#it’s possible i enjoy admin and organisation too much

[romione-trope-fest]

Choices

Today, we have a unique take on Fuck or Die. We'd love to hear what you think!

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Title: Choices

Author Name: JohnMcHacker

Selected Trope: Fuck Or Die

Brief Summary: Ron Weasley is ready to finally fulfil the biggest fantasies of every young man on the planet. Hermione Granger has read enough out of books, and wants to see what the fuss is all about for herself. They’re both ready to take the next step in their physical relationship. But not like this – no, this wasn’t what they had thought it would be like at all...

This is my dark take on “Fuck Or Die”, a trope which I have always had reservations about. Happy ending, I promise.

Word Count: 14,122

Rating: Explicit (for triggers, violence, smut)

Trigger Warnings: Abduction, threat of rape and murder, discussion of non-consent, related angst, magical violence

Author's note: I'd like to note that I didn’t write this to render a personal opinion on certain topics through fanfiction, something which I dislike and actively strive to avoid. What characters say can be right or wrong or both at once, there is a wide breadth of complexity and nuance to most any topic, and truth often lies somewhere in the middle of two (or more) extremes of opinion. This fic ultimately came about as a result of a plot bunny I thought was meaningful and worth exploring, and that’s really all there is to it.

That being said – I hope you ultimately enjoy reading this. Many thanks to the admins for organising the fest, particularly @be11atrixthestrange for answering my queries. I'd love very much to hear your comments and feedback – especially important this time round, given the subject – so as always, do please let me know what you think! Follow me on AO3 for a tad more light-hearted stuff.

* * *

0. Prologue

Now

Ron Weasley’s wheezing breaths fill the room; thin, laboured gasping punctuated occasionally by wet, blood-flecked coughs.

Hermione Granger cradles his head on her lap, strokes his hair tenderly, the only thing she can do. All those brains, all that Hogwarts education, and the brightest witch of her age is completely powerless, completely helpless, imprisoned in a stripped-bare basement sans wand. Oh, for a thin wooden stick with a magical bit inside.

Neither of them are strangers to mortal danger. They’ve been through a lot of sticky situations, these last ten-odd years of companionship. They’ve faced time and again the prospect of sudden death; death in a forest, in a drawing-room, on a battlefield, and they’ve come through relatively intact. But this time – this time, it looks like it’s for keeps. And the clock’s running out.

Any moment now, their all-too-short lives will be finally forfeit. Death looms on the horizon, waiting for the sunset of life, and the patient shadows grow longer, creep closer, with every passing second.

Hermione’s thought it all the way through, with that big useless brain of hers. There’s only one chance, a slim one. And not much of a chance.

Take it, and there’s an infinitesimal possibility they live. A million to one, odds against.

Because even if they do try, it’s by far most likely that they’ll die anyway, and maybe not right away. Maybe painfully, wretchedly, in ways no-one should even have to contemplate, let alone experience.

But don’t take it, and those odds become a certainty, a certainty of the exact same horrible fate that awaits them as the other option.

Hobson’s choice.

Decide, Hermione.

* * *

I. Perfect

Twenty-two hours ago

Ron checked his reflection in the mirror, smoothed down the navy-blue Muggle sport jacket, and smelled his breath, his hands trembling a little. Tonight was a really big night, and he didn’t want a single thing to go wrong. Reservations at Campane di Parma, Hermione’s favourite Italian restaurant in Soho, check. Harry asked to please stay in his side of Grimmauld Place tonight, check. And... oh yes.

He pulled out the small phial of potion he’d bought that afternoon from the Knockturn Alley apothecary, where there was far less chance of George finding out – most of the Diagon Alley shopkeepers were his mates – and taking the mickey. It had two compartments and two necks, and the liquid glowed a bright blue and pink. His and hers, for double protection, see? Ron checked the expiry date on the label, and stowed it safely in his pocket.

“Jump to it, man,” barked the mirror, “good liberty time’s a-wastin’.”

“Cheers,” grinned Ron. And he left the Auror Office, waving goodbye to a couple of colleagues, and made his way down to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

*

Hermione examined her makeup in the mirror critically, patted her sleekly-washed-and-potioned hair in place, and fiddled with the hem of the tiny black spaghetti-strap number from H&M she’d changed into from her strictly-professional work clothes. Looking around to make sure the Ladies toilet in the Office of Wizarding Law was truly empty, she adjusted the décolletage a little. Just because she refused to play the game most of the time, didn’t mean she was entirely ignorant of the strategies – or that she thought it beneath her to play, when it suited her. And tonight, she was giving it everything she had.

She checked her handbag for the two carefully-forged ticket stubs to the evening showing of Cats, and smiled to herself. ‘I’m sorry I’m home late, Dad, Mum; Ron was hungry after the show so we stopped for kebabs and lost track of the time.’ Perfect. Plenty of time for... Hermione’s cheeks warmed at the thought.

“You look a treat, dear,” trilled the mirror.

“Thank you.” Hermione slipped on her long beige trenchcoat and belted it, covering up all that skin she was still shy of showing casually, publicly. I know I do – but only for my darling Ron.

*

Off to one side of the Ministry of Magic’s Atrium was a waiting area furnished with a low table and a couple of chairs and sofas. Ron perched himself on one of these, and tried not to check his watch too often.

It was two and a bit years now since the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been eventful years. Harry and Ron had joined the Auror Office. Ginny was making waves as one of the youngest and most promising professional Quidditch players in history. And Hermione was making equally large ripples, even in the none-too-placid pond of the Office of Wizarding Law – still struggling after all this time, with the Aurors, to bring every last fugitive of Voldemort’s regime to justice.

But Ron’s mind wasn’t on work right now. It was on his relationship with Hermione Jean Granger.

*

Hermione pressed the button to call the lift, and played with the strap on her handbag, thinking.

After dancing skittishly for so long around each other, when she and Ron finally accepted they could be a couple – everything just clicked into place. They were comfortable, and happy. Hermione found that being in a relationship with Ron was a lot like it had been being close friends, just that the thoughts and feelings they shared with each other now were even more deeper, even more personal than they had been before. Emotional intimacy – that wasn’t a problem for them.

Physically, however...

For some, that side of the relationship had come fast – she suspected that Harry and Ginny, for example, had lost very little time on that front. For others, it took a little while. Hermione was body-shy. She was more at home in books than in her body, and she’d taken some time just to get her head wrapped round the idea of having a boyfriend, let alone all that it implied in that way.

Oh, kissing Ron was wonderful, and just holding hands alone made her feel warm and sent frissons skipping up her spine, but for quite some time that had been as far as it had gone. And then... then there had been the summer after Hogwarts, just before her internship at the O.W.L. began, and then Hermione’s eyes had been opened to a whole new universe of sensation...

The lift bell dinged.

*

Three weeks ago, they had been at Grimmauld Place, remembered Ron.

Harry’d had a weekend shift. Hermione’s parents were conveniently on a short holiday up to the Cotswolds. Ron and Hermione spent the day rambling around London playing tourists, had a romantic dinner where she’d introduced him to Portuguese petiscos, and then ended up settling down on the sofa in front of the drawing-room fireplace with a bottle of elf-made wine and bowls of strawberries in cream, all the light orbs extinguished.

In the dim rosy glow of the firelight, playful pecks turned into deep kisses and then his shirt had come off, and then Hermione had taken her top off and there she’d been, all warm smooth skin and exciting curves held in only by a cute pink bra, and Ron was suddenly harder than he’d ever been all his life. And then she’d lain down full length over him, the skin of their chests touching everywhere but for the oh-so-soft places covered by her bra, and Merlin he was harder than he’d ever been...

And then she’d sat up and started looking for her blouse.

Ron thought it was because she’d touched him down there and blurted out, “I’m sorry,” flushing red.

But Hermione was pinkening herself, as she said, “Ron, I – I want to do this, don’t get me wrong, but not tonight. Is that alright with you?”

Ron had all but tripped over himself trying to reassure her. “Y-yeah, of course, we don’t have to, I’m sorry, I don’t want to push you into...”

Hermione took his hand and raised it to her lips, kissed it tenderly. “Are we... are we ready for this?”

Good question, he thought. Weren’t we just about to? Doesn’t that mean we’re ready? “I think so,” said Ron, a little uncertainly. “Are you?”

Hermione tended to ramble when she was nervous. “I just don’t want to feel like we’re rushing into this. I want us to be sure. And it’s not like I believe in the cult of virginity, that’s so old-fashioned, but first times are important, in fact I think with anyone it would be important, it’s a really big step in our relationship, and when it comes I just want it to be perfect and not have any regrets and...”

The first time he’d kissed her specifically to shut her up, Hermione had jerked back in surprise. This time, she smiled, and poked him with a finger. “Prat.”

“If you’re scared or unsure or anything, we don’t have to,” said Ron gently. “We can wait till we’re married – I don’t mind.”

Hermione stared at him, then broke out into a fit of giggles. “Good grief, men’ll do anything for – alright, alright, I know, you’re being serious, I’m sorry. It’s not that – I just don’t feel ready unless I’ve...” She seemed to flounder for the words.

“Unless you’ve done research, made notes, and wrote a four-foot essay,” said Ron with a grin. Hermione blushed. “Cheers, go on then.”

A few days later, Hermione had trotted into the study at Grimmauld Place, closed the door carefully in case Harry came by suddenly, and said, “So this is what we’ll do.”

Ron had listened in awe as she laid out the plan for them to make love as meticulously as she had revised for exams and plotted to infiltrate an enemy stronghold. She’d cross-referenced dates in her planner and projected her cycle – ick – and made a Checklist, of course. A potion to buy, and where to buy it for maximum surreptition. Dinner reservations. There was a deception plan for both sets of parents, witnesses ready to perjure themselves, and circumstantial evidence to back it up. Forged ticket stubs, accurate down to performance times and seat numbers!

“...and then we’ll come back here, it’s the most convenient, and then...” Hermione blushed, and said with a stutter, “t-then we’ll see how things go.”

“It’s a brilliant plan!” said Ron, and Hermione’d glowed with pride.

She was glowing now too, Ron realised, as she walked out of the lift and towards him, coyly buttoned up in her long beige coat – Ron knew this was a sure sign she had something slinky underneath. She smiled as she caught his eye, and then the smile turned mischievous, like they were sharing a private joke, which they were, an intensely private one, and Ron thought he could hear his heart pounding.

Tonight’s going to be perfect.

*

The night did start off well.

Inside the foyer of the restaurant, Hermione just a little shyly slipped off her coat, revealing her little black number. She watched, pleased, as Ron’s eyes widened, and he was obviously tongue-tied for a second before he pulled himself together and said, “You look...”

“Yes?”

“You look...” Ron gulped, “You remind me of the Yule Ball. Of the first time I realised how beautiful you really were.”

Hermione found herself basking in his admiration as they sat down, and smiled wryly at her own rarely-expressed vanity.

They ordered a starter of roast aubergine and mozzarella; linguine with scallops, prawns and mussels; and veal escalopes with wild mushrooms; and while they were eating, they talked about family, friends and work, as usual.

Ron couldn’t keep his eyes off her. As a matter of fact, he looked her up and down several times, and this made Hermione feel warm inside – she found she liked him to look at her in that way. Hermione in turn thought Ron particularly handsome and charming and attractive and... and so on. He seemed to stand out from the rest of the room, and she felt so inordinately pleased that he was hers that she stopped thinking about it, sat back, relaxed, enjoyed her food, and allowed herself another glass of wine while she chattered on.

“I’ve just about completed my law review,” said Hermione. “Who knows, maybe we can bring some semblance of real jurisprudence to the Wizengamot – I swear, sometimes it feels like wizards are stuck in the Dark Ages...”

Ron looked at her quizzically. “How’s that?”

Hermione explained. The Muggle British law was far more intricate and influential than the Magical British one. Much of international law, the laws of the former countries of the British Empire, and therefore what exactly was thought to be just, traced its roots ultimately to the Magna Carta. This included the very important principle that no-one could be imprisoned or penalised or harmed in any way by the rulers of the country without being first tried in court, and found guilty according to the Law. Upholding the Law fairly and without prejudice over the whims of anyone, even a king, or the Minister, or the Wizengamot, said Hermione, was the very foundation of human justice.

“The Minister of Magic and the Wizengamot is too powerful,” she concluded, taking a sip of wine. “Their powers in legal proceedings should be reduced.”

“But Kingsley’s the Minister of Magic, and he’s a decent bloke,” said Ron, “and it’s the Wizengamot you want to pass these laws. You’re asking them to use their power to take away powers from themselves? They’ve been helping us these past few years to unravel the mess Voldemort left behind, punish those who supported him.”

“It would be the right thing to do,” said Hermione. “If wizards had a proper law of criminal procedure, Sirius wouldn’t have been sent to Azkaban, and Harry wouldn’t have been nearly expelled for defending himself from Dementors. They would have been allowed to defend themselves better in court. In fact, if the Wizengamot or the Ministry was found to have prejudiced the trial even just a little, they would have been set free.”

Ron thought about that for a while, chewing slowly. “But Hermione,” he said, “you’ll make it harder for the Aurors to make sure Dark wizards pay for their crimes. We have problems making charges stick as it is. Kingsley runs a tight ship now and does make sure hearings are more impartial, it’s not like when Fudge or Bagnold were in power.”

“It looks bad, and it may result in a few cases where some Dark wizards get away with it, but it’s better than sending innocent people to Azkaban,” said Hermione doggedly. “Overall, it’d be better this way, Ron, you’ll see.”

“I dunno...” began Ron.

“Oh you’re always like this,” Hermione said with some asperity, “you never think my ideas are good at the start. You thought SPEW was a laugh, to begin with. I wish you would be more supportive.”

Ron looked hurt. “I am,” he said. “I’m just asking you to consider it from the Aurors’ point of view...”

“Oh, drop it. Let’s talk about something else. Have you heard recently from Charlie?”

They went on to less controversial topics. Ron was hungry; before he knew it, he found that he had finished his pasta and almost all of his mains before Hermione was halfway through hers. He opened the menu, muttering something about adding a side.

“You’re over-eating again,” said Hermione, rather waspishly.

“No I’m not, I’m just hungry,” said Ron. “We did anti-Manticore drills today, you have no idea how much that takes out of you.”

“And next week you’ll complain you’ve had to move your belt up a notch. At least order something healthy, like a salad.”

“Why don’t you try not running someone else’s life for them for one minute, Hermione,” Ron remarked, as he put away the menu and took a deep gulp of wine instead.

Hermione opened her mouth in a fury, but after a moment closed it and said nothing. She pushed what was left of her meal around her plate thoughtfully. Ron didn’t seem to notice this, or that her end of the conversation grew briefer and more monosyllabic.

He did notice however when she declined dessert instead of lingering over their meal, and hurried them through paying. Outside the restaurant, she turned to him and said, “Ron, I have, um, I have some things to think over. I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said, indicating with her chin down Oxford Street.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, holding out his hand for her to take.

Hermione kept hers in her coat pockets. “Alone.”

“But...” what about our plans, Ron was about to say, when he registered the stubborn jut of her chin and dangerously-flashing eyes. He was baffled; he could see that she was somehow angry with him, but couldn’t think of any reason why, but bafflement soon gave way to anger himself, and he said tersely, “Fine. See you,” and turned his back deliberately.

Hermione, who very deep inside wanted Ron to ask her why she was furious, stalked off. Halfway down the street she decided to Apparate home, and ducked into a side alley to do it away from Muggle eyes.

*

Hands in his trouser pockets, Ron grumbled to himself about witches and their awkward ways. Years of close proximity to Hermione and a couple of helpful tips from Twelve Sure-Fire Ways To Charm Witches meant he wasn’t entirely stupid; he could read between the lines and sense dimly what had happened. He wondered if he really could play the apologetic and understanding boyfriend, and run after her and ask exactly what he’d done and try to put things right. With a heavy sigh, Ron decided he could, and turned around and retraced his footsteps.

He caught sight of Hermione’s brown curls and beige trenchcoat far down the street, disappearing down a side alley.

He also saw the large, black-robed figure following her in.

Ron broke into a run, and his wand was in his hand before he was consciously aware of drawing, before his mind blanked into a blood-red fury.

“Hermione Hermione HERMIONE!”

