#edit also i wrote 'today' in the tags up there but it was in fact two days ago. regardless

[peridots-pixiwolf]

sketches from @mipexch 's whiteboard a couple days ago!!

also feat. a very small reference to @onlineviolence :]

[greenleaf4stuff]

In Good Hands (Of Convenience – Random Bits 2)

(all other parts of my "Of Convenience" verse) (my other TROP fanfics)

F/F aka Femslash, Fluff, Humor. Of Convenience AU, Mirdania/Gurlak-centric (my female uruk smith OC) for TROP Cozy Cuddles Week 2025. Set during of In Convenience (pre Chapter 5) and Inconvenienced. (The main fic itself is silverscars focused, but the pairing is only mentioned in this installment.)

So how exactly *did* Gurlak and Mirdania meet and build towards a friendship (and more) in my Of Convenience verse? A little glimpse into a progression of their relationship, told via a run-in almost-hug and two proper hugs.

Note: In the main fic, their relationship is portrayed as a friendship, but this is (in part) due to the fact that Adar and Celebrimbor are very much out of the loop. :P

Did not expect to ever write an F/F story for this fandom, nor a canon character/OC story, but here we are! I really wanted these two to become friends ever since I first wrote Gurlak into the story, since they are both smiths and yet so very different from one another. And then I got the idea of them interacting and began to think about what a romantic relationship between them would be like and - let’s just say this event is a great excuse to write some of it down. A big Thank You to @rivendellwatch for this lovely event, once again! <3 (Also please excuse any typos etc, I finished this fic on Saturday, edited half of it and used today to edit the rest.)

(Tagging @eowyn7023, @themalhambird, @janacariad, @itwillbeourswansong, @illegalcerebral and @acenby1999 as requested <3)

For those of you who want to read the fic on AO3, here is the link! <3 Enjoy!

Mirdania supposed it made sense, that she’d been asked to be part of the group that was sent to the orc – no, uruk, they called themselves uruk – camp to help with the sun tarps.

Sure, most of the other elves that had been asked were much taller than her, which was ideal for putting up the tarps and tying them to the existing structures, but almost none of them had interacted with the uruk before. Aside from Celebrimbor himself, only Mirdania had, though very briefly.

She still remembered how confused she’d been, when High King Gil-Galad and Commander Galadriel had marched into the forge, accompanied by two dozen uruk soldiers, weapons drawn at Annatar, calling him by the name Sauron.

It was not that she hadn’t suspected by then that the other wasn’t who he claimed himself to be. The way he’d changed after Celebrimbor’s disappearance from Eregion, which was in truth an escape, had shown her as much.

Having confirmation had been an entirely different thing, however. Though it did explain how the elves and the uruk had joined forces in the first place. Mirdania guessed that few other threats might have accomplished such a feat.

What she had been even more surprised by, was the willingness of one of the soldiers, whom she later on found out to be called Glug, to pull her from the forge and urge her to run. It had cost him dearly, his moment of carelessness, sending him tumbling down the stairs with a wound to the side.

Of course she had rushed after him – that blow had been meant for her, she was certain of it. And no matter how much she feared the orcs and their forces, this one had saved her.

Bringing him back to his people had still taken a bit of bravery, even after Celebrimbor himself had arrived and encouraged her to do so. She supposed being given the chance to get away from Sauron might have played a part in her willingness to do it anyways.

The uruk had been intimidating, but kinder than expected.; not only had they cared for Glug, they had also let her stay and treated her not like a former enemy, but someone they trusted. Her bringing in the wounded soldier was part of it, certainly, but also her mention of working with Celebrimbor himself.

Which had been another surprise, finding out that the uruk considered him not just as an important ally, but valued him for his bravery, his skills, and apparently, the way he’d managed to steer their leader in a a new direction. Away from besieging Eregion, as had been the original plan. She shuddered to even think about what that would have entailed for her and her peers.

Mirdania was lost in thought as she and the others neared the uruk camp, which was perhaps why she ended up not minding her step – and suddenly finding herself running into another person as she walked into the camp proper and made to turn a corner.

Twin 'oofs' could be heard, and the blonde elf was certain she would soon make an aquaintance with the ground due to just how solid the other person she’d just run into had been, only to find herself being caught and steadied before she could fall.

As the world spun around her for a moment, Mirdania reached out and grabbed whatever she could to get her bearings. Her hands found not one, but two strong biceps, so wide and muscular that her fingers did not even span half of them.

If that wasn’t enough, the hands that steadied her also were so wide and large that they easily caught her around her hips to keep her upright, as if she weighed hardly anything at all. She was almost certain that at one point, none of her own strength had been responsible for keeping her standing.

Through a few strands of blonde hair that had fallen into her face due to the collision, Mirdania looked up again, ready to apologize, only to find herself face to face with an uruk. That was, the uruk was so broad in build that there was hardly anything else she could look at from her own height. She had seen dwarves with leaner backs than this one.

The other looked at her with a look of surprise, but also, she found honest concern reflected on their face.

"You alright?" the other asked, and Mirdania realized with a start that this was a female uruk. She also couldn’t help but notice that the other was wearing a leather apron – different than the ones the elf and the other assistants in Celebrimbor’s employ wore, certaintly, as it was made out of a several large, patchworked pieces of leather and was held up by what might have once been parts of a bridle.

Could this be...a smith?

The elf found herself flabbergasted for a moment, before she managed to close her mouth and stutter out a response. "I uh- yes, yes I am," and then, as she realized that she had been the one to walk into the other and still had not apologized for it, "I am terribly sorry, I was just lost in thought- are you okay as well?"

The other looked as if not even an autumnal storm could move her if she didn’t wish it, but it couldn’t hurt to be polite and ask. Especially since the other didn’t seem the least bit annoyed or even bothered by having been run into.

The uruk looked at her in clear surprise, eyebrows raised before she slowly nodded. "I’m unharmed, don’t you worry," she replied, and after another small pause, continued to ask, "Do you think you can stand on your own?"

Mirdania blinked, and then realized that the other was still keeping her steady. And that she was still holding onto the uruk’s forearms. She looked down and felt her own eyes widen at the sight that presented itself to her – the uruks’s arms felt like solid rock in her grasp, but seeing them up close was somehow even more impressive. Especially so since elves, no matter their strength, did not typically look like this.

She also realized another thing, namely, that the uruk still had her hands around Mirdania’s waist; her hold had been so gentle that the elf hadn’t even been aware of it.

Her hands were indeed so large and broad that they did, in fact, encircle Mirdania’s whole waist. They looked almost like a wide belt, the way they were positioned, a nice contrast against her own, more delicate figure.

To her shock and mortification, Mirdania felt a thrill run through her at the thought.

No, no, no, absolutely not, this was neither the time nor the place-

And also, she still hadn’t answered the uruk’s question. She only hoped the other wouldn’t think lesser of her, with how ungainly and slow she was, both in movement and thought, at this moment.

Mirdania cleared her throat, somehow managed to tear her gaze away from the hands on her hips, and looked up at the uruk again. Whose eyes were quite intense. The same way she’d seen her leader, Adar, look at times. "I um- I think I can, yes. Thank you for- not letting me fall into the dirt," she said, and righted herself as the uruk slowly losened her hold on her.

"Sure," the other replied, and took a half-step back as she released Mirdania, first one hand, then the other, as if to be certain she truly was ready to stand on her own. Mirdania, similarly, was slow to take her own hands back from the other’s arms, and found her fingers rubbing together, tingling with the phantom sensation of the muscles and thick veins that she’d been touching.

The female uruk hooked her thumbs into the straps holding up her apron, forearms bulging as she continued to look at Mirdania. "You’re with the elves who’ve come for the sun tarps, aren’t you?" she asked.

Remembering her initial reason for coming into the camp, Mirdania stood up straight and did her best to pull her robes back into place, in order to look presentable. She was here on Eregion’s and Lord Celebrimbor’s behalf, after all. Making a good impression might be a little difficult after what had just happened, but she’d still make an effort. "Yes, I am. I was chosen because I was in this camp already, in fact-"

"Yeah, I remember," the uruk unexpectedly said. Mirdania felt her eyebrows raise as the other continued. "You brought in Glug, that day when Adar and the elves killed him, didn’t you?"

The elf stopped and stared, before realizing that she’d met this uruk before – in a full set of armor, and behaving much differently than she did now. Which might have been why the elven smith hadn’t recognized her. "You were the commander who questioned Glug when we stumbled into the camp."

"Not a commander, but close enough. Adar calls us lieutenants," the uruk explained, and pulled a face. "Though I must admit I’d much rather forge weapons than wield them, if I can help it."

And then she cleared her throat, and also stood up a little straighter, legs firmly planted as she looked Mirdania. "The name’s Gurlak, by the way. And whenever we aren’t short on lieutenants and do not need to chaperone an elven lord, I am actually a blacksmith."

Mirdania felt her curiosity overcome her embarrassment, as her eyes widened and she leant slightly closer towards the uruk in interest. The other seemed a tad surprised at the motion. "So you are indeed a smith as well!" only to catch herself and explain, "I – the leather apron and the toolbelt gave it away."

The other stared at her incredulously for a moment, blinking, before she tilted her head and asked, "Are you saying that you are a smith, too?"

Mirdania nodded. "Yes. In fact, I am one of Lord Celebrimbor’s assistants. I have been working with him for over a century, by now." She was rather proud of that, in fact. Not just because it was a huge honor for any smith to work with someone as talented and skilled as him, but because it had been an almost life-long dream of hers to do so, and she still cherished the opportunity every single day.

She winced, slightly, thinking back on how Annatar- no, Sauron, had been the only thing, the only person, to ever make her doubt her chosen path. Looking back, it almost felt as if she was looking on the actions of someone else, so much had the Deceiver managed to turn her against her own leader. The one she admired, and considered a friend.

Thankfully, she could not linger on these dark thoughts for long, when she heard Gurlak snort and study Mirdania from head to toe with the same, incredulous expression she had been wearing as the elf had revealed her profession. "Huh. Looks like you elves all are this...fragile looking, then," she explained. "I thought it was just Adar’s elf being an exception for looking so...willowy."

Mirdania blinked and then frowned in confusion, before she looked down her own form, and then back up at Gurlak. "Fragile looking?" The blonde elf understood that she did not have the same build as Gurlak did, or most of the uruk, who were trained for battle. But she didn’t look frail.

"You barely look as if you could hold up a hammer," Gurlak replied, shrugging, "Your lord is much the same way. I openly doubted his claims of being a smith when he and I first met."

Mirdania had been ready to argue that not everyone was built like a barrel, and especially not elves, and that she could give the other a demonstration of her strength and skill just fine, when-

"You- you thought Celebrimbor wasn’t-," she stammered, the very thought almost too absurd to entertain. "...Did you tell him as much?"

Gurlak nodded. The Mirdania’s surprise, she then rubbed the back of her neck and looked a little sheepish as she stared off to the side, free hand on her hip as she shifted her stance. "In my defense, I did not know who he was at the time. I only knew he was Adar’s elf- Adar’s husband," she corrected herself. "And as I said, he looked neither convincingly lord-like nor like a smith. Ours tend to look more like me," and she motioned at her own build.

Mirdania was stunned. "That...that must have been. Quite the discovery," she felt almost sympathetic. She still remembered how awestruck she’d been, when she realized that her friend and mentor had been the Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, grandson of Feanor himself.

Granted, she had not even reached maturity back then, but still.

Gurlak nodded, and then she grinned, "Oh, it was," and then she jerked her head towards the camp and turned half into the direction that Mirdania had intended to go. "I can tell you about it while we go over to join the others, if you’d like,…?"

She paused, and looked back at the elf, letting the sentence hang unfinished between them as if waiting for something. Mirdania, thankfully, seemed to have recovered enough to grasp at her unspoken question easily.

"Mirdania. My name is Mirdania," she explained, and then added with a look of consternation, "Apologies, I should have introduced myself right alongside you. My manners today are atrocious."

The other laughed, startling the blonde elf, who looked at Gurlak with yet more confusion. "Ah, don’t you worry. Considering how things used to be between our people, this is more than fine. I don’t mind," Gurlak explained, and then motioned for Mirdania to follow her as she walked up ahead. The elf was quick to try and catch up.

"So, when me and Celebrimbor first met, he really wanted to work in a forge again. Any forge, really. He was pretty desperate – called me Mistress Gurlak even. I feared he might sink to his knees and beg next-," the uruk started as they walked.

"Lord Celebrimbor wouldn’t beg," Mirdania insisted, only for Gurlak to look sideways at her and smirk.

"Yeah, you are right. But it was a pretty close thing-"

They spent the rest of the way to where the sun tarps would be erected talking back and forth, Gurlak gossiping about how Celebrimbor forgot the time and had to be retrieved by Adar as he worked in her forge, only for Mirdania to add that this had been a problem before him fleeing Eregion already, after which the two would exchange funny anecdotes about Adar and Celebrimbor respectively, and eventually end up discussing forgework, with both bantering back and forth about who of them might fashion the better, heavier weapons or the more intricate jewelry.

Safe to say, between their shared profession and the fact that they both worked quite closely with their respective leaders, the two ended up working together a few more times. Time passed far too quickly in each instance, to the point that the two often stayed behind when the others had already left to continue talking.

Gurlak would meet some of the other elven smiths, including the new apprentice, Nethiel, while Mirdania found herself being introduced to the other uruk smiths, most of which were Gurlak’s assistants. Soon, it stopped mattering whether one was an elf or an uruk, and only that they had a shared craft and interest in forgework.

One day, Gurlak and Mirdania had met in Eregion, only for Gurlak to stand beneath the forge tower and look up at it with an appreciative glance. The damaged roof was almost fully repaired by then, and the smithy itself in the process of being rebuilt as well – so hopefully, it would not remind Mirdania, Celebrimbor and the others of the time Annatar had resided there.

