chance, Todoroki stood up and buttoned up his velvet blazer. “Although I would love to stay and chat, I must make an announcement.” He politely bowed, which you and Momo returned, before he made his way to the stage.

“Y/N-kun, are you okay?” Momo asked, “You look a bit pale.”

You looked at your kindred friend and gulped down the lump in your throat. Momo always wanted to help you, so maybe she could help you now. “I have spent the last half hour with Todoroki talking about how boring and badly planned this party is,” You recalled.

“Oh no,” Momo whispered.

“Oh yes.”

The mic clicked and Todoroki began a short and sweet speech. He thanked everyone who came and started discusses why he planned this gala. It was something about charity, but you were lost in your own world.

“What do I do, Momo-san?” You pleaded, hoping your mentor would have some insight into the popular hero.

“I’m surprised he didn’t stop you, honestly,” She debated, her hand holding her chin in thought.

“That’s just the thing,” You hissed, “He asked me to keep going. It was like he thought it was entertaining.”

Momo hummed. “Well,” She started, “Shouto has never liked parties like these so that may be true. I bet his manager made him throw this party.”

“Do you think he hates me?” You asked, worried for your life. You had made only one new connection during this party and it may as well have been a new enemy.

Momo chuckled lightly. “Todoroki has a short list of people he hates and you are nowhere near it. Don’t stress, Y/N-kun.”

“Either way,” You mumbled while standing up, “I think I should leave. I am not in the right mind to deal with something so embarrassing.”

“Are you sure?” Momo asked.

You sighed and nodded, “I’ll just call a taxi.”

“No need,” Momo stopped you. “My chauffeur can drop you off and come back later for me.”

And so, you walked out to wait for the small car to arrive. You gingerly sat while you were driven to your small apartment. When you got home, you immediately dawned on a much comfier outfit and washed your face free of the cakey makeup you had been wearing.

During this time, you ran over your interaction with Todoroki. Overall, you were sure he didn’t hate you. However, you were much too nervous to ever talk to him again. Not like you got his phone number anyways.

You got into bed and pulled your laptop to you to put on a comforting video. It was barely 10 pm, but you were ready for this night to be over.

As you let your mind run free of your concerns, you heard a small ding of your phone. You snatched it from the side of your bed, remembering you forgot to text Momo that you got home safe. However, when you clicked on the screen, and unfamiliar number flashed before your eyes.

Momo said you needed to leave early, which is a shame. I enjoyed our conversation tonight. Shall we pick it up over dinner? -Todoroki Shouto

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x reader #momo #momo yaoyorozu

[angel-with-a-pipette]

Be mine

Chatpter two: I want you for a life time

Summary: 

“I can’t do this, Riku.” “Yes, you can. All you need to do is walk over to her, offer her a fruit and bite into it.”

Sora finally wants to share a paopu with Kairi, but things go differently than he planned.

Rating: G

Genre: Romance

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Disney/Square Enix.

10 months ago, I submitted a first draft of this story to the mods of the twosides fanzine, a charity fanzine focusing on Sokai and Rokunami. I can proudly say that I wrote this before KH3 was released (but after the TGS trailer dropped, so I was HEAVILY inspired by it and the lyrics of "Don't think twice") - so I've been giddily sitting on this for quite a while!

I’ve posted the first ‘chapter’ quite a while ago which actually contains cut content that didn't make it into the zine because the story became too long. Today, I can finally share the piece that has been printed in the zine :3

A huge thank you to Liv and Raye for making the twosides fanzine and for making this fic possible ♥

Also available on: ao3

Please enjoy!

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

As soon as he heard sand crunching beneath his feet, Sora slowed down. Staying at the edge of the wooden bridge, he pressed one of his hands against his chest, willing his breath to calm down again, only to realize how quickly his heart was beating.

How could planning to commit to the girl he loved be so much more nerve wracking than trying to save the entire universe?!

Sora started to move again, towards the crooked paopu tree on top of which Kairi sat. She stared ahead, into the slowly setting sun, a soft breeze playing with her hair which only lead to Sora's heart pounding even harder in his chest.

He couldn't do this.

He took a step back and caught his foot on that one wayward root of the tree that was strangely shaped like the head of a mouse. He yelped lightly before catching his balance again and started to chuckle lightly, throwing a sheepish smile in Kairi's direction, sure that she had caught every second of it, ready to tease him.

But she didn't. She continued staring out to the ocean, her lightly upwards curled lip the only indication that she had witnessed his moment of embarrassment. And suddenly, Sora understood.

She was giving him a way out.

He had asked her to meet him today on the paopu tree. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Sora wanted to talk about, especially since the both of them could have talked any time while staying in Radiant Garden. Yet, she patiently sat atop of the tree, ankles gracefully crossed as her hands rested on her lap. She waited for him to make the first move – as she always did.

No more. He wouldn't make her wait one more second.

Swallowing his nerves once and for all, Sora hauled himself up onto the tree. Before he could scoot closer however, she turned towards him, a dazzling smile spreading over her lips and Sora prayed to Zeus, Poseidon, even Hades that the evening sun would hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Hey Sora!”

“Kairi,” he replied breathlessly and patted down his left trouser pocket as inconspicuously as possible.

Still there.

“I know you wanted to tell me something, but please, can I go first? It's urgent.”

Upon her words, Sora let go of the flap of his pocket and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Sure. What's the matter?”

“My lucky charm worked decently up until now, but I feel like we need something stronger, something more reliable. Your last fight with Xehanort,” she faltered and her eyes flashed to the spot on his abdomen where she knew he had been injured, “it was too close of a call. And I wasn't even there to protect you.”

“It's not your job to protect me, Kairi-”

“I could have lost you.”

Sora knew that it was true. He had been in and out of consciousness for a day and bound to his bed for another two, despite countless Curagas being cast on him and gallons of potions being rubbed into his skin and poured into his throat to help him heal.

He would do it all again if it meant that his friends stayed safe.

“The coming battle is unlike anything we have faced so far… this charm will make sure we won’t be separated again.”

She let a small, red pouch slide into his outstretched hand and he looked at it curiously. It was lighter than he anticipated from its looks, tied up with a golden cord that he cautiously pulled at while Kairi began to explain.

“I commissioned this from the Moogles in Radiant Garden. To make sure we won't be separated, they worked a Thalassa shell into it. And to make sure you never get hurt as badly again, I asked them to put as many protective spells onto the charm as possible.”

Sora's eyes widened as he stared into the pouch.

“I know,” Kairi continued, suddenly shy, “it's probably weird that I asked for a ring to be made. I know you don't wear jewelry apart from your necklace, but I wanted the charm to be small and practical, so I figured a ring would be the best choice.”

“Rings.”

“Excuse me?”

“Rings,” Sora repeated and looked up to meet Kairi's eyes again who stared at him in confusion. Wordlessly, he turned the pouch upside down, emptying its contents into his open palm: two slender silver rings, a big one and one slightly smaller, with an orange-red inlay of a Thalassa shell.

Kairi stared at his hand, back at his face and again at his hand.

“Oh,” she finally uttered and even the sunset wasn't able to hide the blush that was spreading over her cheeks as she got a faraway look... before her eyes suddenly hardened. “That explains why they overcharged me! Those little..!” She shook her head. “Anyway. Maybe you can just wear both of them on a necklace? But then again, you already wear your crown necklace. Maybe you can just slip them into your pocket? Or – oh!” Kairi started to gesture frantically and Sora couldn't help but follow the movement of her right hand as an idea formed in his head. “You wore a key chain in the past, didn't you? You could put both rings on it. Or-”

“You could wear the small one.”

Kairi fell silent mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as the familiar nervousness spread through Sora once again.

“I want you to wear the second ring,” he clarified. “You said this charm will make sure we won't be separated, right? It can't work if I hold onto both rings. And if I get lost, my ring will lead me back to yours.”

All of a sudden, something soft pressed against Sora's lips, but before his brain caught up with what was happening, the sensation stopped and Kairi threw her hands over her mouth, eyes wide in horror.

She had kissed him. Kairi had kissed him!

A dopey grin started to spread over Sora's face and he carefully tugged on Kairi's right hand and held the ring up.

“That's a 'yes', right?”

After she nodded a little dazedly, Sora slipped the ring onto her ring finger. It fit her perfectly.

Kairi took a deep breath as she regarded her new ring. She giggled lightly and reached for the other ring, but she hesitated when she looked at the hand Sora offered her.

“Your left hand?”

“Yeah,” Sora nodded in agreement, “just to make sure that my Keyblade doesn't wear the ring down. Also,” Sora lowered his gaze and stared at Kairi's hand picking up his ring while wearing her own. He couldn't help the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips upon seeing how well her ring suited her. “If I wear it on my left hand and you wear yours on your right hand, they'll touch whenever we hold hands. So they won't be separated.”

“O-Oh,” Kairi nodded, but despite the sudden tremor in her hand, she managed to slide the other ring over Sora's finger. It, too, fit perfectly.

They had just exchanged matching rings. Wow.

“Sora, I-”

“Kairi,” Sora interrupted her as he reached for his pocket. He absolutely couldn't wait any longer.

“I don't want there to be any doubts about my feelings for you.” He pulled the paopu out of his pocket, drawing another gasp out of Kairi.

“Please. Be mine.”

This time she dove forward, cradling Sora's face in her hands, the metal of her new ring cooling his skin as her lips found his again, a little longer this time before pulling away.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Together, they held the paopu in their hands, smiling at each other. They leaned in, each biting off a piece of the fruit. Sora swallowed greedily and looked at Kairi in wonder.

She was his. He was hers. They had finally shared a paopu.

He reached out for her face, gently cupping her cheek and stroking it with his thumb as she leaned in. He couldn't hold back the “I love you” that tumbled from his lips, but there was no need to anymore. Instead, he was rewarded with the same words and the sweetest smile. A grin spread over Sora's face and he pressed his forehead against Kairi's.

“So? No impulsive kiss?”

He could barely suppress his laughter when he felt Kairi pull back from him, cheeks blown up in mock-annoyance. Cocking his eyebrow, Sora continued.

“I thought third time's the charm? I'm a little disappointed.”

“Well, I wanted to give you the opportunity to surprise me for once, you lazy bum!” She retorted as she stuck out her tongue at Sora. “But I guess if you really don't want to-”

“Who said I don't?”

Sora quickly pulled Kairi close, relishing in the feel of her body against his and smothered her short squeak of surprise when he finally caught her lips with his own.

#Sora #Kairi #Sokai #Twosidesfanzine #KH #Alja's fanfictions

[theawkwardterrier]

2019 fic roundup

Buffyverse

The Words Beneath Our Words

MCU

Perfect Targets Beneath the Flap A Light in the Window These Bricks and Beams Carry With Us Though It's Called Dancing (to me it's romancing) things left behind and the things that are ahead

1. Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?:

I've had a policy over the past through years of not predicting (I’m so easily prone to getting weighed down by disappointment in myself), but I’ll say it was less than in the past (not an overwhelming number of individual fics, and not a lot of variation in genre) but in some ways a lot more (things left behind).

There is something a little different from other years, though, because in 2018 I had decided to stop writing. It seemed like a perfectly sensible time to do so: it had been just over ten years since I started writing fic regularly, just under ten since I started participating in IWRY marathon, I’d made friends and improved in my writing both through age and through practice, and I’d just finished my World Without Shrimp IWRY series and had no new projects brewing. I was starting to feel sort of old-married to my fandoms, the love still there but the passion somewhat fading. But it was also a move made bitterly, out of anger and sadness and frustration. 