*

Hermione was a veteran of the war, a founding member of Dumbledore’s Army, and besides Ron, Harry Potter’s closest companion for over a decade. You don’t get to be all these things without learning how to take care of yourself, without always taking notice of your surroundings, and always having a familiar little voice in the back of your mind grumbling “Constant vigilance!” The instant she was aware of the danger, her hand flew to her wand – ready in its pocket, no frenzied digging about in handbag for her – and she crouched down on her heels to make herself a smaller target, a spell already on her lips and a dozen more waiting in the wings.

She was also however just an instant too late, slowed by one too many glasses of wine, the emotional whiplash of the disastrous date, and the sheer surprise of being attacked in the heart of London, in a time of peace and on a jolly Friday night.

The last thing she remembered was spinning around and bringing her wand to bear on a bulky, robed figure. Then a flash of spell-light knocked her out.

*

Ron had sufficient presence of mind to stop just around the corner and send up a series of sparks, a coded Auror distress signal. Then he charged into the shadowed alley.

He was all that Hermione was, and more besides; he was an Auror, trained to investigate magical crimes, search the country for Dark wizards, and fight them if necessary to bring them to justice. Unlike Hermione, who hadn’t thrown an offensive spell in earnest for years, he had fought several Death Eaters after Voldemort’s defeat and regularly practised with the other Aurors. He was however panicking madly out of fear for Hermione, and the assailant was waiting for him.

With his Auror-trained reflexes, Ron batted aside the first two curses and shot back a Stunning Spell that nearly hit its mark. Then the shadowy figure made a swiping movement with his wand, and another human-shaped figure rose up from behind a large wheelie bin and seemed to lunge at him.

Another one?! thought Ron, turning his wand on the newcomer.

He managed to catch a glimpse of Hermione’s unconscious face hurtling towards him, the rest of her body flopping limply behind. Her head connected with his with the hard rap of bone on bone, and the world flared white with pain, and then again as Ron’s head hit the pavement.

He barely even felt the spell which finished him off.

* * *

II. Remember Me?

Seventeen hours ago

Hermione slowly woke, her head throbbing on one side, the pain increasing as consciousness returned. Disjointed memories crept back – dinner – wine – Ron – a hulking black figure down a shadowy Soho mews, spellfire.

The spiky jolt of panic flooded her system and she bolted upright, senses still whirling all in a daze as she stared wildly around her at the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in the unfamiliar senses – some rough, scratchy material beneath her bare legs; chill, dank, rarely-used air; oppressive, confining silence.

A hand touched her arm and Hermione jumped with a shriek.

“It’s me, it’s Ron, it’s me,” he said quickly.

“Oh, Ron!” A brief burst of relief, for just a moment. You’re still in big trouble, a little voice warned, even if you’re not alone. Even so, Hermione flung her arms around Ron’s neck, and allowed herself to take a little comfort that he was here, with her. She felt him pat her on the back a little unsteadily.

But where was here?

Hermione drew back and looked around. She was kneeling on a bare mattress, no sheets or blankets, in her little black dress, the poor thing scuffed and torn and stained now – she noted these things matter-of-factly – no wand in the wand-pocket, of course. Ron was sitting on the bed, had an angry goose-egg of a lump swelling on his forehead, and looked stressed and grim. Their coats and shoes had been taken.

They were in what looked like a large disused basement room, empty save for the queen-sized bed and a couple of lumpy pillows, also devoid of pillowcases; a plastic folding table, but no chairs; a lidded office waste bin in one corner; and a small heap of rubbish in another corner. No windows, one thick wooden door. The floor was bare cement, the walls roughly-painted concrete stripped of wallpaper, and a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a dismal yellow glow on everything.

Hermione shot a glance at Ron, and knew what was on his mind: the cellar-turned-dungeon of Malfoy Manor, three years ago. She hadn’t seen it herself, she was busy being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, but Ron had described it to her, confessed to her the fear he’d felt then – which she saw now mirrored in the rising panic on his face. A panic which he tried to conceal, but she knew him all too well.

“Charming, isn’t it?” said Ron. He winced, and gingerly prodded his forehead. “I came to just about a minute ago.”

“What happened?”

“I think he Stunned you. Then he waited for me, and threw you at me. Your head scored a direct hit. Then he Stunned me too.” Ron made to touch the painful left side of her head, and Hermione instinctively flinched; he grinned sardonically.

Hermione got up and strode to the door, grabbed the lever handle, shook and rattled it. It didn’t budge an inch, of course. Silly girl. “You’ve had a look around?” she said, trying to sound calm. Trying to take control where there was patently none.

“Was about to, when you came round.” Ron got up and pressed his hands against the walls, closely inspected the door-frame. “Spelled,” he muttered. “No breaking that down.” He walked over every inch of floor, looked under the bed, sifted through the rubbish heap in the corner. Hermione just watched; gone were the days when she could still surprise her two best friends with what she knew, at least in the area of defensive and Dark magic. The Auror Office had made Ron the better of them at doing what he was doing.

Besides… Hermione was finding it hard to think properly what to do right now. Unbidden thoughts were rising in her head – vague fears, scenarios, imaginings – and she fought to keep them defocused, to think clearly on useful, constructive things. Panic was getting a grip on her, too.

“I guess that’s supposed to be the loo,” Ron said, looking down at the waste bin. His fists clenched and unclenched. “Right,” he said at last, “we can jump him when he comes in through that door. That’s... that’s the best we can do. What can you cast without a wand, Hermione?”

“Spell-Check Spell, that sort of thing,” said Hermione, trying to smile. “Not much call for anything more violent in the office. You?”

“We do wandless training, but the useful ones are really difficult. I’m only up to the Leg-Locker Curse,” said Ron. “Harry’s a bit further ahead, he can pull off a Stunner, only sometimes, but still... Fuck, I should have worked harder on the fucking...” He sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

Through the dread coiling around her heart and clawing at her throat, Hermione felt a wave of pity, and she put her arm around him. “It’s not your fault,” she whispered. She smoothed his hair back tenderly, brushed her fingers over his freckled cheek.

Ron caught her hand, held on tight as a child clinging to its mother.

“Who do,” Hermione cleared her throat, “who do you think did this...”

“Wizards. Death Eaters, perhaps. We didn’t get every last one of the bastards – one or two slipped away to the Continent, or the States. We’ve got targets on our backs, you know that.”

“Could it have been random?”

“What, just picked you out to snatch off the street? No, he was waiting, I’m almost sure of it. He was planning this,” said Ron. “He must have been watching us for some time, and we – I never twigged.”

Bitter Ron was not a pretty sight. “It’s not your fault,” Hermione repeated. “It’s okay. We’ll think of something.”

He raised his head and looked at her with incredulity, seemed about to say something, then visibly changed whatever it was to: “I managed to get off some sparks. A distress signal the Auror Office will notice and recognise. They’re good, they’ll be looking for us even now. So we’ll just sit and wait.”

Sit and wait... for whatever their captor was going to do to them. Again, Hermione tried not to think about it.

“We should try and rest,” Ron said. “Be more prepared that way. We can take turns keeping watch.”

She understood. They couldn’t both sleep, they might lose an opportunity to escape. Every scrap of advantage, every fraction of a percentage point – seize it. “Makes sense.”

They agreed to switch every fifteen minutes. That was long enough for some kind of a catnap, and for the one staying awake not to lose count – their captor had taken their watches, they could only count the passing seconds in their heads. One to nine hundred.

Hermione lay down on the bare mattress, and tried to sleep. Beside her, Ron sat stiffly, his back not touching the wall. Her hand was warm in his – the only part of her body not chilled with fear.

*

Seconds, minutes, hours...

There was a loud pop, and they both jumped – Hermione, who was keeping watch, and Ron who instantly twitched awake. A large jug and a brown paper bag had appeared on the plastic table. Exchanging glances, Hermione and Ron got up and cautiously approached the table.

Ron uncovered the lid on the plastic jug. “Milk. What’s in the bag?”

Hermione pulled out a small loaf of Hovis sliced sandwich bread. “White bread. And nothing else.”

“It’s something,” shrugged Ron. He took a swallow from the milk jug. “Pass the bread, Hermione.”

“You can’t seriously be thinking about food at this time!”

Ron’s blue eyes were hard and cold. “We’ve got to keep our strength up, Hermione, and be prepared to fight or run for it. And the best place for food is inside you; you never know if they’ll take it away. Come on.” He offered her the milk jug.

Hermione took it slowly. She found she needed both hands to grip it, somehow.

The bread wasn’t so bad, each bite mixed with a mouthful of milk, but Hermione could barely taste it. Everything felt strangely flavourless in her mouth, she could have been chewing wads of cotton. Halfway through her share, her appetite gave out completely, and she pushed her last couple of slices over to Ron. He finished it off, along with the last of the milk.

Their captor, whoever he is – he didn’t forget us. He sent this. But – but that means he’s around. He’s aware. He could be coming. Maybe right now.

Hermione meant to sit, but found herself giving in to what she identified as some kind of infantile response; she curled up on the bare mattress like a scared little girl, drawing her knees up to her chin. The bed was positioned right in the centre of the wall agains which it abutted, facing the door, and she stared straight ahead, and couldn’t take her eyes off the steel lever handle.

Wordlessly, Ron joined her on the bed. He put his arm around her – his left, not his usual right, his wand-arm.

Hermione crept closer into the warmth of his body.

And so they waited, huddled on the bed and staring at the door, their hearts in their mouths.

*

The handle turned.

Ron had a second or so to shake himself free of Hermione, and gather himself, ready to spring.

The door swung back to reveal a huge, hooded, black-robed figure.

Ron leapt to his feet and lunged from the bed, his wand-hand pushing out. “Loco–!” But before he could complete the jinx, the figure raised its wand and he was blasted backwards, hitting the floor hard and staying down, pinned by an Impediment Jinx.

He couldn’t see any part of the person underneath the robes; he wore gloves on his big hands, and a balaclava with tiny eye slits. Ron assumed he was a man though, from the posture and build. The bit of flesh visible round the small eyes looked tanned, or perhaps florid. The figure lowered his wand, and turned his head towards Hermione, who was standing beside the bed, her eyes wide with fear.

Oh God.

“OI!” snarled Ron, echoes of Malfoy Manor screaming in his ears. “Don’t you – don’t you dare – YOU TOUCH HER AND I’LL RIP–!”

“Shut up, Ron!” snapped Hermione, but her voice wavered. “Please – you don’t have to – it doesn’t have to be like this. What is it you want? We can help you – we will help you – please...”

A sudden noise: a giggle, high-pitched, wheezy, and quite obviously straddling the borders of sanity. “Mudblood,” hissed the voice. “Lil’ Mudblood...” The voice was strangely familiar.

“Do... do I know...” Hermione’s words died in a terrified squeak.

“Yeah, o’ course. Remember me?” And then their abductor threw back the hood and pulled off the balaclava.

Ron swore filthily; Hermione uttered a choked shriek, and her hands flew to her mouth.

The head was completely bald, the skin red as a sunburn wherever it wasn’t blotched with patches of dark flesh, and the entire face was covered with a mass of puckered scars, but it was still very recognisably Vincent Crabbe.

“You left me to burn,” he said, and once again Ron was surprised by the softness of his voice. “But I didn’t. Not all the way. Remembered the counter-curse, in the end. And then I found this old cabinet what Malfoy did up. Got away unnoticed.”

“The war’s over, Crabbe,” said Hermione. “You didn’t do much – Malfoy’s free, did you hear – we can help you, I’m a lawyer now, we can...”

Crabbe looked down at Ron, then at Hermione. His stare began at her feet, and didn’t reach her eyes. “Did you know,” he continued in that soft boyish voice, “I’ve thought for quite some time now about raping you?”

What little colour there had been drained totally from Hermione’s face.

“CRABBE YOU SON OF A BITCH DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE I WILL–!”

“Silencio.”

Mad rage and horror was consuming Ron totally, but he could do nothing but struggle against the jinx and scream soundlessly. Helplessly.

“Please,” Hermione managed, “please... don’t...”

Crabbe shrugged, looked down on his gloved left hand. “I can’t, though,” said Crabbe. “The Fyrefiends – they ate too much of me.” He tapped his wand against his thigh, and it made a tinny, almost hollow sound. “Can’t do or feel much through these things.” He looked down at Ron on the floor.

“So you’ll have to do her for me. What do you say to that, eh?”

*

Hermione’s mind raced ahead as always, tallying resources, noting every word and movement in the room in hyper-focus, ransacking her vast memory and putting the bits and pieces together to come up with solutions. Offer help – appeal to better nature – hit him while he’s distracted – legal amnesty – money – beg for mercy...!

But all that blanked out in the blinding white light of horror that screamed in her mind the instant Crabbe gave voice to the fears she had been trying so very hard not to think about, ever since she’d woken up in this makeshift dungeon.

Ron broke through the Silencing Spell. “What I say is FUCK YOU you coward Crabbe, let me up and I’ll give you something to think about you fat fucking piece of...”

“I ain’t gonna listen to this,” said Crabbe, and Silenced Ron again. “Here’s how it works. I’ve spent a long time thinking about it.” He flicked his wand at the corner, and something black, spindly, and most decidedly Muggle appeared in the corner.

A video camera on a tripod.

That’s a really big camera, said the tiny portion of Hermione’s brain not gibbering. Look at the size of that lens, that microphone. It probably gets a really good picture. Great sound. It probably goes for hours and hours.

Crabbe reached over and gently pressed the red recording button. A little red light in the front of the device blinked on. “Muggles record moving pictures with this,” he enthused, for a moment sounding like any other teenage boy with a toy. “And I’ll be able to watch you again and again and again. Amazing what those animals can come up with, innit?”

He pointed the stiff fingers of his gloved prosthetic left hand at Hermione, leering. “You do it here on the bed, where the Muggle thing can see.”

Hermione found her voice. “We won’t,” she said, the words coming out in a squeak. “Y-y-you can’t make us.”

Crabbe’s smile was child-like, almost innocent. Like a firstie confident of earning points for Slytherin with a correct answer, he said: “Course I can. You’ll do it, or I’ll kill you. Do it, and I’ll hand you over to some people I know. They’ll probably set you free for a ransom. Wouldn’t that be nice? But first, I want my tape. Now, be quick about it. I need to go see some friends.”

He shut the door gently behind him.

* * *

III. Fuck Or Die

Nine hours ago

The moment the Impediment Jinx released him, Ron was up and charging.

With a bellow of fury he kicked at the camera; there was a flash and Ron was thrown all the way across the room, landing painfully on his side. The bastard’s thought of everything!

Blind rage overtook him; he turned his attention to the door now, rammed it with his shoulder, maybe he could break it down, hurled himself at it over and over again until his shoulder was agony and... and he felt hands grabbing his arm and tugging.

“Stop, Ron, you’ll hurt yourself, stop, stop!”

Hermione locked her arms around his. Ron gave in, gave in to the depression following fast on the heels of the anger, and sank to the ground, leaning against the bed. The damn bed.

They sat that way for a while, on the cold cement floor – not colder than the chills in their hearts. After what Crabbe had said, Ron was afraid of even touching Hermione, but she held on to his arm, and buried her face in his shoulder.

Time passed.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Ron said at last.

“Don’t be,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He tried to think of something to say, and blurted, “When did Crabbe get to be so smart?”

“Late bloomer.”

“Well done him.”

“Daddy would’ve been proud.”

“Five points to Slytherin.”

Hermione snorted, and Ron chuckled, which set her giggling as well, and in turn him – a crazy, helpless, haha-not-actually giggle.

Very shortly, the hysteria subsided. Hermione lifted her head and looked at him, and Ron met her gaze. He frowned, then recognised the calculating look. “What are you... no. Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s an option.”

“No!”

“He said... they’d ransom us afterwards.”

“Bollocks!”

“Ron, think rationally, please.” A little of the old didactic Hermione returned. “We were already planning on taking the next step, last night. You were prepared, right? You bought the potion like we planned, right?”

“I did, but I don’t have it, he emptied my pockets.”

“The point is, we would have done it, if – if we hadn’t squabbled.”

It seemed ages ago, though it was only last night – it must be about mid-morning Saturday now. Ron couldn’t even remember what they’d argued over. He wondered what could possibly have seemed so important then. “Yes, but that’s not the point. I’m – we are not going to let him hurt you, assault you in that way.”

“What’s the difference, really? It’s not actually… that, if it’s just you and me.”