"The view from up there must be quite something," the uruk remarked as she studied the tower. Her tone was almost awed.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Mirdania suggested, "Do you want to go up there? Once the forge is finished?"

Gurlak seemed surprised, but when she looked at Mirdania, she smiled and nodded. "That would be nice."

Mirdania, who found herself enjoying Gurlak’s sparkling eyes and open smile far more than she had anticipated, quickly nodded back at her. "I’ll let you know when the reconstruction is finished. And then take you up there."

"Can I tag along too?" came a tentative voice from the side, with both Gurlak and Mirdania looking over to see that Nethiel had overheard their conversation, and was wearing a hopeful smile as she moved from one foot to the other. The apprentice had just joined the other smiths that worked with Celebrimbor, taking the spot of the late Taminor, and was rather eager to make some friends – uruk and elven alike.

"Of course," Mirdania confirmed, right as Gurlak said, "Sure, go ahead," only for the two of them to stare at each other and chuckle.

Nethiel looked between the two of them with an expression Mirdania couldn’t quite read. "On second thought, you really don’t have to-"

"Nonsense, feel free to tag along," Gurlak insisted, ever jovial despite her gruff demeanor. "It’ll be fun, to see what you lot have to say about this grand forge of yours." And then she patted Mirdania on the back, looking at her with a lopsided grin. "I’m going to go back to camp for the day. We’ll see each other tomorrow?"

"I certainly hope so!" Mirdania said, and gave Gurlak a grin of her own. "We do still have something to settle, after all."

Gurlak barked out a laugh. "By all means, be my guest. I still think it’s more likely I can make you some nice trinkets than for you to make an uruk weapon."

It had been a good-natured point of contention between the two of them for the last few days, with both of them being quite determined to prove the other wrong.

"You’ll eat your words tomorrow," Mirdania insisted, and felt her grin widen as Gurlak raised her eyebrows at the blonde’s choice of words in appreciation. Might be that the uruk had rubbed off on her, just a little bit.

"We’ll see about that," Gurlak replied, and then made to go.

Mirdania, out of an impulse that she could not explain – but wasn’t particularly concerned about indulging –, quickly stepped forward before the other could leave, reached up and she drew Gurlak into a hug. The other smith, who was usually quick to pat other people’s shoulders and back during conversations, stilled for only a moment, before she wrapped a careful arm around the elf’s waist and did indeed pat her back in response, though much more lightly than she would with her fellow uruk.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, then," Mirdania replied, and then added, "Get some good sleep. You’re gonna need it."

She felt a little giddy, when she drew back again and saw that Gurlak’s eyebrows had wandered up even further than they previously had. A motion that reminded the elf of Celebrimbor.

"Quite confident of your win, are you?" Gurlak replied, and then shook her head with a huff. Her smile turned oddly soft as she continued, "Take care of yourself as well. Till tomorrow."

She motioned to go, before she gave a nod and said a short goodbye to Nethiel as well, and then she was moving towards the gates.

Mirdania, who embarrassingly had almost forgotten about the apprentice, turned towards her, only to find the younger elf giving her a very peculiar look that she couldn’t quite place. "Anything the matter?" she asked with open confusion.

Nethiel continued to look at her for a short moment, before she shook her head and smiled, "No, nothing. I was just thinking how nice it is that more elves and uruk than just Lord Celebrimbor and the Lord Father are beginning to build friendships with each other, is all."

The way she put emphasis on 'friendship' made Mirdania think that there was something the blonde wasn’t quite aware of, or that the other deliberately left unspoken, but the elven smith couldn’t quite figure out what exactly that might be. She decided to take it as Nethiel being a bit awkward, perhaps, and simply smiled as she nodded. "That is very true. It is quite remarkable how far we’ve come together already, isn’t it?"

She still couldn’t parse why Nethiel continued to look at her so strangely, and the apprentice remained frustratingly vague when Mirdania attempted to question her further.

The three did have a bit of bad luck, trying to get into the smithy one late evening only a few weeks later; walking in on Adar and Celebrimbor, who had been talking quietly among themselves, standing together as if they’d just been about to kiss – and who knows what else – had not been something they had expected.

Though, the accident had leant itself quite well for gossiping among the uruk, and as a result, Celebrimbor’s assistants as well. If he hadn’t been so stressed over the preparations for the wedding feast, Mirdania would have pitied the older elf for the grins and giggles exchanged in the days immediately after.

As it was, he was far too involved with other matters to even notice, and so she was simply grateful he did not bring up the incident again and, unspokenly, agreed with him not to mention it.

She did, however, try again a few days later, when she’d overheard the other elven leaders giving the two husbands a day or two to have some time to themselves. Nethiel had claimed to be busy while throwing Mirdania yet another look she couldn’t parse, and so that left just the blonde elf and Gurlak to return to the forge tower a second time, again late in the evening.

This time, they didn’t run into anyone – the forge was deserted when they entered it, and was utterly quiet as a result. Mirdania had brought a lantern, and was the one to open the door and hold it open for the uruk smith to enter.

Now that they had time to take in the rebuilt forge at their own leisure, Gurlak seemed quite impressed with it. "Your forges do look quite different from ours," she remarked, as she looked at the large space with an appreciative glance, and went over to the tools, weighing them in her hands with obvious admiration.

Mirdania had seen the uruk forges in the camp, and had also heard Celebrimbor discuss them with his own builders at times; the uruk had made do with what they could scavenge and gather for centuries, and it showed in every aspect of their lives. The blonde elf bit her lip as she saw Gurlak look at everything with a look of open awe, the way Mirdania herself had when she’d been much younger, and permitted to visit a forge with Celebrimbor for the first time.

She was glad that he, too, found the state of things to be quite unacceptable, and was planning to help the uruk both with the construction of new, better smithies, as well as giving them materials and tools to use in them. And, as he’d apparently offered Gurlak, by sharing his own expertise, if she and the others wished it. Gurlak had seemed quite giddy as she recounted the conversation to Mirdania.

The blonde elf decided in that moment that she, too, would try and help with that endeavor. Gurlak had obvious passion for her craft, and while elves and uruk approached their creations quite differently, it was obvious that she could get great results with what she was given. As a fellow smith, Mirdania wanted her to have the chance to excel at her profession, and be afforded the same opportunities she herself had had.

Pondering this, she noticed Gurlak looking at her, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. "Everything alright? You’re not tired, are you?" The question was asked in a lighthearted, humorous manner, but there was honest concern underneath. It encompassed the uruk smith as a person quite aptly, in Mirdania’s opinion.

She smiled and quickly shook her head. "No, no, just- you remind me of myself, back when I stepped into a forge similar to this for the first time, is all," she said. "But enough of the reminiscing. I promised I’d show you this place, after all. What do you want to see first?"

She had no idea how long they spent, going over everything, from the forge itself to the tools, the worktables, the various sketches and scrolls, and even the murals that had been painted onto the walls. Gurlak and Mirdania took delight in chuckling over Adar’s and Celebrimbor’s mural, and what they’d heard about their love confession, with Gurlak’s humor putting Mirdania at ease once more.

Once they had finished, the blonde elf turned towards the balcony doors, where she’d seen Gurlak peak from time to time. "You seem to be quite eager to see the view from up here as well. Shall we go outside?"

"That would be great, yes," Gurlak said, and barely hid her excitement behind her humor. "That was the original reason we came here, after all, if I recall correctly."

"Apologies for holding you up with boring forge talk, then," Mirdania quipped back, but her smile was gentle and she winked as she said it, causing Gurlak to laugh while Mirdania stepped over and opened the door, before motioning the uruk smith to step outside with a flourish.

"Heh, nah, no worries. I found it surprisingly interesting," the other replied with a grin of her own, and affected an almost-bow before she stepped outside, Mirdania soon following behind her.

The sight from up so high was indeed very beautiful; Mirdania and Celebrimbor had been up on this balcony before, back when the older elf had shown the Ithildin to her for the first time. While their talk itself was a welcome memory, it was still tainted by the fact that Sauron himself had been standing down by the gate, looking up at them, even then casting a long shadow over Eregion.

Thankfully, Mirdania could not linger on that for long, as Gurlak made an appreciative noise and stepped up to the balustrade, hands on it as she looked over Ost-In-Edhil, which was a sea of green, white, gold clothed in the deep blue of night, studded with countless small, orange dots; hundreds of little flames from lanterns and candles lighting the city.

The elf soon stepped up and similarly leaned on the balustrade to Gurlak’s side, smiling as she saw the other take in the city lights. "That is a pretty great view," the uruk said, sounding deeply approving as she looked around.

"The city is indeed quite beautiful like this," Mirdania agreed, and then gently nudged the other smith’s arm, who turned towards her. Jerking up her chin, the blonde lifted her eyes to the sky, "But further up is an even more impressive sight."

Looking up, there were countless twinkling stars above them, thousands, set against a blanket of a deep, dark night sky, unobstructed by any clouds. The moon had to be somewhere behind the tower, as Mirdania couldn’t quite see it from her position, but its light fell over the city as well, a contrast to the little flames that shone below.

"Indeed, it is," Gurlak said, an unexpected tone to her voice. When Mirdania looked at her again, the uruk wasn’t looked at the sky at all, but at her.

A thrill ran through her at the realization. But did the other really- could she- surely she wasn’t-?

The two of them looked at each other for a long moment, and Mirdania found herself faltering, as she smiled and looked up at the stars again, even as she asked herself what she was doing.

Flustered, she pointed at the first star she recognized, and began to tell Gurlak about it. The uruk remained quiet, did not pry, and soon, they were both talking about the constellations they could make out, with the other smith once again using her skill at humor to make Mirdania laugh – it seemed she always found a cluster of stars that had a particularly funny shape, and she was determined to point all of them out to the elf.

"That looks like an anvil," she claimed, as both of them stood and had to look straight up at an uncomfortable angle, "How can you not see it? Look, that star over there-"

"It looks like a saddle," Mirdania insisted, and turned, once again, in the hopes of finding a better angle, before she leant against the wall. She’d been up and on her feet all day, and her legs were beginning to crave a chance to sit down.

"Uh-huh. Sure," Gurlak replied, but as Mirdania looked at her, that look of concern from earlier was back on her face. "You look uncomfortable. Wanna go back?"

Mirdania quickly shook her head. "No, not at all, it’s just – my legs are a bit tired, is all," she tried to reassure the other.

Gurlak looked a tad surprised, before she looked at the point where the tower wall met the balcony, and simply said, "Why don’t we sit down, then?" As if it was the most obvious thing to do. Perhaps to her, it was, considering she was still wearing her work clothes – it seemed to only have one set of spare clothes, if Mirdania wasn’t mistaken.

"On the floor?" Mirdania asked, confused, only for Gurlak to nod at her. "But- that is-"

"All of this city looks very clean, and there’s not a lot of people up here anyways. We’ll be fine," Gurlak said and, true to her words, went over, leant against the wall, and slid to the floor, one knee propped up and the other leg outstretched, quickly placing an arm onto that raised knee as well.

Mirdania herself remained standing, torn between her sense of propriety – and a slight worry for her dress –, and the desire to sit down for a moment.

Her thoughts came to a halt when Gurlak motioned her over with a jerk of her head. "Come, Mirdania. If you’re so concerned for your dress, I can give you my leather apron to sit on-," and then she made to take it off, only for the elven smith to hold up her hands and quickly step towards her.

"Oh no, that is very kind of you, but not neccessary at all-" she said to the other. Gurlak gave her a dubious glance, which ultimately made the decision for the elf to walk over.

"Alright," Gurlak replied, slow, and then continued, "Tell you what, how about you sit between my legs? You can lean back against me. It’ll be a lot more comfortable."

Once again, Mirdania stopped. Gurlak looked surprisingly hopeful, sitting at her feet, looking up at the elven smith – which didn’t happen very often, considering the other was of greater size than her – and no ounce of humor in her voice.

The blonde elf had the same feeling she’d felt earlier, as Gurlak had looked at her. Again, she threatened to fluster, to argue that she was fine as she was, she wasn’t a lady who needed to be pampered, she could sit on the floor, truly, except-

No.

Had she not been among those who had – fondly – rolled their eyes at the fact that Adar and Celebrimbor had needed so long, both to realize their own feelings and act on them? Hadn’t she thought that, if she ever even had a chance to have a piece of what they had, she’d grasp it with both hands and hold onto it, especially so after surving the return of Sauron himself?

And yet, here she was, with Gurlak, who looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky, who had lifted Mirdania onto her shoulder a few days earlier like it was no hardship at all, in order to help her with the tarps? And had been so careful, when she sat the other down again, that she wouldn’t stumble – and that Gurlak wouldn’t pinch anything, or be too rough with her.

'Oh, I am as much of a fool as Celebrimbor, aren’t I?' she thought, a little furious at herself, before she tucked that feeling away; she did still have time to remedy this, and she wouldn’t let a second chance pass her by. She, and Gurlak, had endured too much those days leading up to Sauron’s death to be a coward now.

And so she took a breath, and allowed a smile to spread across her face, as she said, "Oh, how thoughtful of you – thank you," with a little bit of mirth, and then moved gracefully onto the floor, until she knelt between Gurlak’s legs, looking at the other, before she turned herself around and moved backwards, until her back came to rest against the uruk’s chest.

Gurlak was unexpectedly warm, even through the leather apron. And just as solid as the elf knew her to be.

The uruk drew in a surprised breath and stilled, if only for a moment, before she slowly began to untense once more. "Sure," she said, sounding a little faint. Mirdania couldn’t help but grin in response. "You’re welcome."

'I bet I am,' Mirdania thought, but decided not to say these words out loud – not quite yet, anyways.

Instead, she boldly went and picked up Gurlak’s arm, the one she hadn’t propped up on her knee, and moved it around her own waist, and then laid her own arms over it.