I know there are writers who will write regardless of the feedback they get. I know there are writers who don’t register the hits or kudos they get, those who don’t compare their stats to other writers, who keep themselves focused on themselves and their own work, thinking “I like my story - it’s good and writing it helped me to grow” rather than “I like my story, and more people should have too.” I think that type of writer is admirable. I’m not one of them. I don’t know that I ever can be. And, as I’ve mentioned in the past, I was really torn up that But A Walking Shadow didn’t get much of a reaction.

It’s strange - I love my own fic, but I truly don’t think I’m the most amazing writer or anything. And I certainly get wonderful feedback, including plenty on my other 2018 stories, many of which were very well received. But there was just something about what happened with that one story that really affected me. Maybe it was a sense of hopes dashed after a lot of effort, or, as I mentioned during last year’s roundup, a feeling that I had done everything “right” with it, and it didn’t result in a greater impact. Maybe it was the feeling that Woman Borne was somehow retroactively not as well-received as I thought it had been if people weren’t looking for a follow-up and weren’t as interested when it arrived. I felt as if I had spent a decade trying to become Something and had finally gotten close and it just wasn’t working. (I was also having a pretty hard year in general, and mental-healthwise, wasn’t in the best place.) Regardless of the reason, in the later part of 2018, I started wondering what would happen if I just...stopped?

Like I said, I thought it would be a fairly good time to do it, there were Reasons for it, but I was also having a supervillain moment of “if I’m not appreciated, I just won’t do it anymore, I’ll just tell myself stories and won’t write them or show them to anyone, so there.”  

And then Endgame came out. And I wrote anyway. Obviously.

I’m not much better in my comparisons with others, and in some ways I’m worse, though I’m working on it. I know that it’s not logical or healthy, to have this endlessly gluttonous desire for recognition which might not even be possible to ever fulfill. (Like, realistically, what do I want? For every fic reader to be obsessed with my work? For the world to hail me as the next Shakespeare????) I am trying to manage my expectations and to focus on the positives of my accomplishments and place less stock in the reception. We’ll see how it goes.

Anyway, I don’t predict what I’ll write, or how much. At this point, who knows.

2. What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?:

As I said, in January, I was certain I would never write fic again, so I suppose it was all unpredictable. That said, everything stayed fairly status quo (Steve/Peggy, Buffy/Angel), though I guess my OCs - the whole cast of them! - were a surprise.

3. What’s your own favorite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest?

There’s usually one that jumps out, but from 2019, I was really proud of things left behind in a grand sense (length! characters!) and probably Beneath the Flap in a smaller sense (I’m always really excited when I can translate one universe into another - Attachments’s internet security officer/email monitor becoming a CA:TFA appropriate WWII military mail censor is pretty good).

4. Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

Including so many OCs in things left behind, I think. Even though I did something similar before with Adrift, Ashore, it felt so, so nerve-wracking to include pieces like chapter 22, which is almost entirely Drea with cameos by Steve and Peggy and Tony and the Jarvises. Like, how much would people’s interest extend past the MCU characters they came to read about? (Luckily, apparently a fair amount.) One of the things I started to realize as I’ve written more and more of the story is that I do feel, I guess, ready to try writing new characters and building a world of my own in a way that I didn’t before. 

5. Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?

This is not a prediction because I’ve already fulfilled it as of this writing, but: keep posting chapters of things left behind, mostly. I’d love to expand to a new fandom, but I’ve been in a real rut for the past few years; nothing’s really captured my interest in that certain way, and I’m sighing over the lack of a shiny hyperfixation.

As I’ve gained confidence in my own writing independent of an extant media universe (see above), it’s possible that I might try writing something non fanfic at some point in the future, but I don’t actually have an idea and the details of anything surrounding that are so hazy I don’t even think I could list it as a goal. (Also, a maximum of four people are allowed on the page at once, so that will put a damper on things).   

6. From my past year of writing, what was…

Story Most Underappreciated by the Universe:

I think they all mostly got what they were due this time around (or more than their due; see below), though I would never say no to more feedback on new chapters of things left behind. There are people who comment on every chapter and I absolutely can never thank them enough for that, but it is a little dispiriting to watch the hits going up without even a note saying, “hey, this was great!” or “I can’t give kudos again but I liked this chapter.” Like I said, I’m trying to work past this sort of thing and I’m not going to stop writing because of it, but...it would still be nice...

Most Fun:

I think Perfect Targets. There’s a touch of awkwardness to it that I wasn’t really able to smooth out, but I like the tone of it, the seriousness balanced with humor/aggravation.

Most Disappointing:

It has got to be A Light in the Window. I reread my own fic possibly more than anyone else alive, and I can’t bear to even look at this one because I think it’s so clunky and weird. Like, the very very center is an interesting idea, but I can’t believe I wrote it considering the secondhand awkwardness that I experience when thinking about it. The feedback on it has been incredibly generous.

Most Sexy:

The scene in chapter 3 of things left behind where Peggy and Steve start getting hot and heavy at the carnival? Or maybe chapter 3 in general?

Hardest to Write:

I stopped writing chapter 28 of things left behind for around six solid months and I’m still not certain I got it 100% fixed up, so probably that.

Most Unintentionally Telling:

I'd love to be either a Buffy or an Angel in The Words Beneath Our Words, but sometimes I feel like my love language is  ¯\(°_o)/¯. Good luck being in a relationship with me! (Just kidding - who would?! Rosa_Diaz_laughing_at_the_party.gif)

Choice Lines:

Usually I’m obsessed enough with my own work to list fourteen million, but this time the prospect legit exhausts me. Pick your own if you’d like, I guess?

#this is like a mental breakdown/ugly look into my ugly psyche disguised as a fic roundup #(I felt like I had to get it out but if you want to like me in the future maybe don't read it?)

[shadowofthelamp]

Fandom Trades: Tips and Tricks

I’ve been running a secret santa for five years now, and a few people expressed interest in a sort of ‘guide’. It does take some elbow grease to get things up and running, but it’s very rewarding and gets easier as you go. Click the ‘read more’ for some stuff I’ve picked up over the years! It’s a bit general to try and cover anything, but if you have any questions, you can ask! (And if you’ve run one yourself, feel free to add on!)

FAQ: Something that’s a really good idea to have. Here’s the most important stuff on it that would probably be applicable to most trades:

-Basic summary of what the trade will be- some could be fic-only or art-only, or even specific-ship-only. Mine’s general to ‘all sonic sfw content’, but setting guidelines so people know what they’re getting into is a good idea so you won’t have to answer the same question over and over.

-Deadlines. Make them clear. Mine’s easy (Christmas Eve) but depending on what size the gift is expected to be, the time frame can be adjusted. 

-Related, set up rules for if people need to drop out. It happens, so be prepared. (This is why I ask now if people are alright giving a second gift.)

-Any particular rules for your trade- is it sfw or is nsfw acceptable? (In that case, set age limits.) Are there ships that will or won’t be allowed? Is there a punishment for violating the rules or turning things in late, like not being allowed to participate in the trade again?

PROMOTION:

A promo image is a good idea! I’ve been using the same one for a few years that was put together by a friend no longer on tumblr, but images catch people’s eyes faster than a text dump. Make something that’s easy to understand but gets the point across, and the text below should have enough information without overwhelming the casual scroller. 

Space paragraphs often to make it less intimidating. Include links to the FAQ, the sample entry, and the submit box right in the post, as well as a way to contact you- you want things to be as easy as possible for anyone interested. Here’s my promo post.

You also want to start promotion early- I start posting and reblogging my promo a full month before the entry deadline, to give as many people the chance to see it as possible. Any earlier, and they might not care- (who wants to see a Christmas trade post in October when you’re hyped for Halloween?) and any later and you might not get as many participants as you could have. A month-ish is a good time frame. (I also have a tag for the promo post, so people can blacklist it if they aren’t interested and don’t want to see it 15 times.)

SAMPLE ENTRIES:

Also something that’s good to have. Having a template for what you want entries to look like will make sorting easier for you. Here’s mine. It’s a good idea to scout around for other trades to find out what would work for you.

MAKING ASSIGNMENTS:

Next, setting up how to arrange who gets assigned to who. I personally use google spreadsheets. These are the categories I use, feel free to steal them: Username, medium (art, writing, amvs, ect), whether they’ll work with fan characters, what they’d like to receive, what they won’t do (one year I even added ‘if there’s anyone you won’t work with’ so if it’s a fandom with drama, that one might be good), who they’re gifting to, who they’re receiving from, if they’ve submitted their piece yet, if their piece is in the queue, and if they’re alright with doing backup.

I also had a category for if they’ve confirmed they’re still in once assignments were sent out. (Boy, was that one nerve-wracking during the whole tumblr purge debacle of last year- I didn’t know if anybody had just quit tumblr mid-month.)

You will run into people who only want two or three things nobody else wrote on their sheet. If you can’t find even one match, then just put them with someone who had a wide variety on theirs, or who doesn’t have anything on their ‘won’t do’ list. Trying to match with multiple likes is a better bet, though, so encouraging longer lists of what people want makes things easier for you in the long run!

I personally just went in a line- I picked one person, found who they would give a gift to, and then found who THAT person would give a gift to. Rinse and repeat down the list, and it’ll end with everyone paired. I ended up making a closed loop and then sorting the last 8 or so, which was fine. An easy way to check that you didn’t double-classify anyone is control-f and searching names. If their name pops up 3 times, you did it right.

SENDING OUT ASSIGNMENTS:

Just copy-pasting the part of the entry that includes the person’s name and their likes makes this way easier for you over trying to type them out individually. Ask for confirmation that people got their assignments so you don’t have to worry if they missed it.

HOW TO KEEP THINGS ORGANIZED:

My system is this: I’ve mentioned it before, but I utilize a combination of my spreadsheet and the queue function. Let’s say Sally’s making a gift for Jake, Jake’s making a gift for Taylor, and Taylor’s making a gift for Sally. Sally submits her piece of art for Jake. I mark that off on the sheet, so when Taylor submits the gift for Sally, that gift will go in the queue to be posted whenever the deadline is up because she turned hers in already.

This keeps people motivated to complete their parts of the trade, since they won’t get their gifts until they do. If someone drops out, tell the person making the gift for them- if you’re lucky, they can rework what they have for the person that the drop-out was supposed to make something for, but if not, bring in someone who didn’t mind making a second gift. Person making the gift for the dropout can choose if they want to continue making it or not- if it’s mostly done and not a fan-character, they can just post it on their own blog unrelated to the trade. 

It’s also a good idea to have a ‘hub’ where things are posted. If it’s a fic trade, ao3 has a function specifically for this, but I’ve found having things submitted directly to you makes it a million times easier to keep track of who’s finished their pieces, as well as keeping things ‘secret’ until the big day. (People have gotten confused or excited and posted early before.)

If people want to post elsewhere after it’s posted on the main hub, set your own rules- I say it’s fine as long as it links back to the blog and links the giftee, particularly if it involves fancharacters. You make your own judgement.  