Ron lifted his head slightly, and just looked at her tiredly. “Come off it, Hermione, you know the difference. There’s a body violation of a sexual nature involved, all the same. Voyeurism is a criminal offence, and it’s the same if you’re using a Muggle contraption, a Pensieve, or your own damn eyes.” Aurors, of course, had to be familiar with the criminal code, and Ron had applied himself to his chosen profession much more diligently than to History of Magic.

At any other time, this could have been the spark of another loud and spirited bickering session, but instead, Hermione just nodded, apparently in silent agreement.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re the lawyer, you know all this better than I do,” said Ron, a little more roughly than he’d intended.

She gave him a yes-I-do-know-Auror-Obvious-thank-you-so-much look, but it was troubled. “I was just thinking, what if it’s a way out, that’s all. Maybe if we give Crabbe his stupid tape, he might even just – I dunno – let us go.”

She’s getting desperate, Ron realised, and the thought nearly broke him too. More because his mouth took over for something to do than out of real consciousness, he continued talking. “I’m not sure I could do it, anyway. Physically, I mean. I’m just... not keen on the idea at all.”

“I thought we agreed that we would...”

“Yes, but not like this. Not here, not now. It would feel... wrong.”

“You’re right.” She managed a half-smirk. “And here I thought men were up for it anytime, anywhere.”

“Very funny.” Ron chose his words carefully. “D’you think all blokes just want to fuck? That all we care about is getting a leg over, anytime, anywhere, any girl? We make bad jokes about it, sure, but we don’t mean it. Deep down, we’re just like you. We want a real relationship – to make love to whom we want, when we want, how we want. Last night – last night was going to be important to me too, Hermione. It would have been my first too.”

Hermione was suddenly tense. She turned her head away from him. “You know, I always thought you and Lavender had... had sex.”

It was a question, Ron knew.“We could have,” he confessed. “It wouldn’t have been right, but we could have. Lavender and I – we were all about what felt good in that moment, and not about what was in our hearts. But no, no we didn’t. And I’m glad.” Glad that you would have been my first. But now I don’t think I’ll ever... Ron tried not to complete that thought.

Some of the tension eased out of Hermione, but she didn’t reply. Her head dipped down and she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

*

Once upon a time, Hermione’s thoughts had dwelt upon the subject.

In school she’d watched the teenage courting interestedly; Ron and Lavender, Harry and Ginny; and of course in short order all the girls had heard about Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini – the first of their year that anyone was sure had done it. There’d been a couple of giggly nights in the dorms, discussing the subject – though she had stopped participating in those, during and after Lavender and Ron. She’d found herself thinking about it, mostly purely academically – sometimes, curiously. In those days she had pined for Ron, but for as long as he had been with Lavender, in her dreams and fantasies her subconscious had not allowed his face to appear – only anonymously nondescript tall freckly ginger gits.

And then came the war, and then Ron, and suddenly the dream became an urgent and pressing question.

If Hermione hadn’t been an only child, it might have been easier. She might have had an older sister or two to laughingly talk her through things, or even just to watch and learn from. She didn’t even have a girl-cousin; both her parents had come from small families. Instead, all she had was a mother, and Mummy was a wonderful mum, but some things were really really hard to talk to her about.

Such as, when did you feel you were ready to have sex?

There’s no asking Mum that one.

And so Hermione had turned to the tried-and-true ways she knew, and scoured every book she could find on the subject. Returned from W.H. Smith’s with a stack of relationship and self-help guides. Subscribed to Cosmopolitan and looked up back numbers in libraries. Even bought a few Mills & Boons, telling herself it was research. She’d even tried the Hogwarts library, in case they had any particular insights on wizarding culture in this area, but all she’d got was a couple of rather iffy charms and an irritatingly knowing look from Madam Pince.

Hermione had found the guides generally useful but unspecific, the magazines gushing but hollow, and the novels – well, quite exciting, actually, she admitted. Wildly fantastic, of course.

But books – however explicit – only take you so far.

The past couple of years of slowly intensifying necking and petting with Ron had given her a far better preview, and she’d enjoyed it all. And lately it hadn’t been enough, her body was screaming for more, and three weeks ago she had very nearly just jumped Ron and gone for it. Why not? They were adults, and Hermione knew, if any accidents happened, what they would do. She and Ron had used the M-Word more than once, playfully talked about a house, children. In a real emergency she knew she could count on his steadfast loyalty. So she was well and ready, and she knew it.

For a moment, Hermione was lost in a daydream of what could have been the perfect night. Reflexively, she inched closer to Ron, and rubbed her cheek on his arm.

Then Hermione came back to her senses and back to this dirty, dilapidated, sordid dungeon, and their hopeless situation.

Not like this. Not like this.

No, they couldn’t give in to Crabbe’s perverted demands, could they? Ron was right. She definitely did not want to perform in front of a camera – the thought made her flesh crawl. Even without the camera, the fact that he was making them do it at a time when they didn’t want to, that was wrong too. It was a consent violation, even if it would be with Ron and not... Hermione shuddered.

And so they waited for Crabbe’s inevitable wrath.

*

Hours passed, but they weren’t in a mood to count.

Without warning, the door slammed open again.

Hermione and Ron scrambled to their feet, and backed away, but there was nowhere to go, really.

Crabbe lumbered in, big, broad, and implacable. The reek of alcohol preceded him. Where his face wasn’t discoloured brown, the skin was redder than ever with the flush of drink.

“Still ‘aven’t gone at it?” he growled.

Was there any point in lying, even to buy a few minutes? He could probably see the truth, without needing to check the camera tape. They didn’t look like they had. They didn’t look mussed enough, humiliated enough.

Hermione’s throat was dry and she couldn’t think, but Ron’s mouth took over, dripping with sarcasm. “What the hell did you expect? This place isn’t exactly what you’d call a romantic getaway. You keeping us shut in here isn’t exactly doing wonders for setting the mood.”

Crabbe shook his head sadly, and pointed his wand at Ron. “Crucio!”

Ron shrieked.

He fell to the floor and convulsed, back arching, eyes wide and rolling, every muscle straining and standing out as if trying to escape his skin, get away from supreme pain. He thrashed and flung himself this way and that, knocking over the table. He curled into a ball, spread his limbs like a starfish, beat his head on the ground. Blood burst suddenly from his nostrils, spattering the walls in a fine deep-red spray.

Hermione watched, hypnotised and horrified, as through it all Crabbe held the curse, a faint, casually pleased smile growing on his scarred face. Like he was watching his Quidditch team make a comeback from a hundred points down.

When Ron’s voice broke, when the agonised yells turned into thin whistling, and still Crabbe didn’t raise his wand, she screamed, “Stop it, stop it, please stop, please stop Crabbe I’ll do anything!”

Through her tears she saw him raise his wand and turn his head towards her. The smile was gone now. “They wouldn’t listen,” said Crabbe. “I tol’ ‘em, but they wouldn’t believe me. They laughed – laughed! They wouldn’t even bother to come and see.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’ll believe, if I show them on the Muggle thing. If I can’t, well,” he shrugged again, “I don’t have any more use for either of you.”

Crabbe pointed at her. “Clever Mudblood. Clever Her-mi-o-ne,” he said her name lingeringly, caressingly, and Hermione shivered uncontrollably. “You get him to do it. Make him do it, if he don’t want to. I’ll even leave you two be for a few hours. But do it, or you know what I’ll do. You hear? Fuck. Or. Die.”

* * *

IV. The First And The Last

Now

Hermione sank to her knees beside Ron’s too-still body, crying. She pulled his head into her lap, ran her fingers desperately through his sweat-slicked hair. “Oh Ron, please be alright, please...”

After much too long, Ron stirred, blinked. Coughed and licked his lips, smearing them bright red. “Not… fun…” he said hoarsely.

Hermione bent over him and wept, in relief or despair, she didn’t know which. Both, probably.

Ron’s wheezing breaths filled the room; thin, laboured gasping punctuated occasionally by wet, blood-flecked coughs. She cradled his head on her lap and stroked his hair tenderly, the only thing she could do.

After a while he shuddered, sucked in a deep breath. She drew back and tried to fan air towards him with her hand. Grimacing with every movement, Ron sat up, panting with the effort. His fingers trembled, and every now and then his legs jerked and twitched.

Nerve damage, thought Hermione. She helped him slowly, painfully, onto the bed.

Time passed, and Ron’s breathing evened. Hermione found her eyes drawn unwillingly to the staring lens of the camera in the corner.

“Forget it,” grunted Ron. He sat up, propped himself tiredly against the headboard.

“What?”

“Forget the stupid thing. Hermione,” he coughed again, “Hermione, I love you. It’s been… you are the most wonderful thing in my life. The very best.” Ron smiled, but his eyes were flat and dead. “I wish I’d had more time with you, of course, years and years, but...” He shrugged.

“Ron, what are you saying?”

“We won’t give that sick fucking bastard what he wants. It’s all a load of codswallop. He’ll just kill us afterwards anyway. Probably Crucio us to death, that seems to be his thing.”

She’d experienced the Cruciatus at Bellatrix’s hands, and it looked like Crabbe was just as skilled at that curse as that mad dead witch. The thought of dying that way sickened Hermione, but… she shoved that thought aside. “Don’t give up, Ron,” she pleaded. “We can… we can…” Think, Hermione, think!

Ron shook his head. “Can’t see any way out. We’re done. Sorry… curtains for you too. He can kill us if he likes. But we won’t leave him a remembrance to wank over. So let him kill us… be done with it…” He lay back, exhausted… resigned.

Hermione was silent for a while, thinking. Ron – death – Crucio – Crabbe… She looked around the room. A terrible thought crept into her mind. She tried to shake it off, but it stayed. So she steeled herself, and turned it over, took it apart, looked at it from all angles. Shook her head.

“Won’t work, Ron,” she said. “Think about it logically. Best-case scenario: maybe we can take him at his word. Maybe if we… give him what he wants, he’ll do as he says and hand us over to his friends, and they’ll ransom us.” She tried her best to lay out the scenarios dispassionately, like she was speaking in court. “Alternatively, if we don’t do it, he’ll kill us. It won’t be pretty. He might just send us off with a quick Avada. Or even the Cruciatus. I wouldn’t mind. I hope he does. God, I hope he does.”

Ron looked at her and said nothing, followed her train of thought intently.

She forced herself to say it. “Because what if he doesn’t kill us? Crabbe’ll get his friends to come round, eventually. Whatever we do, do what he says or refuse, the end is the same. I don’t believe in this ransom nonsense either. They must know they’d never get away with it. You, they’ll kill. Sorry. Me? They’ll find a use for me all right. The usual.” Hermione swallowed. “They’ll rape me, even if he can’t. After that, then they’ll kill me. If I’m lucky. If I’m very lucky. More likely, they’ll lock me up, and do me over, and over, and over, for as long as I…”

She couldn’t continue.

There is no real choice.

Ron lifted one fist and slammed it into the wall. A terrible keening sound burst from his throat, an animal in misery. In tones of utter despair, he said, “I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry I can’t… damn it!” He swore and cursed until he choked, and pounded his fist helplessly.

Hermione caught his fist, stilled the violence. She laid it gently down on the bed, kept her hand firmly on it. He never fought her.

They sat there in resigned silence for a while.

Then a thought occurred to her.

“Hey.” Hermione shifted so she sat in front of Ron, looked him in the eye. She smiled, and traced her finger down the freckles sprayed across his cheek. “Hey. Listen. I’ve got a… I want you to do something for me, Ron,” she said, almost brightly.

“Anything.”

“I want you to give me a memory,” said Hermione. “A sweet, wonderful memory.” Then she couldn’t stop the tears. “G-g-give me something to t-t-think about, something real I can remember, w-while they’re…” damn it, she was blubbering now, “give me my f-first, make it with you, don’t let them have that…”

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, God!”

She leaned in, kissed him on the lips softly, virginally. “It’ll be the only time in what’s left of my life that I’d… I’d actually have wanted it. That I’ll enjoy it. The first, and the last. Please, Ron. Give me that.”

*

How do you… how do you even...?

Ron could barely process it. Most of his mind was screaming static, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. A small voice in the back of his head said, She’s right you know. A much louder voice objected: But I just got my arse Crucio’d off me! The bits of his body that were still twitching and jerking and gritting his teeth as parts of him flared up in aftershocks of pain agreed enthusiastically.

Figure out how, damn it. It’s practically her last bloody request, can’t you even manage that, you stupid ginger pillock?!

He sat back, and thought.

People who don’t know Ron, or don’t play chess, think he’s unimaginative and stupid. They’re wrong. You don’t get very far in chess without being able to visualise the board, plan a few moves ahead, examine and discard alternatives, and put together complex attacks involving several pieces, all of that in your head and on a time limit. Ron can. This skill is next-door neighbours, mentally, to creative problem solving, what people call “intelligence”.

Hermione tried her best to hide it, but her body betrayed her. She was trembling with fear beside him. Every now and then she sniffled, passed the back of her hand over her eyes, and all too pointedly looked away from that fucking camera. He didn’t know much about women, but he knew this, and you didn’t need twelve bloody fail-safe ways to figure it out: in the mood she was in, there was no way what she suggested was going to turn out anything but a mess.

Still, he had to try.

How do you begin attacking a knotty problem – an enemy who’s taken the centre, and dug in with three pawns and all his knights and bishops? You don’t meet it head-on, you hit it from the flanks. Stall the advance, manoeuvre around the enemy, chip away at the roots.

Lull and beguile them, then take them by surprise.

He knew what he had to do. Ron took a deep breath, gathered all his strength and willpower – and smiled. “Come here, Hermione, love,” he said.

*

Ron’s smile, his expression, every line of his body, was so suddenly carefree it took Hermione off-guard. She hesitated, then leaned into his embrace. “I’ve a question.” He carded his fingers gently through her brown ringlets. It was what he always did when they were cuddling, he always seemed to be enormously fascinated with her hair.

“…go on.”

“You remember what we planned for our perfect night? How it would have gone, after dinner?”

The expression on his face was half-smirk, half-embarrassment, and all adoration. He looked exactly as he had when she had been laying out their plans for their big night. “Of course.”

“Hermione,” he said gently, “I want you to imagine, and believe with all your heart, all your big brain, all your body… that this is exactly what we’re doing. We’re having the perfect night we planned, and it is perfect. Forget everything else, this is what’s really real. I don’t care about anything else. This is all I know – that I love you, and I truly want you. Do you love me?”

“I love you.”

“Then if you’re ready, we’re going to enjoy ourselves as lovers do. This is our choice. That’s all there is to it. Nothing else.” And Ron closed his eyes, and touched his lips gently to hers.

* * *

V. The Real Choice

Hermione hesitated only a split-second. Then she pressed her lips and her body against him, planted her hands on his chest and pushed gently so Ron fell back, and Hermione was lying on top of him.

“This is what’s real,” she said, and Ron nodded.

Forget, forget, forget…

“This is real.” She forced herself to believe it.

There’s no surer way to think of something than to tell yourself to forget it, though.

So when Ron’s hand stroked her thigh and moved questingly up round her hip, easing up the short hem of her dress and setting the skin there tingling pleasurably, Hermione dove into the welcome distraction with everything she had. And it felt so good.

Don’t think.

She opened her eyes and saw Ron suddenly hesitate, and to forestall thought she grabbed his shirt and unbuttoned it as quickly as she could – with predictable outcomes; at least two buttons were dangling by a thread when was done, but who cared? At the same time she tried to shimmy out of her dress, just as he tugged, and the dress slipped off to present herself clad only in the black satin knicker-and-bra set she’d specially picked out.

Hermione became aware of the hardness nudging her lower belly. She pushed herself against it experimentally, and was rewarded with a thrill of sensation and a loud intake of breath from Ron. His eyes widened, and Hermione smiled shyly at the open desire in his eyes, drinking it in.

Every moment, every detail, Hermione recorded in her brain, focusing hard on every detail of expression, of perception, emotion.

She will need the memory in future.

But no… right now she wasn’t going to think about that.

When she positioned her legs across Ron – feeling that hardness nudging her there, on her lower-most parts – and he slipped off her dress, Hermione was well aware that this was the farthest they had previously gone. From here on out they were breaking virgin territory.

No room for indecision or nerves. Best get it done quickly. She reached up behind her back in a smooth familiar movement, unclipped her bra and let it fall, aware that for the first time, she was doing it in front of someone – in front of Ron – and he was watching intently.