"You were right, it is quite comfortable. I even got a place to rest my arms," Mirdania replied, aiming for levity and starkly aware that her voice, too, was slightly trembling with sudden nervousness.

It did not last for long, as the arm around her slightly tightened and drew her back further. "Glad to hear it," the other said.

They both fell silent for a little while, as Mirdania felt Gurlak breathe behind her, slightly uneven, and felt her heartbeat through her own back, a little faster than would be usual for an elf – and for an uruk, too, it seemed, as it began to slow down again after a moment.

"So," Gurlak eventually said, clearing her throat, before she used her free arm to point up again. "Still an anvil. You have just been around horses for too long, unlike me, who spends her days and nights-"

"Oh, you – you are not spending 'day and night' in the forges. And that is clearly a saddle, look-," Mirdania replied, laughter in her voice, and soon the two of them were fondly arguing over the constellation again, the blonde elf leaning back against the uruk smith, holding onto her arm as Gurlak did the same with her waist. Tight, but never uncomfortable.

They spent a long time up there, holding one another – so long, in fact, that they had seemingly fallen asleep, judging by the fact that they found themselves still on that balcony when they awoke again.

They did so with Gurlak’s arms around Mirdania’s middle, providing her with warmth, while Mirdania’s head had tilted to the side and was resting against Gurlak’s chest, right over her heart, hands still holding onto the uruk’s forearms, both of them waking up to birdsong and a blanket that had been cast over them.

As well as Nethiel, wearing a very smug grin and carrying to cups of tea, one in each hand, as she looked down at them.

"Good morning, you two," she chirped, her good mood apparent, and knelt down to hold out the tea. "You have no idea how rich you two have just made me. I am taking home all the other smiths’ bets today."

Mirdania, still sleepy, and only just beginning to be embarrassed, had reached out for the tea, when she realized what the other had just said. Gurlak, however, was much faster.

"What do you mean, 'bets'?!"

[fairy-writes]

Hi, can i please ask for prompt 19 with Jouno? Thank youu<3<3

THE SCENT OF IRON

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “It’s funny. Nowadays, people always expect a gun, but never a knife.”

Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Jouno Saigiku x Reader

Word Count: 0.3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Blood, Injuries, Knives

Notes: Yes I’m stealing my own title from a BSD/Tokyo Ghoul story I wrote. Don’t come for me. 

(I’m also getting conflicting answers about what Jouno’s first name is. So lmk if I got it wrong, and I’ll edit this.)

YES, I KNOW IT’S SHORT. DON’T COME FOR ME

__________________________________________________________________________

It was hard to hide things from Jouno Saigiku. 

Especially something like the overpowering scent of iron.

So it’s no wonder he picks up on it immediately when walking back to the Hunting Dogs headquarters. Typically, yes, he would take a cab or just call a car from the base to come and pick him up. But he had this nagging feeling that he wanted—no, needed to walk home from his mission today.

So he did. It wasn’t that far. In fact he could make the walk in about thirty minutes. 

And all was well and good until he caught the scent of iron and the sharp odor of pain. 

Saigiku paused, fingertips brushing against the stone and concrete of an alleyway entrance. He really should keep walking… He shouldn’t care about whoever was in pain down there.

At least, he didn’t care until he heard a gasp and realized it was you.

His feet carry him faster and faster until he almost trips over your extended feet and crouches at your side. He can feel the sticky, oozing blood soaking into his boots and realizes just how bad the situation is. 

“Sai? What are you doing here?” You wheeze, and he feels his lips tug down into a frown. 

“What happened?” He asked sternly, and you hissed out a stuttering laugh. 

“Heh… It’s funny. Nowadays, people always expect a gun, but never a knife.” You whimper, and he hears your hand squish in the torn flesh of your side. 

He probes your side, and you cry out. The wound is deep, and he can’t quite tell if there’s more than one stab wound or not. Knowing your luck, there likely were. But he presses on, removing his gloves to get a better idea of what’s going on. 

All the while, he’s overpowered by the scent of the iron. It’s cloying and nauseating, making his stomach twist and turn in his abdomen. Usually, he’s fine. After all, he’s a Hunting Dog. But something about it being your blood makes it worse. 

He ignores your cries and scoops you up into his arms. Your clothes are already soaked through, and he can hear the “pitter-patter” of the drops of blood falling onto the concrete. 

You needed medical help. 

Now.

He only hoped he could get you the help in time. 

[hergan416]

Coming across another please comment post, specifically about people who say nice things about fics to their friends but won't tell the author, and how betrayed authors feel by private book rec servers and stuff.

And yes, that's not an adequate substitute for talking to the author and isn't motivating and I don't think we should be privatizing our community. But the idea it is a generational fault kind of is bugging me because I notice myself doing some of that too- reading something recc'd to me and only responding in depth in the server or in priv instead of on the fic, and I didn't used to do that five years ago. Granted sometimes that person is in the server or I'm talking in private with the author, and that's... something different? But regardless, it's still not completely generational, it's a changing norm and I want to examine my experience to figure out why that might be.

And for me, I think it comes down to safety and vulnerability. It's easy to see this from the perspective of an author. To post a work for the judgement of The Internet is to be vulnerable. Comments help sooth over that moment of vulnerability. They help make it worth it. Whether the work is low or high effort, doesn't matter.

But commenting is also a moment of vulnerability. It is becoming visible to the author, for a brief moment, and writing down your thoughts when your interpretation might not be "as intended." I've known friends who anxiously waited to see what an author would say about a comment- would it be well received? Would the author be happy?

I feel that too when I comment. I reread the thing and try my best to not impulsively edit it over and over again to be more clear with what I want to say. That this is meant as a compliment, please don't assume malice with my words.

I didn't used to feel like that.

Where did that anxiety about being misinterpreted come from? Why do I feel I have to say everything perfectly or not at all, unless I know you well enough to know you will tolerate a mistake?

Is it of my own making, having had a reader look at the events I wrote and coming to the exact opposite conclusion about the morality of the situation as I did? I was so confused about that, think it ended up being a cultural difference, but I'm not sure because I had the last word, and I still feel terrible about that interaction. I wish I knew how to properly express how fascinating it was to be challenged on my assumptions like that, even if my definition of what constitutes rape didn't shift at all.

Or did it start before then? Was it because of that one time that I got all the way to the end note of a story to find out that alwill shippers weren't supposed to interact because they didn't want readers to interpret an interaction between them as anything but brotherly? (I hadn't read it that way, the fic was tagged sherliam and they hadn't wrote it that way. I left a comment anyway at the time, but I don't think I would have done that if I came accross that fic today.)

In fact, the fact that a loud and vocal subgroup of people simply don't want you to exist because of your taste in ships makes it hard to engage with any people you don't know in fandom at all. What if I leave my comment then click on the author's socials and see that their bio says proship DNI? What happens if they click on my profile and get mad at me for existing around them, like AO3 is Twitter or something? It hasn't happened yet but what if it does?

I'm basically "out" about shipping dark and disturbing content and so this next one doesn't apply to me per se, but what if a group of antis trolls the comment section of my fics for people to harass over their tastes? That's a public admission trying you to me. That could be dangerous in the current internet environment.

And my friends ... know who I am and know I say stuff stupid and largely don't care. So it's easy to tell them "hey look at this, it's y ship and does h really well."

I have no idea if these experiences line up with anyone else's. I don't want to say this ought to excuse me from trying to also tell the author they did h really well. I just am trying to parse through some of my own fears and anxiety and seeing how that relates to the current state of things.

Because I also want more comments. I just also empathize with people who might not always leave them. I don't think it's a moral failing to choose not to comment on a fic you liked. And also I know many of my original core readers have left the fandom/gotten busy/etc. And I know that my writing is probably "tolerable and I finished it, but I am not excited about it enough to talk about what just happened" to a fair amount of people. (And the barrier to talking about it just keeps getting steeper and steeper for me, so maybe that's what's happening with you too.)

[madrabbit014]

RRAU Briefing

Just a silly little thought of "What if Other Factions Asked Nels to Do Briefings/PSAs on Their Behalf?"

(this may have been funnier in my head tbh)

Portia & Rowena belong to @booksncatsworld Nheil belong to @so--whoonos Luca belong to @glittering-darmallon Zephyr belong to @larknnightingale Aria belong to @bubblecat-co Isiah & Heloise belong to @a-mumbling-nerd Tira belong to @tiravi Ezra belongs to @lunammoon

Edit: I keep forgetting to tag rooks 😭

Valo belongs to @glittering-darmallon as well and Esha belongs to @i-creatied-au

Word Count: 1,121

Nels sighed. Members from four of the six factions that made up the Veilguard were all looking up at them as they filed into the meeting room and found their seats. Most looked either annoyed or bored that they’d have to sit through another briefing. 

But Nels didn’t want to be here either. They wanted to be sprawled out on Aria’s couch, drawing in their sketch book. Or helping Lucanis with the groceries. Or sneaking out to Ventus to ride dracolisk. Or literally anything other than this. But some members of the Mourn Watch had come up to Nels and basically begged them to hold this meeting. So here they were.

Nels looked over all the faces once more now that everyone was seated and noticed Aria sitting in the back of the crows, glaring at all her problem children. Unfortunately, today, she was also one of the problem children. The elf shook their head and let out another sigh. They walked forward and dropped the stack of papers they were holding on the table to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright. I don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be here. So let’s get moving so we can all get on with our day.” Nels held up a blank form from the stack they dropped, “This, is the on-boarding medical form all of you were asked to fill out on the Mourn Watch’s request.” Nels paused as their audience shifted uncomfortably in their seats. 

“Now, I’m not going to pretend like I was surprised to find out that neither the Crows or the Lords took this form seriously. That’s honestly par for the course. But the Veil Jumpers and Shadow Dragons? I expected more from you.” Nes shook their head, "The Mourn Watch has requested that each of you redo your paperwork—properly this time—and turn it in by dinner today.”

Portia spoke out, “What the hell was wrong with it the first time?”

“So glad you asked. Let’s start with the fact that the ‘Emergency Contact’ field is for you to provide us with contact information for anyone you want us to notify in the event of an emergency. You know, like if you’re severely injured or die. Writing in ‘Don’t tell Viago/Strife/Tarquin’ is not helpful information. We don’t give a damn who you don’t want us to contact. Just tell us who you do. On that note, fellow team members are not valid emergency contacts. I don’t care what name you put, it can be the Southern Devine for all I care. Put a valid contact in the box or we will contact your faction head by default. And Shadows? I’ve informed the Watchers that Tarquin is their main point of contact if you don’t have an alternate.”

The Lords started laughing amongst themselves but they weren’t off the hook either, “The Watchers would also like me to inform you that the following are invalid answers for the height and weight fields: ‘Idek man, I just got here’, ‘What are you, a cop?’, ‘Thin bestie, trust.’, ‘Tall’, ‘No clue’, ‘Mind your business’, ‘Taller than Nels’, ‘You’re not my mom.’, ‘More than three apples.’, a frowning face, a winking face, or a drawing of a steaming pile of poop.

"Also, you are only to use actual units of measurements, not: apples, trees, mabaris, ogres, gold, daggers, chairs, boots, or me. They would also like for me to tell you that rounding up to the nearest tenth is enough and there’s no reason to write it out to the seventh decimal place.”

Nels scratched their eyebrow with their thumb, “Also one of the Lords just drew the anarchy symbol on their form, wrote their name as ATAB, and drew a middle finger for their signature. The Watchers are aware of which one of you it belongs to, because you’re the only one without a form filled out. While I respect the hustle, there is a time and place.

"Next on the list: Crows. The ‘Special Diet’ field is not for you to list all the poisons you take every day. That is what you were given the separate Toxin from for, which some of you decided to either draw all over—including some interesting depictions of the fifth talon—or in one case write ‘I already put that on the other one, I’m not writing that shit again’.”

Nels shifted their weight and put their hands on their hips, “Now I would like the Crows to take notice that Heloise and Valo aren’t here. And Shadows please note Luca’s absence as well. That’s because the three of them actually turned in proper paperwork. Valo even made sure to ask the Watchers for help so he could do it properly because he didn’t want to shit all over the hard work Rowena put into making this form. They get to enjoy their afternoon, while you redo paperwork you should have done right the first time.”

“And if we don’t want to?” Nheil asked in a huff.

Nels clapped their hands, “And that brings us to the final part of today’s briefing! And it looks like Tira peaced out shortly after my greeting so…” Nels flipped through the papers they had and pulled out Tira’s form. They handed it off to Zephyr who had been standing off to the side the entire time, “Please make sure this is filed as the final form.” Zephyr nodded and then went back to staring daggers at the Crows. Or maybe just Aria.

“See, the thing is, the watchers asked me to have this little chat with you and get this taken care of today because tomorrow Ezra—who has not seen these yet—will be reviewing them herself. So you guys can either lose this afternoon to a small annoyance, or deal with her tomorrow.

"By the way, there’s only enough blank forms for everyone who needs to redo theirs.” Nels picked up a blank paper and the others watched as sparks danced on their hands before igniting the form, “Since Tira left early, hers will be submitted as is.”

“Finally, Shadows, you have exactly thirty minutes to submit a proper form directly to me after I call ‘dismissed’. For every minute you are late it is ten laps. Afterwards you will each spend the rest of the afternoon writing a very heartfelt apology letter to Rowena for treating her hard work like a joke—which you will deliver in person. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?” When they saw their fellow faction members nodding they gave a bright smile, “Perfect! The rest of you can hand yours in to Zephyr, dinner today is the deadline, Isaiah and Esha: I am not your emergency contact, and you all are dismissed.”

[bamfaholic]

Angel of the Streets

Desc: Kurt finds a dying bird and eases its end.

