#MAT Registration

[ashcovenews]

MAT 2024 Registration Deadline Approaching: Apply Now for CBT and PBT Exams

The registration deadline for the MAT 2024 Computer-Based Test (CBT) and Paper-Based Test (PBT) is fast approaching. Aspiring management students have until May 19 for the CBT and May 28 for the PBT to submit their applications. This is a crucial opportunity to gain admission to over 600 top B-Schools across India. Interested candidates can apply via the official website at mat.aima.in before the last date.

Why Choose MAT 2024?

MAT, conducted by the All India Management Association (AIMA), opens doors to over 20,000 management programs at prestigious institutions. Some of the top participating B-Schools include:

CHRIST (Deemed to be University), Bengaluru

PSG Institute of Management, Coimbatore

SP Jain Institute of Management and Research, Mumbai

Jaipuria Institute of Management, Noida

Delhi School of Business (VIPS-TC), New Delhi

Xavier Business School, Kolkata

Available Exam Modes

MAT 2024 offers three modes of examination, allowing flexibility for test-takers:

Internet-Based Test (IBT): Take the exam from the comfort of your home.

Paper-Based Test (PBT): Traditional pen-and-paper exam.

Computer-Based Test (CBT): Conducted at authorised test centres.

Important MAT 2024 Dates

Here are the key dates for the MAT 2024 exams:

CBT Schedule:

Registration Deadline: May 19, 2024

Admit Card Release: May 23, 2024 (from 2:00 PM)

Exam Date: May 26, 2024

PBT Schedule:

Registration Deadline: May 28, 2024

Admit Card Release: May 30, 2024 (from 2:00 PM)

Exam Date: June 2, 2024

Results for MAT 2024 are expected to be released by the second week of June. Candidates can access their scorecards by logging into their MAT Applicant Dashboard.

Who Can Apply?

Graduates in any discipline

Final-year undergraduate students

Application Fee

Rs 2100 for a single test mode

An additional Rs 1200 for choosing another test mode

Stay Updated

For further details and updates, candidates are advised to regularly check the official website or their applicant dashboard.

Don't miss this chance to take the first step toward a successful management career! Apply for MAT 2024 today.

[enlighteningcareers]

MAT Exam Date 2023: A Comprehensive Guide

The Management Aptitude Test (MAT) is a highly regarded entrance examination in India that evaluates a candidate's aptitude for business and management. Administered by the All India Management Association (AIMA), MAT is taken by thousands of aspirants annually, all seeking admission to various prestigious management programs across the country. This article delves into the details of the MAT exam date for 2023, offering comprehensive information for prospective test-takers.

An Overview of MAT

Before we delve into the specifics of the MAT exam date for 2023, let's understand the fundamentals of MAT.

The Management Aptitude Test (MAT) is a standardized, national-level examination conducted by AIMA. It is a popular choice for MBA and other management-related program admissions. MAT assesses candidates on their skills in language comprehension, mathematical skills, data analysis and sufficiency, intelligence and critical reasoning, and Indian and global environment.

MAT is recognized by over 600 business schools across India and is also accepted by numerous international universities and institutions. This wide acceptance makes it an attractive choice for management aspirants, both within and outside India.

MAT Exam Date 2023: Important Information

Aspiring management students planning to take the MAT in 2023 should be aware of key dates, registration details, and other pertinent information. Here's what you need to know:

MAT Exam Modes: MAT is conducted in two modes: Computer-Based Test (CBT) and Paper-Based Test (PBT). Candidates can choose the mode that suits them best. The CBT mode offers more flexibility, while the PBT mode is a paper-and-pencil test.

MAT Exam Schedule: The MAT exam is held multiple times throughout the year. For 2023, the exam will be conducted in the months of February, May, September, and December. Candidates can choose any of these months to appear for the test, depending on their convenience.

MAT 2023 Exam Date: The MAT exam date for February 2023 is the 5th and 11th of February for the PBT and CBT modes, respectively. The specific dates for the other months (May, September, and December) will be announced closer to the respective exam months. It's crucial to stay updated with the official MAT website or notifications from AIMA for the latest exam schedules.

MAT Registration: To appear for the MAT exam, candidates need to register online on the official AIMA website. The registration for each exam session typically opens several weeks before the exam date. It is essential to complete the registration process, including payment of the exam fee, well before the last date to avoid any last-minute hassles.

MAT Exam Fee: The application fee for the MAT exam is subject to change each year. For the most accurate and up-to-date information, candidates should visit the official MAT website.

Eligibility Criteria: To be eligible for the MAT exam, candidates must have completed their graduation in any discipline from a recognized university or institute. There is no age limit to appear for the MAT exam, and both fresh graduates and working professionals can take the test.

Admit Card: After successful registration, candidates receive their MAT admit cards. The admit card is a crucial document that contains important information such as the exam date, time, and venue. It's essential to carry a printed copy of the admit card to the exam center along with a valid photo ID.

MAT Exam Pattern: MAT consists of multiple-choice questions (MCQs) and is divided into five sections: Language Comprehension, Mathematical Skills, Data Analysis and Sufficiency, Intelligence and Critical Reasoning, and Indian and Global Environment. The duration of the test is 150 minutes, and it comprises 200 questions.

MAT Result and Scorecard: MAT exam results are typically released within a few weeks after the exam. The scorecard displays the sectional and overall percentile, which is used by management institutes for admission. The scorecard remains valid for one year.

MAT Participating Institutes: MAT scores are accepted by a vast number of management institutes in India. Candidates can apply to the institutes of their choice based on their MAT score and institute-specific admission criteria.

Preparation for MAT 2023

Preparing for MAT 2023 requires dedication, time, and the right study strategy. Here are some tips to help you excel in the exam:

Understand the Exam Pattern: Familiarize yourself with the MAT exam pattern. Knowing the structure of the test and the distribution of questions in each section will help you plan your preparation.

Create a Study Schedule: Design a well-structured study plan that covers all sections of the MAT syllabus. Allocate sufficient time to each section based on your strengths and weaknesses.

Practice Regularly: Practice is key to performing well in MAT. Solve sample papers, previous years' question papers, and mock tests to gauge your progress and improve your time management skills.

Improve Time Management: Time management is crucial in MAT. Since there are 200 questions to be answered in 150 minutes, you need to be swift and accurate. Regular practice will help you get better at managing your time during the exam.

Stay Updated with Current Affairs: The Indian and Global Environment section assesses your knowledge of current affairs. Stay updated with the latest news, business developments, and global events.

Seek Professional Guidance: If you find it challenging to prepare on your own, consider enrolling in a coaching program or seeking guidance from mentors or teachers who are well-versed in MAT preparation.

Stay Healthy: Don't neglect your physical and mental well-being during your preparation. A healthy diet, regular exercise, and adequate sleep can enhance your concentration and performance.

Conclusion

The MAT exam date for 2023 is an important piece of information for management aspirants looking to pursue an MBA or related programs in India. Understanding the key dates, registration process, and exam details is essential to plan your preparation effectively. MAT provides a gateway to numerous prestigious management institutes in India, making it a significant milestone for many students.

To succeed in MAT 2023, you need to focus on thorough preparation, time management, and staying updated with current affairs. With dedication and the right strategy, you can excel in the MAT exam and take a step closer to your management career aspirations.

[girlivealwaysbean]

arey

[darksouls2yuri]

my bookmark making experience has made me absolutely hate my silhouette i hate this thing i hate it rn

[arunseodelhi]

MAT 2024 Exam Date | MKES Institute

There will be multiple ways and times for the MAT 2024 exam to be given. Registration commenced on September 7, 2024, and the MAT 2024 exam dates for December 2024 are already available. Discover all the information you need to know about the MAT 2024 exam, including the dates, registration, eligibility, expenses, curriculum, pattern, cut-offs, and admission.

[mystartupsolution]

MSME Registration Service in Lucknow | MY STARTUP SOLUTION

Greetings from My Startup Solution, your go-to resource for help navigating the complex world of business prospects and laws. In the cutthroat world of today, starting and expanding a business need legal compliance as well as strategic preparation. Registration of Micro, Small, and Medium-Sized Enterprises (MSMEs) is one such important step. With its thriving entrepreneurial ecosystem, Lucknow provides ambitious company owners with a plethora of chances. Join us as we explore the importance of MSME registration service in Lucknow and how My Startup Solution may serve as your road map.

Understand MSME Registration:

For firms, MSME registration service in Lucknow is essential to have access to a range of advantages and prospects. MSMEs, as acknowledged by the Indian government, are the foundation of the economy and play a major role in the creation of jobs and the expansion of industry. In order to enable targeted support and incentives from the government, the registration procedure classifies businesses according to their investment in plant and machinery or equipment.

Why MSME Registration Matters in Lucknow: Lucknow, the capital city of Uttar Pradesh, is witnessing a surge in entrepreneurial activities across diverse sectors. From traditional crafts to modern technology startups, the city is brimming with innovation and creativity. However, amidst this dynamism, ensuring compliance with regulatory frameworks is paramount for sustainable growth. MSME registration empowers businesses in Lucknow by:

Access to Financial Support: Registered MSMEs are eligible for various financial incentives, including subsidies, credit facilities, and preferential treatment in government tenders. This financial assistance can fuel expansion plans, boost production capacities, and enhance competitiveness in the market.

Legal Protection: Formalizing your business through MSME registration provides legal recognition and protection against unfair competition and trade practices. It instills confidence among stakeholders, including customers, suppliers, and investors, thereby fostering trust and credibility in the market.

Growth Opportunities: MSME registration opens doors to networking opportunities, collaboration prospects, and participation in trade fairs and exhibitions. These platforms serve as catalysts for business growth, enabling enterprises in Lucknow to showcase their products and services to a wider audience and explore new markets.

Government Initiatives: The Government of Uttar Pradesh, in alignment with the central policies, has launched several initiatives to promote MSME development in Lucknow. From skill development programs to infrastructure support, these initiatives aim to nurture a conducive ecosystem for entrepreneurship and innovation.

How My Startup Solution Can Help:

At My Startup Solution, we understand the complexities involved in starting and scaling a business. Our dedicated team of experts specializes in providing end-to-end MSME registration services tailored to your specific needs. Here's how we can assist you:

Expert Guidance: Our seasoned professionals possess in-depth knowledge of MSME regulations and procedures. We guide you through every step of the registration process, ensuring compliance with statutory requirements and maximizing benefits.

Seamless Process: We streamline the registration process, minimizing paperwork and bureaucratic hurdles. With our efficient approach, you can focus on your core business activities while we take care of the paperwork and documentation.

Personalized Support: We believe in personalized attention and proactive communication. Our team offers comprehensive support, addressing your queries and concerns promptly and effectively.

Post-Registration Assistance: Our commitment doesn't end with registration. We provide ongoing support and assistance, helping you leverage the benefits of MSME registration to fuel your business growth and success.

Conclusion:

In the bustling city of Lucknow, realizing your entrepreneurial dreams requires a blend of vision, resilience, and strategic planning. MSME registration in service in Lucknow as a cornerstone in this journey, unlocking a myriad of opportunities for growth and success. With My Startup Solution as your trusted partner, you can navigate the complexities of registration with ease and confidence. Let's embark on this transformative journey together and chart a path towards prosperity and innovation in Lucknow's vibrant business landscape.

Contact us for more details: +91 8795224400

Visit Now: www.mystartupsolution.in

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

once again canon comes to bite me in the ass

I haven't changed the printing settings at all, this is SUPPOSED to be a photo printer, meaning it SHOULD be able to print on glossy sticker paper without problem, and when I first got the thing, it DID

but NOW

for some BIZARRE REASON

If the stickers have anything in pure black ink, the ink just. rubs off.

WHAT????

I've been able to fix this by hitting the stickers with a light painting-setting spray before I cut them out but honestly the sticker thing might be way more trouble than its worth, especially since I'm using the printer to do a handful of prints in-house now, so it's not like I'll be losing the use of a stupid expensive printer

I got a sticker cutter a while ago but I stopped using it once I realized that a) even going through silhouette's app the registration markers have to be oddly specific in order to cut ANYTHING accurately, and sometimes they don't work anyways and b) the sticky mat leaves really wretched residue on the backs of the stickers

so I've been cutting all these stickers by hand, making it even LESS appealing to keep them on the shop

for now the setting spray method seems to work so once I'm out of sticker paper I'll not be ordering more

for reference these are the stickers sold on the shop, we have

the shit post calligapher (misc)

the canadian deep cuts

and the fucked up daikon radishes

[tnevmucric]

jason's so used to deciphering the worst of everything that when dick invites him home—home—he's really not sure what to think.

the house is an inch closer to gotham than it is to blüd. it's only a four minute drive to the main highway and 15 to either city on a good day but dick has a welcome mat and and bills on the table, registration renewals and h.o.a notices that pile against coupon cut-outs. he sleeps on a mattress that has seen better days and the wooden slats on his bed creak when jason sits down. jason relearns life and catches up on everything he missed and one of those things is the odd, certain faith he used to have. instead now it's that dick won't leave him alone (dick won't leave him alone) and not that if he steps on a crack he'll break his mom's back. it's the surety dick brings, sure as his coffee order, sure as the key he slides jason's way, a nonchalant offer of everything.

[hellfiresky]

Bro, what the fuck?!

Summary: Hound was your best friend and you tried to play matchmaking with him because he was a lonely dog boy.