Hermione couldn’t help closing her eyes. She listened though, and heard Ron say, sighing, “You’re gorgeous...” Then she felt his hands on her breasts, where they’d never been before, and oh god what was that…!

*

Ron had learned a thing or two, over the years, and more of it came from being with Hermione than any bloody book.

As he ran his fingers and palms across her breasts Hermione gasped and clutched at his shoulders, and he knew he was on to a winner. Circles, he made circles all around those impossibly soft smooth beautiful parts of her, and Hermione shivered and her back arched slightly, then more and more. Ron was enjoying himself of course, he didn’t know why but it made his pulse race to have her entrust her body to him, and he passed his thumbs over those deep pink nipples and felt her tighten her grip, and he chuckled.

*

Don’t stop, don’t think.

Pants and knickers off, quickly.

Hermione knelt on the bed and looked down, staring, and he was craning his neck to gaze at her too. She glanced up; it was clear that they were both equally fascinated, equally new to the sight, and the thought made her giggle. That helped. She took the plunge, reached out to hold him, and said “oh!” in surprise.

“What?” The tips of his ears were crimson.

“I had no idea. It’s so – strange. Soft and hard at once.” Right, she’d seen this next bit before – no, actually she hadn’t, Parvati Patil, red and brown like a rosy-cheeked chestnut, had only attempted her idea of the motion two or three strokes on a toothbrush handle and then the whole dorm had collapsed laughing…

Ron groaned. “Keep that up, Hermione, and this is only going to last five seconds...”

Hermione laughed, and reluctantly let go.

“Very funny. Let’s see how you like it...”

She liked it very much indeed, closing her eyes and pressing herself against Ron’s fingers. Very, very much. Now she wished they’d done this much earlier, they could have had so much more of this, Crabbe was coming to kill them any moment…

Forget, forget, FORGET!

To drive the sickening thoughts from her mind Hermione threw herself into the jolts of sensation electrifying her body, and perhaps it was that desperation that made the difference. She was determined to enjoy herself, and she concentrated everything, mind body and soul she had on the sparks erupting everywhere Ron’s fingers glided, and found that the more she did, the better it got.

Ahhh, I see…

Her body screamed for more. Looking down, she caught Ron’s eye and knew it was time. Hermione reached down and helped guide him, but – flying in the face of everything she’d read – the two of them somehow just couldn’t engage her entrance in this position.

“Maybe this way...” He quickly flipped them over.

Hermione landed with a breathless “oof!” and giggled. Ron gazed down lovingly at her from above, and she felt a surge of warmth and safety, nestled there in his arms. She reached down. “Okay, I’ll just… okay, try now.”

Ron kissed her, and stroked her side, and pushed slowly and carefully.

That didn’t mean entry didn’t hurt.

She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It hurt like a needle, a big needle, lots of big needles, and she couldn’t help a tiny yelp.

“Oh shit, Hermione, I’m sorry,” said poor Ron, his tone abjectly contrite.

She ignored him. Distraction, distraction… Hermione lunged up, pressed her body against him and searched for his mouth with her own, and in the process discovered that she could blend the pain with the pleasure from his touch that she had learned to enjoy, and she latched on to that and held on tight. Ron had frozen still so she moved herself experimentally, and ow it hurt again but yes, she could sense the underlying pleasure too, where his fingers had been, where now that part of him met that part of her…

And when she saw the strained look on Ron’s face she couldn’t help but laugh, and that helped loads.

“Are you alright?” he grunted.

“It’s getting better,” she said. “What about you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about my end...”

So like him. Hermione laughed again, closed her eyes, and thrust.

*

A voice very like Robards bellowed in his head: Hold on! Hold on!

Thinking of that crotchety old bastard helped to take Ron’s mind just a tiny bit off the smooth fiery liquid heat enveloping and squeezing his erection, and the incredibly sexy way Hermione clung to him and made small girlish grunts as she took over the pace. The contrast between the prim and proper Granger he knew and this intensely sexual creature beneath him, her mouth hanging open in a delicate O, was doing his head in completely…

The only way he was going to last, Ron decided, was if he sped things up on her end, and indeed, why not?

He braced on one arm – the bits that were aching from the Cruciatus complained, and that helped too – freeing the other to slide up Hermione’s side and on to one lovely breast, to caress and stroke and pull gently, and yeah that did the trick, Hermione’s back arched off the mattress, the stiff points of her nipples seeking for more, and he gave it to her.

Her mouth worked noiselessly, and Ron covered her lips with his, and swallowed her moan.

*

Too. Much!

You hug a friend with only shoulders and chest touching, in an A shape. Layers of clothes and underwear in the way. With Ron, before this they’d kept their pants on, but now they were skin on sensual sweaty sliding skin, connected everywhere from lips to legs, hell he was deep inside her, there was no way anyone could be more intimate...

His strained expression, his peculiar grunts, the rhythmic movements of him inside her… Hermione took it all in, every sense, and fed the inner fire with it. The weight of him on her, at once protective and deliciously domineering, even bestial; the powerful knowledge that she, Hermione, was making him want her like this, lose control like this… ummm!

Electricity all over, everywhere they touched, sparking off lips and breast and skin and grounding deep in her belly where his thick hardness filled her so full; and the jolts became a lightning storm, and Hermione Granger tensed every muscle in her body as the storm slammed into her with an intense fury she could never have imagined.

*

When Hermione came, she bit the back of her hand and tried to stifle the gasps welling up from deep inside. It emerged instead as tiny muffled whines from the back of her throat.

It was the sexiest thing Ron had ever seen and heard.

Now he could finally let go, and he did, allowing his body to take what it wanted. Hermione made more tiny squeaks as he thrust more urgently throughout the emptying spasms, and that fed the fire even more; he gave in to the animal urge and crushed that amazingly soft and smooth body to the straining cords of his muscles, Hermione finally crying out “Ohhh!” as he plunged down through the final waves.

Yes, oh yes, oh yes!

His body drained like never before, Ron let his arms give way and dropped down, managing to land on his side and not on her. Somewhat limply, Hermione turned, slid her leg over his – wincing slightly – and pillowed that gorgeous sweat-soaked mass of brown curls on his arm.

The girl he loved most in the world gazed back at him through wide flickering brown eyes, and a wave of affection overwhelmed him. Ron kissed her softly, tenderly, over and over again, forehead and cheeks and tip of nose, eliciting a tired giggle. In the worn-out wake of the tender brutality that just took place, he showered her with all his love, prolonging the dream as long as he could, making sure her attention was all on him.

Making sure that she didn’t glance over her shoulder, to the corner of the room where the hateful red recording light of the camera stared balefully.

*

Afterwards, as she lay all tangled up in Ron but too exhausted in a delicious new way to move, the fantasy slowly began to fade.

Hermione clung to the memory of the last few minutes with all her mental powers, extending it for as long as possible, reliving the glorious sights, sounds, sensations in as much detail as she could. But the passing world, the real world insinuated itself steadily. Black thoughts infiltrated the vivid colours, and the fear began to creep back in.

She glanced at the corner of the room, and the shame and despair nearly overcame her.

“It’s not fair,” she whispered.

Ron heard, and pulled her in so even more of their bare skin met, gently turned her head away and back to him, and that helped, but not enough.

“We’re still so young,” she mumbled into his chest. “We had the whole world, all our lives ahead.” Wizards live easily to well over a hundred, there had been every chance they could have celebrated a hundredth anniversary, surrounded by dozens and dozens of friends and family unto the fourth generation.

“Well... I guess it’s the same for Fred, and Tonks, and Harry’s parents,” said Ron gruffly. “Pretty unfair for them too. And unfair for poor George and Teddy and Harry as well, to have to live with it.”

“Yes...”

“But it can’t be helped, can it?” Ron continued. Hermione glanced up, he was staring at the wall, his eyes unfocused, perhaps remembering his dead brother, perhaps thinking about his own hopes and dreams – just like hers, soon to be prematurely dashed. “So much stuff is out of our control.”

Like falling terminally ill. Being run over by a drunk driver. Being kidnapped and raped and tortured to death. “Yes,” Hermione managed.

Ron shrugged. “But we do what we can, I guess. Stuff happens to us, and we can’t help that. But we can choose how we face it.”

And that’s the real choice.

Hermione thought about it, as she snuggled back into Ron’s shoulder, treasuring the warmth of his body and the comfort of his presence. We can surrender everything, let life control us, or we can take back control. Even if all “control” means is the ability to tell ourselves a pretty story, spin ourselves a fantasy in our heads. We might be so helpless that the only difference we’d make is within our minds. But that’s still an important difference; the ability to take the worst brutalisings that life gives out, and remain silently defiant, heads held high, to the very end.

I can live with that. I can die with that.

And so they waited, with fear and love and defiance in their hearts, for come what may.

*

Tap-tap-tap.

There was a knocking on the door.

They had been waiting for a while now, dressed and prepared, but even so, Hermione gave a tiny choking squeak, and huddled into Ron’s arms.

He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her protectively; he kept his eyes on the door, but couldn’t help them filming over with tears. Screaming in his mind was the thought that the next few moments could very well be his last alive, and this was Hermione’s last loving embrace, before – before the meaning of the word would be unspeakably defiled, her world plunged into wretched nightmare. Incredibly bloody unfair, but there it was. Ron stroked her frizzy brown curls tenderly. I love you, Hermione, he thought, I love you forever and ever, with all my heart.

“I love you too,” she whispered back. “My darling Ron. Love you, love you, love you.”

Oh. Guess I said that out loud. Jolly good then.

There was a loud bang, and they both cringed. Brick dust puffed from the edges all round the frame. Then the door burst inwards, tottering crazily off one broken hinge, and a storm of noise entered the room as the enchantments surrounding it shattered.

“RON! HERMIONE! YOU IN THERE?!” A tall, scarlet-robed figure kicked at the door with incredible enraged force, so it broke free of the frame completely and spun crazily into the corner of the room, landing with a giant clatter.

“Harry!” Ron bounded to his feet. It can’t be!

Harry Potter stormed into the room, wand at the ready, green eyes flashing with fury behind his round spectacles. When he saw them, his shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank God,” he breathed. “You hurt?”

“Wand, Harry,” demanded Ron, snapping his fingers impatiently. “My wand, any wand, now!”

“Got ‘em here,” said Harry, fishing in his pocket, and pulling out two wands, Ron’s and Hermione’s.

Ron snatched his trusty willow-and-unicorn, whirled round, and snarled, “REDUCTO!”

The camera and tripod in the corner exploded into tiny shards of plastic and metal, no piece larger than a fingernail clipping.

“What the hell was that, Ron?!”

Tampering with evidence. Ron breathed out a sigh of relief. “What had to be done, mate. Merlin’s beard, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He tried to give Harry a hearty slap on the back and grin, but somehow his hands were shaking too much to do more than give him a weak tap, then his knees were shaking, and he had to go down on one knee, the tears streaming down his face.

Next he was aware of a soft, oh-so-gloriously-soft arm coiling round his shoulders, stroking his back, Hermione’s beautiful voice telling him it was okay, it was okay, a gentle kiss on the side of his face, and Ron clung on to her arm and sobbed harder and didn’t know why.

“Harry, he’s hurt bad, come on help me...”

Ron felt Harry put his arms around them both. “Oh, mate,” said Harry thickly. “Oh, mate, mate, mate...”

It’s over.

* * *

VI. A Funny Thing

There was at least one distinct advantage to no longer being at Hogwarts – the Healers at St Mungo’s were a lot easier to push around than Madam Pomfrey.

Which was why even though Ron and Hermione had been sequestered in the Helen Helbrede High Security Ward for “rest and observation”, Harry too was right here in the cosy little two-bed ward, sprawled in an armchair nursing a mug of tea and explaining how the Aurors had tracked them down and found Crabbe’s hideaway. As soon as the Healers were done checking them over, Harry had bullied his way into the ward and more or less stayed for good.

Ron lay propped up in bed, the thick blanket pulled up to his chest. On the bedside table sat the remnants of a huge fry-up Harry had smuggled in, and a half-empty bottle of post-Cruciatus healing potion. Hermione had her own bed, separated by a curtain, but she spent nearly all her time perched on the side of Ron’s bed, her arm round his neck. He could just turn his head and bury his face in her side, and breathe in the scent of her presence, always clean and freshly-scrubbed and unmistakeably her.

He found himself needing to do that often, to remind himself she was here, and safe.

“...so with that, finally we could narrow down from all the other scumbags and crazies who were going round saying they’d got you two, to this particular chap, a two-bit criminal who called himself ‘Victor’ and always went around masked, and then it was relatively easy to ask around about ‘Victor’ and where he stayed, and that was it. I put together a squad and came looking. I didn’t even know who the bastard was till we got that mask off him.” Harry drained his mug, and went to the sideboard to get himself more tea.

“What’s happened to Crabbe?” growled Ron. His voice was still crackly – would be for some time.

Harry’s back was to them, but they sensed him pausing for a moment, mid-pour. “Dead,” he said shortly.

Ron glanced up at Hermione; he thought he saw a flicker of cold satisfaction deep in her eyes.

Harry seated himself again and stared down at his tea. “He didn’t come quietly, and did his usual – shot Fiendfyre at us, Killing Curses. There was a big fight, and he ate a Sectumsempra right in the face.” He drank his tea and didn’t look them in the eye. “I’m not bloody sorry, are you?”

“Course not,” said Ron.

“Right.” Harry put the mug down much too loudly. “Need the loo, I’ve had too much tea.”

When the door closed behind him, Ron breathed out. “Well. Other than good old Snake Face, Harry’s never killed, did you know?”

“Of course,” said Hermione. “Sectumsempra, Merlin. He… he must have been really…”

Ron shifted a little, looked up at Hermione, taking in the tightly-belted hospital dressing gown, severely scraped-back bun of hair, the uncharacteristic lack of life in those eyes. What with the entire clan of Weasleys and Hermione’s parents trooping in and out of the ward for the past day or so, and Harry’s hovering over them like an anxious governess – last night, he’d left only after the Dreamless Sleep Potion had knocked them out, and had hung around the whole day today – this was the first time they’d had a moment to themselves in the last twenty-four hours.

“Hermione, are… are you alright?”

She met his gaze. “There’s this weird… fluttering in my heart,” Hermione confessed. “I keep waiting for the nightmares to come, and dreading it. I wish I could drink Dreamless Sleep forever.”

That was it, then. Ron knew what he had to do. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?” said Hermione, looking baffled.

Ron flushed. “For what I did. You know. Don’t make me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll get us the very best from the Obliviator Squad. Dad knows Peasegood, he’s very good at it. We won’t remember a thing. It won’t hurt a bit.”

“What the hell are you babbling about?!”

“Hermione, it was horrible,” said Ron. He forced the words out, as much as he could: “Crabbe trapped us and made us – you know. You don’t want to remember that. I don’t want to remember that. This way, this way we can just… forget it happened. Not everything, just… just a couple of hours’ worth.”

Hermione reared back as if he had slapped her. Tears filled her eyes; she wiped them away with an angry cuff with the back of her hand. “Was it that bad for you? Was I really so utterly horrible at sex, that you so desperately want to forget, that you want to Obliviate our first time?”

What on earth is she saying? “It was bloody horrible for you, Hermione!”

“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that!”

“Because you’re hurting, I can see it! I don’t want you to force yourself to remember!” A small part of Ron said not to shout at her, Hermione had been through quite a lot lately, but he couldn’t help himself, whenever she raised her voice, he had to as well. “I’m thinking about you, Hermione!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” snarled Hermione, and then she launched herself at him.

Her lips plunged down on his, seeking, demanding, hungry;and after a moment’s surprise Ron responded. He deepened the kiss and felt her dive in with a growling “mmm” of pleasure from the back of her throat that thrummed excitingly into his. For one heart-pounding moment he was back there in Crabbe’s basement, dreading the future, desperately savouring every taste of Hermione knowing it could well be his last. Ron opened one eye and peeked; Hermione’s were squeezed shut in a frown of deep concentration, tears winking out the corners.

Maybe it’s the same for her. Maybe that’s what she remembers, too. How everything had become so clear when you thought there were only minutes left on the clock, and you reached out frantically for what you had wanted for so long, knowing it was about to be taken away...