Tags: animal death, no graphic depiction, Kurt is in fact religious, author is an ex-christian now Jew, comfort fic, one shot, not edited/proofread

A/N: I'm sick in bed and it's like 4am so I wrote this. I also lost a pet bird today, which heavily inspired this comfort fic. Not proof read, and probably not my best work. Will be cross posted to my AO3.

Banners made by @/cafekitsune

The X-Men had taken a short holiday to town. Scott insisted it was just a supply run (groceries) but Rouge already had the rest of the crew on board to window shop and sight see.

The streets bustled enough that no one paid much mind to the fuzzy blue elf straggling behind the group of peculiar young adults. He was taking his time, enjoying the beauty. The architecture of Downstate New York was far different from that of Germany. He hoped to visit Albany one day, for he knew the city preserved much of its Dutch heritage, especially in its buildings.

Of course, the first building to catch his eye was the old church down at the corner. Far older than the shops and office buildings near it, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Made of stone, a bell tower near the front with a real metal bell inside, a handcrafted statue of Mother Mary decorated the front lawn. Kurt slowed down as the group passed the entrance. Its doors were left closed. It was a Wednesday, no service to be had, and it wasn't common for churches to be open to the public anymore. The government raided them first for housing mutants, some pastors catching jail time for being "Mutie sympathizers."

Kurt's eyes scanned the carved wooden sign, right beside the sidewalk. It read: Church of Immanuel. All are welcome. A bittersweet smile bit at Kurt's lips, the "all are welcome" line clearly being conditional. He was confident if he were to step inside he'd experience Deja Vu of his younger years.

He pulled his coat tighter around himself. He reasoned it was the crisp New York Autumn cold nipping at his ears, but truly churches were where he felt the gaze of God the most. Physical reminders of His presence, just like his rosary. He felt like he was a sheet of glass, easily seen through. He whispered one of the countless prayers he had memorized before beginning to catch up to the group. However, a flock of pigeons captured his attention next.

Now his smile turned playful. Pigeons delighted Kurt, finding himself one and the same with them. He reached in his pocket for the bread roll he bought at the bakery a few blocks back, breaking it into small little pieces as he carefully approached the flock.

Kurt found himself more fond of animals than people, they had no concept of good or bad, demons or angels. They were just creations of God, partaking in their role of this interstellar play.

"Hello, meine freunde." He said amusingly, crouching closer to the ground. He began to scatter pieces of his bread, doing his best to be fair with the distribution, but something caught his eye.

One lone pigeon stayed behind, at the front of the steps to the church. It laid on its side, its chest rising and falling quickly. The poor thing was dying, that was clear. It's feathers puffed, eyes closed. Kurt stuffed the roll back into his pocket before carefully approaching the bird. With gentle care, he scooped the pigeon into his hands.

"Oh, you poor thing." He murmured. "You're not alone anymore, and soon your suffering will be over."

Not very knowledgeable about birds, he just gently held the creature. He didn't allow the other birds to come near, creating distance with his tail, and did his best not to move or jerk his arms.

"What is it Americans call you?" He clicked his tongue. "Oh, yes, rats with wings." He shook his head. "I never understood why they see you as nothing but a pest." He sighed. "You and doves are very similar, practically the same." He rambled on.

He told himself he was doing it to keep the bird calm, but he knew he was lying to himself. The bird likely wasn't very conscious at this point, with only a few minutes left. It was a harsh reminder of the reality of life: all living things have an end.

He prayed his end would be just as gentle.

The bird seemed to struggle to breathe at points, drawing a "Shh, rest little one," from Kurt. The other pigeons had paid no mind this entire time, pecking away at the treat he had sprinkled on the cement for them.

"You and I are one and the same, did you know that?" His smile was bitter sweet. "Left behind by your own people." His mind wandered back to Germany, to home. How people there cast him out, the countless insults hurled at him. How he too scrounged for bread crumbs on the streets. He fed the birds there too, even if he didn't have enough to fill his stomach, he always shared with his fellow cast outs. They deserved a meal as much as he did.

The end was near for the bird, its breathing slowing. "You can rest now, freund." Kurt whispered. "You're not alone, I promise you. Not only am I here, but so is He."

The bird's breathing stopped, becoming fully limp in his hands. A part of Kurt ached, if he hadn't been here the creature would have died alone, on the steps of the church. On second thought, he chalked it up to God purposefully doing this.

"I wish I understood You." He muttered to himself, "but perhaps that was the sin of Adam and Eve."

He slowly rose, little friend in tow, and soon smoke and the stench of brimstone was left in his place. He teleported not too far off, into the thin woods behind all the buildings of the city. He scanned the area for a decent spot of soft soil. Beneath a withering tree, he found it. With one hand, he slowly clawed out a hole, about a foot deep and only a football in size. Gently, ever so, he lowered the pigeon into the soft dirt.

Kurt pulled his rosary from his pocket, clutching it tightly as he bowed his head, praying. He was still for a moment, the silence of the wilderness, a harsh juxtaposition to the city, filled his ears. He then carefully scooped the disturbed soil over the small grave.

"You will be missed, little one, but you can rest now. You don't need to struggle any longer." He murmured.

Another puff of smoke, and he was behind his friends once again.

Scott took notice, especially with that all-too-familiar smell. "Kurt!" He said, a warm smile crinkled his nose. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, you know," Kurt began, sticking his hands in his coat pockets. His smile was forced a little, his mind still lingering on what just occurred. "Up to no good." He managed to chuckle.

No one thought anything of it, and continued on with their day of shopping. When they returned to the institute, Kurt mentioned his feathery friend in his nightly prayer before rolling into bed.

[pedroshotwifey]

Favorite Bounty Chapter 1

Series masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Chapter W/C: 8.3k

Chapter tags/warnings: Nothing to warn about yet, no use of y/n, reader being a horny cuss, canon-typical violence, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE

Chapter summary: Your day takes an unexpected---but surprisingly welcome---turn when you get caught in the crossfire of a Mandalorian fight.

A/N: Hey, I'm going to go ahead and put it out there that these first few chapters will not be the best. Favorite Bounty was the first thing I ever wrote, so please keep that in mind. I have gone through and edited the small things so there is a bit of improvement from when it was originally posted to ao3. After chapter 4 is out, every chapter after that will be brand new and will have better grammar/writing. Thanks for reading! :)

***

You hear blaster fire going off outside.

Quickly, bang after bang ripples through the air and the sharp sounds travel through your window, making your ears ring.

A commotion like this is not an abnormal thing to wake up to on this planet, Jakku is known to house dangerous criminals looking to escape the New Republic. Some thugs get away with spending as many as a couple of months or so slipping around from town to town before getting caught. Even though you have grown used to the fact that there are gangsters sneaking around, you don’t feel comfortable going out without your blaster. You’re not the best shot, but you’re also not the worst by any means.

At least you don't have to worry about Jakku getting super overrun. It seems as though criminals are always being plucked from dark corners and alleyways to be brought in. Despite their best efforts, they always get caught eventually. If the New Republic can’t get to them, it’s likely they will get tracked down by a bounty hunter and hauled off the desert planet imprisoned in carbonite. In your opinion, the better option would be to let the Republic get to you first. You've seen firsthand the fates of crooks after being handled by a bounty hunter and decided it makes getting thrown into a cell by an officer look like a dream.

You don't see the need in panicking about the blaster fire just yet, it seems to be pretty far off. You just pray silently that it won't get any closer. It's still a bit dark outside. You glance at the clock and scowl when you realize it's only about 6:40. You have work today but you don't have to get up until 8:00. You contemplate trying to go back to sleep but decide it's not worth it, you're already awake anyway. And besides, it's probably not the best time to be letting your guard down, even if the commotion seems to be a good distance away.

You sit up straight, letting your bare feet dangle off the bed, and stretch your hands above your head with a groan. You feel your back strain and lock up. Stars, it hurts.

You’ve been picking up extra shifts at the junkyard and it's starting to show. Pulling heavy wagons full of scrap metal really takes a toll on you after a while. You roll your eyes when you remember the large load of parts that was dropped off yesterday. Today’s going to be a long one.

You sit in silence for a second, trying to fully convince yourself to get up. You contemplate getting someone to cover your shift, but you know how dirty that would be. You know you wouldn't be able to enjoy your day with a good conscience.

Suddenly, a loud crash pulls you out of your thoughts and you jump up looking for the source. You turn towards it just quick enough to see a glass shatter on your kitchen table. A blaster shot had torn through your window and by some stupid coincidence, pelted right through the cup as well.

Maker, just what I needed today, you think sarcastically. The disturbance must be happening much closer than you initially thought—either that or the fight has moved closer in the span of a couple of minutes. If that's the case, it must be moving fast, an indication that you probably need to move. You try to snap completely out of your sleepy state and scurry to pick up the glass so you don't step on the shards while you get ready.

You pick up the broom and dustpan nestled in the corner of your small house and walk back to the table. You stop in your tracks once another shot comes roaring through the now-shattered window. What the fuck?! These guys must only be a couple of yards away.

You shoot down to the floor, trying not to land on any glass, but too alarmed to care much at this point—you’ve abandoned the idea of being careful, you need to get out before you’re trapped in here. Eyes wide, you watch as yet another shot intrudes into your home. You follow the fast flash as it shoots through a closed cupboard, probably breaking more glasses as it settles.

Your head whips back around when you catch a flash of metal flying across the window in your peripheral vision. Whatever it is, it’s probably the target that's caused shots to stray into your home. Ok, the fight is right outside your house now. Great.

Your heart starts to pump with adrenaline, and you form a plan in your head in a matter of seconds and jump up. The collision seems to be inching closer and closer every second. You spot your boots sitting next to your bed and tug them on before grabbing your bag full of essentials. You always keep one under your bed just in case. It doesn't contain much, but it has enough water and rations to get you through a few days, as well as a dagger as a backup defense.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror of your open bathroom as you quickly strut towards the door three minutes later. You’re still in your sleep shirt—an old tee that has faded far too much to be worn in public. You had managed to remember to slip on a pair of pants in the midst of your panic as well. (Thank the maker for that). You also decided to slip into a light jacket last minute. Your hair is messy but you had frantically pulled it up just enough that it won't get in the way.

After taking in your disgruntled appearance for a split second, you turn towards the door, already dreading what you might come face to face with once it’s open. You put your hand on the knob and start to turn it until...

BANG!!!

The door slams open and you throw yourself to the side to avoid getting trapped underneath it. Everything seems to happen so fast. You see the same metallic flash you saw earlier, but this time it bursts into the tiny room as the door falls to the ground. Once the dust starts to settle, you can make out the shape of a body–the flash you saw is actually a… droid? No, the flash of metal you saw is a man. Just as you begin to register what's going on, you see a bundle of brown and green tumble from the stranger's grasp. You look back to the door and the heap of tin is suddenly boosted into the air and back on his feet, the jetpack strapped to his back turning off as soon as he’s stable on the ground.

As the warrior straightens, you realize two things. One; the man is a Mandalorian, no wonder he looks so shiny. You evaluate him again as he stands in place for a moment, tall and intimidating, the realization makes your stomach twist with uncertainty. You have heard a lot of stories about Mandalorian culture, some good, some… well, not so good. Recalling some of those not-so-good stories in question is enough to make you weary of his presence. You try not to judge too quickly though when you realize the second thing…

The brown and green bundle that rolled into your home upon the intrusion was a baby. He is still stumbling to a stop when you land eyes on him. Without thinking, your instincts kick in and you’re scrambling toward the child, praying he didn't hurt himself in the fall. You scoop him up and inspect him quickly but thoroughly, trying to keep in mind that he’s not the only thing you need to be worrying about right now.

You’re not sure of the ethnicity of the creature, but he is definitely young, and judging by the Mandalorian’s panicked reaction when he reaches for the child only to find an empty satchel, he seems dead set on making sure he has the baby within his grasp at all times.

Realizing the child is missing from his spot, the man looks around frantically while trying to simultaneously avoid the bullets ripping through the air. You look between him and the child in your hands a few times before you lock eyes, well, eyes and helmet at least. He looks you up and down and stops at the little green ball settling into your arms. Even though you can't see his face, you just know his eyes narrow as he snaps his head back up to look at your face. Oh shit.

If you thought he was intimidating before, it was nothing compared to the energy he is filling the air with now. You try not to seem scared but you feel your eyes betray you as they open wider and you have to swallow the lump stuck in your throat. You subconsciously bring the child closer to you even though you know you should probably be getting him back to his…father? Whatever the relation, you don't have time to figure it out right now. You just know you need to give this baby back before you get a bullet between the eyes.

You tear your vision away from the kid to look at his father as he starts to strut toward you. You feel your stomach clench into a nervous ball from the raw power the man seems to emit the closer he gets. You stagger back a bit, slamming one hand behind you on the ground, and you have to try your best not to fall on it. The man stops after the first couple of steps though, when a bullet hits him on his right shoulder, thankfully covered by what you recognize as beskar, the most robust metal in the galaxy, best known for armoring Mandalorians.

He barely falters at the impact of the blast bouncing off and instead reaches for his own blaster currently stationed in its respective holster. Within a split second, he whips around and shoots the offending crook, and then another standing beside him before turning back around before you can even blink. As quick as the gang members hit the ground, more start to file in, all seeming to have it out for the Mandalorian.

What in chaos could this guy have done to have this many people out for his throat?

Everything just seems to get more and more confusing every second. Who is this guy? Why is he carrying this baby with him? Who did he piss off this badly? Just in general: what the fuck is going on??

The gang is circling around him, trying to surround him completely. He turns every which way, landing hits every time he pulls the trigger, but they just keep coming. As tough as he seems to be, you can tell he is starting to get overwhelmed. It's got to be one to at least 20 right now. He slows for a second, probably trying to figure out the best course of action from here. He knows he only has a second to decide what he needs to do. You watch him from the ground you’re still stationed on as he appears to be weighing his choices. You peer down at the little green creature in your lap. You wonder why he hasn't come to rip the kid out of your arms yet.