BE PATIENT:

This is one that’s very important. Some people don’t check the FAQ, and some people are going to be new, asking questions that you swear you’ve answered before or thought would be obvious. They generally just want to know, so take a deep breath. They don’t know they’re the fifth person to ask that question. Answer politely, or steer them towards the FAQ. (Running the same event year after year, you run into this a lot- they’re just new, be nice!)

Don’t start an event that you expect to have plenty of people participating if you aren’t prepared to hear the same questions a couple of times. Things might get a little annoying- take a step back for a few minutes, cool off, but try to remain professional. You signed up for this. For me, it’s always worth it to see how happy people are about their gifts, but know yourself and your limits- running a themed week where people post art at their own pace is less hassle, so you could try that if you don’t feel up to organizing a full trade! 

If you can have a friend to bounce things off of, that can help too, but don’t use them as just a dumping ground. Tumblr allows multiple ‘mods’ on a blogs, so splitting work can make things easier, particularly if it’s your first run doing something like this. I had a friend who helped me the first few years before leaving tumblr. Be sure you trust the person, though! They’ll be able to edit posts and delete submissions, so if any drama happens, beware. (This never happened to me, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.)

TAGGING:

Add tags to the submission box. I don’t know why this took me four years to think of, but it saved me a lot of time last year. If it’s a trade that covers an entire fandom and dozens of ships, you can add the shipping tags as they come in, but adding the ten or so most popular character tags helps a lot. If it’s going to involve potentially triggering content, common trigger tags are a good idea too. (A Halloween trade might need this, for example, or one that involves nsfw content.)

PEOPLE TURNING THINGS IN LAST MINUTE:

It’s going to happen. I think one year I was panicking on the 23rd because I only had half the gifts, and all but one had been turned in by the time I went to bed on the 24th. People procrastinate- if you get in most of the gifts ahead of time, you can thank your lucky stars. Try not to stress over it, but feel free to post reminders in the week before/days leading up to the deadline. My family travels around the holidays a lot, and I managed to get everything queued up properly through airport and hotel wifi more than one year, so you’ll be just fine if you try and stay calm.

OTHER/GENERAL:

It’s absolutely worth it, in my opinion- I’ve been doing this for years for a reason. My favorite thing is knowing I’ve done something that made others happy. Going through all the excited responses Christmas morning is equal or above getting presents from my family, because I know it’s on some level because of me facilitating the trade in the first place. I hear over and over this is something people look forward to, and it genuinely warms my heart. 

It might take a few years to get established, but if you find a niche (there was a blog called sonic secret santa, but it hadn’t been updated in years) you might be surprised how fast you can gather people! I like seeing people show up year after year, it’s how I know I’m doing something right.

It is definitely work, and there is stress involved, (especially if people drop out or don’t send in their gifts on time) but the benefits outweigh the negatives, I say. People are generally understanding if there’s a problem, as long as you make it known you’re working on it.

You have to commit to the responsibility if you do this- people who are making gifts are putting their trust in you that you’ll keep things organized and they’ll get something for the gift they’re giving. You can’t guarantee everything will run exactly as planned, but you can be as transparent as possible when you hit a bump- ‘I’m sorry, but your person said they’ll be late because they were having internet problems/personal life issues and is doing their best’ is going to get a lot better of a response than radio silence. Be sympathetic, but be firm on the rules if need be.

I hope this helped a bit, and thanks for reading!

[violetclarity]

Author Meme

Thanks for tagging me @tsundanire and @aibidil and @carpemermaidtales!! <3

Author Name: violetclarity

Fandoms You Write For: I’ve only published in the Harry Potter fandom, but I have projects in progress on for both Captive Prince and Yuri!! on Ice. (The CaPri one is way more likely to be finished than the YOI one, I’ve written almost 12k for it lol.)

Where You Post: AO3 (and occasionally short things on tumblr only)

Most Popular One-Shot: Proper (E, Draco/Harry, 8.7k)

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: Antlers and Ivy (E, Drarry, 19k)

Favorite Story You Wrote: Nooo this is too hard to answer!! Pretty much all of the stories that I’m really satisfied with (which I would say ends up being about half of them?) could be my favorite for one reason or another. I mean, I’m proud of all of them! And I’m really bad at picking favorites in general so believe me when I say I’m limiting myself to three. the strength to stay (E, Draco/Harry, 29k) because I’m still really thrilled with how it turned out and that I actually achieved what I set out to do. Private Relations (E, Ginny/Pansy, 10k) because I feel like that was me really hitting my stride with the “drarry tropes in f/f fics” thing, in that I took the trope and went even further and ended up with this really cool new separate thing. And Legz for Days (E, Albus/Scorpius, 2.7k) because it is silly and ridiculous and I still love it.

Story You Were Nervous To Post: Also a hard question! I think I’m always nervous to post stories, because I’ve worked on them and I want people to like them of course! And that nervousness always goes up a little for fests or when they are gifts because that’s additional pressure. However I think I was most nervous about posting As Long As There’s Sun (E, James/Teddy, 55k) because it’s my longest fic to date and I spent so much time working on it - I started writing it in September 2018 and didn’t publish it until April 2019 - I was so invested and it was also dealing with a lot of heavier issues and had a lot of warnings so I knew it wouldn’t get as many people reading it anyway, which was more nerve-wracking posting it.

How Do You Choose Your Titles: hahahahahahaha. Well. Sometimes things come to me early on (a note to the boy I love had a title before it was even written), or I use song titles, or the fic is short so I don’t stress to much and come up with something simple and referential. But also plenty of times I know the mood I want the title to evoke, but have NO IDEA what the title should actually be, and end up throwing random ideas at lovely humans like @aibidil and @whiskyandwildflowers and they tell me which ones are bad until we come up with something I like hahaha. (Bless them, truly.)

Do You Outline: This is something I would really like to get better at, but as of now, not really. The only story I’ve properly outlined was the strength to stay. Normally I do more of a “start writing and then make a bullet point list of what comes next as I get ideas” thing, but it’s definitely a skill I want to improve on.

Complete: 36

In-Progress: None on AO3, because I don’t tend to post WIPs. I have a lot of ideas that I wrote a few k of and haven’t picked back up, but the story I am most actively working on at the moment is a Damen/Laurent fake dating modern college AU. Damen is the big man on a small liberal arts campus; Laurent is a transfer student. Laurent proposes they fake date in order to make Jokaste jealous and prove to Auguste that Laurent is doing well at his new school. Spoiler alert...

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: besides that fic ^^ which is coming most soon, there are two stories I started and discarded for the @hpwlwbigbang before settling on my final idea, both of which I’d like to finish. One is a Ginny/Luna story where they travel around the world while falling in love, and the other is a Pansy/Hermione 8th year roommates story where Pansy teaches Hermione to embrace her sexuality O.O

Do You Accept Prompts: No. I’ve asked for prompts a few times on tumblr and every time I’ve written a few and then lost motivation and not finished, then been wracked by guilt over not finishing them all, so I’ve decided not to do it anymore.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited To Write: It’s gonna need a lot of percolating and planning, but I have a Scorpius/Albus and Scorpius/Lily fic idea that I am very excited about writing once that’s done! The premise is that Scorpius and Lily are both kind of horrible people, and Scorpius is cheating on Albus with Lily for years. (I know this is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea and I don’t care!)

Seems like a lot of people may have done this already since I was MIA most of the day but I’ll tag @frnklymrshnkly @goldentruth813 @fidgetyweirdo if you want to!

#tag game #author meme #I feel like my answers for these always get way too long! #I just get really excited talking about my writing haha #hopefully it's vaguely interesting for someone at least #proper #antlers and ivy #the strength to stay #private relations #legz for days #as long as there's sun #a note to the boy I love #a wild capri fic appears #<-- tag for the as yet unnamed lamen fake dating #about vi #sort of #hp

[nekoabi]

On the Verge of a Heartbreak - Chapter 24

Are you ready? Are you sure you’re ready?? It’s a long one, so you better strap in for it! I’m going to let you all know, this is the scene/chapter that started this whole fic, and I am so pleased and happy to finally get here. <3

Pairings: Moxiety Words: 3501 Warnings: Kissing. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: We’re here. We’re finally here. 

The park was mostly deserted, only a few young children and their parents were over by the children’s play park and the grass just in front of it. That left the rest of the grass open for the two boys to use. Both of them silently made their way to the furthest point away from the play park and sat themselves down, ready to relax in the afternoon sun.

Virgil’s mind and pulse were still racing. He knew he needed to get a hold of them right this second, or else his plan would be utterly ruined. As he took measures to calm himself down, he looked over his best friend and watched him.

Patton was sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms holding up the weight of his torso as he leant back. His gorgeous eyes were closed as the light, cool breeze and warmth of the sun hit him so perfectly, making Virgil see him as something ethereal. It was almost as if Patton were some kind of angelic being that had fallen into his life just when he needed him most. Seeing him here, so calm and relaxed in this moment, only strengthened Virgil’s resolve to go through with his plan.

His hand brushed against the well-used guitar case that Patton had decorated for him, hesitating. The voice in the back of his head was shaking, it was so worried that this was going to be a mistake that Virgil would regret for the rest of his life, a mistake that could lose him his best friend in the whole world. The other voices drowned it out, however. They told him that if he didn’t do this, that would be the biggest regret of Virgil’s life. An opportunity like this wouldn’t come around for a very long time. He should take the plunge and just do it.

As Virgil debated in his head, he was far too preoccupied to notice that Patton had turned to look at him. It was only the soft tap on his shoulder that managed to pull him out of it.

Virgil whirled around as fast as he could, “Huh? What?”

Patton merely giggled, “You were lost in thought, huh, Virgie?” The soft flushing of the other’s cheeks answered Patton’s question, making him giggle harder, “It’s okay, you didn’t miss anything. I just wanted to tell you something!”

“Wh-what did you wanna say?” Virgil felt his stomach churning. There was no way that Patton had the same idea, right? His head was spinning, but he focused on his best friend as best he could.

“Happy Best Friend-iversary!” Patton shouted, throwing his arms around Virgil, hugging him tightly. “Did you know it’s been 12 years since we became best friends?”

Virgil felt himself calm a little before laughing softly and returning the hug lightly, “I didn’t know that, but it’s kinda cute that you remembered.”

Patton let go and stuck his tongue out at Virgil, “How could you not remember?! It’s only the most important day of our whole friendship!” He playfully pouted and crossed his arms.

Virgil rolled his eyes and began to pull out his precious guitar, “How about I make it up to you with a song? Call it a present for the best friend-iversary.”

Patton gasped loudly, “Yes, yes, yes! I love it when you play! Please, pretty please!” Patton excitedly tucked his legs under his body and faced Virgil fully, eyes shining with excitement. There was no way Virgil could say no to that face.

“Pat, I already said I would… but this is a special song, that I wrote… for you.” Virgil felt his heart-rate pick up once again. He swallowed hard to try and quell some of the nerves that were threatening to close his throat up.

Patton’s eyes couldn’t have gone wider if he’d tried, “You wrote me a song…?” He whispered reverently.

Virgil shuffled, a little awkward, “Uh, yeah… it’s nothing big, but um, I hope you like it…”

“You know I’ll love it, Virgie!” Patton squealed, shuffling closer.

“Okay, but um… just, don’t say anything, until it’s over, okay? It’s really important that you, uh… just listen. It’s a super important song.” Virgil rambled. Patton nodded silently and Virgil took that as his cue to begin.