When Hermione finally pulled back, she stared back at him almost defiantly, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. “You told me,” she said fiercely, “when we were in that – that room, you told me that it was real, really real, that it wasn’t because we were forced to, it was our choice – did you mean any of that? Did you really mean any of that?”

Realisation dawned. She really doesn’t… she really isn’t… “Oh, Hermione,” breathed Ron. “Of course I did. Of course I meant it.” He gently took her hands, and she let him pull her close to rest her head on his shoulder, lie half on him, half on the hospital bed – exactly as they had, after their first… “I’m…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” said Hermione in a kind of whimper. Her arm went round his chest, and held on almost stiflingly tight. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry. Not for that.”

“Alright, I… I guess I’m not sorry, then. Not about everything, just… y’know. Some bits. The other bits I – I wouldn’t mind too much.”

Hermione made a wet noise that could have been half a sob, half a giggle. “Honest?” she managed.

“As a Jobberknoll,” said Ron. “In fact, you were amazing, incredible, beautiful… I can’t find the words. I just wish – alright, alright, I won’t say it. But you know what I mean.”

He could feel her heave a sigh of relief. “Ron, darling?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sorry either. You were the sweetest. It was wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for a better… I don’t regret anything, okay? Nothing at all. It might sound odd, but… I really mean it.”

“…thank you.”

Ron guessed that this was how it was going to be, at least for a while. Even though they were safe now, the incident had left emotional wounds that would take some time to heal. Nightmares were guaranteed. They’d both be a big tangled ball of confusion over the whole thing, all pain and terror and anger and regret; mixed up with love, the memory of a tender and beautiful first time experienced amidst the depths of despair, and a glorious victory they had clawed back out of very near-tragedy.

Life’s a funny thing. It can never be perfect. You will always have to take the bad with the good. You’ll be wounded and scarred, broken. But that’s okay, because afterwards? You’ll heal. You might not heal all at once, you may seem to take forever, until you think you’ll never be whole ever again. And that’s perfectly fine. Keep your head high, and each day the hurt will lessen, even if infinitesimally, and know that someday in the future, maybe sooner, maybe later, you’ll be able to look back without heartbreak.

And maybe even smile.

Ron squeezed Hermione’s hand affectionately, she squeezed back, and he nearly laughed. He could almost pretend they were back in Grimmauld Place, or Heathgate, and they were just cuddling like any other normal young couple left on their own. Almost.

After a moment, Hermione sat up and pulled her hair out of its bun, letting it fall in waves down her shoulders and back, not looking at him. “Alright, so it wasn’t quite what we planned our first time to be,” she admitted. “Not the exact circumstances.”

Ron searched her face carefully, but saw she was smirking slightly. He relaxed. “I’ll say.”

“So maybe now,” and she flushed that charming pink that always made Ron want to kiss the spots of colour blooming on her cheeks, “maybe now we could try, you know, making love in a much nicer place.” She waved her hand vaguely around the room. “And absolutely, positively, without a doubt one hundred percent of our own free will, this time.”

Ron put one finger on her chin and gently turned her towards him. Hermione’s eyes met his; they shone brightly brown and danced with love and desire, closing as she offered up her mouth towards his.

“One hundred percent,” he mumbled against her lips, and grinned as he felt her reach for her wand and wave it around behind her back, whispering.

Then he decided to stop thinking for a while.

*

Harry washed and dried his hands, then made his way back to the Helen Helbrede Ward, walking as quickly as he could without shouldering rudely into people. He wished Ginny was here with him. Crabbe was preying on his mind a lot, and he craved like a drowning man for air the clarity, assurance and love he knew he could always rely on her to provide.

But that could wait. Right now, his best friends needed him.

He reached the ward, tried the door, and frowned as it refused to budge. He did a simple Unlocking Charm, and the lock still balked. Harry fought down a rising urge to panic – his gut was already twisting at the mere thought of his two best friends behind locked doors, given all that had happened, what Hermione had told him in blood-curdling frankness, the grim little bits of circumstantial evidence he’d been collecting from the scene of the crime – and he really really didn’t want to have them out of his sight and reach right now.

Harry chose a Revealing Spell from the arsenal of charms up his Auror sleeve. It told him the door was locked with what he recognised as a “Hermione Special”, one of those obscure tricks she got out of old spell-books in the Hogwarts library. He could probably figure out how to undo it, the Aurors had trained him brilliantly to deal with all kinds of security magic, but...

He cocked his head, thinking.

Perhaps what his friends really needed right now wasn’t him barging in to make sure they were safe, and mother-henning them quite as much as he desperately wanted to. Perhaps what they needed was some alone time, time to refresh themselves in each other, restore and reaffirm whatever needed to. He had an inkling just what was going on behind those doors, and well, people heal in the strangest ways. Or maybe not so strange, considering…

Smiling slightly, Harry turned his back to the door, clasped his hands in front, wand resting reassuringly in the firm grip of his right fist, and stood guard.

END

[ransprang]

I just scrolled through your blog, and I'd love to see if I could get the honour of having someone like me get a romantic (could include nsfw too!) match up with any "guy identifying (or partly)" character from fmab!! ♥️

───── ❝ 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 ❞ ─────

➵ I'm a capricorn

➵ I'm non-binary, questioning homosexual, ace but willing to test it out (even though I'd be nervous and confused, definitely..)

➵ I'm 5'3 (I will panch you if you say I'm short, people are just unaturally tall I swear!! 😡😂)

➵ Brown, short, fluffy hair

───── ❝ what I consider interesting @ me ❞ ─────

➬ I absolutely love writing, and speaking extra formally. It's just something I do to enjoy myself sometimes.

➬ I absolutely adore cooking food, and love serving it to anyone and everyone around me. Give me any dish: sweet, sour, spicy- a mix, and I'll make it with extra love and serve it beautifully!

➬ I can think for myself, order people, receive orders and can be rebellish if I disagree with the person I'm talking to.

➬ I have issues with anger outbursts over small things, but I'm quick to catch myself exploding and will often go silent once I realise I what happened (connected to my relationship w/ parents). Kind of beating myself up about it, cause no one really deserves that kind of treatment (I'm working hard on it, and trying to come off as kind to everyone I meet).

➬ I have obsessions that are truly obsessions, like whoa. I'll be loving this one character straight for a month, and talking about them, thinking of them, drawing them- writing about them- and everyone around me usually notices the things/characters I like, haha!

➬ I love being organised, having a routine, and aesthetically pleasing fluffy clothes. I also love being treated and nicknamed like a royal. I love the care and gentleness people treat royals in fan fics as an example.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

I think that's pretty much it! I may have overshared, but I love fmab and want it to be detailed as possible because of that! Thank youuuu for your time. ♥️

hiii~ thanks for the request! Went a bit unconventional for this one but hope you like your match up :)

Your FMAB match-up is....FU!!!!

- Fu would know how to treat royalty since he is a royal guard. He would be pleased with your manners and formal speech.

- He’s 4″11 so you never have to worry about feeling short around him! He’ll always be looking up to you except when he’s doing parkour on roofs.

- For an old guy Fu is pretty flexible and active so he would have no problem keeping up with someone younger ;) Plus look at that bone structure, you just know he was pulling when he was younger~

- You like being organised and having routine which is ideal for him. It allows him to better manage him time between guarding you and Ling. 

- He already gets plenty of chaos and spontaneity from Ling so he would really appreciate you having a routine.

- You can put cute fluffy clothes on him and his old bones will thank you for them. Maybe even a pair of fluffy cat ears.

- Fu is mature and wise, so he would be able to handle your anger and hot-blooded side. It would remind him a bit of Lan Fan.

- Fu would keep guard while you write/obsess over characters and would be a good listener if you want to talk about them. In return you can thank him by cooking him some delicious stuff, perhaps something Xingese to remind him of home <3 

Your peasant,

admin san

[btsmosphere]

~a positive word about networks~

I wanted to make this post as a bit of a rant, but a positive one. It sometimes seems with the amazing writing networks here, people only pay attention to them when something is going wrong. This is specifically for the wonderful people, and especially the amazing admin team at @thebtswritersclub where I am lucky to be part of the mod team.

Some people might be aware there was recently a concern brought up which was addressed and dealt with, and all is good now. This brought with it a wave of unacceptable hate directed towards the admins, but I thought rather than dwelling on that, I would like to add my thoughts in defense and praise of the incredible work done at this net, and I’m sure many others.

First of all, no one asked them to make these nets. They only do this to lift up creators, giving up their time with no pay and certainly not enough appreciation compared to the amount of work and effort that goes into making a net. To do this with such astounding professionalism, when this is a hobby of ours, in an online space, makes me admire them so much. As writers, we’re just trying to enjoy our fandoms, and these spaces have been organised to the same end.

Writing can often be a little isolating, putting your creations out for the world to see and just hoping for some sort of response. There are also certain kinds of fics that are less popular, but that does not make them any less worthy of love, and nets really help with all this. Beside sharing work and bringing exposure, they bring support as writers can connect with people, where they otherwise may not have been able to.

Nets help in so many ways. Creatively, we are able to discuss ideas with others, get inspired by projects or prompts run by the net and encourage each other. Serious work goes into making prompts and coming up with project ideas, reblogging the work of members, creating masterlists for said projects, etc etc. And again, it is all done for the good of the members and the fanfic community, and is so valuable.

The net admins are seriously dedicated people who work their asses off. Seriously, I’ve seen this team at work and they think of every possibility for inclusion, improvement, involvement. Everything is discussed so thoroughly. There is a fine balance to be struck with so many people gathered online, between keeping things safe as well as fun and genuine, and they get it bang on.

The admins are smart smart people, strong, intelligent, wise as hell and genuinely care about every. single. member in the net. It is truly inspiring to see and y’all have the audacity to try and make them feel unloved?? They are people and creators in their own right too, and they build and maintain nets ON TOP of their daily lives and their own writing.

Like, we’re talking over 100 people gathered in one place, yet somehow I count them all as friends, and together we feel like a family. People I trust and value, people I want to listen to, encourage and feel comfortable talking with. That does not happen on accident, and it is not easy to pull off this well either. The hard work of admins makes it all possible, and they have provided such an extraordinary space that I am truly grateful for, more than I can express.

So, this is my attempt at having a moment of appreciation for nets that get it right like this, their members, and above all, their admins. I’ve also learned a lot about accountability from these wonderful people, and when an issue arises, they are transparent and efficient in dealing with it. But the fact this happens so rarely means we usually don’t take the time to think about nets and all the good they do and the hard work involved.

On behalf of a grateful writer, and I’m sure all my fellow members of @thebtswritersclub I want to say thank you💜💜we see your work and dedication and admire it so much. You make it so much better to be a creator here

[dameronology]

the one with the blind date {obi-wan x reader}

summary: your mother has a knack for setting you up on the worst blind dates. this time, it might be different. 

i know what you’re thinking - ‘but val! jedi aren’t allowed to date!’ but for the sake of this fic, the jedi code can suck a fat one because it’s 3am 5am and i don’t have the brain cells to work around star wars canon 

love u lots and hope you enjoy 

- jazz

You weren’t entirely sure if your mother’s judgement towards your life choices was supposed to be malicious or not, but it certainly felt like it. The fact she called you to remind you that your cousin just had her third baby! or mention in passing that your friend from school just got married (again)! always felt like it had an ulterior motive. You loved the woman dearly but maker, you wished she would shut the hell up sometimes.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t successful. You had an important job working for the Senate, you’d graduated from the University of Cloud City with honours and you owned an apartment in Coruscant. Did she know how hard it was to get on the property ladder in this city? It was probably one of the selling points she used every time she set you up on a blind date. They were usually with older men, twice divorced and with more baggage than you were ready for.

You weren’t expecting this date to be any different - your mother had mentioned he was a friend of a friend (possibly of a friend, of another friend and then maybe the colleague of that friend). She hadn’t told you what job he had, only that he was a bit older than you and ‘earned enough to support a small family’ - but you had chosen to ignore that last part. She’d arranged for you to meet at a diner downtown in the early evening, and you weren’t expecting too much. 

There were only two people in the diner. One was a man of an alien species who appeared to be roughly 150; he had a pint in one hand and a burger in the other. The other one was undoubtedly a Jedi - and a very attractive one too. He was browsing the menu, brow furrowed slightly as he frowned. He looked up as the bell on the door rang, and your eyes met. If he was your date, your mother had done well for once (though she could have pre-warned you about his occupation).

‘Hey, you must be-’ He offered you a warm smile, standing up from the table to wave you over.

Say something, dumbass you pushed yourself. 

‘- that sure is me!’ You quipped. Great start, you moron. 

‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ The Jedi sat back down as you shuffled into the booth opposite him. ‘I’m Obi-Wan.’

‘Right, yeah - sorry, my mum did tell me your name.’ You replied. 

‘What else did she tell you?’ He quipped, quirking one of his brows. ‘Just so I can try and live up to whatever lively image I’m sure she’s created.’

‘Just your name.’ You laughed. ‘She didn’t mention being a Jedi or anything.’

Obi-Wan paused for a minute. ‘Oh, I’m not a Jedi.’

You froze slightly, quickly trying to think of a response. It hadn’t been a reach - he was wearing robes, and you could see what looked like a lightsaber under the table. Not that you had been looking under the table, or down there - and maker, this was embarrassing.

‘I’m joking.’ He suddenly burst into a fit of laughter. ‘I am a Jedi. I thought it would break the ice but you look like you’re about to cry-’

‘- that was mean!’ You reached across the table to swat at his shoulder. ‘I pride myself on my intuition, Obi-Wan.’ 

‘I wouldn’t call the fact I’m wearing a Jedi robes and carrying a lightsaber intuition, more like the glaringly obvious.’ He leant back, crossing his arms over his chest as he smirked at you.

You liked this guy.

‘But what do you do?’ Obi-Wan continued. ‘Your mother mentioned that you work for the Senate.’

‘I do!’ You replied. ‘I’m a political advisor.’

‘What does that entail?’

‘I just sit there and tell the senators if they’re being just a bit stupid or completely stupid.’ You grinned. 

‘Well, it certainly sounds like a very important job.’ He smiled back.

‘You’re one to talk. You’re like..the keeper of the Force.’ You replied. 

‘That’s not quite it.’ Obi-Wan couldn’t help but laugh at your attempt to describe his job. ‘But you’re close.’

--

Two hours later - and after ordering food that you’d both been too distracted to touch - you were both doubled over in laughter at something Obi-Wan had said. He was funny; you’d figured out that much. It wasn’t in an obvious way, but more of a charming, observant way. He took an interest in you as well - he asked about your job, your hobbies and your time at college. In a way, he felt a bit too good to be true. Every guy your mother set you up with had fallen short within the first five minutes.

What could it be? Was he secretly already married? Was he a convicted criminal on the run and posing as a Jedi? 

‘I have to ask.’ Obi-Wan reached across the table, warm hand falling on top of yours. ‘You have a good job. You own your own apartment and you’re beautiful. Why do you need your mother to find you a date?’

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. ‘I don’t meet many suitable people in my line of work. They’re either much, much older senators or...actually, that’s it.’

He chuckled slightly, squeezing your hand - you could have sworn that your heart stopped for a moment (either that, or your coffee addiction had finally caught up with you). The fact you’d been too deep in conversation with him to even look at your food said a lot. Before now, no man would ever have been able to come to between you and a burger. 

‘Let’s get out of here.’ Obi-Wan threw a few credits on the table. ‘I know a place that has better food.’

You tossed a few of your own credits, giving him a nod. ‘I’ll have to take your word for it since neither of us actually touched this food.’

‘I’m easily distracted, apparently.’ He joked, offering out his hand to you as you pulled your jacket on.

‘That’s bad for a Jedi.’ You joked, taking it.

‘I correct myself.’ He paused for a moment, shaking his head. ‘I’m easily distracted by you.’

‘Right, I have a tendency to do that.’ You replied. ‘I bet my mother didn’t tell you that I was so breathtaking.’

‘Actually, she told me I had a mission.’ He replied. 

The cold night air hit you as you exited the diner. You could hear the buzz of the city traffic further uptown, filling the silence as you pondered his statement for a moment. Your mother worked as an admin assistant for the Jedi temple - she organised transport and missions and the logistics of most their operations - and she had a tendency to spill embarrassing things about you in conversation.

‘A mission?’ You grimaced. ‘What did she tell you it was?’