“You…”

You look up, nearly snapping your neck out of shock when you hear the baritone voice coming through the Mandalorian's helmet. His head turns towards you slightly, probably to make sure you’re still there. He speaks loudly so you can hear him over the blaster fire he’s still dancing around. His tone is harsh and commanding and you listen for him to finish whatever he was going to say. For a second you think you might have imagined it.

“You need…need to run… take the kid and run… i'll find you”, he calls to you between shots as he continues dropping enemies.

You hear what the man is saying but you don't think it processes because you’re still sitting on your ass staring at him with wide eyes. Clearly, he decided to trust you enough to bring his child somewhere safe. He said he would find you, he trusts you—for now—you need to move before he changes his mind. Your brain is telling you what to do, but all adrenaline seems to have drained from your body because you find yourself unable to move.

He stumbles back a bit as another bullet hits his chestplate, probably knocking the wind out of him. The gang is getting closer. He scans his surroundings and turns to you for a split second. “GO!'' Even though it's breathier this time, the command is louder and more prominent. It's effective though because before you know it, you’re on your feet and pushing out the doorway, bag slung over one arm and the kid tucked in the other. The Mandalorian makes sure you’re going to follow his instruction before turning back to the pack of crooks surrounding him.

You dodge as a grimy hand reaches out to grab you, but the next second, he is lying lifeless at your feet. You turn your head just enough to see the kid's father spin back around, spraying more bullets as he does. You frankly have no idea what's going on right now, why you are agreeing with this man, or why you are still carrying this unknown child as you dash out of sight. Stars, you don't even know where you’re going. Seems like the best option right now, you try to reason with yourself.

You twist and wind down alleyways, praying silently that you’re not being followed. The sun is starting to rise, making it harder to blend in with the shadows as you sprint aimlessly away from the combat. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest as you start to come to your senses. You can’t hear blaster shots anymore, and you think you have been running for ten minutes or so. Your legs have started to burn, but your ears have stopped ringing, so at least there's that.

You decide that there is probably about a mile between you and the battle at this point. The thought convinces you to slow down a bit and you inhale a deep breath you didn't realize you needed. Holy shit… what the fuck. You stand in the middle of an alley, hidden by a dumpster as you crouch down to try to calm yourself. You try to regulate your breathing, you know you can't rest like this for long, so you take advantage of what time you can spare. In and out…in and out...

You look down at the child in your arms and can't help but relax a little more when you see his big black eyes staring back at you. At least he looks comfortable, You think. You feel yourself soften as you smile a bit when the child coos up at you, reaching his little three-fingered hand up to grasp a small handful of your messy hair.

You start to untangle his tiny fist from your hair when you hear something behind you. Your eyes go wide again and you are automatically back into flight mode. You have no idea what made the thump, but it sounds close enough for you to want to get out of that dark crevice as quickly as you can. The ache in your legs miraculously goes away as you stand up. You have the adrenaline to thank for that this time. Looks like it's finally working in your favor.

Clutching the kid up to your chest, you shush him as quietly as you can and start to move around the dumpster, a bit slow at first as to not alert whatever made the sound of your presence, but you pick up the pace as soon as you feel it's safe to do so. You jolt back into a full sprint, looking back over your shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure you don't see anything coming up on you.

You wind down a few more empty streets, trying to spot your next move before you reach it. Even if you panic a bit at first, you have always been good with slowing yourself down and keeping a relatively level head in stressful situations.

You’re smart, you know you can get out of here undetected if it's a member of the gang from back at your house. None of them seemed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. They seemed to be more set on landing a hit somehow than anything else—so probably not too focused on what's going on around them.

You hear another loud thump - whatever it is, it's getting closer. Your pulse strums in your ears and you could’ve sworn it stopped for a second. You gain a bit more speed, pushing yourself as fast as you can. You feel as if you are being hunted, it's an awful eerie feeling. Fear starts to crowd in your stomach again at the thought of it. “Come on…not today,” you mutter almost silently to yourself, the noise coming out slightly distorted from the tremble shooting throughout your body.

You turn your head around again and your blood runs cold when you see a shadow cast onto the building you just ran past. It looks like it's moving slowly, almost casually. It's a large figure… its fucking stalking you. You squeeze your eyes shut for a split second when the thought presents itself. Shit, shit, shit-

You try to collect your thoughts enough to figure out a plan in case it is a gang member on your trail. Some of those guys looked pretty big, and even if they are dumb as rocks, you’re honestly not sure if you would be able to take one on your own—especially while using one hand to hold the kid. You reach behind you for the extra knife you strapped to the side of your bag, but you feel nothing—you must not have grabbed it in your panic to get out of the house. A groan slips out between your closed lips, a mix of frustration and fear apparent in the sound.

You try not to hyperventilate when you begin to fully grasp the reality of your situation. You are in the middle of nowhere, being hunted by a large creature, defenseless, and with no plan in place to protect this baby.

You tell yourself to calm down, you know the creature is starting to gain on you, and you need to think clearly in order to figure out how to either hide or defend yourself. You whip your head around behind you one more time, trying to spot the shadow so you can gauge how much time you have to prepare yourself, but you don't see a shadow.

You don't know if you should be more alert or more scared. Sure, the shadow is gone, but that could mean one of two things; one: you lost him in the last few turns you took, or two: he was somewhere beyond your reach, waiting to pounce. You try to shake off the dread taking over your body as you continue to push forward.

Your frantic thoughts stop short when you run into a hard surface. Shit. Your breath catches in your throat as you find yourself unable to look up at whatever you had run into. But before you can convince yourself to, a large hand wraps around your wrist and you jolt at the sudden connection. Fuck.

Although you are still jumping out of your skin, you almost cry tears of joy when you see the familiar visor of the Mandalorian looking down at you. You may not know this man, but you do know that as long as you have his kid, you’re not going to be caught up in any kind of trouble. You sheepishly give him a half smile and he takes a step backward, releasing your arm.

As scary as he can be, you feel a wave of relief wash over you as you stare up at him. Running into him is definitely the better alternative than coming face-to-face with a gangmate. You look behind you one more time just to make sure nobody is following and your body relaxes a little once you see the coast is clear.

“Oh, thank the maker Mand-“, you start to tell him you thought you were a goner but you get cut off as he pushes his arm out towards you again.

You are a bit confused when he holds his hand out expectantly, palm towards the sky. “The kid.” the gruff voice tells you flatly. Oh, right, that. Your brain is clearly still mush from the terrifying chase. You feel your cheeks flush as you quickly reach your other arm down to pick the baby up properly, but before you can touch him, the Mandalorian's hand shoots out once again to grab your forearm.

He gives you a hard tug and turns around so your back is almost flush against him as he leans forward a bit, enclosing you into a tight space. What the fuck is he doing?? “Hey wha-”, you start to retort angrily before he cuts you off by cupping a sizable hand around the lower half of your face. Ok, now you’re pissed.

You try to squirm out of his grasp, anger bubbling up as you prepare to give him a piece of your mind. Feeling your struggle, he holds you tighter to him, and you feel a tinge of shame when you can't help the nervous flutter that appears in the bottom of your stomach when he presses you up against tight muscles. “Stop moving” he whispers harshly, somehow managing to make it sound intimidating even in such a quiet tone.

You listen to him, shocked again by hearing him say something. “Listen,” he says, helmet pressing gently against the side of your head as he hunches you down further. Wanting to struggle more but not seeing any other choice, you do as he says. You hear faint footsteps rushing in the distance, getting louder the longer you sit there. By his hurried whispers, you can tell the sound has to be more gang members, out on the search for the man above you.

“You need to listen to me”, he says suddenly. “I'm injured and there are too many of them for me to get rid of right now. You need to follow me closely so we can get out of here.” You shudder at his rushed whisper against your head. The rebellious part in you wants nothing more than to turn around and tell him to fuck off, but you know that escaping with the Mandalorian is your best chance to evade the group of criminals right now.

You know they have seen your face, and they know you took the child with you when you bolted. As dumb as they may be, they have probably put together that this man is not going anywhere without his kid. You need to get out of here, and as much as you hate it, listening to his infuriating commands is the smartest decision you can make in this scenario. You decide ultimately to comply to make your escape quick and easy.

You look up at him as much as you can and give a curt nod, letting him know you are going to follow his lead. As soon as he sees you give in, he takes his hand away from your mouth and stands up. You let him drag you back up to your feet by the wrist he still has within his grasp. You’re surprised at how effortlessly he lifts your weight, but then again, he is a Mandalorian, so it shouldn't stun you as much as it does. Maybe not stun, maybe it scares you, but you can't tell the difference right now.

Before you know it, you are being pulled in the direction the man seems to be set on. Judging by the confidence in each step he takes, he seems to know where he is going, which is a relief on your part because you are still in such a daze that you don't know if you would be able to tell right from left if you had to.

He steers you in between allies and around corners in complete silence, probably still listening for the crooks behind you. After a couple of minutes, he slows from his rushed pace and into a walk when he notices you struggling to keep up with the child growing heavier in your free arm.

You guess the gang is far away enough for it to be safe to slow up a bit. He lets out an annoyed sigh as he switches speeds, just quiet enough to where he probably didn't think you could hear it. You roll your eyes behind his back. He isn't the one holding this absolute boulder of a child, you thought, also getting annoyed.

You have no idea where he is taking you or how long it's going to take to get there. You want to ask him but he doesn't seem like the type to tolerate being bombarded by a million questions. He would probably leave you in the dust after the second one.

After another minute your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to just risk the one. You open your mouth to ask where you are going, but before you can say anything, you get jerked forward by the heavy man as he unexpectedly hits the ground on one knee. He lets out a strangled grunt as a cloud of dirt is lifted up from the force in which he lands. The gang had a sniper waiting, and he had shot an unprotected spot in between pieces of heavy armor lining the man's leg.

“Shit!”, he gasps as he removes his hand from your wrist to instinctually cover his fresh wound. You found your balance as he releases his grip. You look up to where the shot came from and his eyes follow yours, looking just in time for the perp to jump down from where he had been lying prone on a rooftop, probably going to tell his fellow cutthroats your location

Groaning, the Mandalorian rises to his feet and points in the direction he had been leading you, keeping his other hand on top of the gash on his thigh. You grimace as you see the crimson blood start to pool out from under his glove and trickle over his shiny armor. You have no idea how he is standing on that right now. The child in your arms turns to face your chest, apparently having seen the small flood as well.

He was clearly unsteady on his feet because of the amount of blood draining from his body at an alarmingly quick rate. He sways a bit before yanking his head to the side, trying to snap himself out of it. Your attention is pulled to look at his helmet as he instructs you on where to go. “You see that–fuck–you see that ship over there?” 

You look to where he still had his hand raised and spot the hunk of metal. It isn't too far away, you could probably make a run for it and be there in less than three minutes. You turn your head back at him and nod as he drops his hand back to his side.

“You need to get to it… ill… ill meet you there,” he tells you between heavy and distorted pants.

You hesitate, wanting to help him get there as well, but you have to remind yourself that he knows what he's doing. He’s probably done this more times than you can count.

You take off into a full sprint, determined to get to the ship as fast as your feet will carry you. You try not to look back as you hear another storm of shots fired through the air. You don't need to know who has the advantage right now, you just need to get to your destination and pray the Mandalorian comes back in one piece.

You hold the kid tighter to your body, trying to conceal him as much as possible.

You can hear your heartbeat pounding like a drum in your chest, threatening to pop out at any moment. You are running on pure adrenaline at this point, and your brain has definitely checked out. The ship grows bigger as you approach, probably only a minute away now.

Almost there…

It's old and it looks like he could have pieced it together with scraps from the junkyard, but it will have to do. You just hope it can actually get into the air, it almost looks too damn heavy to fly. He had to have gotten here somehow though, so it obviously serves its purpose.

Seconds later, you step onto the open ramp of the ship. You feel like you want to cry with relief. You’re so close to getting off of this maker-forsaken planet. Even before all this, you have always dreamed about getting away from this awful place. Now that you have an opportunity to do that, you are going to use it.

Before you can turn back around, you hear a series of clambers and then a loud thud. You quickly realize that it was the sound of the Mandalorian jumping onto the ramp behind you and rolling until he hit a crate sitting in the hull.

He must have been rushed and still in the middle of a fight judging by the amount of force he used to push himself onto the transport. The beskar-clad warrior lets a deep and distorted gasp escape through his helmet after likely having the wind knocked out of him by the harsh landing. To top it all off, it looks like he came to a stop on top of his maimed leg.

After the initial shock of being dragged onto his ass—even if it was his own doing—he puts his palms out in front of him to hoist himself back up as easily as he can manage. Even though you can't see the man’s face, you know he has to be wincing under his shiny visor. He recovers fairly quickly, but you have a feeling that the Mandalorian is rarely this clumsy. The blood loss is probably throwing him way off kilter.

As soon as he was up he limps his way to the side of the ramp and slams down on a button to bring it back up before turning back around to climb the ladder you could only assume leads to the cockpit. He struggles with not being able to put much weight on his injured leg, but he makes it up nonetheless. You can still hear shots raining onto the ship, but the metal seems sturdy enough to deflect them relatively easily.

You stand uselessly in the belly of the ship as you listen to him stumble around above you, probably trying not to grunt too much as he pushes himself through the sharp pain in his thigh. You take an educated guess when you gamble that he is definitely not the kind of person to submit to showing anyone he is in pain, no matter how much it may be affecting him.

You have to regain your balance when the ship jolts suddenly and you are sent forward as it is lifted into the air. Between all the running you had just done and the shock of having to plant your feet to avoid falling on your ass, you render your legs useless and back up until you feel a crate behind you, taking a seat. The relief you feel as you lift yourself off of your sore feet is almost instantaneous.