Pairing: ARF Trooper Hound x F!Reader Word Count: 10k lol Warnings: Long. Lots of curse words.

Join the taglist if you’re interested Taglist: @orangez3st, @msmeredithrose

Working for the Republic was a pain in the ass. The politics were a mess, the office was more guarded than the Republic prison, and “normal” days off didn’t exist. Whilst the rest of Coruscant got a whole week off during New Year Fete Week, you got - drumroll please - one day. One. During the new year day. And then it was right back to the grind.

The only good thing about your job was the massiffs. At first, they were just part of the scenery, stationed near the checkpoints with their guards. You’d pass by them like everyone else, eyes forward, no sudden movements. But over time, that changed. First came the smile. Then a little wave. Then you started sneaking them treats, just to see their tails wag. And saying hi to the dogs meant saying hi to the ARF troopers, who were always close behind. You didn’t expect them to be funny, because most Coruscant Guard troopers were always too polite, but they were. Real shitposters in armour, especially when they figured out you weren’t some uptight Republic staff. One of them taught you how to say “fuck you” in Mando’a. Another made a game of seeing who could sneak unregulated sweet treats for the massiffs in the weirdest container. 

But out of all of them, Hound was different. Maybe it was the running. You both had a thing for early morning jogs, less a shared hobby, more a coping mechanism. You remembered it perfectly: one foggy morning before work, you were making laps around the Federal District when you heard panting behind you. Not the “this guy’s out of shape” kind of panting. The animal kind. Big, heavy, and a bit way too close for your liking.  Shit, rabid wild massiff, your brain screamed as you picked up your pace.

“Aye, aye! Calm down, it’s me!”

You nearly tripped over your own feet spinning around. And there he was. Armour off, breathless, sweating, and somehow still managing to look presentable with those curls matted under a backwards cap. Grizzer skidded to a halt in front of you, tongue lolling, tail thumping. He immediately nudged your thigh with his big head like he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

“Gee,” you panted, scratching Grizzer behind the ears, “where did you come from? Those shoes carbon-plated?”

Hound let out a toothy grin, a little too proud. “Finally cashed in my BAS savings. Got these new training runners - they got this super flexible bouncy soles and this stabilising tech that’s supposed to reduce ankle impact by 38 percent.”

You raised a brow. “You memorised the spec sheet?”

“I read the entire product page,” he said, completely unashamed. “Twice.”

You laughed.

“I’m joining the Corusca Bank Marathon next week,” he was practically bouncing in place. “Command finally gave permission for us to join public athletic events as long as we don’t wear the armour. You believe that?”

“Wait… really?” you brightened immediately, pushing sweaty hair off your forehead. “Me too! That’ll be my fourth marathon this year!”

His eyes widened. “Fourth?! Stars, I haven’t even done one. This is my first. But did you know we get free electrolyte gels at every checkpoint? And also the running kit? I just picked it up yesterday and it came with a free water pouch and t-shirt! And there’s a gear expo the night before with, like, vendors and giveaways? And they’re handing out real physical finisher’s medals, not just holograms.”

You laughed again, unable to stop yourself. “You sound like a tourist.”

“I am basically a tourist! Trotting around the planet but was never allowed to participate in any civilian events.” he grinned. “Do you know how long I’ve been begging for a pass to run in an actual sanctioned race? They even waived the registration fee for clone troopers. Said something about ‘military goodwill visibility’ whatever, I’m not gonna argue if it gets me a free bib.”

“Oh my god,” you wheezed, “that’s actually really nice!”

“Yes! The bib even has a chip in it to track your pace.”

“I’d rely on my chrono for that, but that would make a good comparison. What wave are you starting in?”

“Third. Group C. The ‘highly enthusiastic but most likely underprepared’ bracket.”

“You’re such a nerd,” you burst out laughing. Meanwhile, Grizzer flopped at your feet, huffing through his nose. He knew the signs. His handler had entered Chatterbox Mode. He wasn’t getting home anytime soon.

“Hey,” Hound gave you a mock-offended look. “I trained for this! Ran loops around the barracks courtyard every morning until Thorn yelled at me to ‘stop making laps and put more work into strength.’ You know, cause we don’t wanna lose this baby.’” He flexed one arm, biceps gleaming with post-run sweat, grinning.

With both hands on your hips, you clicked your tongue. “Ah yes. The greatest fear of distance running. Not shin splints. Not plantar fasciitis. Not knees turning into gravel. No. It’s losing muscle mass.”

“I’ve worked very hard on these arms. And thighs. And legs.”

“And you think one single marathon’s gonna vaporise them?”

“Maybe! I’m not a medic, I didn’t get a physiology module!”

You snorted, covering your mouth as you broke into another round of laughter. “I swear,” you wheezed, “you’re gonna show up to the race with creatine gummies and protein powder taped to your belt.”

“...Is that a bad idea?”

“Oh my stars.”

“I could run with a shaker bottle!”

“Absolutely not. You’ll tire yourself. Stick with the free water pouch that came in the kit and those electrolyte gels.”

Grizzer let out a tired groan, rolling onto his side with his belly exposed in full “please end this conversation” protest. You dropped down beside him and gave him a belly rub. “Sorry, Grizz. Your dad’s training for his first marathon, and is already losing his shit.”

“Come on, I’ll finally have a medal to hang in my locker,” Hound crossed his arms as if he wasn’t trying to hold back a grin.

From then on, it was kind of a thing.

You, Hound, and Grizzer. Morning runs. Caf before work. Casual shit-talking. Dog treats stuffed in your jacket pockets. Every now and then, he’d stop by your wing in the Senate Office Building for no reason at all, just to “check on security,” like the hallway outside your department was suddenly the hotspot for insurrection. Everything was friendly, though. Totally normal to get butterflies when your work bestie laughs at your jokes like you’re funnier than you actually are. Totally normal to pretend you didn’t notice how good he looked covered in dust after patrol. Totally, completely normal to memorise the sound of his laugh and file it away for bad days.

“Wanna amp it up to four minutes per kilos?” Hound asked one morning, side-eyeing your casual pace.

“We won’t be able to chat if we amp it up.” You groaned. 

“You’ll survive.”

Before you could fire back, another runner passed you going the opposite direction - a Zeltron with peachy pink skin decked in full neon green workout gear, like she was promoting that new hyperpop album on the fly. Without thinking, you cupped your hands and shouted. “CUTE FIT, MA’AM! BRAT SUMMER EVERYDAY!!”

The Zeltron lit up, grinning wide and throwing a peace sign over her shoulder. Hound huffed a laugh. “I think you might scare people off with your compliments.”

“She loved it.”

“Yeah, but not the old man from yesterday.”

“Okay,” you said, “but he did have an immaculate mustache.”

“He nearly walked into traffic.”

“He should’ve been proud!”

You had a thing for noticing people. It wasn’t just something you did. You once stopped mid-run to tell a teenager sitting on the curb with a busted hoverboard that their eyeliner was “so sharp it could slice a speeder in half,” and you meant it. You waved at garbage droids and shouted, “keep up the good work, king,” as if they could hear and appreciate the encouragement. You named the stray alley tooka you passed every week on the same corner - first Pablo, then Kel-not-dor, then simply that guy. And Hound, despite not being the sentimental type, remembered every name. You brought backup gloves for him once when he forgot his on a freezing morning, and didn’t wear any yourself. You talked too much when you were excited, shouted compliments at strangers without warning, and sometimes you outran him like you had something to prove. And Hound started to realise he liked mornings more when they had you in them. But, true to form, he kept that particular revelation to himself and maybe muttered it once to Grizzer when no one else was around.

“Oh, by the way,” he continued after a few metres, “there’s this thing at 79’s next week. ARC Night.”

“What’s that? Like a ladies’ night?”

“Mhm.” He hummed, the both of you still sticking to the easy run, not yet veering into Zone Four territory. “ARFs are included this quarter, apparently. Big inclusion win for all us helmet-wearing dog guys. And… those dog-less ARFs from the battlefield.”

You raised a brow. “So, it’s a mixer?”

“More or less. You know how it goes. Free drinks if you show up in armour. Everyone brings a date. It’s a thing.”

“Ha!” You barked a laugh, loud and shameless. “And you’re too fucking busy being a lonely dog guy!”

“Ey, come on,” Hound wiped a sweat from his nose. “Shep and Spitz are single too.”

“Didn’t you say Spitz started seeing that barista dude?” you side-eyed him.

Hound made a face. “Okay, technically. But the guy keeps giving him free caf. That’s not a relationship, that’s a transaction.”

“Sure.” And then, without thinking much, you said. “Bro. Admit it, you’re too hot to be single.”

Hound’s pride and joy - the carbon plated running shoes - slightly caught on the pavement as he skidded. With widened eyes, he turned his head towards you. Then he burst out laughing. Loud, unrestrained, unbothered. The laugh took over his whole chest cavity. Grizzer barked excitedly too, tail going wild like even he thought this was comedy gold.

“Bro, what the fuck?!” Hound wheezed, still laughing, shaking his head as he picked up pace again. “That was way too random!”

“Nah, I’m dead serious.” You ripped open a pouch of energy gel with your teeth. “I don’t get it. Your brothers? No dogs. No killer runner’s legs. Still get dates. You? You’re always available, always hanging out in the barracks with Grizzer like a sore loser. What is that? Even Shep and Spitz have dates.”

“Wow. Harsh.” He groaned.

“I’m helping you get dates for ARC Night,” you declared, elbowing him. “This is charity work.”

He snorted. “You’re fiddling with my love life now?”

“Exactly.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You don’t get a say,” you said with a smug little grin. “I’m getting you laid.”

He let out a long suffering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “Maker, I regret every life decision that led me to this moment.”

“You won’t when you’re getting your back blown out by some hot tech from Research & Development.”

“I swear to fuck—”

“Just trust the process, Hound.”

The run ended the way most of them did - with your legs warm, your lungs happy, and your brain already spinning into “what now” mode. The sky had finally cracked open above the city bright morning sunlight filtering through Coruscant’s layered skyline like the planet was apologising for being so grim all week. When you finally slowed to a walk with sweat cooling on your neck, you spotted one of the old wooden benches near the pond, and flopped down onto it. Without missing a beat, you pulled out your datapad and started tapping.

Hound, still catching his breath, kicked your feet as if you were personally offending the sanctity of cooldown time with immediate gadget time. “We just finished running.”

“And now I’m working,” you muttered. 

“What are you even doing?” He leaned over your shoulder, breath warm against your ear, cheek nearly brushing your temple as he peered down at your screen. You could feel the heat coming off him - sweaty, post-run heat, but somehow still weirdly comforting. He smelled like pollution, sweat, and caf and whatever awful protein bar he’d inhaled before the run started.

It was his day off. And yours, miraculously. One of those rare alignments in the Republic’s scheduling universe where both of you had been granted the same day off. No meetings for you. No last-minute patrol routes for him. Just… free time. And a park. And a little caf booth that, despite looking sketchy as hell, hadn’t poisoned either of you yet. He handed you your usual order with a suspicious look. “I think the droid running the booth shorted my change. I’m not even mad. That coffee was terrifyingly fast.”

Grizzer slumped onto the ground in front of you both, tongue out, tail doing that lazy thumping against the pavement. He pawed at his nose and sighed.

“CoruMatch,” you announced proudly, lifting the datapad. “Also going to get you on Coraya. That one matches you with senators and other rich sad single professionals. We’re covering all bases.”

Hound blinked. “You’re setting me up on a date with a senator?”

“Senators need love too.”

“They also need better legislation. But sure, let’s go with that.”

You ignored the snark, fully locked into the mission now. Profile setup was a sacred act. This was war.

“Name?” you asked, not even looking up.

“Hound.”

“Should I put your CT number?”

Hound gave you a flat look. “Do you know my CT number?”

“…Fair.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine. Hound it is.” You punched it in. “Occupation: ARF Trooper. Likes: long walks along the periphery of the Senate Building.”

“You’re making me sound like a Separatist spy.”

“Noted. I’ll tone it down.” You tapped again. “Hobby?” you asked, ignoring his suffering. “And don’t say ‘working’ or ‘running with Grizzer’ because I’m putting something fun.”

“You’re gonna lie on my profile?”

“I’m gonna make you hot.”

He rolled his eyes. “Maker, I hate you.”

“You love me,” you shot back sweetly, not realising until the words left your mouth that your heart definitely skipped a beat saying it. Hound didn’t react. Or maybe he did, but you didn’t dare look up to check.

“So. Hobbies. I’m going with: running, cafe hopping, massiff training, and…” you trailed off, squinting at the screen. “Do I put ‘arms so big they could choke you’ or is that too much?”

Hound choked on his caf. “WHAT?”

“You’re right,” you said solemnly. “Too slutty. Gotta leave a little mystery. Okay, now pictures. Gotta show the goods.”

“The what?!”

“The goods, Hound. The product. The merchandise. Now send me that topless pic of you - no, wait. Too slutty. Or maybe just slutty enough. Hmm…”

“I hate this.”

“Oh shut up. You sent me that pic last month when you got your new paintjob, remember? Half armour, mirror selfie?”

“I was showing off my vambrace mod, not trying to thirst trap you!”

“Well, it worked.” You blew raspberries. “Now cough it up.”

He bit the inside of his mouth, and started scrolling through his device. “And,” you added, pulling back and lifting your datapad before he could react, “for the casual, approachable vibe…”

Click.