‘To investigate that very diner we were just sat in.’ Obi-Wan smiled down at you, face lit up under the lights of a theatre as you walked past. ‘She only told me before I left the temple that it was a blind date.’

‘Maker, that woman.’ You muttered. 

‘I’m not complaining, though.’ He quickly replied. He let go of your hand, moving to fling his arms across your shoulders and pull him closer towards him. ‘I was a bit worried that you were going to be...’

‘...like her?’ You nudged him in the ribs slightly. ‘Because that’s something I worry about too every time I get a bit older.’

‘Oh, you have nothing to worry about.’ Obi-Wan said. ‘You have her nose but I’d say that’s it.’

--

A few more hours passed, and you found yourselves having walked all the way to the other side of the city. You were latched onto his side now, one arm around his waist whilst his rested on your shoulder. The warmth of his body against the cold of the night air was a wonderful contrast and you couldn’t help but smile at how at home you felt. He had a very calming presence (probably something to do with the whole Jedi debacle). 

‘Let’s sit down.’ You wrapped your hand around his wrist, tugging him over to a low-sitting wall. 

You were on the edge of Coruscant, a few miles away from the city centre. The lights of the vast skyline illuminated the road in front of you, the whites and blues and red of the mammoth buildings blurring into a technicolour dream. You sometimes forgot how wonderful the place was, especially when you spent so much time observing corrupt politics and dodgy dealings at your job. That wasn’t on your mind, however - Obi-Wan Kenobi was at the forefront of your thoughts. 

‘You’re cold.’ He commented.

‘I’m always cold.’ You shot back. ‘Isn’t that something you can tell through the Force?’

‘Oh, my dear.’ Obi-Wan chuckled. ‘The Force doesn’t work like that.’

‘So, it’s not like mind-reading and magic tricks?’ You shuffled slightly in your seat, turning so that you were facing him. 

‘I definitely can’t read your mind.’

‘That’s a shame. It would make this whole dating thing much easier.’ You quipped.

‘You could just tell me what you’re thinking.’ He reasoned.

You paused for a moment - you were thinking about kissing him, obviously. There had been several moments through out the night where you almost had, but it hadn’t felt like the right time. But here? Basking under the glow of the city lights, sat so close to him? You’d be damned if there was a better chance than this. 

Obi-Wan met you halfway, your lips brushing against his. Like him, they were soft and warm, and you felt yourself leaning further into him. One of his arms wound around your waist, making an attempt to pull you close, though such a thing were possible. Meanwhile, you had one hand on the back of his neck, softly playing with the hair that fell onto your hand. 

There was a gust of wind, and you suddenly jumped back with surprise. He laughed at your reaction, dropping his head into your shoulder as his body shook against yours. 

‘So,’ you began. ‘Second date?’

‘I don’t think we’re done with this one.’

(Within the year, your mother finally had bragging rights about the fact it was her child getting married this time). 

there’ll probably be a part 2 to this i won’t lie to u i’ve already got it written in my head 

also shout to @karasong​ and @drinksomecoco​ for ur encouragement/ideas ily guys 

[dandelliongirl]

What a year

2020 was..

The last time I wrote anything it was April, and now it is the 23rd of December and I’m about to go spend Christmas with my family. My last failed attempt at christmas bread is in the oven (for some reason it didn’t proof at all, I guess I put too much flour in..) and I’m cooking up some Christmas porridge on the stove. Watch me burn that in a moment too.. For some reason this whole autumn has been a very stressful disaster. I am still working from home and just logged myself off of work until the 7th of January 2021. Maybe because I’ve been working from home it feels difficult to get into holiday mode. At least we got some snow today so it looks beautiful.

Spring and summer 2020 were an absolute dream! With no responsibilities and the possibility to work from anywhere I got to spend so much time with my family and at our summer house away from the stress of the real world. I could not have dreamt of a better summer, and apart from strawberry picking (at an actual farm, not just from my own strawberry plants) I got to finish off my summer’s to-do list. I even made a cute little summer video with my old Canon EOS 100D (yes - I have a new Canon EOS 90D now!). Endless days of exploration, swimming, biking, sauna, gardening, having lunch with the midsummer roses, baking rhubarb galettes with my own rhubarb from the garden, biking to the ice cream van, SUP-boarding with dad and spending so much time outdoors made me happier than I could ever be. I cannot believe how many beautiful things COVID has given me despite it’s awful impact on the world.

The start of the autumn semester was chaotic to say the least. Practically all of our system integrations are behind one developer, and he happened to be on vacation when everything went down, and study rights did not transfer correctly. This lead to an insane rush of support requests across the board, and lots of extra stress. I was exhausted and scared after last autumn’s disasters and definitely didn’t need another one to start the new semester. I’m starting to seriously fear August... Other universities have tens of people in their technical support, and we have TWO (sometimes 3). In more positive news I was given a permanent job contract starting August, which was amazing, and makes me so grateful especially during a year when many lose their jobs and get laid off. I guess that also contributes to my levels of stress as I cannot hide behind “I just work here for another few months”, but I have to actually take responsibility and ownership as a permanent team member.

Basically a lot of things escalated at work this autumn because our entire staff is way over burdened with COVID changes and the systems not working in an ideal fashion. Because our organisation does not have clear and defined process ownerships many changes come alongside the implementation of new systems, which puts me as a system admin (and not a process expert) in an awkward position. Hopefully our organisation will be able to develop and reconfigure responsibilities with some outside help, but for some reason my hopes aren’t very high.. All in all the anger and frustration of the organisation has been reflecting on the way people treat us and each other and as an empath it has been very exhausting. Luckily my new team is amazing and I’m having so much fun working with them - even though we aren’t physically working together at the office. I cannot imagine how it would be if my previous colleague hadn’t left. I hope she is happy and thriving as well!

All in all what got me through the autumn was the fact that I got to work from home. Being able to take a 10-15 minute nap when things got overwhelming pretty much saved me. Also the fact that I can wear whatever, make tea or snacks whenever I need to and don’t have to spend time moving from one location to the other. My guy got his own computer desk and a proper chair, and we’ve both been working from our very crammed but cozy livingroom. Even though our hobbies have been on and off I’ve gotten a few moments to myself and have also gotten used to doing my thing even though he is always here. No big relationship drama apart from the occasional little argument.

Ballet and body combat got to continue in person for most of the season. The last couple of weeks of ballet classes were on Teams, and the last body combat class was on Facebook with the season ending a couple of weeks early, but other than that having hobbies outside the house definitely helped. I have also loved having my ballet friend stay home instead of studying abroad. Obviously it sucks for her because it has meant a lot of changes to her plans, but I’ve needed her so much, and enjoyed our walks, hanging out together, going to ballet and the hours we spent outside talking on our way back. Ballet classes have been pretty easy as we only go to pointe and adult classes, but at least we are having fun together, and I like to somewhat maintain my skills even though I am not improving by miles. It’s also easier for the body as I’m definitely no longer a teenager. Starting next year we’ll have a fancy new studio!

After the relaxing summer it has definitely felt like I don’t have enough hours in a day or days in a week to do everything I need to. I cannot believe how I used to do all this and so much more pre-COVID but I guess it’s all because Animal Crossing didn’t take anywhere between 30 minutes to 5-8 hours a day. Oops. Needless to say I have been loving ACNH even though the Halloween and Turkey Day events were a bit too easy compared to New Leaf. I have high hopes for Toy Day tomorrow (YIKES! TOMORROW?) even though I haven’t had to go through the usual process of noting down all my villagers’ wishes, which I definitely miss. I am sad the diy recipe RNG has been so bad though. I’ve spent a couple of days spawning balloons on my beach, and never got the big Christmas tree diy in time. Maybe I’ll get it tonight but it’s definitely too late for this year.. Maybe next year then. I didn’t struggle this much with the maple and mush series diys..

So yeah, last summer me and my friend finished our old photography project and I edited the last sets of photos to give the finished book for her as a Christmas present. I love the project a lot because the learning curve is so apparent between photoshoots, and I found my “style” throughout the process. My EOS 100D started to get weird electronical bugs and definitely wasn’t running very well anymore, so after insane amounts of research I decided to get the EOS 90D from a Black Friday sale. I still need a memory card and a new camera bag for it since it’s so much bigger, but I’ve already planned out some future photoshoots and the theme of the new project, which can be described as “Adventure”, “Expedition” or “Discovery”. I just hope my friend will have time to model for me because I’m yearning to go try my new camera out.

My boyfriend and I celebrated our 10 year anniversary with a friend couple who started dating a week after we did. We took an extended weekend trip to a national park, a spa and a rental cabin. It was so much fun and a very special way to celebrate 10 years together. Especially with an exceptional year like this one has been.

Yesterday me and mum went to granny and grandpa’s place to help with the last of their Christmas preparations, take over some food and sing Christmas songs. I took our old piano book with me and mum played the piano while we sang. Grandpa got teary eyed during a special song and it was so incredibly bittersweet. I don’t want to lose my grandparents but I know it won’t be long since they are both approaching 100 years. I am so thankful for them, and for the time I’ve gotten to spend with them. I just wish I could remember more of it. It seems so unfair that we never have enough time with all our loved ones, and there are so many childhood memories other people remember that I don’t. I wish I could go back in time and observe myself spending time with my grandparents to memorise everything. If I ever have children I’m going to take so many photos and videos to preserve as much as I can for them.

In my post from April I wrote that I had been looking at houses and vacant lots. Well, the house of a childhood friend of mine is listed and I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve arranged my mortgage and left an offer. The sellers didn’t accept my first offer so now I’m going to see the house again on the 30th to see if it’s wort raising my offer. I like the house but it’s definitely a bit inconvenient as it is a 3 storey house and way too big and expensive for our current needs. I just really like the area and it is one of the best houses in that neighborhood. I’m going to let things progress naturally though, and if I end up with the house then it was meant to be. If someone else makes a higher offer I won’t be upset either since we have no immediate need to move. It’s just a bit crammed in our current apartment and I would definitely like to have an actual office for my photography equipment, and a sewing machine/crafting space.

Looks like my christmas bread cracked pretty badly but at least it rose a little in the oven.. Hopefully it is edible. At least the one I made for granny and grandpa turned out better.. Time to go scarf down the last of my porridge (which I didn’t burn by the way!) and then try to get all my stuff over to mum and dad’s place. Christmas preparations this year have been crazy busy and I definitely regret not being able to enjoy the season enough but hopefully I’ll get more in the spirit tonight. I’m really happy with the gifts I got mum, dad and my guy this year (online and early in October/November to avoid the rush).

I’m hoping to make a new year’s post on here as well either before 2021 or during the first week. I just like writing things down so that I can look back on where I’ve been. :)

Happy holidays whether you’re spending them with your loved ones (in real life or through a video call) or alone.

[michaelevans27]

It's funny how you can look back in time and pinpoint the moments where you actually got far more damaged than you realised. You look back at every moment that was special and every moment you complemented a significant other and they you, how you helped each other work and how it was a whirlwind of care and so easily naturally beautiful. That beauty that would be so easily seen in any sleep talking, the sleep of another itself, the holding tight and close of one another, even the moments of misunderstanding or accidental incident being comforted and happily figured out. Every detail and moment was ecstasy. That beauty doesn't just go but it takes a massive hit when paired with a sour taste. It was never even obvious yet it also was altogether, that a big violation in trust and mishandling of a matter would mess up so much.

I trusted her to be the one person around me who would keep me from blaming myself from past sexual assault, I trusted her to trust me as much as I trusted her, I had my insecurities and I tried my best to limit their potential damage and deal with them appropriately, I hoped to be supportive and do the right thing all the time by her. I tried most of all to make sure she knew how much I wanted the best for her and how much I loved her with every small thing I could possibly do. I hoped the same attitude would be applied to me and it was in some of my most difficult moments she was there and some of hers I was there for her too.

I am not the best at being a people person, I struggle enough in the area of people without another's help, I've always known to sort out your troubles when they arise and I always made that a part of me. But I got taught and reinforced over time being around someone who would avoid trouble and run from it as opposed to confronting it, worse still this attitude was applied in areas that were the most damaging to me. You tell yourself to trust in someone's love and feelings but they do stuff to challenge that without knowing or intent. When you have a father who through no choice of his own had to walk out of your life it takes a toll to have the closest person in life walk away from you time and time again with or without explanation. It takes a toll to have that person break the trust between you and sneak behind your back before coming to you about their worries. It takes an even greater toll when what you consider at the time to be your most damaging painful moment in life to be something you could have stopped to then be used as a weapon against you by the one supposedly objective person who should be supportive.

I was taught to create distance and not waste much energy in conflict resolution... through a combination of walking away and silent treatment and a lack of trust in actual sharing of communication of explanation of important things. I was taught to believe certain actions could be waited for as a proof of another's care, I was taught that with love there must be initiative and perfect choices that look out for the relationship from the other person with little effort coming from the other or negative contribution through lack of it to being acceptable. I was conditioned into someone I wasn't all because of unhealthy habits of hers. I didn't want to be that person, I didn't even intend or notice myself become that person.

I grew too tired mentally with being the one struggling, being the one left alone, being the one to organise dates and plans for 2. Being the one to actually make plans that will work out as the only one able to phone and book and sort out admin for. Being the one to suffer alone the most for another's insecurity and lack of trust, I have my own insecurity and I have my moments with trust but you left me broken. You decided to let your trust run so freely that you breached my ability to trust and feel safe and desired and in a stable relationship within the space of 2 seperate evenings alone.

You checked my messages from during an argument as though your messages and thoughts would be clean and as though there was something important that couldn't be asked to my face about my thoughts after we'd talked through it all, you decided to let your insecurity take hold of you without sharing, without reaching out, after isolating yourself and pushing me into a corner making me feel shit in front of people, friends that I was trying my best with that I can barely keep myself from feeling embarrassed or useless around as it stands. You were the one to create a scene further embarrassing me and yourself instead of giving any sign or sensible attempt to reach out or explain to me what was going on. You acted like the child you always claimed me to be. You were the influence to create the childish attitude and toxic handling of issues.

You were the one who lashed out at me in the worst possible way and who had lashed out much less worse beforehand before I had started to let myself lash out, I was patient, I was respectful and let you tell me what was up time and time again, I reached out even when I wouldn't have to so that your voice could be heard and let you explain yourself should you want to whenever I was upset.

I waited for anything to be said for any remorse of breaking my trust and lashing out at me and there was none... and the worst part is you were laughing, you were enjoying yourself until I told you what was going on, I had to tell you because you didn't have the balls to ask or think. I had to forgive you and try to move past the shit show of a night where I was physically shoved by you after calmly sitting on a bench where you seemed to barely care what the result would be. Where you barely seemed to regret and show much of any sign of meaningful apology and care.

I sat with you and held you after believing I would be nothing but trouble an issue of my own that held more influence than it should've and love and cared for and apologised profusely for not being better and for there having not been a path of action taken to help you and prevent such results. I felt guilt and sadness even though I had been hurt by being left alone and by not being trusted yet again, you forgave yourself as quickly as it took to organise a night out in the town the night after using sexual assault as a weapon... with a friend of yours who has been an even worse victim of sexual assault.

You treated me as some sadist and someone who could only ever hurt you forgetting the harm you've done and barely trusting me from the offset while I foolishly trusted you after being let down and treated so much more worse from the start. I believed in you and in us, I believed in you to treat me right. I became something you couldn't be as happy around but ironically I became you.

[buckyownsmyheart]

Duty [3/12]

CHAPTER 3: A Small Error

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k, sorry a bit of a short one this week!

Warnings: Gunfire and badly described car chase

A/N: Please keep leaving feedback! I’m a slut for validation. Also the gif isn’t relevant but I love him. This is them at the end maybe, who knows

Series Summary: Ex-army doctor, and now on-mission-for-the-Avengers doctor, Major (Y/n) (Y/l/n), had prepared herself for anything. That was, of course, until she met a devastatingly charming Sergeant from Brooklyn with a quick wit and a kind smile. I wonder what will happen.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Within the first few months, you had settled in well to the compound. Wanda had been right when she said that everyone was like a family, and the bonds you formed between the team had been strengthened by the time you spend together, enduring situations that a normal person would never dream of being in on a day-to-day basis. In the first month, Sam had unsuccessfully tried to set you up with an agent, that had just led to an awkward dinner and a rescue mission from Bucky, stolen all 36 of your freshly baked cookies, with much disappointment from the others, and cried when you beat him at monopoly. You had set 13 broken bones, stitched 153 wounds and done one awkward STI test. Not naming names, but you advised that next time they go to someone else in the medical bay. Makes things a little less awkward for later missions. It had been one hell of a month

At the moment, you were trying to dictate some reports for the medical bay, as everyone’s medical records hadn’t been updated in years, and you always secretly loved a bit of admin. You wandered towards the living room in search of your favourite mug. As raised voices carried from inside, you paused, listening intently.