He strummed the beginning chords, repeating them once over as he felt his confidence waning a little. Virgil rode the waves of adrenaline as if he was surfing on them. He just needed to commit to one of them in order to be able to begin.

“We're far apart, in every way But you're the best part of my day And sure as I breath the air I know we are the perfect pear”

Virgil felt his confidence grow as he continued to sing. Finally, after all this time, he was singing this song for the boy he’d fallen for. They’d been close for years and years, they’d gone through so much crap as friends and would have gone through so much more had they been dating, but that part of their life was over. He kept his head down, his eyes shut as he put all of his heart into the lyrics.

“On a prickly path that goes on for miles But it's worth it just to see you smile And I cannot be pulled apart from the hold you have on my heart And even if the world tells us it's wrong, you're in my head like a catchy song”

Virgil continued to strum but raised his head to look at his friend who sat in silence in front of him. He saw the beautiful sunshine grin gracing the boy’s stunning face, saw the shining eyes that seemed to be full of unwept tears. Virgil had to know something, “So, do you like it?”

Patton choked out a laugh, the tears slowly rolling down his cheeks, “It’s so amazing, I love it, Virgil. This is the best present you could have ever given me!”

“It’s not over yet, just… let me finish this.” Virgil let his head fall once again, focusing hard on the lyrics once more.

“The seasons change, and leaves may fall But I'll be with you through them all And rain or shine You'll always be mine

On a prickly path that goes on for miles You're the only one who makes it all worthwhile And you should not blame me too If I can't help fallin' in love with you”

Virgil stopped strumming immediately, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. That wasn’t entirely planned. Sure, he’d written it as one end, but it wasn’t what he’d planned to say. He stared at his friend, awaiting their reaction.

Patton was also still, clearly shocked by the sudden confession. He searched Virgil’s panicked expression before smiling playfully, “Hey, that’s no fair! I wanted to be the first one to say it!” He pushed Virgil’s shoulder lightly, pretending to scold him.

Virgil quickly scoffed and smiled, “Well, too bad, you took too long.”

Patton shrugged, “I guess so! But my idea was so perfect!” He whined, faking a small tantrum, “and now it’s all ruined, but I guess I’ll show you later…” He looked back at his friend with a grin.

Virgil shook his head and started to put his guitar away, “I mean, if that’s what you want to do, sure.”

“Hey Virge…?”

Patton’s voice held a note of vulnerability that Virgil hadn’t heard in a long time. It reminded him of the time in his bedroom, where his dad had interrupted.

“Yeah, Patton?”

His friend looked uncharacteristically nervous. He was holding himself tightly and not making eye contact. Virgil’s worry spiked once more as he waited for Patton to speak again.

“Did… did you mean it?”

Virgil nodded, but then realised that Patton wasn’t looking at him, “Yeah… I did.”

Only then did Patton look up at him through his eyelashes, “So, does that mean… you’ll go out with me, like… dating?”

Virgil couldn’t help the soft snort laugh that left him as relief flooded his body. He reached out and hugged Patton tightly, whispering softly, “Of course, Patton. I want to date you, if you want to date me.”

Patton immediately grasped a hold of Virgil, holding him so tightly. It was almost as if Patton felt like Virgil would disappear if he even gave him the slightest chance to move. Silent sobs wracked his body as all the worry and fear about this whole thing came crashing down on top of him. Virgil said nothing, just let the young boy cry it out in his arms. Patton was so thankful to have Virgil in his life, the boy who’d been his rock, the one who’d been truly with him this whole time, through all the awful stuff with his brother, and now finally they’d confessed.

Suddenly, Patton’s sobs turning to what could be mistaken for hysterical laughter. He pulled away from Virgil, wiping his eyes. His frie- no, his boyfriend’s hands remained on his shoulders, they were only resting there but it was utterly comforting. Patton looked up at Virgil, eyes puffy and red. There was a new-found fondness in the other boy’s eyes that made Patton feel all fuzzy and warm. Without too much thought, he threw himself towards Virgil, pressing kisses all over his face.

Virgil squirmed and laughed. He didn’t try to push Patton away or stop him, it was actually somewhat enjoyable to have the lovable boy pecking kisses all over his face. Eventually, Patton seemed to have his fill and stopped, grinning happily up at Virgil.

He acted without too much thought. Virgil moved his hand to hold Patton’s chin lightly, giving him all the time in the world to push his hand away. He lent in slowly and watched with curiosity as Patton’s eyes slid closed. The nerves inside of him were causing his internal voice to screech, but Virgil ignored it and pressed the gentlest of kisses to Patton’s lips.

While it wasn’t their first kiss because of that spin the bottle game from the sleepover, it was their first kiss after finally voicing their feelings and everything was so much better for it. The kiss lasted far longer, both of them enjoying the sensation immensely. It didn’t go any further than just soft and sweet, and it was simply perfect.

Their wonderful moment was ruined by Virgil’s phone beginning to blare loudly. They jumped apart, startled by the sudden noise. Virgil apologised before scrambling for his phone, answering the call as quick as possible.

That led to them both heading out of the park. Patton was happily wrapped under Virgil’s arm, their fingers intertwined. Everything was feeling just right. They stopped in front of their houses.

“Well, this is me.” Virgil said, looking down at Patton, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Patton hummed in thought, “Can I come over later, actually? I have something for you.”

Virgil wasn’t expecting such a request, but nodded in agreement, “Sure. I’ll text you when I’m done, promise.”

Patton grinned and spun himself out of Virgil’s arm with a giggle. He closed the distance between them and kissed him goodbye before running across the road.

Virgil must have looked extremely pleased as he entered his house, if his father’s comments were anything to go by.

“Well, what’s got you so happy, son?” His father asked, teasingly from his spot on the couch.

“Nothing really.” Virgil said, putting his bags down at the foot of the stairs, “It’s okay if Patton comes over later, right? Once we’re done?”

His father smiled, “Of course it is! Now, come on, I need your extra pair of hands to organise these tests.”

Virgil followed his dad into the downstairs office, where he was greeted by large piles of test papers and essays. He sat down, cross-legged on the floor and began to work through the first pile. It wasn’t the first time his dad had asked for his help with this, though it had been Logan’s responsibility back before he went off to university.

His father sat down in the office chair with a loud groan. He watched his son get to work with the papers before asking, “Son, will you answer me one question?”

“I guess…?”

“How did it take you two so long?”

Virgil dropped the test in his hand, his eyes shooting open wide as he stared open-mouthed at his dad. This reaction had his dad in fits of laughter.

“You two aren’t so slick, y’know. I saw you two outside.” His dad said, chuckles still rippling through him.

“Invasion of privacy, dad! What the hell!” Virgil growled, trying to get back to working on the papers.

“It was a public space, Virgil. Doesn’t count.” His father shot him finger guns before turning back to his computer and working on some document that was already half-finished.

Virgil worked quickly, grumbling half of the time about how it was unfair and not right for his dad to have seen and talk about stuff like that. His dad ignored him for the most part, only throwing a couple of retorts every now and then. It was just passing 5pm when Virgil was finished sorting out the papers.

He stood and stretched before pulling out his phone. He let Patton know he was free to come over and was about to put his phone in his pocket when he got a response, “Hey dad, Patton’s coming over now. See you later.”

“Okay, son. Find out if he’d like to stay for dinner. Also, no sex in the house!” His dad called to him teasingly.

Virgil, who was already halfway towards the staircase, froze and yelled back, “Shut up! Oh my god! You’re the worst!” This was only met with loud laughter which caused a fond smile to pull at the corners of Virgil’s lips.

Very soon, Patton was sat on Virgil’s bed and the two were happily chatting about something or other. It didn’t take long for Patton to introduce the reason he’d come over this evening by handing Virgil a fairly heavy plastic bag.

“Ta-da! For you!” Patton offered with a smile, “Go on! Open it!”

“You just gave it to me. Give me a second.” Virgil laughed.

Virgil pulled the plastic bag off of a present box. He shot a suspicious glance to his new boyfriend. While there was the possibility of the other boy doing a “box in a larger box” present, it was highly unlikely he’d do that for this moment. Cautiously, Virgil untied the ribbon that kept the lid firmly shut. He could see Patton practically vibrating with excitement next to him as he slowly lifted the lid of the box.

Virgil’s breath caught. Inside was a gorgeous spiral bound notebook. He carefully lifted it out and looked over the front cover, feeling the weight of the surprisingly thick pad of paper as he did so. The entire front was covered in various flowers, all gorgeous looking and detailed. Virgil ran his fingers over each one, taking in all the details as best he could.

Patton couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He’d given Virgil a few minutes, but he just had to speak. “So, all the flowers mean something really special!” Patton started, shifting closer to Virgil so he could point to each flower in turn. The excited boy explained each and every flower, what it meant and why he picked it for this gift - which resulted in a very flustered and blushing Virgil due to all the compliments that were showering him.

“Oh! It’s also on the back, see!” Patton turned the book over in Virgil’s hands, showing him that the flowers did indeed carry through to the back. Patton began to ramble about other things, “I knew I wasn’t the most artistic and greatest at drawing or painting, so I asked for Em’s help and she was super super helpful in teaching me how to do this. I mean, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, or let you know that she did all the line work, but she did such an amazing job! I couldn’t take all the credit for it! Also, also, Asher helped me with all the flower meanings! We spent like three weeks coming up with all the flowers, they were just so amazing with it all and so helpful. I came up with the final design though and chose all the flowers, putting them in the best place and I painted it all too!”

Virgil was only half paying attention, too engrossed in the beautiful piece of art in front of him. It was so wonderfully thought out and looked amazing. He turned it back over so he could open the front cover and have a look at the pages inside and was greeted with the final surprise. Written in big bold letters on the inside cover was a simple question: “Virgil, will you go out with me?”

Patton was still rambling on beside him but was slowly tapering off as he saw that Virgil had opened the cover. He laughed unashamedly, “Oh yeah, I forgot about that! That was my idea to ask, but you beat me to-” His sentence was cut off as Virgil’s arms wrapped around him tightly. The hug was quickly reciprocated, but something felt a little off. Virgil’s arms were too tight, his body too tense. Patton began to worry a little, “Virgil…? Are you okay?”

“Sorry…” came the muffled response as Virgil buried his head against Patton’s shoulder.

“What are you sorry for?” Patton ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, while his other hand soothingly rubbed circles against his back.

“Ruined it…”

Patton could only smile, “I already told you it was fine, Virgie. You didn’t do anything wrong, I loved it. Yours was way better.”

Virgil turned his head, so he was facing Patton’s neck, now able to speak freely, “Don’t say that, this is so fucking cute. Yours is so good…”

“Language.”

Virgil snorted, smirking to himself. He was slowly relaxing in Patton’s hold, his grip finally loosening to it’s usual state. Virgil shifted around a little to get comfortable, but kept his head resting on Patton’s shoulder. The moment felt perfect and sweet. Just the way it should be. But Virgil was yearning for something and he knew he’d have to ask for it.

“Hey… Patton?” He muttered, a little ashamed.

“Yeah?”

“Can I… uh, can we…” Virgil swallowed hard, trying to force the words out of himself, “Iwannakissyouagain.” As his words all rolled into one, Virgil cringed. The slight shudder of laughter from Patton had Virgil lifting his head to look at his newly appointed boyfriend.