You captured him whilst he was sipping his caf, curls slightly mussed, brow furrowed, looking like a grumpy, rugged dreamboat. Grizzer, massive yet photogenic, was curled up at his feet like the perfect accessory of crime.

“What the hell, warn me first—”

“Nope. Candid. That’s your ‘just a regular guy who wrestles Republic threats for a living’ pic. Irresistible.”

Throwing his head back, he let out a long suffering sigh. “This is a mistake.”

You were too busy uploading the photo to hear him properly. “Boom. Profile complete. CoruMatch is gonna eat you alive.”

“I feel like I need a booze for this.”

“You’ll need one after your first date.”

Hound grimaced. “I’m scared.”

“Okay, let’s get swiping.” You angled the datapad so he could see, fingers going at lightspeed. “Nope. Nope. Definitely a catfish. Ew, one of those ‘if you’re under six feet don’t talk to me’ bios. You’re six feet though, but not letting you date a red flag. Next. Ooh, what about this Pantoran?”

“Eh…”

“C’mon,” you nudged. “She’s got glossy baby pink hair.”

“That’s your metric?”

“Better than the catfish who used a stock photo of Senator Amidala.”

“Okay, fair,” he muttered. “But… look at her bio.”

You rolled your eyes, tilting the screen back to yourself as you skimmed it. And then you stopped. Brows furrowed. Read it again.

“…Oh no.”

“Yeah.”

“She wrote ‘Fluent in Shyriiwook because I only date men who growl.’”

“Yup.”

“She said ‘looking for my #DivineMasculine’ unironically.”

“Uh-huh. I felt myself get physically weaker reading that.” Hound closed his eyes like he was physically sucker punched by the cringe bio. “She also tagged her own name in her bio.”

“Who is she trying to SEO for?!” You swiped left. “We were almost victims,” 

You both sat in momentary silence, wind brushing through the trees, the caf long forgotten. Finally, you looked up. “Wanna keep swiping?”

“Maker help me, but yeah.” Hound groaned. “Why do people do this?” He sank deeper into the bench. 

“Cause it’s a fucking city planet and we’re all lonely.”

“I’m just saying,” he muttered, “even the shinies are… phew. Don’t ask.”

“No, I have to ask.”

“The moment they landed from Kamino, they already knew shit like - moon sign compatibility, whatever the hell that is. One of them tried to explain ‘twin flames’ to me during barracks cleaning.”

“NO.”

“And now you’ve dragged me into this hell.”

“Oh, this one looks green-flag-ish,” you ignored his grumbling, zooming at the screen. You shoved the datapad into Hound’s face. “Hala, a folk musician from Alderaan. Based in CoCo Town. Now listen, she likes running and wellness. She even spelled everything right in her bio. No weird emojis. That’s rare.”

“Alderaanian folk musician?” Hound grabbed your datapad and inspected the profile. 

“Don’t knock it. This might be the most emotionally stable person within a five-klicks radius.” After you swiped right, the screen immediately exploded with celebratory heart shapes and a little jingle. “Oop! It’s a match!” you gasped. “See?! The algorithm works!”

“I don’t think the algorithm has met me.”

You ignored him completely, already typing. “Now we say hi…”

He tried to reach for the datapad. “Wait, what are you saying?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No. No, give me that—”

“Too late!” you beamed, holding the screen out of his reach like you were taunting a toddler. “Message sent.”

“What did you say?!”

“I said, and I quote, ‘My name is Hound but you can call me tonight’”

The ARF trooper stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “You did not.”

“I did. You’re a confident, playful trooper with a sensitive side and dog dad energy.”

“I’m going to die alone.”

“You’re going to die loved. Possibly with a girl and a litter of massiff puppies on your deathbed.” Grizzer whined in confusion. You patted his head. “Your dad’s about to go on the nicest date of his life. Be happy for him.”

Your datapad buzzed with a reply. “She said yes! She wants to meet tonight for tea and a walk around the sculpture gardens. Fancy.”

“Ugh,” he groaned and grabbed your datapad to check Hala’s profile again. “If this doesn’t work…”

“We’ll try again!” You grinned.

That night, you made yourself dinner. Instant noodles jazzed up with a soft-boiled egg and way too much chili oil, and promptly forgot about Hound and his date. It was just another match. A little experiment. Some harmless fun to entertain you both whilst the Republic slowly caved in on itself. You even put on a face mask, tied your hair back, and curled up on the floor scrolling your datapad like this was just any other lazy rotation. You were halfway through a video of the latest Coruscanti gossip when your comm buzzed at exactly 2300 hours.

Hound.

Brushing your fingers clean on your sleep shirt, you accepted the call.

“Hound? What—”

“She brought a crystal,” he cut right to the chase. “Said it was from Koboh. Told me it had ‘natural regenerative energy’ and waved it over my shoulder like she was summoning the fucking Force.”

You dropped the commlink straight into your lap and immediately started wheezing before picking it up again. “Maybe she thought you had energy inflammation,” 

“She told me bacta is a big pharma conspiracy to keep us addicted to it.”

“Stars.”

“She drinks this fermented root thing that smells like glue and tastes like piss. No caf. No caf at all.”

You went still. “That’s a crime against the Republic.”

“She told me, verbatim, that caf disrupts your body’s natural vibrational frequency.”

You were already tearing up. Fumbling to switch the call to holo. “I’m gonna cry.”

The hologram streamed a moment later. Hound appeared in blue-tinted 3D, hair damp and curling at the edges, skin flushed from a recent shower. He was wearing his old Kamino fatigue shirt - the red one that hugged his arms a little too much and was, arguably, the most emotionally devastating shirt in his wardrobe.

“I almost did,” he deadpanned. “From dehydration. She only drinks filtered rainwater.”

“Her bones are probably hollow.” You shrieked. 

“She asked if I’d ever done a past life regression,” he continued, running a hand over his face. “Then told me I used to be a Wroshyr tree.”

You choked, nearly knocking your comm over. “A Wroshyr tree? What are you a wookiee descendant?!”

“I said I didn’t remember that and she got offended.”

By this point, you were doubled over, sitting cross-legged with your comm propped against your knee, face buried in your sleeve as you cackled into the fabric.

“She was really nice, though,” Hound added after a moment, because he was polite to a fault and probably thanked her for the disastrous date. “Just… you know.”

“Yeah.” You wiped your eyes, still breathless. “A little much?”

“She thinks medbays and hospitals are a scam and she tried to cleanse my aura with essential oils. I smell like a spice market exploded, and I’ve showered twice! My nose is burning.”

You finally flopped backward on your floor, staring up at the ceiling. “Okay,” you couldn’t stop laughing. “So. Maybe not a second date?”

“Absolutely not,” he snapped. “I can’t do this again. You win. I tap out.”

“Don’t say ‘you win’ like this was a competition,” you rolled onto your side. “I matched you with someone who thinks Grizzer is the cutest bundle of joy.”

“I hate you. I’m going to bed.” He flipped the middle finger at you, earning another bark of laughter that hurt your belly.

“Burn your shirt.”

He looked down at himself. “Never.”

You sighed, watching his little hologram glitch as he moved around his space on the other end.

“Hey, same time tomorrow?” he asked.

You smiled. “0700.”

“Bring caf.”

-----------------------------

“Okay. Second date. After office hours. Are you writing this down in your note app?” you quipped, adjusting your pace to match Hound’s stride as you both jogged towards the Senate Office Building.

It was part of your unspoken routine now - morning run, post-run chat, then split off to your respective showers. The communal one on your floor was barely used; most staff preferred to stink in silence or go home first. You didn’t mind. It was quiet, tiled, and vaguely smelled of expensive aromatherapy. Hound, meanwhile, would bolt back to the barracks for his own rinse and then kit up before his 1100 patrol shift, lunch hour. His least favorite. Too many politicians, too much foot traffic, and too many civilians trying to take selfies with the massiffs. “They’re not lap dogs,” he’d muttered once whilst untangling Grizzer from someone who tried to put a pink tutu on him. 

Hound slapped a towel around his neck. “Who am I dating again today?”

“The financial advisor for Mobquet,” you said, pulling up her profile as you slowed to a walk. “Twi’lek. Yellow-gold skin. You literally said she’s pretty when I showed you before we started running.”

“I said she had nice cheekbones. That’s not the same.”

“Sounds like horny math to me,” you snorted, angling your datapad towards him. “Look at her. She does this meditative stretching but not the fake shit that comes with a thirty credit jogan smoothie. This is your best shot yet.”

He finger combed the curls that fell on his forehead back, dark brown eyes widening as he raised both eyebrows. “She’s got those rich people eyes, you know, the ones that would judge your eating habits”

“She’s going to cleanse your palate, bro.”

“Right, bro. From what? Tree girl? My will to live?”

You ignored him. “Also, heads up, I got access to Coraya.”

Hound stopped dead. “What?! I thought you needed some kind of clearance to get in.”

“I have connections.” You winked. “Some senate aide owed me a favour. And now? Boom. You’ve got four matches.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t trust people who use dating platforms with references.”

“They’re vetted! They’re verified! They’re—”

“Emotionally unavailable,” he finished for you.

“You’re emotionally unavailable.”

“Exactly. That’s why this isn’t going to work.”

You reached over and punched his bicep. “Shut up and take the love I’m forcing on you.”

He let out the most dramatic sigh and mouthed “fine.”

“Second date,” you said again, cheerful. “Twi’lek advisor. Nice outfit. No interest in crystals. We’re going to debrief over drinks afterward.”

——————————————

The next day you found him already waiting at the usual deli table near the Senate Plaza, hunched over like he’d been up since dawn - which he had. No run that morning. You had a 0800 meeting with some stiff-necked junior advisor about budget allocation, and Hound had pulled a patrol shift that started before sunrise. It was one of those rotations where you’d barely messaged, just a quick “lunch?” over comm before diving back into the hustle.

Sliding into the seat across from him, you wordlessly pushed a cup of caf and fish sandwich across the table. “Well?” you asked, unwrapping your own sandwich. “Is Twi’lek the new aphrodisiac?”

Hound groaned and dropped his head onto the table, face-first.

“So that’s a no?”

“She was nice,” he mumbled, words muffled into the metal. “Really nice. Smart. Articulate. Not into star charts or past life regression. So nice.”

You chewed, watching him from over your coffee lid. “And…?”

He rolled his face to the side so one eye could look at you. “She also spoke in numbers.”

“…What.”

“Like. Numbers. Statistics. I complimented her jewelry, and she hit me with ‘75% of women on Coruscant wear blood diamonds from a deregulated mine on Iktotch.’ Then she asked if I was more of a ‘risk-assessment or projected yield’ kind of guy.”

That made you choke on your caf, nearly snorting foam up your nose. “Okay, that’s… honestly very on-brand.”

“She tried to explain compound interest and capital gain using us as a metaphor.”

You lowered your sandwich slowly. “The fuck. Like… emotionally? Or financially?”

“I honestly couldn’t tell.” He stared into the middle distance. 

“So… second date?” Slurping your caf, your eyes never left his.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked down at the rim of his caf cup, fingers absently running along the lid like it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the galaxy. “…Yeah. Benduday night.” he said finally.

That drove your eyebrows to the ceiling. “Really?”

“It wasn’t awful. And…” He trailed off, lips pursed, eyes still on the table. “You’re right. Everyone’s bringing dates to ARC night next week.” He dragged his eyes up at you. “They already think I’m a lonely dog guy. I just want to be left alone. But if I show up alone, they’ll start pulling stunts. Thorn’s already threatened to sign me up for speed dating.”

You both laughed at his suffering. Taking another sip of your caf, you let the warmth sit on your tongue as your eyes drifted back to him. “So you’re really doing this, huh?”

“What, dating?”

“No.” You looked at him over the cup. “Performing heterosexual stability for your brothers.”

“Do you want me to date or not? You literally signed me up for this.” He narrowed his eyes. 

“I was joking! I do,” you grinned. “And I stand by it. I want you to be happy.” You said it lightly. “Whatever that looks like.”

The man in front of you stared at you for a moment, one curl fell on his face, eyes searching like he was trying to line something up in his head that wouldn’t quite fit the puzzle. You forced yourself to hold the gaze, even though it made your chest feel strange. Then he stood up, stretching his arms behind his back. “Same time tomorrow?”

“0700.” You pointed at his caf. “Your turn to bring me one.”

-----------------------------

The night after his second date, he met you at your usual pre-run meet-up spot, right on time. It had been two days since your last run together - both of you swamped with tight schedules and barely enough time to check in. But the post-date debrief was still on the menu. The morning air had that crisp, early chill that made you grateful for your long sleeves, cold enough to sting but not quite cold enough to curse Coruscant’s wind this time of the month. Grizzer was spinning in circles chasing his tail before suddenly catching himself, straightening up with dignity like he hadn’t just been an idiot ten seconds ago. He posted at Hound’s side like a statue, ears alert, pretending to be all business. Little weirdo.

Hound looked… lighter, somehow. The dark under his eyes hadn’t vanished, but there was a looseness in the way he carried himself, a settled ease in his shoulders. Quietly content. You reached for the caf in his hand without asking, and chugging it like it was the only thing tethering you to the galaxy. It was still hot, nearly scalding your tongue, but you didn’t care. Pre-workout religion, shared by you both.

“So,” you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Financial Advisor Round Two went well?”