“I get the whole prospect and the whole idea is great, but don’t you think they should put an age limit on it? Like a minimum?” Bucky was asking Sam.

“Being trans isn’t a choice or a phase Barnes. You don’t grow out of it or indeed into it, so no I don’t think there should be minimum limit, it’s all about who the people are inside, what they feel,”

You entered the room and made your presence known with a small cough, Bucky turned to you, “What do you think Doc? You’re a professional, what’s your stance?”

Sam took a sharp inhale of breath. He had clearly read your file, even if Bucky hadn’t.

“I think that whilst you’re both enjoying yourselves debating the intricacies of this subject, you need to remember you’re debating someone’s life, their highs, their lows, and their inability to decide for themselves, because someone else has decided for them they don’t have the right to dictate their own life. People’s lives aren’t thought experiments or light debate topics.” you said calmly, and then turned and left the room without looking back, letting out a shaky breath as your emotions bubbled upwards. You heard Sam say something to Bucky, and then his gliding footsteps were behind you.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry I didn’t know about your brother,” he said quietly, and you turned to him,

“Don’t apologise because I have a trans brother, I want you to see that people are more than a story or two sides of an argument. I thought you would be able to empathise with that.”

“I’m sorry for my ignorance. Everything is so new; I’m trying to learn about this century, but I never meant to make you upset or offend you. You’re right, I should have known better, I know what it’s like to be talked about and debated about and it’s not right.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as he looked down at his feet.

You softened, “I understand Bucky, you grew up in a different generation entirely and you’re still getting used to this century, so I don’t hold it against you. But it would have been wrong of me to sit and listen when I can help change someone’s outlook.” You placed a hand on his arm, causing him to look up at you, and continued, “I appreciate you trying. Just be aware of dehumanising people because you don’t personally know them, or because it’s interesting to debate about.” He gave you a tight smile and looked back down at his feet. “Maybe you should read my file huh? Seems like it's getting you in trouble,” you jested, trying to lighten his mood.

“I know, I know, it just seemed a bit impersonal. I wanted to get to know you the old-fashioned way, by talking to you, you know?” He picked at the skin around his nails, “But maybe that’s me being stuck in the 40s. New century and all that.”

“You trying to court me Sarge?” You teased, and with that comment the light seemed to return to his eyes, illuminating his face into the one you had become quite fond of.

“Depends if you’d say yes, Doc.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” You turned, winking at him over your shoulder, and finished the short walk to the elevator.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice filled the elevator, as soon as you entered it. “Major (Y/l/n), Mr. Rogers requires your presence in the briefing room in 20 minutes.”

-

23 minutes later, the briefing had started. The extra 3 minutes were due to Sam being late by two minutes, and Steve ranting at him for one, before you cut in that it might be more productive to spend our time discussing the new development, and not reprimanding Sam for being unable to read a clock correctly. Steve gave a curt nod and continued.

“There has been word that HYDRA are shipping out the serum from the Philadelphia port tonight for Project Moonshine. They’re not expecting any trouble, and the team have had news that there will only be 4 guards stationed to oversee the packing. As everyone else is away on mission, we need you 3 to contain the serum and bring it back for testing. Once it's secure call in the NYPD for detainment of the fugitives there. All set? Wheels up in an hour. Do NOT be late.” He concluded sternly, glaring at Sam. You fidgeted, fighting the urge to ask more questions as you were still getting used to these quick introductions to the missions, but Bucky had helpfully pointed out they were called briefings, not so-long-when-will-it-endings.

You, Bucky and Sam had walked 2 miles from the drop-off point to try and get into the warehouse undetected. You had tried to bargain a closer drop-off, but apparently it was too suspicious already. You had been promised a ride back in a police car though, so swings and roundabouts. You all stalked alongside the side of the warehouse, Bucky in front, then Sam, and then you, bringing up the rear. Bucky’s hand went up in a fist, and you all stopped. You checked your trusty backpack was still firmly secured and gripped your rifle tighter. Giving Sam a tap on his shoulder to show you were ready, he relayed the message, and Bucky opened the door silently, easing himself in.

Gunfire cut across the previous tranquillity and you dove behind a metal crate and felt Sam’s body beside you. Bucky had done the same, hiding behind a crate across from you, firing over the top every now and again to try and keep them at bay. Well, shit.

You had no backup on this one, except for the NYPD but they wouldn’t come with enough personnel. You looked at Bucky and Sam, but they didn’t seem to know what to do either. You scanned the area, trying to figure out your next move when a dull ‘thwap’ next to you drew your attention. Sam beside you whispered, “What the fuck?” His left side was now covered entirely in white powder.

You reached over and touched it, rubbing it between your fingers, you spoke quietly, “This isn’t the serum Sam, this is cocaine.” You indicated the blue and green packages that surrounded you, “And there’s a lot of it. Something’s not right, we need to get out of here now, NYPD and SWAT can deal with this, there’s no way the three of us are going to be able to handle a drug bust this big.” You noticed a door behind Sam on the right wall, as the one you had entered through was too exposed. This one was more shielded by crates and loose packages of the cocaine. You were hoping that they didn’t want to shoot at their loot, and that might be your ticket out of here. You tapped Sam and pointed to it. He nodded and placed his hand on your arm.

“I’ve alerted NYPD, they said they'd be here in a few minutes, but we can’t guarantee that. I need you to run for that door and find us a car. Bucky and I will be right behind you. I promise.”

“On it.” You didn’t want to leave those two behind, but they were much more qualified than you, and were much more likely to be able to fight their way out of the sticky situation. With one last look at Bucky, and a nod at Sam, you ran.

The firing increased as you tried to keep as low as possible, and you were hoping that it was cover fire from Sam. Bullets were zipping around the place, but you couldn’t identify if they were near or far, heading towards you or away, so you just kept on running. You darted through the door and leant along the wall, trying to calm your heart. Now for part two. You looked around for a car and spotted one of the new Ford Mustangs. That would do nicely. Grabbing a rock and throwing it through the window, you unlocked the door and threw yourself inside, ignoring the broken glass. Underneath the steering wheel, the “On” wires were already stripped and hanging loose. Trust the drug dealers to be driving a stolen car. You placed them together and they sparked, the engine trying to ignite, but after a few goes and indecent mutterings, the engine roared to life and you swung it into gear, whirling it around to the door before shouting into the comms,

“I need both your asses outside, now!” Right on cue, Bucky and Sam burst through the door and ran around to the passenger’s side. They both threw themselves in the same door. In hindsight, you should have gone for a car with back doors.

“Major I need you to ignore all parts of your brain that drive like a grandma and drive as if there’s a car of armed drug dealers chasing after you.” Sam hesitated, looking behind you at the bad guys organising themselves, “Because there is.”

“Didn’t I ever tell you boys that I took a get-away driving class at flight school?”

“You went to flight school?” Bucky asked incredulously, “When were you going to mention THAT?”

“When it seemed necessary,” you shrugged, slamming the car into gear and speeding off, before adding, “Plus I’m the only one here with a legal license”.

You drove in-between the containers on the dockside, but things got too quiet. You slowed down, trying to listen for any sort of movement. The rev of an engine and the flicker of lights either side of you alerted you to their presence, and the stream of swear words that came out of your mouth were vulgar enough to make Gordon Ramsey proud. You stepped on the accelerator and prayed that they would crash into each other as they chased after you, but no such luck.

Ignoring the shots that were ricocheting off the side of the car, you stepped on it. The car’s suspension wasn’t quite as giving as you had hoped. The three of you were bouncing all over the place as you drove up the port’s ramp, Bucky smacking his head against the roof a couple of times. You made a mental note to check him for concussion later. Sam had managed to wiggle his way into the backseat and was shooting at the cars. If you weren’t in such a life-or-death situation, you might have laughed at the comical manner that he had braced himself. His back was resting in the gap between yours and Bucky’s seat, his feet were propped up on the headrest of the back seats, and his gun was resting in between them. The loud gunshots had made your ears ring, and you had to fixate on the roads to prevent yourself from colliding with anything. A crash sounded and the windscreen in front of you shattered,

“Bucky,” You shouted over the persisting resonance in your ear, “I’m going to need you to fix that, so I can see.” He reached forward and with his left hand, he grabbed the remaining windscreen, tossing it over the top of the car. There was a shout of joy from Sam as the front of the two cars swerved into a barrel and rolled, ending up somewhere you didn’t care about at this moment in time.

“Clench up, fellas,” you called out, seeing your opportunity at an escape, “It’s about to become a whole lot less smooth.”

Shoving the car into second gear, you pressed in the clutch and pulled the handbrake up, swinging the wheel around so you skidded down a road that had appeared on your right. As the car over rotated, you placed it in reverse and drifted into a back alley off the road you had turned into. As quickly as you could, you turned off the engine and all lights.

“What the-” Sam began, but you cut him off as the second car that had been following you careened around the corner, driving straight passed your hiding place.

“The police should have set up a blockage down there, that’s where I would have done it.” You explained, carefully pulling the car into the road and driving gently in the opposite direction. You potently ignored the bumper dragging along the floor at the front of the car. “Man, all that excitement has made me hungry, does anyone fancy a Maccies on the way home?”

It was safe to say the cashier was a little unnerved at the sight of you three.

Chapter 4

tags:

@broco8​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @sebbbystaaan​ @cutiepiemimi13​ @velvetwonderbucky​ @mcubuckyandsteve

[haringdyke]

How to Generate Business Ideas Through The Brainstorming Technique

Generating promising business ideas isn't easy, especially if you're alone and you do not know how to start doing it. However, through brainstorming, you can come up with great ideas that could lead you to begin a terrific business. Brainstorming is just a method of producing a group of individuals to consider something the exact same time, usually with a goal of solving a problem or producing good thoughts.

If you're really stuck and you can't generate decent business ideas independently, you can engage your colleagues to encourage you. Do not forget that the combined brainpower of a bunch of individuals, coming together to deliberate on a specific problem, can spark off ideas and solutions better than you working independently. I'd so like to share with you some of the suggestions on ways to use brainstorming to create good business ideas.

1. The first issue would be to scan the environment to identify the issues that will need to be solved along with the demands that people have. As you're the one spearheading the whole exercise and the principal beneficiary, you should have the ability to pose the problem to the group.

2. Secondly, identify people which are going to be a part of the brainstorming group. The way to identify them all depends on you and the people you surround yourself. The identification method is followed by an invitation for them to take part in the exercise. You may engage your friends; state on Facebook, to take part in brainstorming. You can even carry out online surveys.

3. Get as many ideas as the group could create. The more ideas generated the better for you. No thoughts should be blocked. All ideas should be permitted whether good or bad, whether wise or foolish. All members must be left free to develop ideas which are as funny or as absurd as you can. Bear in mind that all ideas are great because from the poor or silly ideas, good ones can be found. In any case, the term"GOOD" makes sense since there's also"BAD".

4. Respect all thoughts from the folks in the group. By regard, I mean you need to respect them as precious and you should therefore avoid criticizing them or assessing them. It can spoil the entire process and people become uncomfortable distributing openly what they have in their thoughts. In the brainstorming stage, all ideas are equally valid. It is therefore a good practice to keep enjoying each and every member of this group that generates a notion.

5. Do not repeat ideas previously mentioned. While I say this, I don't mean that if one repeats an already mentioned thought, you stop them. It will sound as if you are just too much restrictive. And that doesn't bring out the expected benefits. What you need to do, when somebody repeats an idea, would be to use the identical notion to jump into other new ideas. You use it as the foundation for to other new ideas.

6. Clarity is important in creating business ideas. Ideas shouldn't be complex and detailed. Individuals shouldn't inform winding stories that end up making people confused and eliminate time. Members need to be properly guided to precisely and concisely bring out their thoughts.

7. Avoid being judgmental. When you do that, it will obviously have a negative effect, especially on shy individuals or on those that are not knowledgeable about the thought of letting their thoughts flow and expressing them openly. You'll be spoiling the entire procedure.

Finally, I want to remind you that in the event you've been finding it hard to generate ideas to begin a small home business, consider applying this technique of brainstorming. It can work wonders for you. Don't suffer alone when you're surrounded with a number of resourceful people and when you can also get them over the internet. Wish you good luck!

Good Business Ideas For The Home Business Entrepreneur

The notion of creating an income from home is very attractive, especially when you've got the drive and ambition to start your own business. However small or large your entrepreneurial dreams, there are loads of great business ideas to be explored.

Forget the"Get Rich Quick" schemes or the promises of steady income for very little time commitment and"all you need to do" is invest in an upfront program (if something appears to be too good to be true, it likely is), and concentrate on making your own business doing something you love. When there are great business ideas which have made money for some you want to discover a business that excites and energises you. With the proper motivation and a solid business idea you will have the tools for success, and the ability to continue with your business over the long run.

Superior business ideas for home business entrepreneurs fall into three broad classes:

1. Virtual Services

With the gigantic growth in outsourcing of certain tasks or tasks, there are lots of opportunities to provide your services virtually. This means that you can work at home and provide services like admin, writing, marketing, design, information technology or social media to businesses. Either on a project basis or as their digital PA (personal assistant), marketing officer or social networking expert.

As a digital PA you'll handle all of the tasks a PA would, logging costs into a spreadsheet, booking trips, organising calendars, booking training, preparing materials for presentations and events, but based at your home.

With systems and tools like google Docs, Dropbox and other online sharing programs, it is easy to share information and supply spreadsheets, documents and reports remotely to your customers.

As a freelance writer you may offer to write reports, articles, edit articles, post blog comments, manage forum marketing, provide blogging, tweeting or HubPages content, the choices are limitless.

In case you have knowledge of SEO (search engine optimization ) you can offer a service building traffic to your customers' sites and blogs.

Locate clients by promoting your services on a Facebook fan page and by contributing to relevant discussions on Facebook, forums and blogs. Or you can discover freelance work through websites like Elance, Guru or PeoplePerHour.

2. Local Services

Use your skills and expertise to provide services to local businesses. In case you have even the most elementary marketing, online or social networking skills you can offer to be their marketing or social networking expert. Charge on a per job, hourly or monthly retainer speed, depending upon your regional market and the experience you're offering.

Many regional businesses are great at what they do but struggle to find new customers and market their business effectively online. Stop in and talk to some regional businesses and show them the way to help them get more customers, by enhancing their online marketing or social websites.

A good suggestion is to get the regional newspapers, church, school and parish newsletters and determine which firms are advertising. Contact them and talk to them about ways to help them get more business, or spend less.

3. Online Business

Online businesses are flourishing as demonstrated by the explosion in the numbers of individuals online and using Facebook. Home business entrepreneurs are discovering opportunities online like never before. Begin with a hobby, skill or something you feel passionate about and look at ways to generate income from it.

Superior business ideas include becoming an infopreneur. Create information products to discuss your ideas and experiences with others to help them resolve a problem, or fulfill a need. This can be by means of a blog, forum or community site, membership website, ebooks, reports, newsletters or online training.

Information can be given in downloadable formats so clients receive the information they want straight away, and you make money each time your merchandise is downloaded.

An information business isn't hard to set up, low risk and you can test your ideas on a small scale prior to producing more comprehensive products. Promote affiliate products to check your market or make money selling goods on eBay or Amazon.

If you are selling physical products that you may use drop-shipping to automate the fulfilment and shipping of your goods so you don't need to take care of products. The drop-ship company will handle the invoicing, payment and shipping of the goods. All you do is promote the product to the client.

The aim with an online business is to automate as much of it as possible, so you set up the systems and leave them to operate. That way you will have a truly automated business which makes money even while you are sleeping or away on vacation.

I'm a huge fan of small niche websites which you set up and forget. They will not make you rich but you can create as many little niche sites as you like and multiply your income. A niche site will concentrate on solving a single problem for a particular market, such as weight loss, caring for bearded dragons or betta fish, or eliminating acne.