Patton was giving him such a fond look that Virgil felt his heart might explode, “I’m proud of you for asking…” Patton spoke so softly, lifting Virgil’s head back up so he could line up their lips once more.

Virgil was so relieved that Patton was taking the initiative, as he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do it again. Ever so softly, their lips met again. It didn’t take long for the world around them to fall apart as they focused on the gentle movements and the wonderful softness.

“Son, did you find out if-”

Virgil fell off his bed due to him pulling away so quickly from Patton. His heart pounded and his breathing quickened in an instant. He raised his gaze to glare at his father in the now open doorway of his room, completely at odds with the dark blush that coated his cheeks, “OH MY GOD GET OUT!”

His dad chuckled and shut the door quickly, blocking the cushion that was thrown his way by his son, “Sorry, Virgil. I just never found out if Patton was staying for dinner or not.”

“I DON’T CARE! GET OUT!” Virgil screeched the command once more, the pitch rising significantly.

Now, both his dad and his boyfriend were laughing. He turned sharply to look at Patton, who was instead looking towards the door, “I’d love to stay, Mr Mortenson.”

“Of course, Patton. Also, please, call me Jason. You’ve been here often enough.” Virgil’s dad offered with a smile, “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. You two play nice now!”

“DAD! WHAT THE FUCK?!” Virgil cried out, having finally gotten up from the floor.

“Language!” was the response he got from both of the other two, echoing from both outside the door and inside his room.

Virgil pouted and sat back down on the bed, clearly unhappy and uncomfortable with the interruption. Patton’s arms sliding around him managed to break his pout, causing Virgil to turn and bury his face into Patton’s shoulder once again, “My dad’s the worst…” Virgil complained, trying desperately to sink into Patton so he’d never have to face his father again.

Patton simply giggled, “I think he’s great fun!”

Virgil groaned, “You’re both the worst…”

“Love you too, Virgie.”

Last Chapter —– Next Chapter

My other stuff: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/myworks Mobile Accessible Masterlist: http://nekoabi.tumblr.com/post/181954641376/fic-masterlist

The song is “You’re In My Head Like A Catchy Song” from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

Abigal and Ayana belong to me. Reggie belongs to @not-so-innocent-bi-sander Daniel belongs to @doces-e--tuga Ana, Em and Asher belongs to @fangsandrainbows Sophia belongs to @notalwaysthevillian

General Tag List: @not-so-innocent-bi-sander @didsomeonesayprince @llamaly  @justanotherpurplebutterfly @iaminmultiplefandoms @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @lowkeyvirgilobsessed @louisthewarlock @fangsandrainbows @xxladystarlightxx @sleepyssnail @ao-koshka

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#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Moxiety #Virgil Sanders #Patton Sanders #Logan Sanders #Anxiety Sanders #Morality Sanders #Logic Sanders #OCs #On the Verge of a Heartbreak #School AU #Human AU #just rambling #my writings

[obsidianarchives]

Beneath the Surface - Part 3

A Bond in Bloom

Before she knew it, Hermione was in regular correspondence with Blaise Zabini. What started off as a nerve-wracking task became the thing she most looked forward to during her break. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so lonely anymore, not so cut off from the world.

Having grown up solely in the wizarding world, Blaise started off with a lot of questions. What did her parents do? Why would anyone pay good money for someone to stick foreign objects in their mouth? What did Hermione want to be before she found out she was a witch?

Hermione tried to be thorough in answering his questions, and asked more than a few of her own. Blaise started off interested in Muggle Christmas, but when Hermione explained it to him, he sounded slightly disappointed.

I’m just going to be upfront and say that that sounds boring. Sorry.

My mum and I have never really celebrated Christmas. She says she doesn’t need an excuse to buy me things, but I think it’s also because my birthday is only four days before.

Hermione learned that Blaise and his mother hadn’t always been rich. Madam Zabini’s parents had cut her off after she got pregnant at the age of eighteen, and so for the first four years of his life, Blaise’s mother had worked in a shop in Diagon Alley struggling to make ends meet. Some wealthy wizard saw her there one day and was so enraptured by her beauty that he offered to take her and her young son in.

From the tone of the letter, Hermione could tell Blaise hadn’t liked Mr. Fawley, a pure-blood who seemed to have dealings with all kinds of people, some not so legal. At least, when he died, five years after discovering his mother in the shop, he’d had the foresight to look after them, willing his Gringotts vault to her.

I don’t really remember a time when we didn’t have all this, Blaise had written, but my mum often reminds me that it can be taken away. She spoils me, but she also has a very clear vision for my life. I think she worries about our position in part because of our race. She’s always warning me to keep quiet and pay attention to those I surround myself with because our class and pure-blood status only protects us so much. 

She runs in a lot of circles that believe pure-bloods are superior, and I guess I accepted that for a long time. But I don’t understand why proving your worth means you have to hurt and kill others. I don’t think she would ever go that far, but I know at least one of my step-fathers supported the Dark Lord pretty heavily back in the day. I don’t know what she would do if I flat out refused the ideology that has largely kept us safe and comfortable.

It makes me feel like a fraud, acting like I believe in these things because it’s all I’ve known. I don’t know if I can be myself without putting myself and her in danger.

Hermione felt for Blaise and his precarious position, and hoped he was being careful in sending these letters out. But he was nothing if not prudent, and the way he opened himself up made her feel comfortable to do the same. She told him how it felt being Muggle-born, especially with Voldemort back in the open.

I’d lived in this regular, unremarkable world for the first eleven years of my life, she wrote. Strange things would happen to me — like the time I accidentally drowned my mum’s office ficus after worrying overnight that I hadn’t watered it like she asked me to — but everything else was ordinary. And then I get this letter telling me I belong to this fantastical place where amazing things happen. I was so excited to leave my ordinary life for an extraordinary one.

But then Malfoy called me ‘Mudblood’ second year. I didn’t even know what it meant at the time, but I got the tone, understood from the way everyone else reacted that it was bad. I’d come to this wonderful world, only to find the same prejudices as the one I was from, ones that put me in immediate danger. It’s terrifying, but I know I can’t just step aside and let it continue.

She was starting to feel bad for Blaise’s owl Adonis, who would arrive at her window in the morning and then leave again in the afternoon once Hermione finished her letter. She didn’t know where Blaise lived in the country, and worried that the journey would start to take a toll on the owl, so she’d taken to leaving out food and water for him. He would occasionally take a few sips of water, but he refused to touch the owl nuts. At the end of one of her letters, Hermione told Blaise what was happening, and asked what the owl would eat.

The next letter arrived with a package, a small note attached that read Don’t laugh. The package contained Avion Dawdle’s Premium Owl Mix. Hermione poured some in a bowl as she read Blaise’s letter, and put in her response that she had, in fact, laughed.

Blaise had started off telling Hermione that he felt like he didn’t have to pretend with her, and Hermione felt the same of him. In one letter, she found herself writing about something she’d thought of often, but which she hadn’t voiced even to Harry or Ron.

I’ve never liked when people called me ‘The Brightest Witch of Her Age.’ I do work quite hard, and strive to do my best in everything I do, but the title always feels uncomfortable. I don’t do the work for recognition — or at least not in the way others might, for awards or praise. I do it because I’m genuinely interested and want others to feel proud of the work I do.

When people call me that, I wonder if they see me as a real person or just as a human encyclopedia — even sometimes with Harry and Ron, who I know care about my well-being but sometimes fall into the comfort that ‘Hermione will do it or fix it” without thinking about how to do it themselves.

It felt like a release to get the thoughts out, and even more of a relief to have Blaise validate those feelings. In his response, he flat out told her that anyone who only wanted her around for her knowledge didn’t deserve her. Hermione had blushed when reading that, glancing furtively up at Adonis, who blinked at her, looking deeply uninterested.

…

The start of the new term came quickly, and soon Hermione found herself back on the Hogwarts Express in a compartment with Luna Lovegood, listening to her gush about her vacation with her father, where they’d spent the entire time drinking Gurdyroot juice and harvesting blue radishes from their garden.

“They turn orange in the summer, but when they’re blue they’re perfect for drawing out toxins and bad auras,” she said dreamily, “We used them to decorate the house for the New Year.”

Hermione felt cheerful and a little nervous about returning to Hogwarts. She was glad to get back into her routine, to studying for exams and learning more about the fight against Voldemort. But another thought, large and nebulous, loomed in the back of her mind. She tried not to give it space to solidify, but still the sign off of Blaise’s last letter echoed in her mind.

See you at school.

She hadn’t seen him on the train platform, and felt glued to her seat across from Luna. The thought of going to look for him on the train both terrified and excited her, but she had to remind herself why it was a bad idea. He could be in a compartment full of Slytherins, or at the very least was somewhere others might see. She didn’t want other people whispering about their relationship when she wasn’t even sure they had one to begin with. So she stayed put, fighting to keep still.

Luna noticed her fidgeting and offered her a swig of doowindle water, which she said would help “calm the mind and limbs.” Hermione did her best to decline politely, pursing her lips and looking out of the window.

Finally, they made it to Hogwarts, and after a quick dinner on her own — Harry hadn’t arrived at the school by Floo Powder yet — Hermione went up to Gryffindor Tower to prepare for the next day of classes.

After giving a hungover Fat Lady the password, she entered the common room.

“Granger!” a high voice called to her from across the room.

A tiny second year, Liam Redding, hurried over to her, a note in his hand.

“I was told to give you this,” he said.

Hermione’s heart was pounding in her ears, “Thanks.”

She hurried up to her room, grateful that neither Parvati nor Lavender were inside, and ripped open the note. It was written in now-familiar handwriting.

Meet me near the Quidditch pitch?

Excitement and nerves shot through her. She stopped and took a deep breath. This was fine. She could talk to Blaise — she had been for weeks. This was nothing.

There was more than enough time before curfew, so Hermione put on her boots and pulled her winter cloak on over her jumper. Her hair was already tied down into two braids, so she jammed her hat over her head and wrapped the bottom half of her face in a thick purple scarf that had been one of her parents’ Christmas gifts to her.

Snow was falling lightly as she stepped out of the entrance hall and onto the grounds, the lake looked like it was made of gray slush. Wind tried to worm its way through the fabric of her clothes. Hermione shivered and drew her cloak tightly around her before trudging through the snow.

Her stomach flipped when she saw the dark figure up ahead, near the Quidditch stands. As she got closer she saw Blaise’s lanky figure, a scarf tied loosely around his neck, green hat covering his head and ears. He was watching her approach, hands deep in the pockets of his black cloak, teeth playing with his bottom lip. Was he nervous?

“It’s freezing,” Hermione complained as she approached, “Why couldn’t we meet indoors?”

Blaise shrugged, looking up at the gray clouds, “I like the snow.”

Hermione watched his face for a moment, the peace that seemed to come over him, and smiled. A warm feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach.

He looked down at her then, “How are you?”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, “I’m okay. Ready to get back into classes.”

Blaise nodded. They stood there silently for a moment, and he shifted his weight a bit, so that he was closer to her. His scent, cinnamon and cloves, carried over to her on the wind.

Hermione wracked her brain for something else to say. “How, er, how was your break?”

She cringed internally as she finished the question, realizing that she already knew the answer, having corresponded with Blaise the entire time. She suddenly wondered, in horror, whether they would ever be able to interact in person — was it possible to only have great interactions through paper? She felt like she knew this boy, his innermost thoughts, and he hers. Why was this so anxiety-inducing?