Hound huffed a short laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Actually… it went really well.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “We went to this rooftop spot in CoCo Town. Real quiet, kind of hidden. Good food. Nobody rushed us out, which is rare as hell. We just… talked. For hours.” Deep brown orbs gazing at the path ahead like he couldn’t meet your gaze. “She’s still intense with the finance metaphors, but… I don’t know. It felt easy.”

Tossing the flimsi caf cup to the bin, you tried to keep your suddenly hitching breath steady. “Easy’s good.”

“She gets the job stuff, too. Doesn’t flinch when I talk about the field, or Underworld patrol, or massiff training. She actually asked about Grizzer. Didn’t call him a ‘soul creature’ or whatever that last girl said.”

You didn’t know why you didn’t feel like laughing, but you forced one anyway. “Wow. A miracle.”

“Yeah,” he said, and he smiled a little, soft and fond in that way that made bugs swarming in your belly. Has this feeling always been there? “She said she’s down for ARC night at 79’s too. So I was thinking…” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, thumb rubbing along the edge of his caf cup as if he needed something to fidget with. “Maybe I don’t need the Coraya matches after all? You can cancel them. I’ll probably just… bring her.”

You felt it hit your chest before your brain could register it. There was no dramatic gasp. No nothing. Just a sudden gravitational drop of your heart. Like blinking and realising you’re standing at the edge of a skyscraper and don’t know how long you’ve been there. “Okay.” You pressed a smile onto your face. “Wow… that actually went well. Great! I’m… I’m glad.” You didn’t look at him as you said it. Simply stared out at the running path. 

He looked at you then with his brows pulled together. “You okay?”

You laughed too quickly and it cracked on the way out. “Yeah. No. Of course. This was the whole point, wasn’t it? Me setting you up. Helping you find someone who isn’t a crystal-wielding root juice drinker.”

“Right.” Curls bouncing on his head as he chuckled.

“Good for you, though,” you forced brightness into your voice. “She seems like a great match. Really.”

“Thanks,” he eventually said after finishing his caf. “For all of this.”

With your smile still intact, you turned your head towards him, and tilted your chin toward the trail ahead. “Anytime. Now, race you for the next hour? Wanna hit four minutes per kilo?”

“You’re on.” He elbowed you before both of you took off. Maybe if you just ran hard enough, you could outpace the sudden ache you felt in your chest.

-----------------------------

ARC night always drew a crowd. From off-duty troopers blowing off steam, shinies still awkward in their freshly ironed grey uniforms trying to look like they belonged, to civilians taking advantage of cheaper alcohol and the overall safety of the place. The music had that smooth, electronic beat with vibrating bass that made your chest thrum. Lights flickered and spun in warm ambers and electric blues, bouncing off bits of clone armour worn by a handful of troopers.

But you weren’t here for that. You were here for ladies’ night, which, because 79’s was a marketing genius, happened to fall on the same night as ARC night. Your friends had dragged you out with the usual bribes: Free drinks, come on, we haven’t gone out in weeks, you never wear that black dress anymore. You told yourself it was fine. Just a night. Nothing would happen. You’d sip something sugary, laugh too loud, and head home before midnight.

“There you are.”

A deep voice rose just above the music. You turned, drink in hand, your breath catching before you could stop it. There he was, Hound. Wearing his blacks, sleeves rolled, half armour. Arm casually draped around the shoulder of a stunning Twi’lek woman in a fitted blazer and asymmetrical dress, her skin a smooth shade of yellow-gold. She leaned into him, and he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. The sergeant looked relaxed. Comfortable. Buzzed enough for that loose smirk to melt across his face like he’d never known stress a day in his life.

And stars help you, he looked good. Too good.

“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” he stepped closer, arm still slung around the heaven-sent Twi’lek, though he adjusted his stance like he wasn’t sure how close to get to you.

“Yeah, the girls dragged me out. Free drinks, loud music. You know. Classic trap.” You sipped your drink. 

Hound’s eyes gazed on your outfit, lingering a little too long. The black dress. The low back. The way the straps crossed at your shoulder blades. You knew you looked good. That wasn’t the problem. “Oh—uh,” he blinked, straightening like he’d forgotten himself. “This is Lyra. Lyra, this is—” He hesitated. Friend? Matchmaker? Teammate? Almost-something-that-never-was? 

“…This is the one who made this whole thing happen,” he settled on. “My, uh… running partner.”

“Yeah. I built him from the ground up. Swiped left on twenty-five disasters before we found the financial wizard.” You grinned from ear to ear, drink raised. “I’ve heard… about his past dates,” you added breezily. “You’re already winning. You haven’t assigned him a soul animal yet.”

Lyra laughed politely, and flicked her eyes between the two of you. “He told me all about that. I promised I’d never try to name his soul animal.” She smiled, free hand flew on his chest. Perfect.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you teased. “He does have ‘feral rancor’ energy in the mornings.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Hound’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who nearly started a fight with a street vendor for under-toasting your bagel.”

“It was limp!”

Lyra laughed again, but it came with a hint of confusion. Hound had turned towards you now, fully engaged, like the two of you had slipped into an orbit only you understood. Jokes that no one seemed to understand but the two of you flew effortlessly. You didn’t even have to think about it. You never did.

Finding yourself smiling a little too wide, and a little too guilty for accidentally leaving Lyra out of the conversation, you checked your chrono. “Anyway,” you said quickly, stepping back. “I was just about to head out.”

“Already?” Lyra pouted. “It’s not even 2100!” 

You gave a one-shouldered shrug, adjusting the strap of your purse. “Early meeting tomorrow. Some budget subcommittee that thinks my entire department can function on six credits and free lunch Primeday.”

Hound frowned slightly, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t allow himself to.

“See you tomorrow?” you asked as casually as you could make it.

“Yeah,” he said. “Same time.”

“Cool.”

You smiled at Lyra. Gosh, she was beautiful. You nodded again once, then turned. The crowd swallowed you almost instantly. You didn’t look back. And Hound, still standing beside Lyra, watched the space you’d left behind.

After you left, Hound didn’t even register the music anymore. The pulsing rhythm, the strobing lights, the press of bodies moving through the haze of conversation and laughter - all of it blurred into static. He barely heard Lyra chatting beside him, her voice distant as she mentioned something about a Senate finance shake-up, her hand lightly tapping his arm in that casual way she always did. But he couldn’t focus. His eyes were still fixed on the spot where you’d just been standing, now swallowed by the crowd. The smile you gave him hadn’t reached your eyes. And you didn’t even look back. That shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did. Right in the gut. 

He didn’t know what he wanted to come after him, but he knew it wasn’t this silence. He’d been so sure he would try it with Lyra. She was kind, smart, asked good questions, and didn't try too hard. She didn’t flinch when he talked about his nasty Underworld patrol. She didn’t ask about his rank or make his clone status a topic of fascination or pity. She got along with Grizzer. She laughed at his jokes. She was almost perfect.

But she didn’t look at him the way you did. She didn’t roll her eyes when he was being dramatic or bicker with him over dumb things like caf orders and running pace or which vendor in the Federal District had the worst bagels. She didn’t shove caf into his hand at 0700 and say, “You’re welcome, war criminal,” with a wink and that stupid grin of yours. She didn’t make him feel like he was being seen for something other than what he did or what he was made for. Which, to be fair, wasn’t her fault. You’d known him for a while. Lyra was new. But even back when you were new, the second time he ever hung out with you, he remembered thinking this is different. With you, he didn’t have to hold himself back. Didn’t have to double-check his tone, or scan for offence, or explain things that didn’t need explaining. 

You understood. And somewhere deep down, a door quietly creaking open in a part of him he hadn’t dared to look at. Not until now. A sudden shout of laughter from the other side of the bar pulled him back into the present. The music swelled again. He blinked, refocusing, turning back to Lyra as she smiled up at him. He nodded, forced a smile of his own, and answered like he hadn’t just felt something click into place that might ruin everything.

-----------------------------

You were already stretching by the time Hound jogged into view, Grizzer loping at his side, tongue out and tail high, a red bandana tied around his thick neck. Hound gave you a nod as he slowed to a walk, hoodie tied at his waist like a makeshift kama, the regulation red of the Coruscant Guard bleeding into civilian comfort. No caf in his hand. No shouting “You ready to smoke the entire district?” like he usually did, every morning like clockwork, as if it were part of the run-up ritual.

You didn’t meet him with a joke either. Just a quiet, even, “Morning.”

“Hey.”

And that was it. You took off at a steady pace with your breathing already synced to the shape of the path ahead. No warm-up banter. No arguing over pace. Just running in silence, broken only by the echo of your steps and the ambient murmur of the waking city. 

By the third block, you’d pulled ahead. Not by much, but enough to leave Hound and Grizzer behind. A few metres in your back, Hound had started breathing harder, legs pushing just slightly more than usual to stay even with you. “You training for a trail run or something?” he called out jokingly. “That’s not ‘til the summer rotation.”

“Just clearing my head.” You didn’t turn to face him. 

Another block passed. Your feet carried you forward like they were trying to outrun something. The silence was suffocating - it made your ears ring.

Eventually, he caught up again, matching your pace. “Heading to work after this?”

“Yeah.”

“Big day?”

“No bigger than usual.”

An uncomfortable silence that was never there finally made its way in, and neither of you did anything to break it. You stared straight ahead, into the rising silhouette of the Senate tower, its gleaming metal surface catching the early sunrise - grey, cold, and detached. You hated this. The distance where ease used to live. The absence of all the little nothings that once filled the space between you. You hated the way your own voice felt unfamiliar in your mouth, and how the words burned as you asked the one thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t.

“So,” you said. “How’d it go? With Lyra.”

He glanced sideways at you, brows furrowed, as if he wasn’t sure if this was an actual curiosity or a test. Then he looked away, settling his gaze somewhere in the middle distance as he let out a long, quiet sigh. “It was fine.”

“Everyone loved her at ARC night?” You nodded, forcing a smile that felt hollow in your cheeks. 

A small laugh escaped his lips. Not quite genuine, but not unkind either. “Yeah. She handled it well. Didn’t get weird about the armour. Didn’t freeze up when the war stories started flying. Talked shop with Thire about tax brackets. That was… actually impressive.”

“She sounds like she fits in,” you said. Your laugh came out manufactured, trailing off before it even landed.

“Yeah.”

Both of you kept running. Grizzer’s claws tapped a steady rhythm on the pavement in that click-click-click noise - the only constant sound in this suddenly foreign silence.

“Everyone kept asking if we were already a thing,” Hound said after a while, like he wasn’t sure whether it was relevant or just another thought that wouldn’t let go. “Didn’t help that we actually showed up together. I-uh, I picked her up.”

“Are you?” You glanced at him. 

He looked at you.

You looked away.

“I don’t know,” he said, quiet again. “Feels like I’m supposed to want that.”

There was nothing left to say to that. Not truthfully. Not without setting fire to something you could never put out. So you smiled again, your last defense, and said the thing you’d practiced in your head a dozen times. “Well, as I said. If it makes you happy. I’m also happy!”

Bumping your elbow into his side, you tried to shake the weight from your shoulders, to turn it back into something familiar. “I’m just glad you’re no longer a lonely dog boy,” you said, joking, pretending, swallowing everything else. That earned a smile from him. Faint, a little confused, maybe, but he said nothing. And you kept running. Because it was fine. You’d get over it. You always did.

-----------------------------

The locker room was steaming with humid air from the last round of hot showers. Water dripped from showerheads, and pooled along the corners of the tiled floor, glistening under the overtly bright overhead lights. The clatter of boots against the floor, the dull slam of locker doors, the occasional bark of laughter - all of it echoed in the wet acoustics of the room, bouncing off white walls scrubbed too many times. Hound hated the soap. The godawful knockoff citrus the quartermaster kept ordering in bulk, probably because it was dirt cheap and smelled better than bacta spray. He sneezed twice as he scrubbed the scent off his hands with a towel, rubbing his curls dry, autopilot whilst his mind lagged somewhere three steps behind.

Across the aisle, Thorn leaned against his locker, towel wrapped low around his hips, datapad in hand, somehow managing to look smug even while dripping. Thire was already halfway into his blacks, pulling the undersuit over his legs. 

“ARC night was wild,” Thorn cracked his neck with a sigh of deep satisfaction, and threw his datapad into the locker. “Did you see Fives try to dance with that senator’s aide?”

“Bet he tapped that,” Thire grinned, adjusting his belt as he spoke.

“Yeah, well… of course he did.”

Hound let out a low laugh despite himself, tossing his damp towel into his locker and shaking his head. “That son of a bantha.”

“Hey,” Thorn suddenly pointed at him. “ARFs included in ARC night perks now, right? You get your free drinks?”

Hound grabbed the bottle of body spray off the bench, giving himself a quick hit of the aggressively named Cool Breeze - which was supposed to smell like cool ocean breeze, but as much as he remembered, Kamino didn’t smell like chemical peel. “Yeah, I got my drink.”

Beside him, Thire held out a hand. Wordlessly, Hound tossed the bottle his way. Thire sprayed himself like he was trying to disappear into the mist. Then, without warning, he turned and lobbed it toward Thorn, who caught it with a laugh. Of course. Now the communal body spray era began.

“Free drinks and Lyra,” Thire added with a knowing grin.

Hound rolled his eyes, trying to keep the warmth from creeping up his neck. “It was just drinks.”

“Sure,” Thire snorted, tugging on his chestplate. “Though I gotta say. I thought you’d bring the other girl.”

Hound blinked. “Huh?”