You let out an exasperated breath and bring the child closer to you. You feel a faint smile crawl across your face when he balls his hands into tiny fists in the air and lets out a squeaky yawn. Poor thing is probably exhausted from the long morning he's had so far. There's also no telling what he may have endured in the hours before he rolled out of his father's arms and into your house.

Realizing you will finally be able to relax a bit and have time to think, all of the doubts and emotions you should have been feeling come rushing in like a flood. You have no idea what you are going to do now. Where will you go? Surely you won't go back to the planet you just left, even if you wanted to, you get the feeling it would be too dangerous anyways.

How are you going to get back on your feet once you do settle onto another world? You only have a handful of credits stuffed into your bag. Can you trust the Mandalorian to drop you off somewhere safe enough for you to even try? Will you be able to stay alive if you get landed on another planet like Jakku? Is he still alive up in the cockpit right now?

Some of your wordless questions are answered when you hear the bulky steps of the Mandalorian climbing back down the ladder. You realize suddenly that you had been staring into nothingness for maker knows how long. You shake your head and turn towards the Mandalorian as his feet hit the ground, opting instead to stare at him as he walks across the foundation of the ship, obviously trying not to limp.

Even though you can’t see beneath his heavy helmet, you imagine him wincing and feel a tinge of empathy. Just by the way he confidently carries himself even through pain, you can tell he wouldn't dare ask anyone for help with anything if he knows he is capable of doing it himself, least likely tending to an injury.

You know the location of the wound is not ideal for him to patch up himself, and you instinctively want to offer a helping hand, but something in the back of your mind tells you he would never let his guard down long enough for you—a stranger—to touch him in such a vulnerable position, even if it may be only to help. You can't blame him though, that is an iffy situation. You frankly don't know if you would trust a stranger to help you in that way either, especially with the many enemies he seems to have. You wonder why he has so many… what in the universe could one man have done to have that many people against him?

He walks past you and you watch with curious eyes as he pries open a crate near the back of the room, pulling out a bacta patch and a few other medical supplies. He curses quietly to himself as he closes the bin back up and takes a seat on top of it. With a small thump, he leans his head to rest on the wall behind him. You picture now that he is probably trying not to close his eyes, still carefully aware of your presence mere feet away from him. With all the blood loss he's sustained and fighting he's done in the last couple of hours, you can only imagine how much he wishes he were alone to be able to do just that.

Can’t he know by now that you’re not going to try anything? You've been sitting on a bin the entire time, with his kid sleeping in your lap for maker's sake! It's so frustrating to have to sit back when you know you are able to help.

After a moment, he lazily lifts his head back up and reaches for a cleaning solution—bacta spray you can only assume—and attempts to spray it through the burnt hole in the fabric of his flight suit. The hole seems to be positioned to where it's almost covered by the plate of beskar on his lower thigh.

In order to get a good visual and make sure he's actually dousing the blaster wound, he has to cock his head to the side a significant amount. He clearly can't see well enough the first time he tries so he leans a bit more. This time, he manages to get the solution in the right spot, but he also about falls off the bin he's sitting on. He must be dizzy from the amount of blood he’s lost. He tries this tactic three times before he gives up with a frustrated groan and sets the spray back beside him.

You take your eyes off him and spot what looks like a hovering crib in the corner of the hull. Going against your instincts to stay still and quiet, you get up and walk the now sleeping child to the opened sphere. You can feel the Mandalorians' eyes following you with every step. You place the kid inside, making sure he’s comfortable, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk cautiously toward the already pissed-off Mandalorian. You scold yourself mentally, knowing how stupid of a decision you’ve just made.

He tenses and sits up as you approach, no doubt trying to make himself look bigger. You slow your steps and subtly raise your hands, trying to show him that you just want to help. Your heart is pumping a mile a minute and you silently pray that he can't hear it. You know he’s struggling—he knows he’s struggling—you both know that whether he gets it from you, or from a medic on the next planet you land on, he's going to need help dressing the wound.

You look up at his helmet, hoping you’re making eye contact, and nod toward him while darting your eyes toward the spray, trying to make your intentions clear. He loosens his posture a bit and you take that as an invitation to take another step forward. You keep your eyes on him as you reach for the spray. You cautiously look away from his visor and train your vision to look at his leg instead. You can tell from here, before you even try to clean it, that you won't be able to see under the fabric enough to tend to the wound.

You bite your lip and try to think of what to do. You have an idea, but you just know he’s going to hate it. You rack your brain trying to find another option, but you know there's no alternative to what you have to do. You can feel his eyes boring a hole into the back of your head as you place the bacta spray back down and reach for the pair of medical scissors sitting next to a roll of gauze.

You see him tense back up out of the corner of your eye. You try to take steady breaths as you pick up the scissors and turn toward the intimidating man in front of you. You reach out to grab the fabric of his pants, fingers almost touching when his hand bolts out from his side to catch your wrist. You gasp as the scissors fall to the floor, he seems to have snapped out of his temporary daze at the sight of your hands getting closer to his exposed skin. This man has something against wrists, you think, trying to humor yourself to calm down.

The hull is dead silent, the only sounds are your shaky breaths and his battered ones. Every breath he takes is faint and labored. You stare at each other, neither of you daring to be the first to move. You should be terrified, but something tells you he's not going to hurt you. You keep your composure and glare back at him, doing your best to show him he can’t intimidate you, which you at least know is a full-fledged lie.

You can tell he is barely conscious as it is, and if he tried to land somewhere to get a nurse to look after his injury, he probably wouldn't be able to stay awake long enough for it. This needs to happen here and now, you are his only shot.

You continue to stare, brows furrowed and your mouth screwed tightly shut as you try to ignore his grip. It’s tight and threatening, and it scares you half to death, even though you won’t let him see that. “I…you need to let me help” you manage to stutter from under his grasp. You swallow, trying to compose yourself. “I need to be able to see the area to clean it,” you say, trying again to maintain eye contact.

You’re proud of yourself for sounding more confident, you need him to think he doesn't frighten you. You wince as he slightly tightens his grip on your forearm. Ok, well maybe that didn't quite have the effect you hoped it would.

He stares at you for what seems like forever, obviously weighing his options. He grunts frustratedly but drops your wrist. It's a small victory, but you'll take it. You rub the forearm he had wrapped his hand around. He sees you do so and reaches out again, this time to make sure you're ok, but he retracts it almost before you even notice—which he probably didn't want you to do. He didn't realize how much of a grip he really had.

Taking a shaky but deep breath, you lean down, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your wrist, and pick up the fallen scissors. “I won't cut any more than I need to,” you say, looking up at him. “Promise.”

You wait for a response, not sure if you'll get one at all, but after a moment he gives you a slight nod. He seems to be more cooperative now, probably because he feels a tinge of guilt about accidentally hurting you, but you'll take what you can get. “Okay”, you say, trying to calm your breathing. No looking back now.

You kneel down facing his side and reach again for the fabric of his pants. When you look up to check for confirmation one more time, he is turned facing forward, staring at the wall in front of him.

You hate that you have to do this, you don't know a bunch about Mandalorian culture, but you do know that as long as they can help it, they never show any skin, especially to an outsider. Before you can convince yourself to stop, you carefully loop your pointer finger under the ripped material. You do your best to not touch any skin just yet.

Once you are sure the fabric is lifted away enough to make a cut without touching his thigh, you slowly glide the scissors underneath.

You make the cut as small as you can, not wanting to reveal any more than you absolutely have to.

Luckily for you, he seems to be getting drowsy and more off guard, so you shouldn't have to be too cautious. You spread the material apart and bring the bacta spray to the injury now that you have a clear view. It's still slightly hidden by the plate on his thigh, but it's definitely more accessible than it was a minute ago.

You wince at the gory sight of the blaster wound, it looks like it’s probably big enough for you to fit your thumb in. There is still a small amount of blood trickling out so you use a gauze pad to dab around the hole and then apply a bit of pressure to get it to stop as much as you can.

Now that it's at least a little clean, you spray the solution. It must sting a good deal because the Mandalorian pops back up with a hiss and you feel his fingers—you feel his fingers thread through your hair.

You want to slap yourself when you feel the warmth of arousal building in your abdomen and between your legs. Before you can stop yourself, you wonder what other circumstances might have him pulling your hair. You realize you wouldn't mind being in one of those situations at all.

Stop! What the fuck are you doing? This man is a maker-damned bounty hunter. A cold-blooded killer capable of snapping you in two where you stand.

You do your best to convince yourself the man in front of you is a monster—you should not be thinking of him in that way.

You gasp and look up at him, honestly not sure if it's from the interruption of your inappropriate thoughts or from the sting of the slight grip he has on your hair. “I-”, you sputter, not able to find the right words. You figure his action came as much of a shock to himself as it did you because he retracts his arm as quickly as he had grabbed you. “Shit I-”... “im sorry”, he apologizes quickly. You snap back to the present and frantically reassure him that it’s ok.

You could tell by the way he struggles to find the right words and that he doesn't offer an apology on a regular basis. Despite his hard and intimidating exterior, he had felt he needed to say something to you. You curse yourself again when your cheeks flush from the thought. Shit.

You shake the childish thoughts from your head and focus on the task at hand. You definitely weren't the best nurse in the galaxy, but you would have to do it. As you settle into the familiar routine of fixing up the injury, your thoughts drift to where you had first learned the technique. Your mother was a medic her whole life. It was her passion, and she wanted to pass her skills on to you. One of the first things she had taught you about was sterilizing a laceration.

You smile faintly as you recall one of your earliest memories. She had taken you to her clinic and sat you down on the counter while she sorted some meds. Afterward, as she had promised you that morning, she pulled out the supplies needed and showed you step-by-step how to disinfect an open injury. Your eyes water a bit as you recapture the moment. Stars, you miss her. You catch yourself drifting off and try to snap yourself out of it. This is not the time to think about this… you need to focus.

You work to finish cleaning and dressing the wound as fast and delicately as you can, desperate to get some space between you and the Mandalorian as soon as possible. The last thing you need right now is for this man to pick up on your flustered movements. You have been glancing up at him every minute or so, just to make sure he’s still comfortable and that he hasn't passed out. It would monumentally suck if you were stuck trying to figure out how to get this ancient hunk of metal of a ship to cooperate with you.

You put a final patch on the injury and get back on your feet. You glance hesitantly to the t-visor following your movements. You send a small smile in his direction as you begin picking up the supplies to put away. “It should be fine now as long as you don't run on it for a bit,” you tell him as you open the bin he had pulled the equipment from.

You have relaxed more since being on the ship and your voice is no longer quivering. You need to keep yourself occupied so you don't sound anxious again. You feel the need to make sure the Mandalorian knows you aren't unnerved being around him. You don't want him to think he can intimidate you so easily the way he can with others. The next time you dare yourself to look in his direction, he is still sitting in the same spot. Now that you have had the chance to calm down and take a few deep breaths, you have gained your composure and a slight bit of confidence.

“You should probably try to stand on that” you suggest. “You know, just to make sure it's not going to keep bleeding”.

You think for a moment that he's just choosing to ignore you, and then you think he might have actually passed out this time, but right before you are going to say something else, he starts to raise himself off the bin. You send your thanks to the maker for not making you have to argue with this man. He takes a step forward, testing the waters to make sure he isn’t going to collapse if he puts his full weight on it.

He takes one more cautious step before trusting it completely. Once he's sure it's stable, he walks to the crib you had set the baby in. The kid still appears to be sleeping. After he makes sure he's not injured in any way, he turns back around to climb the ladder to the cockpit. You find it kind of touching that the warrior can be so soft for a child, you can tell now how much he cares about him.

He strides past you and reaches for the first rung. He clasps his hand around it and stops, turning his head slightly in your direction. “Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now that he's sure everything is settled. You are taken aback by the gratitude and stand there looking like an idiot for a moment. He starts to turn his head back once you give him a small nod.

“You’re welcome.”

****

Thank you for reading! Taglist is open!

[localcoffeeshop]

okayy seeing finn mental health takes in the tag and reminded of something i wrote in a rush before work today which i will now edit...

I think my opinion on finn is that hes not doing exceptionally horribly or exceptionally well. obviously he has issues and is literally refusing to think about sad things and grief... and he keeps roping jake’s descendants in to be his partner on adventures because hes trying to relive that… but i also think like its not all like. “omg things are so bad, he's in such a bad spot right now oh my god" because finn has like. always been like this. using adventuring/fighting as a coping mechanism which isn’t really inherently wrong? there have been times where adventure has been genuinely helpful for him to get through something and reach self-actualization. not just hall of egress, but the dungeon train was a way of distracting himself from the break-up with FP, and while he had to learn to put a limit on it and chill instead of obsessing forever, he also decided to stay on for "a week or two" because it was helpful for him to process what he was going through by getting enthralled in adventure and knowing he could return to mundanity after. and then on the opposite side of things, there are times where actually getting carried away with his feelings and "working stuff out" has put him in danger and not led to the result he anticipated, like the tower. i don't think that where he's at in fionna and cake is a regression as much as a constant.

i think he has some good things going, but he also has some really sad things going where he’s trying really hard not to think about the sad stuff. so its like. i just think there's a balance, just like real life, like people who "keep living their lives" as BMO said in the finale. his life isn’t horrible and terrible and sad, and it isn’t wonderful love light and healing and growth either. like, he’s just Finn. exactly as Finn is. even though he wasn't magically cured of all his troubles, traumas, and problems in his coming-of-age story - in fact a lot of things definitely slid backwards as a result of losing jake - there were still valuable lessons he learned and carried with him that influence the person he is in fionna & cake. we know he stays a bit of an adventurer into his older years, but i also really believe that it's not just all running from the pain - there's always a feeling of grief and sadness in him, but that doesn't keep him from experiencing genuine joy and happiness, having good times and bad times, enjoying his life and struggling with it... being finn

[xoxoemynn]

I was tagged by @edsbacktattoo, @summerlinenss, @spirker, @piratecaptainscaptainpirates to share the favorite things I've written! I've loved seeing everyone's responses to this and have been adding to my ever-growing MFL. 💕

First we have my "heart story," my magical realism fic The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary, which is technically two stories because I wrote the first one in a day for Our Flag Means Party, and then that little idea exploded and I ended up writing another 115K to go along with it. The basic premise is "what if a house was built with so much love it came alive?" Took a lot of inspiration from The House in the Cerulean Sea in terms of vibes, so if you like that, you'll probably enjoy this one. Feels like being wrapped up in a big gay hug. Also recently re-read this one and made some minor edits to prepare it for a book binding and have to say, it holds up. I cried at the end.