Blaise coughed lightly, raising a gloved hand to scratch his nose. “It was fine.”

As he dropped his hand, Hermione noticed something glitter from his wrist.

“Your watch!” she exclaimed, grabbing his arm without thinking. She hadn’t seen him with it before break, and it looked brand new.

Blaise was startled, but he held his wrist closer so that she could see it, a gold band with a black face, the hands golden snakes with emerald eyes.

“My mum bought it for my birthday,” he said, “since I came of age.”

Hermione had inadvertently pulled him closer to her, his warm body now blocking the wind. Her cheeks warmed as she dropped his hand, “It’s nice.”

“Thanks,” he said, glancing down at it before putting his hand back in his pocket, “Is there anything like that for Muggles?”

Hermione shook her head, “Well we — Muggles, I mean — don’t come of age until eighteen. And there’s no specific gift.”

“You’re a witch though,” he said, “Didn’t you get a watch for your birthday?”

“My parents are Muggles.”

“Yes, but they have to learn to acclimate to this culture right? Since their daughter is a part of it.”

“I suppose that would be true,” she allowed, “If I’d told them.”

Blaise tilted his head at her, his eyes curious, “Why haven’t you?”

She realized she liked talking to him face-to-face more than writing letters. While the letters had helped her get past her own self-consciousness, she’d only had his words to go by. In person, she could watch his expressions, his mannerisms.

“I don’t know,” she said, “My parents have always been okay with me being a witch, but I guess I sometimes don’t know how to be around them. I’m not around a lot, so I guess I try not to do things that scream at them that I have another part of myself they know very little about.”

Blaise frowned, “Wouldn’t telling them bring you closer?”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t want them closer. I’m a Muggle-born who is best friends with the Boy Who Lived. It would only put them in danger.”

Blaise fell silent then. At first Hermione thought he might feel put out by her response, but then she realized he was lost in thought.

“What do you tell them, then?”

She shrugged, “My grades, mostly. They can understand those, even if the system is different from the Muggle one. And about my friends,” she had told them quite a lot about Harry and Ron throughout the years.

Blaise’s eyes met hers then, but he looked nervous again, rubbing his nose before asking, “Have you told them about me?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shook her head, “Are we even friends?”

He looked away, suddenly bashful. “I mean...I’d like to be.”

Her heart was thudding in her chest. “Okay,” she tried to sound casual. “We’re friends then.”

“Alright then,” he said, sounding relieved.

It was dark now, so that Hermione could really only see Blaise’s silhouette, feel the breadth of his body in front of hers.

“We should probably get back,” she said. Harry should have arrived by now.

She could see Blaise’s shadow nod, and the two turned back towards the lights of the castle, trudging through the snow. A couple of times, Hermione’s shoulder would bump into him, or his elbow was graze her, and she would hold her breath until they slipped back apart in the darkness. Silence spread between them, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. Hermione wondered what Blaise was thinking.

They finally got to the front doors. Hermione took a deep breath to recenter herself.

Just as Blaise’s hand touched the handle, the doors pushed open, startling them both. Professor Dumbledore stood in the doorway, a fur-lined navy cloak draped over robes of silver and maroon. His blue eyes widened in surprise from behind his half-moon glasses.

“Ah, Miss Granger! And Mr. Zabini,” he said charmingly, “What a lovely surprise.”

“H-hi Professor,” Hermione stammered, “You’re out late.”

“On the contrary, the night is quite young,” Dumbledore looked between the two of them, “I’m afraid I have some business with Hagrid that needs attending. I do hope the two of you are ready for the excitement of a new term?”

“Of course, sir,” Blaise said politely, looking just as stunned as Hermione felt.

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore said, “Oh, I’ve almost forgotten. Miss Granger, if you could present this note to your friend Mr. Potter, I would be eternally in your debt.”

He passed Hermione a small piece of folded parchment. Recognition flashed through Hermione’s mind. This must be about Harry’s next lesson. “I’ll do that right away, sir.”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore smiled at the two of them, “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you have far more illuminating tasks to get up to than babbling away with an old man.” He swept past them and off across the grounds, towards Hagrid’s snow-capped hut. 

Hermione’s eyes felt like they would pop out of her head. As she glanced up at Blaise’s shocked expression, she felt a strong urge to laugh.

They stepped into the entrance hall, which was deserted but for the Grey Lady, moping up near the chandelier. Blaise turned towards her, dipping his head slightly to meet her gaze.

“Well, er, I’ll see you in class?” Hermione said, suddenly nervous again.

“Yeah,” he nudged her lightly with his elbow, “‘Night, Hermione.”

And with that he turned away, taking the staircase down to the Slytherin common room. As she hurried up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, Hermione smiled to herself.

…

Hermione found Harry, Ron, and Ginny stuck outside of the Gryffindor common room, arguing with an irritable Fat Lady.

“Harry! Ginny!” she called, hurrying over.

“Hey Hermione,” Ginny said as she brushed a bit of ash off of Harry’s shoulder, “Where have you been?”

“Oh, er, I’ve just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck — I mean Witherwings,” she lied quickly, internally thanking Dumbledore for giving her the idea. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah,” answered Ron, as if their last interaction hadn’t involved him humiliating her in front of their entire class, “it was pretty eventful—”

“I’ve got something for you, Harry,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard Ron, “Oh, wait, the password. Abstinence.”

“Precisely,” the Fat Lady said, swinging open. The four of them stepped into the crowded common room where students were greeting friends and taking advantage of the last few hours of down time before the homework started to pile up again.

Hermione pulled out the scroll Dumbledore had passed her at the castle doors and passed it to Harry.

“Won-Won!” came a high squeal, cutting Harry off as he opened his mouth to thank her. Lavender came hurtling into Ron out of nowhere, throwing her arms around his neck and nearly knocking him over. An annoyed look crossed over Harry’s face and Hermione grimaced, remembering Lavender’s worries about her relationship with Ron on the train.

“There’s a table over here,” she said quickly, trying to divert attention from the palpable desperation clinging to the interlocked couple, “Coming Ginny?”

“No, thanks, I said I’d meet Dean,” Ginny said, sounding resigned. Hermione eyed Harry as Ginny walked away, noting the faint optimism in his pink cheeks.

“What?” he asked when he caught her watching.

“Nothing,” Hermione said airily. She’d decided she wouldn’t probe him about Ginny unless he decided to talk to her about it, but his feelings really were obvious to anyone with eyes.

“So how was your Christmas?” he asked, very obviously trying to divert attention from himself.

“Oh, fine,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly as though the question hadn’t brought a certain Slytherin to the forefront of her mind, “Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won’s?”

Harry looked as if he wanted to say something about his friends’ standing feud but she glared at him before he could. He sighed, rolling his eyes before resigning to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Before that,” he said, “I still haven’t told you what happened before break.”

He explained to her that he too had left Slughorn’s Christmas party earlier, soon after she had escaped with Blaise, in fact. Instead of heading to the Gryffindor common room to call it a night, he had followed Snape and Malfoy under the Invisibility Cloak.

“Malfoy was talking about some job he had to do for ‘his master’ and Snape was offering to help him. Said he’d made an ‘Unbreakable Vow.’”

Hermione frowned at the smug eagerness on Harry’s face. “Don’t you think—?”

“—he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he’s doing?” Harry interrupted, clearly having thought through this line of argument.

She blinked, “Well, yes.”

“Ron’s dad and Lupin think so,” he said grudgingly, “But this definitely proves Malfoy’s planning something, you can’t deny that.”

“No, I can’t,” she said slowly. She hated to agree with him when it felt like doing so would just push him further into his obsession.

Still, she let him carry on for a bit with his Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater conspiracy, inwardly hoping that Harry would find other things to capture his attention. He mentioned that he was planning to tell Dumbledore what he had overheard, and she hoped the headmaster would be able to put a stop to his spiraling.

The next morning brought something else Hermione thought might work as a distraction for Harry: sixth years were to start Apparition lessons. She signed up, excited to finally learn a new magical skill. All day, everyone chattered on about it.

“It’ll be like we’re official adults!” Parvati said excitedly at lunch while Lavender moped quietly, playing with her food and casting furtive glances over at Ron and Harry further down the table. Hermione wondered if something had happened between now and their wrestling match the night before.

“At least you two are of age already,” Lavender sighed, turning back to her chips, “I won’t be able to take the test until summer.”

Hermione had long decided to stay out of her and Ron’s business, so she just gave a conciliatory grunt and went back to skimming the Daily Prophet, which was reporting a Dementor attack and two disappearances since the start of the new year.

After Charms she went to the library, wondering if there was a book she could check out on the theory of Apparition, just so she could be prepared for the first day. She made her way over to the section on Magical Transportation.

The Apparition books were first, and Hermione scanned the titles slowly. There were books about famous Apparating records, scary stories of Apparitions gone horribly wrong (with moving illustrations), even a guide to Side-Along Apparition. She frowned at the empty space on the shelf between Apparating with Aplomb by Gilderoy Lockhart and Arctic to Tropic: How Temperature May Affect Your Apparition by Cardaroc Jumper.

“You’re predictable, you know that?” a familiar voice said behind her.

Hermione’s stomach fluttered as she whipped around to see Blaise leaning back against the shelves dedicated to Floo traveling. He held a small book in his hands, a smirk on his face.

“Hi,” Hermione said. She nodded at the book in his hands, “Studying for Apparition lessons too?”

“Nope,” Blaise said. His fingers flexed around it and Hermione suddenly remembered his firm grip on her elbow at the Christmas Party, “Some of us read for fun, you know.”

Hermione ignored his dig, knowing he was just trying to get a rise out of her. “What are you reading?”

Suddenly, Blaise looked guarded, self-conscious. He shifted the book behind his back, “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, let me see,” she said, reaching forward to get a look at the title.

His hand flew up, over his head and out of her reach.

“Honestly,” she huffed. She pushed up on her toes, trying to close the distance.

Blaise chuckled as he straightened his arm, holding the book higher. His breath tickled her ear. Hermione jumped, her fingers bumping against the band of his watch. When she landed she lost her footing, tripping forward.

Blaise’s free hand slid to her lower back, to keep her steady as he stumbled, the bookshelf wobbling behind him. Hermione caught herself on the shelf with one hand, her other splayed against his chest as she tried to maintain her balance.

The smell of cinnamon and cloves filled her nose. She looked up at him, her breath caught in her throat. His eyes blazed and the grip on her back seemed to tighten, sending a jolt up her spine. Hermione’s gaze fell on Blaise’s lips, slightly parted in surprise, and she forgot about the book.

Blaise’s eyes widened and then he looked away suddenly, dropping his hand. Hermione backed up, clearing her throat. Her heart was pounding and she felt as if she were under a very persistent space heater.

“You don’t have to show me,” she said quietly, embarrassed.

“No, it’s fine,” Blaise said. He held the book out to her.

Hermione took it, careful not to let their fingers touch. The cover was an eggplant purple, a curvy Black woman in a glittering dress shaking her hips on the cover. The title was written in curly green writing, A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Success, the Autobiography of Celestina Warbeck.

She looked back up at him. He was rubbing the back of his head, looking abashed. “I like autobiographies. She’s my mum’s favorite singer.”