“You know,” Thorn cut in, waving a hand vaguely. “The Senate Office girl. The one you’re always running with. The one you ran with this morning. Always talking about. She said this, she did that…”

“Yeah, that one,” Thire snapped his fingers, snickering. “The one who drops you off after every run like your personal handler. We were betting on that.”

“I think I saw her last night, actually,” Thorn mused. “Just a flash. Thought she’d be with you. She’s already taken or what?”

“Oh,” Hound hesitated. “I mean… she’s my best friend. She was there, yeah, but had to bail early. Something about chasing that mythical eight hours of sleep.”

Thorn raised an eyebrow. “That all?”

“She’s the one who set these dates up for me,” Hound said quickly. “Said I was, uh, too hot to be single.”

Thire barked a laugh. “She said that? Bro.”

“Damn,” Thorn grinned, shaking his head. “She’s out here playing matchmaker? Didn’t see that coming. Thought you two were already a thing before you came with Lyra.”

Hound gave a short laugh, trying to match the casualness of the situation. He turned towards his locker, busying himself with pulling his blacks free. “She’s just… like that. Always something to laugh about later.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘just like that,’” Thire echoed, securing his chestplate. “You really think she expected this setup to actually work?”

“I mean,” Hound said softly, staring down at the locker’s empty interior. “She was excited. Really excited. Wanted me to meet someone. Wanted me to… not be alone.”

“Sure,” Thorn said. “But that doesn’t mean she thought you’d actually meet someone.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Thire clapped a hand on Hound’s back. “Don’t overthink it, man. Just figure out what you want. ‘Cause from where we’re standing? You’ve already got it.”

Words stuck in Hound’s throat. From where they stood, it was simple. From the outside, it probably looked obvious. But inside his own head, all he could hear was the difference in laughter, the way you called him out for his military posture during his pre-marathon trainings, or made him wave at service droids just to prove a point that not all droids are bad. The way you saw him.

“Besides,” Thire added, tossing the rest of his gears into his bag. “We haven’t heard one word about Lyra ‘til last night. But you? You talk about your running buddy like it’s breathing.”

-----------------------------

The place he found himself in that quiet Taungsday afternoon was small, warmly loud in a very intimate way. The lights were a soft amber glow, filtered through greasy glass blocks, and the walls were a curated mess of vintage flimsi posters, hand-painted holo ads from decades past, and cracked tiles that no one had bothered to fix. It smelled like garlic that had been left to crisp in the pan and fire-cooked meat. The type of smell that stuck to your clothes and made you feel full before you even sat down. His kind of place. Unpretentious. No frills. Real. 

Lyra loved it instantly. Sliding into the booth across from him, her smart wrap top still crisp despite the heat, her lekku draped politely over her shoulders. “This place has character,” she’d said, eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I’m into it.” And she meant it. She cracked jokes with the grumpy Pantoran running the register, ordered the house special without needing a menu, didn’t flinch at the spice level or the sticky tabletop. She fit in effortlessly, like she could match the rhythm of any space she walked into. She told stories between bites of food. “…and then my CEO tried to write off her cousin’s entire old speeder collection as ‘cultural artifacts.’ I had to explain to the board that if the licence still lists him as the primary driver, it’s not an antique, it’s a tax writeoff”. And he’d laughed, genuinely. She was clever. Funny. She made fraud sound romantic. And Hound smiled back, and he meant it. 

But beneath the laughter was a stillness he hadn’t expected. Lyra laughed in rhythmic bursts, just enough, never too much. Polished. Controlled. Unlike you - who laughed like the world owed you joy and you were going to take it. Loud, messy, infectious. You snorted. You shook with it. Lyra made way too many gestures when she spoke - it was always delicate, graceful, careful not to knock her drink - but Hound missed the way you stabbed the air when you got mad about procedural inefficiency in Senate legislation, like you were personally ready to brawl with the system armed only finger guns. 

Watching Lyra across the table, he saw the way she tilted her head when she listened, saw that she was everything he was supposed to look for in a person. Grounded. Thoughtful. Uncomplicated. And yet the space in his head where he stored your morning runs and caf orders was louder than her laughter. 

“You okay?” Lyra asked softly, pulling her eyebrows together. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… long patrol this morning. Think I hit a wall.” He blinked. 

She nodded easily, understanding, not offended. “You’ve been busy. If you want to call it early, I won’t take it personally.” 

And he hesitated - not because he was tired, but because this wasn’t fair. Not to her. Not to himself. Because the truth was, he didn’t want this to be enough. He wanted you. Your chaos. Your rants. Your unpredictable moods and predictable orders at the cafe. The way you never made him feel like he had to perform as a clone, a trooper, a protector. With Lyra, he was seen. With you, he was seen, accepted, understood, and known.

As they walked under the haze of golden streetlights back towards her building - a charmingly old one with cracked brickwork, ornamental balconies, potted plants clinging to welded iron, she asked, “Lunch date next Centaxday?” 

It should have been easy to say yes. But something inside him had already moved on. He stopped walking. She did too, turning to face him with that soft, curious tilt of the head. 

“Um… Lyra,” he started, and the words felt too small. 

“Yeah?” The warmth in her lekku deepened, a subtle flush. 

Hound took a breath. “I don’t think this works.” 

Her expression changed, not to sadness, but a quiet understanding. 

“It’s just… I’ve been pulled into extra rotations, the Guard’s assigning more surveillance routes to ARF teams, I don’t even know if I’ll get Centaxday off,” he stumbled, reaching for logistics like they could make this sound less like a rejection and more like unfortunate timing. Coward. 

She didn’t interrupt. Just watched him, hands folded in front of her cardigan. And when he finished trailing off like a kicked massiff, she only smiled. “So… is it really the Guard?” she asked gently. 

He lowered his eyes, then looked back up, hating how easy it was for her to read him. “Actually… no.” 

“Of course,” a faint smile curled on his lips. “Didn’t think so.” 

And when he tried to apologise again, she waved it off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re kind. Very kind. You tried.” 

He opened his mouth. “I just—” 

“You’re in love with her,” she said. There was no accusation in her voice, only clarity. “The girl from 79’s.” 

He froze. Not because she was wrong. But because it was the first time anyone had said it out loud. “Tell her,” Lyra added, stepping back towards the entrance of her building. “If she’s as smart as I think she is, she’s probably still waiting for you to catch up.” She smiled one last time. Not sad, not bitter. “It was nice hanging out with you, Hound.” And with that, she disappeared behind the building’s old wood-framed doors. 

Hound stood there for a long time, hands loose at his sides, breath thick in his lungs. The streetlight above him buzzed faintly in the quiet. And then he moved, first a step, then another, faster, into a brisk walk, feet carrying him without thought. As if his body already knew the way back.

After a few klicks his feet carried him faster, regulation boots be damned. He cursed himself for not wearing his running shoes to his afterhour date, but here he was, feeling blisters started to form on his achilles and foreseeing days of complaining about shin splints during patrol. He ran through CoCo Town, down crowded footpaths and across skybridges, breath burning in his throat. He didn’t bother with the hovertrain. Six stops was nothing compared to what he felt gnawing inside his chest.

Your flat. Fobosi District. He remembered. You’d told him once offhand, “seventh level, corner unit, west side. I get the sunset through the window!” You’d said it mid-run, cheeks red, breath fogging in the cold. Like you didn’t expect him to care.

But he did. He remembered everything. You always ran home early. Always claimed you had meetings or unfinished paperworks. But maybe you just liked being alone. Or maybe you didn’t want to say why. He liked that about you. That you didn’t give everything away. That you kept parts of yourself sharp and chaotic and yours. He remembered how you’d point at people during runs and shout, “Nice boots, queen!” or “That’s a perfect beard, ten outta ten!” and then dare him to do it too. You made the whole planet feel alive, like the city was filled with weirdness and wonder and you were just in love with all of it.

You were kind in the way that made people uncomfortable, raw and loud and relentless. And then after a while that uncomfortableness would turn into the realisation that this galaxy did need more kindness. He loved that. He always had. How did he not see that?

The question looped in his head as he tailed the previous resident who entered your flat building, and the lift creaked up to the seventh level.

But she’s the one who set the dates. She matched me. She told me to go. She smiled when I left. So why did it hurt her so much to see me with someone else? Oh. We really do share a single brain cell.

The doors slid open with a hiss. And there it was, your floor’s hallway. Quiet. A little worn. Smelled faintly of dust and someone cooking something spicy two doors down. His heart thundered as he approached your door. He didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what he was going to say. Just that he had to say something to end this slowly growing silence. That you were the one thing he’d run to without hesitation. Always had been.

-----------------------------

You opened the door at the third buzz, face smothered in a clay mask the colour of green milk, hair pulled back with a clip, oversized Tatooine Summer Camp tee slipping off one shoulder. Your eyes blinked at the unexpected silhouette in your doorway. “You’re not Dumpling,” you said flatly. 

Hound stood there, breathless and baffled, hair matted down with sweat. “What?” he managed. 

“I’m ordering dumplings,” you clarified, stepping back and waving him in as if he was not new here, even though this was technically the first time he’d been inside your flat. “That place you like… you know, the one with the spicy green sauce that makes you cry and curse in Mando’a?” 

You turned and wandered back towards your couch, noodle bowl in hand. Hound hesitated for a second. He thought about turning around, faking a patrol alert, but no. No more excuses. No more running. Not when you looked like you'd gotten all that unexpected heartbreak out of your system and stuffed it in a nice little box labeled “Not My Problem Anymore.”

The door slid shut behind him, locking in the moment. “I broke it off with Lyra,” he said. 

You didn’t even look up from the stupid holoseries you were watching. “Oh,” Then a long groan followed. “Hound, what the hell! Now I have to dig through the trenches again!” You dropped your bowl on the table and flopped backward onto the couch dramatically. “You were so close.” He opened his mouth, but you cut him off, sitting upright and waving for his datapad. “Nope. Give it. We’re using yours this time so I don’t have to flirt with some Southern Underground girl at 0200 just to trick her into a conversation.” 

Hound stood there, rooted to the floor, and something snapped. “Absolutely not!” he barked, hands flying up. “We are not doing that again!” And just like that, he started pacing. 

“I went on a DATE with a woman who thinks medical science is a SCAM,” he ranted. “She waved a fucking crystal over my back like it was gonna realign my entire bowel system and then fed me fermented root juice that tasted like shit!” You bit your lip. He kept going. “AND THEN! Sweet, wonderful, beautiful, normal Lyra took me on dates. Correction, I took her. She was very nice, very adult! Oh shit, I think I should introduce her to Thorn so he wouldn’t have to sleep around anymore. Remind me?” His eyes widened in realisation. “NOT THE POINT!” He grabbed your glass of water and chugged it. 

“And guess what, the entire time I was with her, I was just thinking about you. And your laugh that sounds like a poorly modded speederbike backfiring. And how you always fake cough after saying something embarrassing like it’ll delete it from reality.” 

“I do not—” 

“You do! And it’s so dumb. And I miss it.” He laughed once, manic. “And I miss you calling me ‘paw patrol’ and ‘war criminal’, and shit like that, and acting like caf is an emotional support crutch and I just…” He paused, turned, eyes wide. “I miss running with you EVERY SINGLE DAY. I miss you yelling ‘KING’ at old men with good coats. I miss pretending not to laugh when you flirt terribly with vendors. I miss the hot sauce in your pocket. I miss you.” Silence. Your clay mask flaked at the corners of your mouth from sheer expression overload. 

Hound dropped his voice. “I don’t want another date. I just want you.” 

You looked down at yourself, sauce-stained shirt, peeling graphic, swamp-coloured face, a literal chili oil splotch over your left tit, and felt absurd. Ridiculous. Feral. And yet this emotionally constipated man had just poured his soul out on your welcome mat like it was nothing. “…You couldn’t wait until tomorrow? When I didn’t look like Bozo the Hutt Clown?” 

Hound blinked. “What?” 

“I have chilli oil stain on my tit, Hound.” 

Cracking the tension open, he burst out laughing, head thrown back, hands on his knees. “Stars, you had to pick tonight?” you groaned, almost smearing your own drying mask with a hand dragged down your face. 

“I ran here,” he said helplessly, walking closer. “Six hovertrain stops. I didn’t have a plan. Just… you. You were the only thing I wanted to run to.” 

“…Okay, that was hot.” Your heart stuttered. He really made your heart soar, huh? But then you halted into a pause. “What’s your pace?” 

“What?” 

“Your running pace, paw patrol.” 

He instinctively checked his chrono. “Uh… three and a half minutes per klick.” 

You whistled. “Damn. PB?” 

“By a whole thirty seconds.” 

“Shit. Was that really all the way from CoCo Town?” 

“Started slow, hit stride at the rail line, then sprinted once I saw your district marker.” 

“Respect.” 

And you both nodded, silently, like that made perfect sense. Until— “Wait. I confessed my feelings.” 

“You got off-topic!” You pointed a finger at him. 

“You brought up my pace!” 

“You answered!” 

And then you both burst into a breathless laughter. Instinctively, Hound stepped even closer, tilting his head, and leaning down towards you. “…So?” 

“You’re trying to kiss me?” With your hands stretching the fabric of your clothes, you made a point of the stubborn stain that painted over the graphic. “Again. I’ve got sauce on my tit. And this mud mask is working overtime.” 

“You’re pretty,” he said without thinking. 

“It’s bentonite clay from some backwater planet, not love.” 