Next I'll highlight my beloved Clock Boys, which I feel like was my Peak Writing for OFMD experience. I came up with this idea when I passed a clock repair shop and went "heh, dark and mysterious shop, what a great place for a PWP. Hey, this reminds me of a random clock fact I picked up from one of my favorite shows. Hey, let me do some googling. Wow, clocks are really horny and also have a ton of nautical ties. Cool." I posted the first PWP fully expecting it to be too niche to resonate with most people. It is shameless smut with more clock puns than I can count. But NOPE. People were INTO it. And maybe it's weird to get sappy when people tell me they love my PWP but I do get really sappy when people tell me they love the clock boys just because I never expected anybody else to do so. ANYWAY currently three stories, planning on a fourth for AUgust, probably mostly stand alone if you want. Just have to know Ed's a (w)horologist and Stede is horny for c(l)ock.

Next, I don't write a ton of canon fic just because canon is so perfect to me I don't want to touch it much, but I did really love how read me like a book came out. We have Ed going through great lengths for a Big Romantic Gesture and Stede always willing to "yes, and" him, even when he doesn't have a clue wtf is going on. It's unhinged, it's silly, it's romantic, it's got a lot of banter in line with those cut improv scenes... it makes me happy.

And finally, I'll highlight forever is our today (who waits forever anyway). I, uh, struggle keeping things short, but I managed it with this one and I think it may be one of the loveliest things I've written. Ed is a sea god who falls in love with mortal Stede and they're both punished for it. It's a lot of bittersweet, but also Buttons and the Swede are muses, so. You know. Got some silliness. And a happy ending. Prommy.

I've lost track of who's been tagged on this so apologies if you've already done this, but I'll tag @bizarrelittlemew, @ghostalservice, @petrichorca, @veeagainsttheday, @adhduck, @saltpepperbeard, and @chocolatepot. (And if you have already done it, link me to the post so I can add to my list.) 💕

[42donotpanic]

FIC WRITING REVIEW 2024

Thank you @loki-is-my-kink-awakening for coming up with this!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some qualitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either. Artists and gif makers, please also join in with any quantitative or qualitative stats or facts you want to share about your year.

(I just did mostly the same thing as last year. Thank you @evenfallreads for tagging me again)

Since I hit 100 posted works on New Year's Eve 2024, I hit 200 works on June 30th and (with two works that will still go up later today) 300 works on New Year's Eve 2024. That number includes 50 podfics that I posted since starting with Voiceteam in May.

Words and Fics

578,447 words published in 2024

675,494 words written in 2024

206 works worked on

189 completed works

most productive month: July with 78,528 words written

monthly words average: 56,329 words written

Top 5 Pairings

James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton - 42 (I didn't plan this to happen, but I am very happy about it)

Clint Barton/Matt Murdock - 24

Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson - 23

Clint Barton/Original Character - 10

Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier - 7

Top 5 by Comments

Learning to Live again -58

Feel my Signs and Watch my Words (AUgust Writing Challenge 2024) - 42

Flowers on Your Skin (HawkTober 2024) - 28

Building a Relationship - 15

Springtime Fluff - 14

Top 5 by Kudos

The Sound and Color of Flowers - 210

Every last Piece - 202

Of Pain and Paper Bracelets - 195

I've Meant it all - 192

Accidental Striptease - 169

Top 5 by Hits

Learning to Live again - 2988

Building a Relationship - 2900

Now I wear my scars just like Tattoos - 2153

Of Pain and Paper Bracelets - 2098

Accidental Striptease - 1780

Fandom Events in 2024

For this part, I'm only adding in Bingos and Events with a hard deadline that I was able to get a bingo/blackout for, because otherwise this list would never end.

Bingos

[11/25] Bucky Barnes Bingo Round 5 - Bingo

[10/25] WinterHawk Bingo Round 5 - Bingo

July Break Bingo(s) - DNF

[9/9] Any Fandom LGBTQ Bingo - Black out

[8/25] WinterIron Bingo - Bingo

[9/9] Writers Pride Month Bingo - Black out

[4/25] both Kill-A-Character Bingos - DNF (will probably continue writing for this anyway)

Writing Challenge's

[14/14] Flufftober Spring Edition 2024

[14/14] April Showers bring M-AU Flowers

[31/31] AU-gust Writing Challenge 2024

[16/30] Tropetember 2024

[31/31] HawkTober 2024

[2/7] Trick-AU-Treat 2024

[7/30] Comfy-Vember 2024

[31/31] Whumpcember 2024

Writing Reflection

After getting into writing last year I went mildly to totally insane this year. I wrote more than I even thought possible, already upped my writing goal in January after writing like 30k on WIPs alone in two weeks, only to then end up hitting my yearly writing goal in September anyway.

I got into Podfic this year and it has brought me a lot of joy to work on recording and editing, as well as to participate in even more challenges and exchanges than I did last year.

Once again, I met a lot of lovely people and had a great time writing and simply enjoying fandom with people I like to consider friends by now.

There were many ups and downs, but I'm glad to say that, over all, this year was a good one for me.

I hope you had a good year as well and wish everyone a good start into the New Year. 💜

Tagging: @stripedscribe @ravenmold @cnwolf-brainrot @mutuallyprime @flowerparrish and everyone else who sees this and would like to participate!

[polysucks]

Hi trans person here! I love your enthusiasm but I think that saying sex with a trans person would fix JKR is actually a harmful thing to say given the way terfs love to smear us as sexual predators who are just mad they won’t have sex with us. I’ve even seen terfs say that saying such things amount to rape threats which I think is a laughable exaggeration but I do think that it is distasteful to imply that a hateful person having sex with someone they don’t want to have sex with will somehow fix the hate. If that were true, men wouldn’t hate women. I know you mean it lightheartedly and I love you for your unwavering support of trans people but I think it just sends a message that is both uncomfortable and unhelpful. Thanks for listening!

Hi, trans person! I’m dad!

Nah, but fr, let’s talk because this ask fucks severely

I genuinely, 100% seriousness love this ask.

You were so kind to correct me. Telling allies “hey! Your support is great, and thank you for being an ally but did you know what you’re saying is harmful and has violent implications you may not be aware of due to your lived truth differing from those you are fighting for?” Is a skill, one that is sorely needed today, and like. Truly. Thank you for that. I think all my followers can learn from how you wrote this. This is fucking important.

I love how you came into my askbox and very succinctly laid out 1) how I fucked up 2) why it’s damaging 3) how the joke was intended, but reminded us that intention means nothing when what was said still causes damage and is in fact gross and unhelpful 4) didn’t do so out of anger, vengefulness, or as a hunt for justice.

I hope my response lives up to how you wrote your ask, because this was actually really lovely to see in my box—despite how embarrassed I am lmfao.

Thank you for setting an example, and I’m happy to have been part of this example. I’m sorry I had to be the example, but I’m really glad this happened.

So for context, I made a joke in the tags of a post about bitchass JKR. I can’t fuckin find the post, and I know I didn’t delete it. I’m kinda angry about it. But I vividly remember typing this out in the tags bc I thought I was soooooo funny for it. And I’ll explain why under the cut for anyone who cares. (It’s irrelevant and counterproductive to the point.)

I said something in the tags along the lines of

“Why is Joanne like this. I think she should try girlcock. Or boypussy. That could fix her.”

Edit: I found the post

And like yeah, obviously, that’s a joke. But anon is right that this type of humor in this context is just perpetuating the bullshit terf rhetoric that transfolk are sexual predators > being trans is inherently sexual in nature > then circles back around to reaffirm the damage that the current shame surrounding sex and sexuality, and how it does AND DOESNT relate to gender identity as a whole does to our social psyche collectively (completely out of breath, gasping for air bc of that fuck ass run-on sentence)

So, anyway, yeah. Lift up trans voices. Protect trans youth. Piss on Joanne.

We should kill her with hammers.

Thanks anon <3 youre the fuckin homie

Now, to add unnecessary context that neither justifies nor defends this type of humor in this situation, but perhaps you will understand why I thought I was being so funny when I made the joke akskdhskaksk

So like. I look just like ur average every day cis-het-white-girl irl. I’m very white passing. Very straight passing in my gender-role-conforming-passing longterm partnership, and I’m also considered a conventionally attractive “female” 🤢🤮in my neck of the woods—which is literally the white supremacist capitol of America.

Yayyyyyyyyy. My ancestral landsssssss.

My friend said something akin to “you look like just some normal cringe millennial white woman and I forget you’re not until you open your mouth and suddenly wax poetically and sigh dreamily about girlcock.”

So, I thought I was being funny by putting a generally agreed upon (who doesn’t love girlcock? All my homies love girlcock) (but also inappropriate inside joke) in the tags about how much I do indeed sigh dreamily about girlcock. I love women.

Like I actually rambled and forgot what the point of this post was and I had to scroll back up to remember bc I had to delete a whole 3 paragraphs about how much I fucking love women and how excited I would be to lift a fine honey’s skirt and find out she has a cock but like. Don’t wanna sound like I’m sexualizing trans women even tho I already sound like I’m tokenizing and fetishizing trans women lol. I just love women I’m sorry. I’m just a very horny bisexual who is very attracted to the human body like as a whole.

[auniverseforgotten]

I am snuffling in your inbox and nosing about the ao3 wrapped [writers edition]: 6, 10, 11, 15, 16, 26, 29, 30

WAHOOOOOOO WELCOME TO MY INBOX WOLFIE ask game is here for anyone who wants to do it or send anything in!

6. Favorite title you used?

HONESTLY THE SUCKY PART IS MY FAVORITE TITLE IS FOR A FIC I'M WORKING ON RIGHT NOW DFXCGV and I don't know if I can get the first chapter out tonight [I feel like it's not really countable unless it's ON ao3 since this is ao3 wrapped not writer's wrapped] so I'll use something else BUT WHEN IT GOES UP IT'S THAT ONE.

Anyway I would say prooooooooobably please god don't let this be my legacy just because it hits me hard and it feels so unfair that Salieri is the way he is like. THAT'S ALL FAKE. IT'S ALL FAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE ;A; at least Fate acknowledges it's rumors unlike Amadeus, the Rock Opera one, Pushkin, etc. NO HATE TO ANY OF THOSE I'm sure they're also good I'm just whining because he was SUCH A GOOD MAN and he deserved BETTER.

10. What work was the quickest to write?

I thiiiink it's either The Gospel Truth or Buon Compleanno!! (Sorry About Your Sleep). I know Buon Compleanno was one day bcus I was like OH SHIT SALIERI BIRTHDAY TODAY??? I just can't remember if Gospel Truth was the same. Included bcus I'd been floundering on the prompt I had for AGES, finally scrapped it, and boom out in a day or so.

Could also be From the Heart which I wrote to try and manifest Dantes and it DID NOT WORK though i do have him now.

11. What work took you the longest to write?

I feeeeeel like that's gonna be Do You Miss Us? because it had a lot of moving parts and also I was struggling on what to keep and what to leave. It mostly stayed the same is the thing, which is why I would count it over others. I'm not counting O Fortuna because that is the longest but it's also not complete.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

I am taking ALL MY WIPS INTO NEXT YEAR with me NO WIP LEFT BEHIND though if we're talking published, O Fortuna. I do also have a WIP in the Enchanted Forest Chronicles fandom but I need to do a reread and rewrite the entire first chapter [and only one currently] because I don't really like how it reads anymore....I may just repost it so that people can have the old chapter if they like? Idk, it won't be for a while yet so I have time to think.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

To everyone's surprise, angst. That me it me it my brand my good ol tasty angst juice get it while it's gut-wrenching.

26. What’s your most common category?

M/M, not too surprising given that most of my writing is the composer blorbos sxdfcghv or the sad Irish blorbos or the sad Welsh blorbos. I WILL WRITE MORE LADIES I WILL.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I liked a lot of the lines I did, especially in saliama fics bcus there's so much to mess with there. But I would say the apocalypse from Requiem is big vibes for me. Context is the Russian Lostbelt ending and Salieri dies with it, instead of being added to the throne. He was called there to fix the Mozart issue, he fixed it, and now. There's nowhere for him to go. <3

For an apocalypse, it is a beautiful one. Mountains crack and crumble, massive sheets of rock glimmering out of existence right before they strike the shifting ground. Great cracks appear underneath the snow and ice, underneath the piano and his feet, hissing with fading magic. Salieri turns from the crumbling world around him to look at the stars, as one by one they lose their light. The moon shudders, cracks in two, and pours liquid light from the sky. Silvery and oh so cold, he watches it wash away mountains, buildings, battlefields all in one. Darkness chases the light, plunging the land piece by piece into eternal night.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

Not to sound self-deprecating because I know that's how it sounds but uhhhh probably the fact that people wanted to read my fics? Like November of last year I was like oh man people like my fic enough to read them...that's so cool....and now I'm like OH MAN I'VE MADE FRIENDS WITH SO MANY COOL PPL BCUS OF THE BLORBOS.