Hermione smiled at this new bit of information. “What other ones have you read?” she asked, partly because she was curious and partly to show him there was no reason to be embarrassed.

“I’ve read loads,” he said, looking encouraged. “There was this one about the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation before Barty Crouch. He was the one who helped establish an exchange system for different kinds of wizarding money, can you believe we didn’t have it before?”

Hermione had never seen Blaise so passionate about anything. His face seemed to genuinely open up, his eyes alight.

“Seraphina Picquery was the one I read before this one,” he continued. He glanced at his shoes a moment, biting his lip. “The one I read at the beginning of break was about Dorinda Stallworth. She was—”

“The first female Supreme Mugwump,” Hermione said. Her cheeks were flaming now, as she remembered him mentioning how the book had reminded him of her. She plunged forward in an attempt to skip over the strange tension building between them. “I haven’t read many autobiographies. Well, except for Lockhart’s, but that was for school.”

Blaise’s knowing smirk was back. He reached out to take the book back, his fingers brushing her hand. Hermione held her breath. “You can borrow some of mine if you’d like,” he said, “When you’re not too busy studying.”

With a parting nod, he turned down the aisle. Hermione watched him leave, her hand tingling where their skin had touched.

…

A few days later, Hermione stood in an empty courtyard with Harry, snow glittering in her thick hair.

“And so Dumbledore said I have to figure out a way to get Slughorn’s memory, the real one,” Harry looked a little nervous, his looming fate a shadow over him.

Hermione’s mind was racing as she thought through all he had told her. “He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn’t get it out of him,” she said, keeping her voice low in case anyone happened to walk by. “Horcruxes...Horcruxes...I’ve never even heard of them…” How was that possible?

“You haven’t?” Harry sounded disappointed. Hermione felt a twinge of irritation — he always relied on her to know everything.

“They must be really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it’s going to be difficult to get the information, Harry, you’ll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…” despite herself, she was already trying to think of ways to convince Slughorn to give up the memory. Perhaps a potion or a—

“Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions.”

Hermione’s irritation turned to full blown anger, “Oh, well if Won-Won thinks that, you’d better do it,” she snapped, “After all, when has Won-Won’s judgment ever been faulty?”

“Hermione, can’t you—?”

“No!” she said before stalking off, leaving him in the ankle-deep snow.

She was fuming all through Arithmancy. Harry — and Ron — had relied on her for so much: homework, research that was outside of the purview of schoolwork, saving their lives, only to turn around and not take her advice seriously. It wasn’t that she thought she was always right, but for Harry to disregard her opinion for someone who was only dating a girl so he could be seen doing it, who couldn’t even play Quidditch without someone tricking him into thinking he was actually good, stung. When had her best friends become so infuriating?

She felt a strong need to vent, to throw her feelings at someone just for the sake of it. But there was no one. Harry and Ron were her only close friends; Lavender wouldn’t hear a word against her boyfriend and Parvati wouldn’t care. Maybe Ginny, but she had enough going on with her rocky relationship with Dean.

Her mind turned to Blaise as class ended. It had been so easy to talk to him over break, but they were in the same place now. She couldn’t just borrow Hedwig, a pretty recognizable owl, and send her down to the Slytherin common room. Maybe she could find him? But wouldn’t that be weird, not mention stalker-like? Hermione made her way to Gryffindor Tower to drop her things. She sighed internally as she helped a small first year girl pick up the large stack of books that had spilled from her hands onto the ground on the seventh floor. She should just let it go.

Rather than dwell on it, she decided she should write a letter to her parents. It was only a few days into the new term, but she figured she should try to make more of an effort to reach out than she had in the past. Something about the tense climate in the wizarding world made her want to try harder to maintain her Muggle connections, even if she could barely stand to live in that world anymore.

She made her way up to the common room after dinner, ready to spend her time by the fireplace writing to her parents. She walked up a staircase to the fourth floor, pleased that it was already moving to connect to a landing that would take her down a more direct route to Gryffindor Tower. The feeling quickly dissipated when she spotted a group of Gryffindor seventh years, recognizing Cormac McLaggen among them.

His face lit up when he saw her, and Hermione quickly averted her eyes, ready to pretend as if she hadn’t seen him. 

Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she had almost gotten past the group when McLaggen shouted, “Hey, Granger!”

She wondered if she could pretend not to hear him, but he had already detached himself from his friends, his long legs catching up with her before she could turn the corner up ahead. She slowed to a halt, grimacing.

“Oh, hello,” she said awkwardly, glancing at his friends, who were clearly pretending not to be paying attention.

“Had a good vacation?” he asked, grinning down at her in a knowing way that made it clear he didn’t actually know anything. He was standing too close again. Hermione rocked back on her heels.

She shrugged, glancing back down the hall, “Yeah, it was fine.”

“You know, I was thinking,” he said, barely listening to her response, “I feel like we were cut off at the Christmas party.”

Hermione forced the bewildered laugh that was climbing up her throat back down.

He seemed to take her silence as an invitation. “There’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up soon,” he said, “Maybe we could try again? I’m sure there will be less distractions.”

Hermione took a clear step back then. Trying her best to smile as if her skin wasn’t crawling, she shook her head, “Sorry, I don’t really have time to date,” she said, “What with schoolwork and prefect duties and...other things.”

Mortified, she turned and hurried down the hallway, leaving McLaggen looking dumbstruck. By the time she made it to the common room, it was full of students, all of the seats by the fire taken. Annoyed, Hermione went up to her dormitory, resolving to write her letter in the quiet. She pulled out her parchment and quill and sat on her bed, leaning her back against the headboard. Crookshanks stalked over, curling up on top of her feet.

She told her parents about her classes, the weather, and the upcoming Apparition lessons. She stared at the page long and hard, trying to think of any other updates to give, but there was nothing to say about Harry or Ron that wouldn’t make her more angry than she already was. Honestly, angry wasn’t the word. Tired. She was tired.

For a moment, she wondered if she should include anything about Blaise. She hadn’t told them about writing to him over break, often disappearing into her room for a time to read and respond, or else waiting until they were out for work. Have you told them about me? His voice, the shy way he had looked away from her as he said it, echoed in her mind. She supposed she could tell them about him, but what would she even say? She felt flustered just imagining the ways her parents could read into her words, and she folded the parchment up and sealed it quickly before she could do something she might regret.

She slid her feet out from under Crookshanks and pulled her shoes back on before leaving the dormitory, hurrying through the crowded common room and out into the halls. As she wound her way through the castle to the Owlery, it suddenly occurred to her that her account of the weather might have let something slip about breeding Dementors. She quickly unsealed the parchment as she sidestepped the Bloody Baron telling off Peeves, and made a left at the portrait of two wizards trying their hardest to escape an angry bowtruckle.

It’s been quite gloomy here though the snow is nice.

She exhaled sharply. Good. But now, she felt the need to read through the entire thing, just to be sure there was nothing in it to alarm her parents or alert the wrong person should it be intercepted. Her eyes flew across the page.

“You should really watch where you’re walking,” Blaise’s teasing voice said from about four feet ahead of her.

Her eyes flew up from her account of her latest Herbology class. He stood facing her on the stairs leading up to the Owlery, on the second step from the bottom.

“I was just double checking the letter I’m about to send to my parents,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart rate seemed to pick up speed.

He shook his head, “Overachieving even in your letter writing.”

Hermione flushed, “Did you just get done sending a letter, then?”

“To my mum,” he said quickly, scratching his broad nose, “I finished that book this morning. Thought she might like it.”

“That’s nice,” There was a beat of awkward silence. Hermione gestured up the stairs lamely, “I’m just gonna...go send this off.”

“I’ll come with you,” Blaise said, turning on the ball of his foot to walk back up the stairs.

“Oh,” Hermione said, startled, “Alright.”

She tried to continue reading the letter back on their way up, but she could barely focus. The staircase was narrow, which made it so that they kept bumping into each other with every other step, their arms brushing against each other. By the time they reached the top, she had decided to give up and trust that she’d done alright the first time.

She could feel Blaise watching her as she looked up to find one of the school owls. Normally, she would ask Harry to use Hedwig, who she saw snoozing up at the very top of the rafters, but she wasn’t talking to him. She spotted a barn owl not too far up, and stepped forward to call her down.

“So, you only write your mum?” she tried to be casual, but she felt awkward, her voice somehow coming out higher than usual.

Blaise leaned back against the perch, close enough that their shoulders touched lightly. She felt like a live wire had sparked right in the place where their arms touched, spreading through the rest of her. She tried to ignore it, to pretend that it was no big deal. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too, but he seemed just as calm as ever. She focused hard on tying the envelope to the owl’s leg.

“Yeah, mostly,” he said, “There was this one girl I used to write to, but she hasn’t sent me anything since we got back to school.”

Hermione’s fingers fumbled around the string, and she looked up. There was that look again, from after the Christmas party. His eyes were blazing, and he was leaning closer to her, as if they were sharing in some big secret. Hermione was suddenly very aware of his body, his warm scent. Their touching shoulders, it seemed, were the least of her problems, especially when he was smirking like that, his full lips tipped up lightly on one side. For a moment, her mind went blank.

“Well,” she said shakily, “She sounds lovely.”

Blaise laughed. It was higher than she expected, but warm and free. All of the building tension seemed to dissipate at the sound of his mirth, and Hermione grinned. She went off to help the owl out of the nearest window. By the time she turned back around, Blaise’s laughter had faded away, but a sweet smile graced his lips.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the exit, “I’ll walk you back down.”

She followed him towards the doorway without hesitation, and found herself racking her brain, trying to think of something to say or do that might make him laugh like that again.

“So,” he said as they reached the bottom of the staircase, “How is your start of term going?”

Hermione shrugged, “It’s fine. There’s a lot to do, but I’ve improved a lot on my time management.”

Blaise raised his eyebrows at her, “Do you mean to tell me you weren’t always good at time management?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I can sometimes overdo things.”

“I have never heard that about you.”

“Well then you’ll be surprised to learn that third year Professor McGonagall wrote to the Ministry to allow me the use of a time turner so that I could take all of the classes the school offers.”

Blaise stopped walking, his jaw falling slack. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You traveled in time to take extra classes.”

“You know I never thought about it, but I’m technically at least nine months older than everyone thinks.”

This musing seemed to be too much for Blaise. A laugh burst from his mouth and he keeled over, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“That’s — the most — you thing — I have ever heard,” he gasped.

Hermione was giggling too as she truly processed her own ridiculousness and simultaneously took that moment to congratulate herself for succeeding in making Blaise laugh twice in such a short span of time. The sound of his laughter made her feel like she was standing out in the sun, even though they were still in the dead of winter.

“What about you?” she asked, once they had both calmed down a bit, continuing down the dimly lit hall, their footsteps echoing off the high walls.

“What do you mean?” Blaise asked, still smiling, his face a door unlocked.

“What is a peak ‘you’ moment?” as many letters as they had exchanged in the two weeks of Christmas break, Hermione only ever found herself wanting to know more about him.

“Hmm,” Blaise said, nudging her gently to the right so that she wouldn’t miss the turn that led to the Gryffindor common room. “I don’t know that I’ve ever quite achieved that level of self-caricature.”

Hermione huffed, lifting her nose with an air of superiority, “You’ve obviously not been trying hard enough.”