“You’re gonna make me wait?” 

“Two minutes. Let the vitamins set in.” 

“I can’t believe this,” he groaned, hands in his hair. “I run across half of Coruscant, confess to you that I’m in love with your gremlin ass, and you’re making me wait because of your skincare?” 

“…Yeah.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“Correct.” 

The gears turned in your head, fuck it. You grabbed his jacket, yanked him down, and kissed him. Clay be damned. He made a soft noise of surprise and then melted, hands finding your waist, forehead brushing yours, the kiss was awkward and hurried and absolutely perfect. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he looked dazed. “You taste like clay and seaweed,” 

“Mask got in your mouth?” 

“Yeah.” He wiped his lips, and peeled a flaky green smudge from his cheek. “Worth it.” 

You pinched his face and slapped it lightly. “Dumbass.” earning another grin from him as if it was the best word he’d ever been called. 

“I’m not kissing you again until this swamp is off my face!” You turned towards the kitchen sink next to you. Behind you, Hound laughed again, arms wrapping your waist, kissing the top of your head as you wiped down the sludge on your face. 

Not another minute later, the door buzzer pinged. “Now, that’s Dumpling,” he called. 

[honestlylegendaryqueen]

📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📌📍

However this being a month of Ramadhan, we kindly request for more support interms of food items since we’ll require an extra meal as we fast.

For the whole Ramadhan month, we also kindly request for :

10 Qurans(120)

10 yasarnas(98$)these are Islamic beginner scripts,

10 praying mats (200$)

7 vails for ladies(100$)

Attire for the prayer leader, Imam and Bilal(100$)

Juice for breaking the fast(200$)

Fruits for breaking the fast(200$)

Serving trays and cups(50$)

We call upon all well wishers and allies to kindly help us through donations and sharing to help us successfully go through this month of Ramadhan.🙏🙏

We also have two colleagues of ours who at the time we transited were still in the reception, so right now they’re stranded in kakuma camp, so we kindly request that we are helped in regards before registration here in Southsudan Gorom camp is closed, it’s due date of closure is on the 12 of this month March and most probably will be opened next year. Their transportation costs rounds off to 500$

Donate through:

PayPal account shafiquthuman@gmail.com

Send wave, world remitly, tap tap send to Mpesa number 0791003606(shafiq seruwagi).

[walidgoldpreppy]

A Golden indoctrination for Anthony

After returning home, Anthony is seized by a new obsession: to stay within the rules. His casual clothes that he loved so much, those worn shorts and t-shirts, no longer seem appropriate to him. Instinctively, he can no longer allow himself to slack off. He checks his phone and sees that he has received a new message from *Waltergold*, accompanied, this time again, by a video. Without even thinking, he puts on his headphones and presses "play".

The golden background fills his screen. Unlike the first video, there is no flickering, just this golden glow, captivating, still. Anthony feels his thoughts calm down, his mind immersed in this perfect light. "It's beautiful", he thinks. "It's magnificent…"

When he blinks again, he realizes that it is night. He looks at the clock: 6am. He’s all sore, his muscles aching, as if he’s had a hard workout. He glances around his apartment and notices that he’s packed up his things, changed his clothes during the night. Next to him, a summary of his order from a formal wear website is displayed on his computer: shirts, dress pants, ties, suit, dress shoes everything is there. He also has a confirmation of a registration at a local gym.

Anthony gets up slowly, still groggy, and decides to make a healthy breakfast. He makes himself scrambled eggs, whole-wheat toast, and a protein smoothie. While eating, he checks his messages on Tumblr. *Waltergold* has texted him again.

“Package’s been sent, bro. It’ll be here soon.”

He can’t suppress a shiver of excitement. For some reason, he can’t wait to receive this package. Everything in his life seems to be taking a new turn. He also decides to confirm his registration at the gym he found online. It is associated with the local soccer team, which seems to him to be a good sign.

Anthony wakes up early, feeling full of motivation. He packs his bag to go to the gym before going to work. He carefully chooses his clothes: a pair of sneakers, black technical fabric shorts, a short-sleeved shirt for training, and formal clothes for the office. He opts for a light blue cotton shirt, black fitted pants, brown leather dress shoes, a tie with subtle diagonal stripes, and does not forget his classic steel wristwatch. Everything has to be perfect.

Once his bag is ready, he heads to the gym. It is located not far from his home, modern and well-equipped. When he arrives, he goes to the reception, where he is greeted with a cordial smile. The walls are decorated with photos of local teams, trophies, and men in action on the field. One detail catches his eye: several of these men are wearing Gold jerseys, just like the ones he saw in the Team Gold stories.

As he begins his session, Anthony listens to the new soundtrack sent by *Waltergold*. He has called it “Training.” The track starts with regular beats, reminiscent of a running rhythm, mixed with words he can barely make out.

“Discipline… Obedience… Conformity…”

These words resonate in his mind, almost in synchronicity with his movements. He runs on the mat, doing series of push-ups and squats, feeling more and more focused, as if the track is strengthening his determination.

As he walks around the room, he notices several men. Some are wearing that famous Gold jersey. They are tall, muscular, their bodies seem perfectly sculpted. Their tight jerseys show off every muscle in their torsos, and each jersey bears a name emblazoned in bright Gold numbers on the back. They train with methodical precision, their gazes focused, almost unwavering. Their movements are fluid, as if they are part of a well-rehearsed choreography, a discipline that impresses Anthony. He can’t help but watch them, fascinated.

After two hours of intense effort, Anthony is exhausted but satisfied. His muscles burn, but it’s a feeling he’s learning to appreciate. He heads to the locker room, where he quickly undresses to wash himself.

Under the hot water of the shower, he thinks back to these men, their Gold jerseys, and their apparent devotion to a team, to a cause.

Once he’s done showering, he changes. His movements are almost mechanical, instinctive. He first puts on his underwear, then his fitted black pants. The soft material slides easily against his still damp skin. Next, he puts on his light blue shirt, carefully ironed, and adjusts it perfectly around his neck before buttoning each button with almost obsessive precision. He knots his tie carefully, checking several times that the knot is perfectly centered and that no creases disturb its perfection. Finally, he puts on his brown leather dress shoes, their impeccable shine briefly catching the light.

Before leaving the locker room, he looks at himself in the mirror one last time, running a hand through his carefully gelled hair, making sure each strand is in its place, and checks his tie knot again. Everything is in order.

On the way to work, Anthony feels strangely calm, but also determined. Something in him has changed, and he’s not sure he can go back.

(End of part 4)

Part 3

[triptychgrip]

Fic Rec: Transmasc Viktor Character Study

I finished reading born of the ice by ao3 user anirondack this past Monday, but the story has been lingering in my head ever since so I felt compelled to come on here and post about it.

I've been on a gender exploration kick in my fanfic pursuits, and when I came across this robust fic -- 57K, so it definitely took me awhile -- I was delighted to see 1) that it is almost entirely transphobia free, which, frankly, felt quite healing, and 2) it begins charting Viktor's journey towards transitioning all the way from his childhood (6 years old).

There was something so gripping in reading about a pre-transition Viktor dominating the skating world as Victoriya Dmitriyevna in the Women's Singles division, and then making the choice at the height of his fame/success to come out as his true self. While it is not meant to be an accurate depiction of what a transmasc Russian athlete would have had to deal with in actuality, the emotion and stakes depicted felt extremely authentic, and make you root for Viktor to find his happiness. Best of all, while it touches heavily on his gender identity journey, it's about far more than that, as well. I was particularly appreciative of the scenes that capture Viktor's melancholy closer to when we know canon starts (which takes place well after he gets top surgery and starts taking testosterone).

It was really hard to pick an excerpt from this fic to share because there are so many captivating/poignant moments, but I've settled on a scene between Yakov and Viktor, taking place around the time that Yakov is confirming registrations for Russian Nationals.

This takes place shortly after Yakov learns of Viktor's gender dysphoria, and begins when he asks him to decide which division -- men's or women's -- he will compete in.

----

“You can’t switch back and forth between the two, either. You have to pick one and stick with it.”

“I know.”

Yakov nods. He looks a little gentler than usual, which means he only looks partly inflated. He holds out his hand and Victor hands the form back. Yakov returns it to the pile and covers it with another form for someone else - hers is already filled out, with her full name and everything. Victor feels a soft pang of jealously and swallows it. “That’s all. Back to practice. Your step sequence is looking choppy. You’d better not be binding again. You know I won’t hesitate to withdraw you from the Grand Prix. I don’t care how well you did in Budapest.”

“I’m not, I promise.” Victor stands up and ties his hair back, then walks inelegantly out of the office and back to the rink, his blade covers making loud thunking noises on the rubber mats.

He thinks about it as he practices his step sequences, which do not get any less choppy. He thinks about it as he walks back to his apartment in the commons with his skates slung over his shoulder. He thinks about it as he showers and drags himself through the same dinner as always - protein and salad and more protein - and does his stretches and lifts weights and watches TV on his new TV set. He goes into the bathroom and stares at his naked body in the mirror and covers his chest with his hands and turns from side to side. It would be very difficult for him to blend into the men’s figure skating crowd, but he already doesn’t belong in the women’s division either. He faces his reflection head-on and looks at his hips - slim, but wider than is ideal for his jumps. Victor likes his hips now. They’re somewhere between masculine and feminine and he likes the androgyny of them, and how they don’t ache as much as some of the girls on the Russian team who have wide hips and knee and back pain.

Victor draws himself into his free program’s starting position, back curved forward and to the right, one arm across his face, and peeks at himself from under his elbow. It’s a very hidden position. It distorts him, makes his body look different. Featureless. The curve of his chest is only distinguished because there’s no spandex covering it. Victor sighs and drops his arms, then leans against the sink and runs the tap. He washes his face with cold water and rests his elbows on the porcelaine. He thinks.

One option is a huge challenge, the other unbearable. One will wear down his body faster, and one will wear down his mind. Neither feel like particularly good options, but Victor meets his own gaze and he knows what he’s going to do.

You can read the full story here

[alex-fictus]

Not a suggestion, more a question - how do you make your stickers? Your art inspired me to make stickers but I don’t know where to start!!

Ooh Tutorial Time! I have a small rundown of my process here. (I’ve got a video here, but I’ve had an update in my materials. Also this got a little away from me, I hope this helps and lemme know if there’s anything I need to elaborate on!)

---  Materials:  Printer - Epson Ecotank 8500 Cutters - Silhouette Cameo 4s (I’ve got 2 at the moment) Paper - Zicoto Glossy Vinyl Laminates - Glossy and Holo Star Laminate (Both Self Adhesive) Misc    Off Brand Sticker Cutter mats     Ruler Squeegee with extra microfiber wrap    Sports glove tack spray or sewing basting spray

Printer - Aim for a photographic printer at the minimum. General print quality, color variety, and paper handling will make sure your prints are the highest possible quality. They’re a little more expensive, but my last printer lasted 4 years with frequent weekly printing. The ecotank is nice, it’s more visual that the ink is actually disappearing than the pre-filled cartridges lol.  Cutter - I’ve only used Silhouette, but I’ve heard to stay clear of Cricut due to general cut unreliability and lack of customer service assistance. I’ve also heard great things about the Siser Juliet cutter from mutuals. In order to use 2 machines at the same time, I had to purchase the Business license ( p sure it was a one time $50 purchase, but I can work twice as fast). If you want to cut by hand, check out what kind of ergonomic scissors you can find. Classic scissors over time can really screw up your hands, especially when you’re making fine cuts. 

Printing and Sizing - The Silhouette Studio resizes your stickers without many issues with quality changes. This does kinda depend on the base size of your files. I always make my stickers on a canvas 3000x2000 pixels and 300 dpi. I wouldn’t go any lower than 100 dpi for print, and no larger than 500 dpi, but you can always test this out.

Paper - I enjoy the luster of the paper I linked above, there’s almost a pearlescent quality to it. If you’d like a different quality, I recommend still sticking with glossy vinyl for your paper. Laminates on matte sticker paper have had a lot of trapped air underneath for me and it tended to be more likely to bleed in contact with water despite being laminated.

Laminate - If you’re just doing paper finish stickers, you can skip this step :)

Laminate them to make them more water and scratch resistant. The laminates I’ve listed are all self adhesive. There are also heat adhesive laminates, which require a heat laminator. I haven’t experimented much with heated laminates. Mine are best rated for hand wash, though they can go through the dishwasher a few times.  When laminating your sticker sheet, be sure to not cover your registration marks. When your cutter tries to read over them and the surface is really reflective, it can cause the machine to read improperly (and it’s worse with the holographics lol). Either precut your laminates like I do in the video I linked above, or you can use matte tape over your laminate to dull the sheen. If you accidentally cover your registration marks, the matte tape is a lifesaver.  Self laminating takes some muscle memory to not get bubbles trapped under the laminate, but a wide squeegee and firm pressure helps make sure you get as few bubbles as possible.  Mats - Your cutter will come with a few, but I find that my off-brand ones are just as good and less expensive. I prefer low-tack, but there comes a time when the tack is absolutely gone, and I have 10+ mats just sitting around. That’s where the Sports Glove spray or Sewing basting spray comes in! After washing them (soap and water, then dry for a few hours), I hit them with a few coats of spray. Right now I’m using Pow’r Tac Grip Spray. It’s just ok, but this leaves less residue on the back of my stickers than the Basting Spray I used to use. I retack every month or so, but that’s more bc I’d prefer the mats to be less sticky than risk ripping my backing sheets. 