I dunno. Every time I'm in a new fandom there's that feeling of I'm never going to be a good enough writer for this, why am I trying, and for a few bigger fandoms like Tolkien and Star Wars I never escaped that feeling so I stopped trying. But then you and other people in the Fate fandom really kept me going because you liked my work?? The reason I feel confident enough in writing the blorbos is thanks to all of you. ;w; Hell I have like seven transformers wips now because of Tea's encouragement [love u Tea]

And it's the same for pairings too, I've had a couple mutuals who REALLY boosted my confidence with writing fionndiar or beditris for example and it...really helps me keep going. I know the first rule is write for yourself but I like to share and it's so nice that people like my writing enough to read it and even nicer when they like it enough to let me know they liked it. ;w;

So what I'm SAYING is the biggest surprise was getting to know so many really nice people and making good friends. ;w; Yes yes the power of friendship I CAN HEAR YOU CACKLING FROM HERE WOLFIE.

THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE ASK <3

[psaiouma]

Cupid's Writing Diary - 2/4/25

Entry End of Day February 4th, 2025

As Kiwi inspired us and Bee has started posting these, I wanted to as well! Not that there's much to say, ahaha. [Note: he ended up finding a lot to say LOL]

If you don't want to see these, just block the tag 'Cupid's Writing Diary'. Oh, and they will not be put into the queue like everything else has been.

Wrote roughly 400 words today, which is awesome. I haven't been writing much lately despite how strong of a year I started with. I'm sure this is due to my current distractions but I already wasn't writing before Hello Kitty Island Adventure came out~

I've made the executive decision to stick with one project when it's done. A second project will be picked as a backup in case I need an ADHD switchover distraction, but, again, thanks to HKIA, I do not think that'll be necessary at this time.

I always feel weird saying my fics before they're posted, because I'm worried that'll make them boring when the time comes, but I think talking about the plot for this one won't spoil the fun and magic about it?

So, out of my 29 [yikes] options, I have ultimately decided the one want to work on is a fic I've so lovingly dubbed 'Snautism', a name which is slowly becoming the official title work.

This oneshot project started back in July 2024 when my snake hyperfixation took my life over by storm. And, as all things go since playing Danganronpa in 2020, I immediately had to Saiou it. I'm really excited for the plot of this fic and all of the fun snake facts [about one particular species] I can shove in it. At the end of the day, this one is for fun and just for gushing about my love of snakes/this species. There's also just a morph that I think fits very, VERY well. [Multiple, actually, but one more than the others.] Section 1 is completely done, yay! I'm the type to over-edit and despite editing it 5 times there's still things I'm not satisfied with, but that section is officially ready to go out for beta [not that I'd send it early, it'll all go at the end]. Section 2, however, has been driving me mad SINCE July, honestly. I just cannot make up my mind about the order of events or the feelings of scenes and it's driving me mad. Past me would just write it on passion alone and fix the inconsistencies later smh. Still, I just jumped ahead to a different part today and wrote a good chunk of the first big reveal!! Though I'm worried I'm drawing it out too long that it won't hit as good? Eh, I think I'll leave that one up to the beta as well.

I haven't actually got to talk about what snake it is in the fic, though, and I'm SO excited to do that, because these snakes do something so special that I'm just gidddyyy about how in character I think this is going to be. God I hope the humor in this scene lands ehehe. I've always lived by the rule of 'if it makes you laugh, it'll make others laugh' and thank goodness that hasn't failed me yet!

Well, this was honestly extremely therapeutic! And it made me write so that I had something to talk about lol. Who knows if I'll keep it up. Historically, no I won't. But I'd like to think that it's a good first step. And maybe more people than the same three people I tell everything to knowing might be good for me? Dunno. It's been a long and arduous process picking myself back up from the bootstraps of the hellyear that was 2022, but each lttle bit helps! I can tell I'm a LOT better than I was, and I might even get out more than two Saiou fics this year.

Oop, rambled again. I'm defs a typer/rambler. So thank you for reading if you did. Feel free to send me asks about this project or others! Love talking about writing and reading and Saiou!

[larkral]

Hello my lovelies. It's been...a while! I haven't been writing a lot, but I have been doing a lot of fandom-y things. Thanks so much to @cutestkilla, @wellbelesbian and @forabeatofadrum for tagging me today!!!

I haven't been writing much this week. My Holsom timeloop is in a time out awaiting a re-read and some edits, and Simon's Two Mums has been languishing while I sated the Holsom timeloop brainworms. I'm going to put some smutty timeloop words below the cut. Because, uh, I like them.

I have, however, signed up to podfic a number of fics as part of @caught-on-tape-fest, and I just set up my new mic so that I'm ready to record! I'm excited! I'm nervous! I've chosen 4 fics in a series to record so that I have a chance to work on getting better as I go.

I've also signed up to write two fics for @carryon-reverse-bang, so you'll be seeing more of that soon. Very excited!

Just out of WIP status is a short fic I wrote for @petedavidsonscock in the In Other Lands fandom called Visible at Sea, it's a slightly silly, slightly smutty Sunbrat fic. Anyone who has read IOL is probably familiar with the fact that Elliot's voice is amazingly specific and therefore very hard to write. I feel like I did a pretty good job. Anyway, if you haven't read In Other Lands, wtf are you doing with your life, please go read it. If you have read In Other Lands, go read my fic. :-P

HOLSOM TIMELOOP:

"Wanna… lay down?" "Bro, I want to blow you," he snorts. "Do I want to lay down." "We have options, Rans, the night is young." "It's almost midnight."  "So, okay. We have two hours." "Can we save the options for later, Holtzy? I need your dick down my throat, like, now." Adam moans and reaches for his fly. "Yeah, okay, can't argue with that." "Thank you," Justin says, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it on the ground in front of Adam's feet. He pulls Adam's pants down as he kneels. 

Hello and tags to @stitchyqueer @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer @raenestee @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @sillyunicorn @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @basiltonbutliketheherb @ileadacharmedlife @asocialpessimist @bookish-bogwitch @aristocratic-otter @captain-aralias @petedavidsonscock @takitalks @artsyunderstudy @yeonjunenby @carryonvisinata @takenabackbytuesdays @martsonmars @nausikaaa @nightimedreamersghost @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ionlydrinkhotwater @aroace-genderfluid-sheep​ @shrekgogurt @palimpsessed @fatalfangirl​ @blackberrysummerblog​ @valeffelees @imagineacoolusername @orange-peony @j-nipper-95 @whogaveyoupermission @rimeswithpurple I've missed you all!!!

[stars-and-darkness]

20 questions for fic writers!

many many thanks to @garglyswoof for tagging m

How many works do you have on ao3? 63. i need to calm down.

What's your total ao3 word count? 747 502. i need to calm down.

What fandoms do you write for? the vampire diaries, shadow & bone, avatar: the last airbender, star wars, marvel. also, that one suez canal x ever given fic, and that one goncharov fic.

Top five fics by kudos: A Queen's Gamble (you know it's an old one if the title is capitalised lmao), make them bow., the fate makes for a lousy poet., where the heart moves the stones, nyctophilia.

Do you respond to comments? i try. i am not very good at it, but every now and then i sit down, crack my knuckles, and go about emptying my poor inbox.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? the end. is like ... the only fic i ever wrote that ended unhappily.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? see above, lol, literally everything else. i'm a wuss.

Do you get hate on fics? i mean ... not really? i would mostly classify the rude things i got as entitlement rather than hate. the impression i usually got was that those people liked my writing style, or the plot, or characterisation, or whatever--there was just one thing or several that they wanted to happen differently, and they felt the need to tell me that.

Do you write smut? looooooo, no, my ace ass would probably spontaneously combust.

Craziest crossover: i don't suppose i've ever written an actual crossover, but today i put dracula-the-historical-figure into the vampire diaries universe, so ....

Have you ever had a fic stolen? ... maybe? okay, strap yourselves: a few years ago someone asked if they could translate a fic of mine into spanish and post it on wattpad, and i said yes. (THIS is one of the reasons why i don't allow translations anywhere but ao3 anymore). they did, and they sent me the link. i linked the translation to my fic, the usual. then, a lot later, i actually went to check their post, and i realised that i wasn't credited though the person said they would. yaaaaay.

Have you ever had a fic translated? well, other than the fiasco up there, the incredible @winterandmistletoe, who made the edit that graces the beginning of make them bow., has two chapters of the russian translation of that fic up on ao3. there's also been an offer to translate The Manifesto of a Last Love into russian, but that one hasn't been posted yet.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? i have not! and honestly, i don't think i'd be very good at it. i'm a bit of a tyrant, so in an effort NOT to be perceived as such i'd probably be super lenient of whatever the other people came up with even if i didn't necessarily like it. i'm pretty particular in my tastes, and one of the things i love about writing fic is that i have nobody but myself to answer to.

All time favorite ship? ehhhhh, nooo, i can't choose between my children!

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will? considering that tvd has had me in its claws for two years now, it feels unlikely i'll ever go back to my wips in other fandoms. you never know of course, but it feels that way. i mean. those unfinished wips don't exactly haunt me, but sometimes i remember them and feel awful about it, lmao.

What are your writing strengths? i'm told i do dialogue and humour well!

What are your writing weaknesses? ughhhhh probably action? it's so hard. oh! and my tendency to describe how a character's eyes look in every other sentence.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? SO fun fact that dracula fic that i posted today? the one where half the dialogue is in french? i had originally written it all IN FRENCH, and then decided to take mercy on my readers and just put the english translation into italics. yeah. anyway, rule of thumb, ig: if the pov character understands what's being said, then english in italics (or if it's just a sentence or two the spoken language with a footnote). if they can hear individual words, then the language that's being spoken, without translation. if they hear only gibberish--maybe they're super unfamiliar with the language, maybe it's being spoken very fast or with an accent--then just 'character x says something in z'.

First fandom you wrote in? marvel, for my own peace of mind. star wars is the first one i actually posted for.

Favorite fic you've written? again, you can't ask me to pick between my children.

tagging: @morningstargirl666 @kirythestitchwitch @helpless-in-sleep @marxandangels @purplesigebert @darkestgrays @averseunhinged

[kthecutest]

Random Rant??

so I was really on track to just stay positive today but i just cannot....

context : I found a tik tok of a clip from Nichomaki's live reacting to enhypen's criminal love. An engene&lune in the comment section said &Team voice would suit the song and a cover would be nice. I saw a lot of supportive comments but then the toxic engenes start flooding in. In summary, they were just practically trying to say that Enha's vocals are better than &Team (aka favoritism)

See as harmless and peaceful as it sounded, it wasn't. And no this isn't me being overdramatic or favoritism from my side. I love all the boys equally truly. But the way they were trying so damn hard to BASH &Team's vocal quality just to make their own group and themselves feel superior is really disgusting. Like we know how brilliant Enha's vocals are, but attacking another group and the fanbase was another level.

I started replying to few nasty comments at one point, the ones that go so far. And this one nasty ass engene shamelessly have the audacity to reply to me and say "Oh yea Enha's B-sides are way better than &Team's overall vocal. Their vocal sucks." - honestly to that person - do you hear yourself right now? You are comparing a 3 year old kpop group to a 1 year old rookie kpop group that just debuted last year. And you have the audacity to compare the quality and amount of tracks and sides they release. Disgusting.

Another thing I wanna point out - It's true each idol will differ on fields they're best at as well as groups which mainly is because of the difference in experience and time. And I think people need to get that in their heads. They all became 'idols' for a reason. Because they can sing and dance better than any local humans out there and can do both without collapsing on stage. These toxic shits don't even know the amount of stress and pain each idol/group goes through yet they're here so damn ready, doing nothing but sitting at home and binging on reality shows, and now you wanna bash and attack small growing groups. Disgraceful.

Apparently the fight stopped after a while between me and the person because I basically just told them I have no time or energy to be in an argument with a deluded person where this would lead absolutely nowhere. And the notifications pretty much went dead. And then that person tagged me - and that one act they did, straight up i just blocked them.

They tagged me in a jungwon edit video and then wrote "jungwon >>>>>>>>> &Team". I'm not here to bash jungwon or Enhypen, i truly love them, they're literally the group i stanned before &Team formed. And the problem wasn't the edit or i'm not butt-hurt about the comment, but it's the fact that even after i left the argument and moved on, they still was raring to go. The fact that we were done with this nonsense crap-talk, and they had the audacity to tag me back and try so hard to trigger me. And ykw, congrats to the person cuz at that point, i just blocked them. I'm not trynna have someone like that bugging my ass on the notification bar, they can go cry in a ditch idc.

Conclusion : Ik i'm coming off really aggressive here - but forgive me cuz i just cannot with toxic engenes. Enhypen and &Team are practically supposed to be like brother groups. They share the same lore, same storyline, even appear in each other's mvs, collabs, the past survival show contestants, the bonds - Everything. Yet its either twitter or tik tok each day, it's not even any other group stans atp, it's literally mostly just engenes. Like it is unbelieveable, how the toxic part of the enha fanbase, literally wants to target and stir discord between the two bonded groups and each other's fanbases.

A lot of engenes are also the ones currently apart of the Lune community including me and i just cannot imagine the shame and embarrassment and absolute disappointment, we must have to feel witnessing all this crap that our same old fanbase is at.

Toxic engenes just need to fucking stop. You guys are so full of yourselves. You guys even have the audacity to call normal engenes CRAZY just because they weren't in your damn toxic train.

I understand favoritism, thats something most people have, I can literally sit here and say Niki was my first love but I favoritize K over him just bc it's my liking. But that doesn't mean I'm going to go attack Niki. You can favoritize someone and love someone without trying to bash and launch at everyone else that isn't THE PERSON. It's crazy how these same toxic engenes have to make &Team and Lune inferior just soo they could feel superior

And ykw the worst thing is - it's these same toxic engenes that make other normal engenes like us want to quit the entire fanbase and these toxic sewage cans are the same reason that the engene fandom has a shit reputation.