“I did ‘accidentally’ ruin a pair of one of my step-dad’s shoes,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Selwyn. He always seemed hell bent on separating me and my mum. I don’t think I factored into his plans for her,” the ghost of a frown flitted across his face.

“He sounds awful,” Hermione said lightly, “Would the accidental nature of your vandalism hold up in front of the Wizengamot, do you think?”

Blaise grinned then, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. The way his cheekbones filled out when he smiled, the way his eyes flashed playfully...he should really warn her before he did things like that.

“It should,” he said, “It happened just before first year, actually. He’d said something cheeky, I don’t even remember what at this point. I’d gone to bed angry, and when I woke up his shoes had somehow found their way into Adonis’s cage.”

Hermione let out a cry of laughter, then clapped her hands to her mouth, worried she had been too loud. 

“Adonis didn’t eat them of course — he has taste,” Blaise said, wrinkling his nose. Hermione had dissolved into a fit of giggles. “They were hideous — some bright red monstrosity he was trying to pass off as dragon leather. He couldn’t get the stains off, even with magic.”

Tears dotted the corners of Hermione’s eyes, as she tried to keep her laughter in, her hand still pressed to her mouth. She put her other hand on Blaise’s shoulder to steady herself, taking a deep breath. He chuckled, joy still lighting his face, but something softer was pushing through.

Her laughter faded away as she suddenly became aware of what she was doing. Her hand suddenly felt like lead where she gripped his shoulder, electricity running up her arm. She bit her lip as she dropped her hand, feeling strangely awkward and self-conscious. Blaise looked away, his face closing off again. Silence stretched between them, tense and confusing.

Hermione cleared her throat, “I should, er…”

“Yeah,” he said, “Me too.”

He offered her a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. As he turned away, Hermione suddenly felt disappointed. She wasn’t sure what had been about to happen, but she was sure she had ruined it.

…

Hermione was trying her hardest to manage her clearly growing feelings for Blaise, unable to see how it could end anything but badly. Still, she appreciated having someone around who made her feel like she was interesting outside of her extensive knowledge on the twelve uses of dragon’s blood. It especially helped given that Harry and Ron continued to infuriate her.

Ron was oscillating between trying to talk to her as if nothing had happened and making snide remarks when she passed. Harry, on the other hand, refused to do his Potions work on his own, instead using the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions any chance he got.

“I have to try to soften Slughorn up if I’m going to get that memory from him, aren’t I?” was his excuse.

But one lesson, towards the end of January, seemed like it would finally backfire on him.

“Settle down, settle down, please!” Slughorn said from the front of the room, “Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott’s Third Law...who can tell me—?” Hermione’s hand shot up, “But Miss Granger can, of course!”

Hermione could see Blaise rolling his eyes at the Slytherin table, but she could tell he was amused by her.

“Golpalott’s Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components,” she recited.

“Precisely!” beamed Slughorn. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott’s Third Law as true…”

Harry looked like he was going to be sick. Ron wasn’t even paying attention, doodling in the corner of his book as if someone would Apparate into the room and do the lesson for him. Hermione grinned to herself as she copied down Slughorn’s words into her notes.

“...and so,” Slughorn finished, “I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don’t forget your protective gloves.”

Hermione shot up out of her seat and grabbed her phial before anyone else could. She went back to her cauldron and tipped the hissing electric blue poison inside before starting the fire beneath.

“It’s a shame that the Prince won’t be able to help you much with this, Harry,” she said brightly. She couldn’t help herself, “You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!”

Harry scowled as Hermione turned back to her cauldron.

She pulled out her wand and thought Specialis Revelio! The potion separated into its disparate parts. She poured them out one by one into different phials. She recognized the fellviper venom immediately, and the nightshade. The others she had to check in her book. She had most of the separate antidotes in her potion-making kit, but a few she had to grab from the class stores. She poured it all back into her cauldron and set it to simmer before clipping a small chunk of her own hair and adding it in, changing the light, almost transparent peach color to a cloudy and swirling sunset orange. 

Harry sighed and stood, going over to the store cupboard.

“Two minutes left, everyone!” Slughorn called. Hermione added a few more ingredients into the now thickly bubbling cauldron, which had now turned a dusky purple. She turned the fire off and started scooping it out, tipping the contents into her bottle.

“Time’s...UP!” Slughorn called, “Well, let’s see how you’ve done! Blaise...what have you got for me?”

Blaise stood by his cauldron, arms crossed. As Slughorn peeked over at his final result, he raised his eyebrows at Hermione playfully. She bit her lip and looked down at her bottle of antidote. She suddenly realized she had forgotten the asphodel on her cutting board. She quickly grabbed some and sprinkled it into the bottle while Slughorn moved on to Malfoy, who looked like he had spilled vomit over the front of his robes.

Slughorn came to their table last. He sniffed Ernie’s potion, and almost gagged at the awful fumes coming from Ron’s cauldron.

“And you, Harry,” he said, “What have you got to show me?”

Harry held out his hand, a small shriveled stone in the center of his palm.

There was a long beat of silence. Harry began to turn red. Suddenly, Slughorn roared with laughter.

“You’ve got nerve, boy!” He boomed, taking the bezoar and holding it up so the entire class could see. “Oh, you’re like your mother...Well, I can’t fault you...A bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!”

Slughorn hadn’t even looked at Hermione, had completely forgotten to look at the work she had done. He only had eyes for Harry. She felt a hot anger burn through her, making her eyes water.

“That’s the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!” said Slughorn happily. Hermione’s hands began to shake as Slughorn went back up to his desk, her potion completely forgotten.

She tossed her things into her bag haphazardly and stormed out of the room as the bell rang. She was sick of this, of putting in so much effort and getting nothing in return. School was the thing she was good at, and Harry was just stumbling through, taking up space without doing any actual work.

She fought back her tears as she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, knowing it would do no good to cry in front of Snape. She chose a seat as far from the back as possible, knowing Harry and Ron would probably choose to sit there.

By the time Harry came in, he didn’t look as triumphant as when she’d left the Potions classroom. She found out why at lunch.

“It was a disaster,” he said, sitting down across from her at the table like she wasn’t still furious with him, “Slughorn all but threw me out at the mention of Horcruxes.”

“Wow,” she said flatly, “Who would’ve thought Won-Won’s suggestion wouldn’t go as planned?”

“Hermione, can’t you just talk to him already?”

“Leave me alone, Harry,” she said sharply, opening up the autobiography of Seraphina Picquery Blaise had lent her the week before.

…

Even through her anger, Harry’s update on Slughorn’s memory reminded her that she wanted to look up information on Horcruxes. On her next break, she went to the Restricted Section of the library. She scanned the books and found two that she thought might work: Dark Sorcery and Magick Moste Evile. After grabbing them both off the shelf, she went to find a quiet corner to read.

She found Blaise instead, sitting at a table on his own, books sprawled out in front of him as he scribbled neatly on a sheet of parchment. Sunlight peeked through the cloudy sky from the high window, briefly passing over him, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. She hurried over to him without a thought, a smile spreading across her face.

“Can I join you?” she asked once she was close enough.

Blaise looked up, his dark eyes bright. He gestured to the empty chair across from him, “Go ahead.”

Hermione dropped her bag on the ground beside the table and sat in the chair as he went back to his work. She slid Magick Moste Evile in front of her, which let out a low ghostly moan as she opened it to the introduction.

Blaise looked back up from his Transfiguration essay, an eyebrow raised.

“Why are you reading such a creepy book?”

Hermione’s fingers froze on the first page. She hadn’t thought of this when she’d come over. She knew she couldn’t tell Blaise why she had really picked up these books, and she cast around for something convincing to tell him.

“I’m trying to understand the way werewolf bites work,” she lied, saying the first thing that came to mind, “I thought these might help.”

Blaise seemed to buy it, accepting her need to know everything about everything in the slightly exasperated way she had become accustomed to. “I doubt Snape will care if you’re able to pinpoint the exact magical property that creates the change.”

“Yes, but learning Defense is about more than getting good grades,” she pointed out.

Blaise’s eyes widened, looking startled, before he shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.”

They passed the rest of break time in silence, each of them focused on their own work. Hermione didn’t find anything about Horcruxes in Magick Moste Evile except for a small mention in the introduction, so she turned to Dark Sorcery in the hopes that it would at the very least shed light on what a Horcrux actually was.

Blaise started packing up his things ten minutes before the end of break. “What class do you have?”

“Arithmancy,” Hermione said, shutting the book.

“History of Magic’s in the same wing,” he said, pushing himself out of his seat. He jerked his head towards the exit, “Come on.”

He waited for her by the door as she checked her books out with Madam Pince, and then they strode out together. Hermione started to feel a little nervous, wondering what would happen if someone they knew saw them together. As if he had read her mind, Blaise made a sharp right, pulling open a tapestry and revealing a small corridor, a shortcut that would not only ensure they were hidden, but would cut across the castle to where they needed to go. Hermione ducked inside.

“I meant to ask,” Blaise said, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, “How are you after the bezoar incident?”

She had left her anger to simmer in the back of her mind in her more pressing quest to learn about Horcruxes, and it burned brighter now at the mention of their last Potions class. But she couldn’t let Blaise know how much it hurt. She suspected he had a bias against Harry, which she wasn’t sure was just from his being a Slytherin. “I’m fine,” she said tightly.

“Hmm,” Blaise said. Hermione looked up to see that he was frowning.

“What?”

“Nothing, just you looked really upset in class…” he trailed off, glancing down at her, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione huffed, “Well obviously I’m furious, but there’s nothing I can do. Harry is Professor Slughorn’s favorite.”

“Even among us favorites,” Blaise sighed, though he didn’t sound bitter. “I’m sorry he didn’t get to appreciate your hard work,” he reached out and tugged lightly on her hair, where she’d snipped off a bit to add to her antidote.

Hermione scowled at his sly grin and smacked his hand away, pretending that the contact didn’t sent her heart racing.

Up ahead, she could see the exit, could hear the chatter and footsteps of students just beyond the large framed portrait that was blocking them in, out of sight.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, curiosity in his eyes.

“Sure.”

“Why’d you hesitate to tell me how you were feeling?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped but she rolled her eyes, “Because if I tell you how I’m really feeling, you’ll just go into a diatribe about how that’s why you’re a loner who luxuriates in your own solitude atop the Astronomy Tower.”

Blaise laughed, but shook his head, “Nah, I wouldn’t do that. Not now that I’ve found you.”

His words made her blush, and her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Glad I could help pull you down from your tower.”

They slowed to a stop, just before the entrance. She looked up at Blaise, about to suggest that they leave one at a time, so that no one would suspect anything. But Blaise didn’t seem to be thinking about an escape. His eyes sparkled humorously, and he took a step towards her.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” he murmured.

He was so close, Hermione couldn’t see past the breadth of his shoulders. His warm scent filled her nose and her breathing turned shallow as he gently tugged on her hair again, his fingers winding their way through her tight curls. Her eyes locked onto his. There was a fire behind them, and she couldn’t look away.

She lifted her chin as he bent down, closing the already shrinking gap between them. And then his lips pressed against hers, gentle but firm.

Before she could think, before she could decide to kiss him back or pull away, the pressure on her lips was gone, his hand gone from her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open, just in time to see Blaise’s standard smirk before he pushed the portrait open and slipped out into the crowded hall.

To Be Continued

#Hogwarts #Hermione Granger #Blaise Zabini