----

If there’s anything you’d still like to know, please let me know!! 

[parttimesarah]

I made a linocut print as a present for my mom’s birthday. Here’s the process of making it!

1. I found this lovely picture of Bass Harbor Head Light in Bass Harbor, Maine (the state I live in):

2. I drew it on my iPad using Procreate:

3. I flipped the image horizontally and printed it off at the size I wanted the final piece to be (9”x12” printed on 11”x14” paper):

4: I put carbon paper between the printed image and the linoleum and traced over the image using a tracing tool that came with my carbon paper (next time I’ll just use a ballpoint pen):

5. I went over the lines with a fine liner to make sure they’d stay put throughout the carving process as the graphite from the carbon paper smudged pretty easily:

6. The carving begins!:

7. The carving continues!:

8. I trimmed out all of the sky to save time and created a quick registration tool by putting marks on a larger piece of paper showing where I wanted to align my printing paper after inking the carving:

9. After several attempts, I got a print I was happy with. I ended up making changes based on the earlier prints, though, so they weren’t a complete waste of ink and paper!:

10. My dad (making a cameo in the frame’s glass reflection) framed and matted the print and it’s all ready to give to my mom tomorrow evening!:

[briankeene]

AuthorCon V PRELIMINARY Programming

What follows is the PRELIMINARY Programming Schedule for AuthorCon V (a Scares That Care charity event), which you can purchase tickets to and learn more about here.

Jonathan Janz and myself have worked very hard to accommodate everyone who requested to be inluded in programming and have cross-checked this schedule 507 times. HOWEVER… mistakes will invariably creep in. Which is why this is the PRELIMINARY schedule.

All participants should read over this carefully. If you asked for a panel or reading, you should be included. In most, but not all, cases, you may have multiple programming slots. Everyone should have at least one, however.

If you see that Janz and I have double-booked you (say a reading and a panel with overlapping times) or if you were somehow left off the list even after filling out a programming survey, or if you somehow ended up doing something you have no desire to do, you have until 11:59pm on Monday, May 17th to let me know. The only acceptable way to let me know is to send an email to briankeene @ live dot com and put AUTHORCON V in the Subject Heading. If you send me a Direct Message via social media or a text message or a carrier pigeon, they will be ignored.

— Brian Keene

Preliminary Programming Schedule For AuthorCon V

THURSDAY

7:00pm to 10:00pm - Spirited Giving (Auditorium): The popular Spirited Giving reading series makes it Scare That Care  debut! Host James Sabata emcees and evening of live readings by Jamie Flanagan, Rebecca Cuthbert, and D.M. Guay. Plus, the debut of an original LIVE Midnight Pals performance  with Midnight Pals creator Bitter Karella and a bevy of your favorite  horror authors playing themselves (including Laurel  Hightower, Todd Keisling, Wile E. Young, Stephen Kozeniewski, and Brian Keene). Cocktail hour and mixer from 6pm to 7pm with drinks designed by Scares That Care's very own Sonora Taylor.  Show begins at 7pm sharp. All proceeds benefit Scares That Care. 

FRIDAY

3:00pm to 4:00pm – Relaxation and Wellness Session (Second Floor, Room J): Time and opportunity to learn and practice several wellness activities, including breathing exercises and supportive games. Designed to get you ready to enjoy a busy day of fun convention activities. This one-hour session is facilitated by Scares That Care board member Alfred Guy, Training Officer at the University of Maryland, Baltimore School of Social Work UMB-SSW. Take home a custom yoga mat (available only at this event) along with meditation scripts and affirmations. Participate at your own level of comfort and attend any or all three of the sessions. This is a ticketed event. Tickets are available at convention registration.

4:00pm to 5:00pm – Opening Ceremonies (First Floor, Auditorium): Brian Keene and Joe Ripple welcome all Guests of Honor, vendors, and attendees, give you important weekend information, and present the 3rd annual Wilburn-Thomas Award and the 12th annual Crystal Award. Attendance by all is strongly encouraged.

5:00pm to 9:00pm – Vendors (Ballroom and Promenade)

5:00pm to 9:00pm – Silent Auction (First Floor, Auditorium)

5:00pm to 9:00pm – Brian Keene’s Horror Comic Museum (First Floor, Rooms A & B): Selections of horror comic books from throughout the years, all taken from Brian Keene’s personal collection.

5:00pm to 10:00pm – International Film Festival (First Floor, Amphitheater)

6:00pm to 8:00pm – Ask An Agent (First Floor, Center Lounge) – Literary agent Becky LeJeune (Bond Literary Agency) hosts this workshop for writers of all levels. Learn how to pitch your manuscripts to an agent, how to write the perfect query letter, and much more. This is a ticketed workshop. Tickets are available for purchase at convention registration.

8:00pm to 10:00pm – Found Money For Writers (First Floor, Center Lounge): There are thousands of grants available for writers every year, but most writers never take advantage of this resource. Regardless of if you're just starting out or already a full-time writer, you can benefit from grants. In this two-hour workshop, best-selling author Maurice Broaddus teaches you the tips and tricks for finding them, applying for them, and what to do when you get them. This is a ticketed event. Tickets are available at convention registration.

10:00pm – Music Trivia (First Floor, Auditorium): Test your musical and horror knowledge. Hosted by Thomas R. Clark and Chase Will.

Readings:

Second Floor, Room 8

6:00pm – 6:45pm: Nathan D. Ludwig and Viggy Parr Hampton 7:00pm – 7:45pm: Jonathan Janz and Wesley Southard 8:00pm – 8:45pm: Wile E. Young and Kenzie Jennings

Second Floor, Room 11

6:30pm – 7:15pm: Thomas R Clark and M Ennenbach 7:30pm – 8:15pm: Shane Hawk and Dorian J. Sinnott 8:30pm to 9:15pm: Anton Cancre and Cassandra Celia

Second Floor, Room 12

6:45pm – 7:30pm: Laurel Hightower and Todd Keisling 7:45pm – 8:30pm: Gary Frank and Craig Brownlie

Panels:

Second Floor, Room 16

5:30pm – 6:15pm: Writing Short Stories – Dorian J. Sinnott (moderator), Shane Hawk, Eric LaRocca, Valerie B. Williams, Bert Lestrange, and Rebecca Rowland discuss their tips and tricks for writing effective short horror fiction.

6:30pm – 7:30pm: Ask A Prison Guard – Correctional Officers and horror authors John Lynch and Dan Shrader lead this informal discussion and answer all of your questions about what really goes on inside prison.

7:45pm – 8:45pm: Writing and Producing For Stage and Screen –Derik Cavignano (moderator), Jamie Flanagan, Douglas Ford, Nathan D. Ludwig, and Craig Brownlie discuss what’s involved in writing horror for film, television, and theater productions.

9:00pm – 10:00pm: Kill, Marry, Shag (Monster Edition) – Host James Sabata and panelists Philip Fracassi, Gemma Amor, V Castro, Mike Slater, Bitter Karella, Scott Cole, and Elizabeth Broadbent decide which monster they’d most love to kill, wed, or shag. Attendee Discretion Is Advised.

Second Floor, Room 17

7:00pm – 8:00pm: Indie Publishing In A World Gone To Hell – Joshua Loyd Fox (moderator), Katherine Silva, L.P. Hernandez, Sirrah Medeiros, and Andrew Van Wey discuss the challenges facing small press and indie publishing in 2025.

8:30pm – 9:30pm: Horror Writer’s Guide To Networking Etiquette – Joseph Pesavento (moderator), Shane McKenzie, B.C. Lienesch, John Lynch, and Rebecca Rowland discuss the Dos and Don’ts of networking with authors, editors, publishers, and agents.

Second Floor, Room 18

5:30pm – 6:30pm: Blending Genres: Stephen Kozeniewski (moderator), Derik Cavignano, Jennifer L. Collins, Rowan Hill, and Andrew Najberg discuss mixing your horror peanut butter with the chocolate of other genres.

6:45pm – 7:45pm: Hagsploitation: Witches In Horror – Daniel Braum (moderator), Tony Evans, Garrett Boatman, and Chris DiLeo discuss the history of witches and crones in horror.

8:00pm – 9:00pm: Writing YA Horror – Christopher Golden, Adam Cesare, and Heather Mihok lead this informal discussion and answer all of your questions about writing for Young Adults.

9:15pm – 10:00pm: Self-Defense Made Easy: Experts Patrick Tumblety and Wrath James White lead this informal discussion and answer all of your questions about self-defense and what a real fight feels like.

SATURDAY

9:00am to 10:00am – Relaxation and Wellness Session (Second Floor, Room J): Time and opportunity to learn and practice several wellness activities, including breathing exercises and supportive games. Designed to get you ready to enjoy a busy day of fun convention activities. This one-hour session is facilitated by Scares That Care board member Alfred Guy, Training Officer at the University of Maryland, Baltimore School of Social Work UMB-SSW. Take home a custom yoga mat (available only at this event) along with meditation scripts and affirmations. Participate at your own level of comfort and attend any or all three of the sessions. This is a ticketed event. Tickets are available at convention registration.

10:00am to 5:00pm – Silent Auction (First Floor, Auditorium): Winners will be announced at 5:00pm sharp.

10:00am to 6:00pm – Vendors (Ballroom and Promenade)

10:00am to 6:00pm – Brian Keene’s Horror Comic Museum (First Floor, Rooms A & B): Selections of horror comic books from throughout the years, all taken from Brian Keene’s personal collection.

Noon to 7:00pm – International Film Festival (First Floor, Amphitheater)

8:30am to 10:00am – Just Add Writer / From Script To Page (First Floor, Center Lounge): Bestselling, award winning author Tim Waggoner teaches you all of the ins and outs of writing media tie-in fiction, and movie novelizations. This is a ticketed workshop. Tickets are available for purchase at convention registration.

1:00pm to 2:00pm – How to Create an Amazing Author Website (First Floor, Center Lounge): In order for readers, agents, and publishers to find you online, you need a website. In this seminar, author and digital communications professional Sonora Taylor will share the unique advantages a website has over other online spaces like social media, then walk you through what makes a great author website. There will also be a Q&A session to answer any questions you may have. If you don’t have a website or you have one that’s in serious need of updating, then this seminar is for you. This is a ticketed workshop. Tickets are available for purchase at convention registration.

7:00pm to 8:00pm – An Evening with Psychic and Medium Dakota Lawrence (Second Floor, Room 17): In this group setting, renowned psychic and medium Dakota Lawrence will conduct live readings regarding loved ones, participant’s lives, and more. This is a ticketed event. Tickets are available for purchase at convention registration. Please note that participants will be chosen at random, and a ticket does not guarantee a reading.

8:00pm – The Fowl Players of Perryville Murder Mystery Event! (Second Floor, Room 18): Join us for this fun and interactive Murder Mystery event - where "The Fowl Players of Perryville" utilize YOU to help figure out the killer! Cash bar and light fare will be served. This is a ticketed workshop. Tickets are available for purchase at convention registration.

10:00pm – The Gross-Out Contest (First Floor, Auditorium): A 35+ year tradition continues as a new generation of your favorite horror authors square off once again in the literary world’s most vile, hilarious, and incendiary showdown. Each contestant has five minutes to gross out the crowd and impress hosts Stephen Kozeniewski and Wile E. Young, and celebrity judges L.P. Hernandez, Kenzie Jennings, Bitter Karella, Eric LaRocca, and Judith Sonnet. Adults Only. No One Under 18 Permitted. No Phones or Recording Devices. Attendee Discretion Is Strongly, Strongly, Strongly Advised.

Readings:

Second Floor, Room 8

10:15am – 11:00am: Shane McKenzie and Sultan Z. White 11:15am – Noon: Amanda Headlee and Katherine Silva 12:15pm – 1:00pm: Philip Fracassi and Ronald Malfi 1:15pm – 2:00pm: Tim Waggoner and Robert Swartwood 2:15pm – 3:00pm: John Durgin and Tony Evans 3:15pm – 4:00pm: Wrath James White and Judith Sonnet 4:15pm – 5:00pm: Nikolas P. Robinson and Austin Shirey 5:15pm - 6:00pm: D.W. Hitz and Alex Matsuo

Second Floor, Room 11

10:30am – 11:15am: Adam Cesare and Scott Cole 11:30am – 12:15pm: RJ Roles and Lucas Milliron 12:30pm – 1:15pm: Bitter Karella and Stephen Kozeniewski 1:30pm - 2:15pm: Douglas Ford and Jay Bower 2:30pm - 3:15pm: Justin Holley and Larry Hinkle 3:30pm – 4:15pm: Stephen Mark Rainey and Richard Dansky 4:30pm – 5:15pm: Carol Gyzander and Cassandra O’Sullivan Sachar

Second Floor, Room 12

10:45am – 11:30am: Chase Will and Zach Lamb 11:45am – 12:30pm: Dan Shrader and Edwin Callihan 12:45pm – 1:30pm: Tommy B. Smith and Joseph Pesavento 1:45pm - 2:30pm: Valerie B. Williams and Jenny Allen 2:45pm – 3:30pm: Chris DiLeo and Andrew Najberg 3:45pm – 4:30pm: Kit Power and Justin Lutz 4:45pm – 5:30pm: Rowan Hill and Erin Kelly

Panels:

Second Floor, Room 16

10:30am – 11:30am: Teaching Writing -- Cassandra O’Sullivan Sachar (moderator), Jonathan Janz, Tim Waggoner, Mary SanGiovanni, and Andrew Najberg discuss how to effectively teach writing.

11:45am – 12:45pm: Horror In Gaming – Richard Dansky (moderator), Mike Slater, Jamie Flanagan, Anton Cancre, and Andrew Najberg discuss what goes into creating good horror tabletop role-playing and video games.

1:00pm – 2:00pm: Horror Nonfiction -- Mark Sieber (moderator), Victoria Price, Mike Slater, Kit Power, Cassandra O’Sullivan Sachar, Rick Hipson, and Nikolas P. Robinson discuss writing biographies, memoirs, reviews, literary criticism, and more.

2:15pm – 3:15pm: LGBTQIA+ Storytelling – Cat Voleur (moderator), Jamie Flanagan, Dorian J. Sinnott, Cassandra Celia, Amanda Headlee, discuss what they’d like to see more of and what they’d like to see less of when it comes to LGBTQIA+ representation in horror fiction.

3:30pm – 4:30pm: Marketing For Indie Writers: Joshua Loyd Fox (moderator), Jay Bower, John Durgin, Sirrah Medeiros, Chase Will, and Andrew Van Wey discuss guerilla marketing and DIY promotion.

4:45pm – 5:45pm: Creature Features – James Sabata (moderator), Chase Will, Gary Frank, Tom Rimer, and Garrett Boatman discuss their favorite creature features.

6:00pm – 7:30pm: The End Of The World As We Know It: New Tales of Stephen King’s The Stand – Brian Keene, Christopher Golden, V Castro, Wrath James White, Jonathan Janz, Ronald Malfi, and Maurice Broaddus discuss the most anticipated anthology of the year, all while signing signature sheets for the limited edition.

Second Floor, Room 17

10:15am – 11:15am: Writing Thrillers, Crime, Noir, and True Crime – Marie Lestrange (moderator), Laurel Hightower, Robert Swartwood, Edwin Callihan, and Robert Whitmore discuss their favorites from the genre, and tips for writing it.

11:30am – 12:30pm: Podcasting 101 -- Kit Power (moderator), Viggy Parr Hampton, and Rick Hipson tell you everything you want to know about starting your own podcast.

12:45pm – 1:45pm: Paranormal nonfiction and investigation Justin Holley (moderator), Alex Matsuo, and Nikki Nelson-Hicks discuss investigating and documenting real-life paranormal occurrences.

3:00pm – 3:45pm: Victoria Price In Conversation: Angel Hollman moderates this Q&A with author and public speaker Victoria Price.

Second Floor, Room 18

10:45am – 11:45am: Editing and Publishing Anthologies: Stephen Kozeniewski (moderator) Shane Hawk, Carol Gyzander, Rebecca Rowland, and Candace Nola discuss the trials, tribulations, and triumphs of editing anthologies.

Noon – 1:00pm: Time To Roar (Not Just Another Women in Horror Panel) – Mary SanGiovanni (moderator), Laurel Hightower, Red Lagoe, Gemma Amor, V Castro, Candace Nola, Jenny Allen, and Elizabeth Broadbent discuss what’s improved for Women In Horror over the last thirty years, what hasn’t improved, and what the hell they’re going to do about it. Note: ALL women are welcome to attend this panel. Fellas are invited to attend something else, per Brian Keene and Joe Ripple. If any fellas have a problem with that, take it up with them. Or better yet, take it up with the panelists. They’ll be glad to correct you.

1:15pm – 2:15pm: Full-Time/Time-Full – Lucas Milliron (moderator), Red Lagoe, Philip Fracassi, Scott Cole, Adam Cesare, Wesley Southard, and Ben Farthing discuss writing full-time, writing part-time with a full-time job, and other combinations of time management.

2:30pm – 3:30pm: Our Favorite Reads of 2024 – B.C. Lienesch (moderator), Eric LaRocca, Shane Hawk, Gemma Amor, V Castro, Erin Kelly, and Eric Butler discuss the books and stories that stuck with them over the last year.

3:45pm – 4:45pm: Grief Horror – Dorian J. Sinnott (moderator), Laurel Hightower, Red Lagoe, William F. Gray, Katherine Silva, and Chris DiLeo discuss why this sub-genre has become so popular, and the joys and perils of writing and reading it.

5:00pm – 6:00pm: Folk Horror Thomas R. Clark (moderator), Todd Keisling, Tony Evans, Marie Lestrange, RJ Roles, Douglas Ford, and Nikki Nelson-Hicks discuss folk horror’s history and enduring popularity in these modern times.

SUNDAY

9:00am – 10:00am – Worship Service (First Floor, Auditorium): Maurice Broaddus leads this non-denominational service, open to all attendees and members of all faiths.

9:00am to 10:00am – Relaxation and Wellness Session. (Second Floor, Room J): Time and opportunity to learn and practice several wellness activities, including breathing exercises and supportive games. Designed to get you ready to enjoy a busy day of fun convention activities. This one-hour session is facilitated by Scares That Care board member Alfred Guy, Training Officer at the University of Maryland, Baltimore School of Social Work UMB-SSW. Take home a custom yoga mat (available only at this event) along with meditation scripts and affirmations. Participate at your own level of comfort and attend any or all three of the sessions. This is a ticketed event. Tickets are available at convention registration.

10:00am to 3:00pm – Vendors (Ballroom and Promenade)

Readings:

Second Floor, Room 8

10:30am – 11:15am: Marie Lestrange and Nikki Nelson-Hicks 11:30am – 12:15pm: S. M. Sykes and B.C. Lienesch

Second Floor, Room 11

10:45am – 11:30am: Andrew Van Wey and Kalvin Ellis 11:45am – 12:30pm: Joshua Loyd Fox and Patrick Tumblety

Second Floor, Room 12

11:00am – 11:45am: Red Lagoe and Elizabeth Broadbent

Panels:

Second Floor, Room 16

10:15am – 11:15am: Splatstick – James Sabata (moderator), Bitter Karella, Viggy Parr Hampton, Nathan D. Ludwig, Stephen Kozeniewski, and Wile E. Young discuss the thin line between humor and horror.

11:30am – 12:30pm:

Second Floor, Room 18

10:30am – 11:30am: Music and Horror – Justin Lutz (moderator), Edwin Callihan, Craig Wesley Wall, Tommy B. Smith, and Cassandra Celia discuss the long connections between music and horror.

11:45am – 12;45pm:

1:30pm – 2:30pm: The Twenty-Fifth Annual Yell At Brian Keene Panel – Brian Keene, Brian Smith, Jake Lerner, Joe Ripple, Sonora Taylor, Angel Hollman, Alfred Guy, and the rest of the Scares That Care staff welcome your feedback in this open forum, so that we can implement it next year. Please don’t really yell at Brian, though… (Second Floor, Room 18)

[sadinasaphrite]

Friday Nights Ch 3

Whoops, a few days late for Tumblr, but here's chapter 3 of my Professor Gale Bloodweave AU!

Read on AO3!

They met as per usual on the following Friday. Neither of them mentioned anything out of the ordinary, as if the previous week never happened. Astarion’s wrists were all but healed, only a faint pink line betraying there had been any injury at all. The evening passed uneventfully, sharing their usual complaints and conversation before Astarion left arm in arm with a brunette.

The next week, Astarion didn’t appear at all.

Nor the week after that. Or the following month.

Every Friday, Gale sat at their usual table, watching the crowds for a familiar pale face and shock of white hair. He’d nurse a single drink until the bar closed, then return home dejected.

What could he do? They’d never exchanged phone numbers. He didn’t even know Astarion’s last name. He’d hoped Astarion’s first name was unique enough to find something online, but hours of searching only left him empty handed. He couldn’t go to the police. What would he say? “A guy I met in a bar stopped coming to the bar?” They’d laugh him out of the building. Gale was sure this had to do with whatever trouble Astarion had found himself in. Searching the local news for… for something, anything that could explain a strange man’s disappearance also proved fruitless. Never had Gale felt so helpless.

Winter break ended and Gale soon had his hands full with spring semester classes. How long was he going to keep doing this? Was he going to spend the rest of his life waiting for a face he’d never see again?

The third Friday of the semester, Gale’s office hours ran late, helping out a student who was having difficulty with late registration into his Intermediary Envocations class. He sat in his car and debated even going to the bar. He’d had a long week, he was tired, and he wanted nothing more than to go to bed. It snowed earlier in the afternoon, so the roads would also be terrible.

Still…

Cursing his own inflated sense of loyalty, Gale drove to the bar. He wasn’t expecting anything to change. Maybe he could get a drink and something to eat, then go home at midnight instead of two in the morning.

He pulled into the bar’s parking lot, and his headlights flashed across a thin, pale figure. Gale slammed on his brakes and threw the car in park. He flung himself out of the car without even bothering to turn off the ignition.

“Astarion!?”

The figure stopped and turned toward him.

“Gale?”

It was him. Gods, it was really him.

“Gale!”

“Astarion!” Gale scrambled toward him, slipping in the slush and catching himself on the hood of his car. “Astarion, where have you been!? I’ve been worried sick! I thought for sure something had— What… what happened to you?”

Astarion’s signature leather jacket was missing. He wore only ripped jeans, black boots, and a white tank top to protect him from the frigid winter air. He had a small duffle bag under one arm and hurried toward him.

“You came!” Astarion’s voice was tight.

“What in the world are you wearing? You must be freezing!” Gale shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around Astarion’s thin shoulders. “Here, get this on. I’ve got gloves in the car, too, and I can crank up the heat.”

“You came,” Astarion repeated. Shaking fingers clutched at Gale’s sweater vest, pulling him close. “You came, you’re here. You’re here, you’re here, you’re really here.”

Astarion trembled from head to toe and pressed in close, resting his forehead on Gale’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey…” Gale wrapped his arms gently around Astarion, pulling him close. “I’ve got you. You’re right, I’m right here. Gods, you’re freezing. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

This close, Gale could see the grime and dirt on Astarion’s fair skin. His hair hung in stringy, limp curls around his face, greasy and matted with filth. Astarion nodded against Gale’s shoulder, and let Gale lead him to the car.

“There we go,” Gale said, helping him into the passenger seat, then hurried to the driver’s seat and closed the door. He shut off the radio and cranked the heat up to full blast.

Astarion shrugged the duffle bag off his shoulder and slid into Gale’s coat, then hesitantly held his fingers out toward the heat vent.

“There are gloves in the glove box, if you want them.”

“This is fine.”

They sat in silence, listening to the hum of the heater and the grumble of the idling engine. Now that Gale was in an enclosed space with him, it was apparent Astarion smelled like he hadn’t bathed in quite some time. Astarion pulled away from the heater and curled in on himself, hugging Gale’s coat tighter around him.

A car behind them honked. Astarion yelped and damn near jumped out of his skin.

“Ah, we’re blocking the way into the parking lot,” Gale shifted into first gear and let the other car in. “Is there somewhere I can take you?”

Astarion didn’t answer for a long moment.

“I… I have nowhere to go,” he said, voice raw and rough. “There’s been… So much happened. So much. I lost my job. I lost my home. I lost… everyone. Everything. And it might be better now. But it might not. It’s… I’d wanted something like this. Fantasized about it. But… but it didn’t happen the way I expected. And I don’t know what to do.”

Gale’s heart clenched. “Have you been on the streets all this time? In this weather?”

“Sort of. I was squatting somewhere, but it’s not safe anymore.” He swallowed loudly. “I tried to get back here sooner. Back to you. But I wasn’t… I couldn’t…”

“Shh…it’s alright,” Gale offered a hand and Astarion took it, holding him tight. He was still ice cold. “If you need somewhere to stay, my door is open to you. It’s not much, but it’ll be warm and a roof over your head. And safe.”

“Please,” Astarion whispered.

“Then let’s go home.” Gale gave his hand a squeeze, then let him go to take hold of the stick shift.

Astarion remained silent through most of the drive, staring out the window. Gale did his best to focus on the road and not stare at his silent companion. He burned with the desire to ask a thousand questions but held himself back. The last thing Astarion needed right now was an interrogation.

As they neared the complex that housed Gale’s condo, Astarion finally stirred.

“Damn you,” he said, hugging the wool coat tighter. “You’ve tricked me into wearing tweed.”

Gale laughed and his heart lifted. Under all the pain, he was still Astarion. Good.

“All part of my dastardly plan to inflict good fashion upon you,” Gale smiled. “Soon I’ll have you wearing a bow tie.”

“You monster.”

Gale pulled into his parking spot.

“I’m up on the third floor,” he said, grabbing his laptop case from the back seat. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’m just tired, not enfeebled,” Astarion rolled his eyes and got out of the car, holding his duffle bag close.

Gale led him up to the third floor, slowing his pace to match Astarion’s sluggish steps. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

“And here we are!”

Astarion stopped just outside the front door. His hands tightened around the strap to his duffle bag and peered inside.

“You’re sure about this? Letting a stranger into your home?” he asked.

“I’d like to think we’re a mite bit closer than strangers,” Gale said with a smile. “If you don’t object, I’d like to think we’re friends.”

“Friends,” Astarion said softly. “I do like the sound of that.”

“As do I,” Gale said, then gave an exasperated sigh. “Now come inside, you’ll catch your death out there!”

Astarion’s shoulders relaxed a fraction and he stepped inside, letting Gale close the door behind them.

Read the rest on AO3!