Superior business ideas are all around. Start looking at the possibilities everywhere you go. See what the hot topics are in magazines and newspapers, listen to what people are talking about (or whining they are missing) and begin with your own home business now.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIZ! You’ve been accepted for the role of PARIS with an approved FC change to Sean Teale. Admin Jen: All I have to say here is GOD BLESS. That’s it. That’s my note. God, I’ve waited so long for us to have Paris grace our dash, and your take on him was everything I could ever want and more. You captured Priam’s essence perfectly, from the moral ambiguity that surrounds him, to the existentialism that drives his worldviews and motivations. At the same time, you’ve added your own touch to those concepts and made them your own, like with the headcanon of his grandfather’s death. It’s clear that you have such a deep, profound understanding of who he is and all that he could be, and I love it. I absolutely love it. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Liz

Age | 28

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | Thanks to quarantine, I imagine quite consistent.

Timezone | GMT +4.

How did you find the rp?  | Used to play Tib hehe:)

Current/Past RP Accounts |

https://tiberius-capulets.tumblr.com/

https://maksim-kurylenko.tumblr.com/

https://castillo-adrian.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Paris, Priam Taravella (I’d like to request FC change to Sean Teale and age Priam up to 26, if possible?).

What drew you to this character? |

Perhaps, if not his grandfather’s death, Priam would’ve always been the child his parents wanted: a docile, polite son, with ambition and drive to take over and expand the family business. It’s not that the death of Salvatore Taravella, Sr. affected him in a heart-breaking way, no, Priam hardly spent any time with him and he remembers nothing about the man. But what would become a life-altering occasion in young Taravella’s life, is that unlike most of the children at the age of three, he understood the irreversibility and universality of death right away.

As he grew up, Priam had been defined by the revelation that life was a march to our eventual demise since the moment we were born, a race against the clock. The matters such as career, riches and family business seemed so trivial, so unworthy of his time. He started to believe, you only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough. That chase of what is the meaningful way of living had led to multiple metamorphoses of Priam Taravella. He developed a tendency to chase one experience after another, but not in a hedonistic way, but more existential. There was a deeply woven thread in the everyday being he wanted to discover and pull it until it led to where he belonged, where he wouldn’t feel the ever-present void.

Maybe if his parents had been around and taught him right from wrong, he wouldn’t need to discover and explore life all on his own, on his own terms.

He’s an enigma, and that’s what drove me to him the most. What makes him dangerous is his unpredictability, his failure to relate to basic human motivations, he’s a puzzle that can’t be solved.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

The Wild Card

One thing Priam had never been good at, is being told what path to follow. Despite the fact that ranks and order are integral in the mob operations, and he understands that, Priam is who he is – a man marching to his own beat. I would love him concoct and execute something of massive proportions - something that could result in utter wrath from Capulet leaders, or a great victory for them (or maybe both).

The North Star

Given how important his moral ambiguousness is to Priam’s character arc, it would be interesting to explore someone entering his life and trying to become his North Star, his moral compass. I’d love to explore his nihilist worldview being challenged and him thurst into the uncharted waters of wanting to do the right thing.

The Devil on his Shoulder

I’d also love to explore at some point Paris being dragged on the opposite side of the moral spectrum. Maybe an event or a person pushes him into cold-blooded murder, torture, or something he normally wouldn’t see himself doing.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

For someone who thinks so much about death, smoking cigarette after cigarette makes him a walking contradiction. He’s full of them, Priam, of contradictions.

The prodigal prince leaves his 1966 Chevloret Sting Ray in the parking lot of his office building and covers the short distance from there to the Castelvecchio Bridge on foot, enjoying the brisk Spring weather, Verona twilight and a cigarette in his hand. It’s been two years since his tech start-up won a government contract and launched his mutually beneficial relationship with Cosimo. Priam provides Capulets with information, more valuable than any weapon. His company produces technology for Italy’s law enforcement: facial recognition software, thermal imaging and automatic license plate recognition. This makes Cosimo’s soldiers virtually invisible to the law enforcement and any enemy – traceable.

On top of that, despite his nonexistent relationship with his parents, Priam still is a Taravella. A legacy. No wonder the king wants him on his side forever, vowen into the Capulet family life as a future son-in-law.

“If I were a sentimental man, I’d say it’s a beautiful starry night,” the tiger of Verona meets him standing on the bridge with a menacing grin, “But I’m not.”

“I never really liked looking at the night’s sky,” Priam muses. Another contradiction, considering he spends most of nights awake, “stars at merely old photographs. In reality, they’re probably all dead by now.” His last words drift off, distracting by the two of Tiberius’s brutes holding a man on his knees. Priam recognises the man as the CEO of his competitor start-up, the one in consideration for the government contract, just like Priam’s.

“I believe I’ve informed Cosimo there’s no need for taking extra measures. I’m absolutely confident I’ll win the bid this year, too,” Priam turns to Tiberius, demanding an explanation.

“…and Cosimo takes your word for it. But, this sniveling piece of shit is trying to find dirt on you and expose some of your… connections. I say we shoot the bastardo and dump him in the water. What do you say?” The tiger presents a tempting offer.

There is no fate worse than death. Death is final. Does Priam hate the man enough to subject to what he fears the most? But the power of having a life stripped away by a mere nod of his head is intoxicating and Priam finds himself drunk on it. Not just that, the power of having others to pull the trigger for you. If you think about it, the idiot brought this on himself, didn’t he? If only he could’ve accepted the loss like a real man. But he’s not a real man, is he?

So Priam gives the nod that the beast in Tiberius covets so much. The sound of silenced pistol pierces the air sharply, but for only their own ears to hear. It’s almost like a twig snapped, and man wasn’t murdered with a bullet in between his eyes.

A thud and now lifeless body belongs to the Adige river now.

Priam looks down on his pristine white shirt. Bloodstain on his chest is like a map of a violent new continent. Taravella didn’t pull the trigger, but the blood still ended up smearing him. How symbolic, he thinks to himself.

“I’ll see on a Sunday dinner, then,” Tiberius bids goodbye. It has became a tradition – Sunday dinners with the whole Capulet family.

“I’ll see you,” Priam pets him on the shoulder like a friend he pretends to be. As if. Tiberius is no intellectual equal to him, merely a capable weapon. All of them are, save a handful of people he’s met in his life.

Castlevecchio Bridge is his favourite place in Verona. After the Capulet soldiers leave, Priam lingers, overlooks the pulsating city. How many times has he come here? The bridge, the pondering, the agony of breaking through personal limitations had been constant in a life of ever-metamorposing Priam Taravella. Art, literature, business, philosophy, sports, organised crime… all instruments to help Priam past his limiting horizons into spheres of ever-expanding realization. As he crosses threshold after threshold, conquering dragon after dragon, the stature of the divinity that he summons to his highest wish increases, until it subsumes the cosmos. Finally, the mind breaks the bounding sphere of the cosmos to a realization transcending all experiences of form - all symbolizations, all divinities: a realization of the ineluctable void.

Extras: moodboard

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Honey! You are accepted for the role of Mandy Silverman. This is another sample application for potential applicants to have a look at. You’ll notice that this is quite a long application, but that’s just how I write. You can do whatever you like with yours! If you have any questions about this application or any characters with a connection to Mandy, don’t hesitate to let me know.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Honey Age: Twenty five Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+11 Activity estimation: I essentially work full time and have several obligations, but this group is so tightly organised and planned that I’m confident in participating regularly on the dashboard and as an admin! My admin duties will always take precedence but I will be able to reply to threads several times a week. Triggers: (REDACTED)

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Amanda “Mandy” Silverman Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (02/03/1966) - Pisces (Sun), Virgo (Rising), Cancer (Moon) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Homosexual homoromantic Occupation: Adult Education Coordinator Connection to Victim: Mandy did not know the Goode family. She knew of them in the way all newcomers to Devil’s Knot are known: through rumor and glimpses in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Mandy had little to do with Linda; she’d seen David and Beth at school, when she’d gone in to meet Mary after work; but she’d never met Brian at all. Alibi: Mandy was at home that Saturday working on a craft project. She ran out of glue at around three, then walked into town to go to the craft store, where she spent a few dollars too many on a crocheting kit. She decided to pick up some coffee and doughnuts then walked back home, where she stayed for the rest of the day.  Faceclaim: Elizabeth Olsen

WRITING SAMPLE

 This is a self para written for the Mandy in 1984.

The Datsun.

It was such a shit little car. Really, it was. Sandy’s miscellaneous paraphernalia littered the dashboard. Her dad’s manuals and work shit stuffed beneath the front seats. Pete had stamped grubby hands all over the back windows - people asked them all the time if they had a dog. “No,” Mandy replied grimly, hoisting Pete up on one hip. “Just a kid.” The motor turned over more often than she could count, which would put her father, ever the optimist, into an agitated but vaguely amused mood. Him, hunched over the wheel, grinding the key, revving the engine, If I… could just... Then, Sandy, cranky and likely hungover, snapping from the passenger side: I told you we needed it serviced! They had about a thousand tapes in the center console, most of them in the wrong cases, with a mix that spanned from Bob Dylan to Pete’s ABC children’s songs. Them, zooming along a damp highway, rain splattering the glass, her dad cheerfully singing, The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round! as Pete laughed in delight. Mandy tries to forget that she’d eventually lose her temper and shout, Can we turn this stupid shit off? as her mother mumbled, Amen, behind enormous sunglasses and a gas station Slurpee.

The Datsun, which was rotting away at the police station right this second. Mandy hasn’t asked when they’ll get it back. It’s evidence, that’s it. She has her bike or her skates and Sandy doesn’t leave the house unless she has a ride (Aisha pulling up front and blasting the horn; Sandy, clattering around gathering her things, muttering, Where’s my goddamn…). Their family car is nothing more than a shell, a marker in the Pete and Phillip Silverman’s trail to murder. Kind of like a pit stop. Wrappers marked with imaginary blood stains littering the cab floor. That clean-sour smell of nervous sweat. Her Dad was always a sweater, mopping his brow and fanning himself, Jeez, it’s hot today. Mandy kind of loved that about him. How when she was looking for him in a crowd, she just had to search for the slightly damp white button-down, the back of his nearly-balding head. His hair was soft, like down, and Pete’s was too. Two twin sandy blonde heads sitting in front of the television, Pete curled into his father’s side, Phillip slowly stroking back those baby-shampoo-soft curls.

So, yeah. The Datsun. Scene of family road trips and midnight grocery store emergencies. A wreck that managed to limp from point A to B, with her dad faithfully in the front, eager to drive her to friends’ houses or cheer practice or a competition two towns over. She still thinks about winding the windows down as far as they could go when they were on the highway. Her dad would look over, catch her eye, and grin in a way that made her think of him as a teenager, a young man, that cheerful abandon of youth that was infectious as a whisper, goose-bumps prickling her arms.

“Shall we see how fast this baby can go?” He’d yell, and Mandy would laugh and laugh: “Go, Dad, go!”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Mandy (featuring ‘84 and ‘96 boards, because I’m that kind of person), and her account can be found here.

HEADCANONS

Mandy works at the Community Centre as an Adult Education Coordinator. Which is just a fancy way of saying she organises craft classes for senior citizens. Seriously. Mandy picked up the job mainly to get Sandy off her back. After commuting to Lansing to attend community college, her decision to drop out and live and work in Devil’s Knot was met, unsurprisingly, with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a loud slurp from a glass of wine. And Mandy knew, she just damn knew, that if she stuck around her childhood home any longer, she and Sandy would end up killing each other. The job isn’t taxing: she works a few days a week, has a desk up on the mayor’s floor in the Community Centre, and spends way too much time putting flyers together for their new pasta making courses or adult literacy classes. The administration is what really bothers her, because the students are lovely. Little old ladies she’s known for years; grandfathers who remember her father back in the day. Best of all, they like her. Mandy wouldn’t consider herself a charismatic person, but she is a patient one. She’ll listen to a grandmother’s story a thousand times, nodding in the right places, exclaiming, asking questions. She’s gentle. Around other people it can be a slightly different story. She’s not clipped, exactly, nor is she rude. But she is shy, and Mandy is naturally suspicious. When people stop her to talk, she hesitates. It would be too much to link that back to ‘84, although there’s little doubt that that October and the months that followed succeeded in severing her trust in adult figures for life. No, Mandy prefers to keep to herself, to the people she knows. It’s safer that way; controllable.

Mandy loves movies -- always has. Bobby, Mandy, and Perry always went on about music, talking rapturously about guitar solos and funky beats, all while Mandy pretended to grimace and trade teasing looks with Jenny and Mike. But movies. Mandy’s favourite genre is horror. Surprising, maybe, but she can’t get enough. Sci-fi is her second favourite. Her ritual is to go down to the Videoport on a Friday afternoon and stock up for the weekend. She trails down the aisles, fingers skating over the titles, looking for some weird German expressionist thing or a summer blockbuster she can zone out to. Mandy would hardly consider herself a connoisseur, but she has an encyclopedic knowledge for actors and actresses, and can name their filmography from memory just by looking at them. It’s like, one of her only talents.

Mandy enjoys cooking. She mainly enjoys cooking for Mary, who will always, without fail, praise her skills until Mandy’s rolling her eyes and begging her to stop. Even if it’s crap (which it is a lot of the time; God knows Sandy never taught her to cook; this was all the result of afternoon cable and Reader’s Digest), Mary will come up and hug her from behind, kissing the side of her neck, suffusing Mandy in warmth and her spicy perfume. That was so good. You’re so good to me. Doing things for people is Mandy’s way of showing she loves them. It doesn’t matter what it is -- laundry, vacuuming, cooking -- she’ll find herself doing things automatically. It’s a little funny that she’s turned into a housewife ever since moving out with Mary, but it’s also really damn nice. Mandy looks after their small apartment so tenderly. Watering the plants on the windowsill, buying kitsch ornaments from the thrift store, airing out their cramped bedroom in the spring sunlight. Much of Mandy’s life revolves around domestic duties. She picks up the mail, pays bills, goes grocery shopping. Mary comes too, of course, but doing things together in public can get difficult when all Mandy wants to do is kiss her deeply in the fruit and vegetable section. Mary’s full-time job is also demanding, and Mandy only works a few days a week (despite what you may believe, there are not that many adult education classes to organise; the biggest scandal was when they introduced a salsa class and everyone collectively lost their minds). Maybe, in some way, it’s Mandy’s way of holding up her end of their relationship. And maybe, in a deeper, smaller way, it’s also an excuse. If she’s busy, how can she possibly go back to college? Who’ll make apple crumble and fold the socks? Huh? The pixies? If this makes Mandy sound territorial, it’s because she is. She clings to these chores because it’s far easier than thinking about the alternative, which is to get off her ass and actually make something of her life. She’s thirty years old. Nearly thirty one. And she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it. That hurts more than anything. Maybe that hurts most of all.

Mandy is a lesbian. She knew. Even when she was a teenager, she sort of knew. She and Mike started dating when they were thirteen and just... kept going. Certain things seemed inevitable: prom, college, maybe even marriage. It was so simple to imagine her life with Mike, whose family, the Hawkers, were best friends with her parents; they’d all been born months apart; they were raised together. Most of Mandy’s childhood memories involve Mike and Mary, Jenny. They tumbled around together like puppies, climbing trees and having sleepovers. Then they started to grow up, and Mandy and Mike got together, and the atmosphere shifted a little. Mandy liked Mike. She did. Maybe she loved him, in a way. But it was so, so platonic, and the way she felt when she looked at Mary was anything but. Mary used to scare her; still does, sometimes. She was a force of nature and Mandy was the eye of the storm. Looking back, the signs were obvious, but then again, they always are.

Mandy used to dress the way people expected her to dress. T-shirts and jeans, bleached white sneakers and cheer uniforms. Not feminine enough to please Jenny, who’d wrinkle her nose and fondly say, “Mandy, are you kidding? You cannot wear that,” and not masculine enough for her dad, who’d hand her wrenches as he worked on the Cadillac on weekends, shooting sidelong glances at her squad jumper, mumbling, “You’ll get grease all over you, honey.” Scrunchies and high ponytails. Pale pink jackets and a signet ring Mike gave her when they were fourteen. Just enough to be acceptable; to be palatable. To blend in, fade away, be nothing at all. These days it’s the opposite: Mandy dresses like an amorphous blob. In fact, she’d rather people hazard a guess at what she really looks like underneath her oversized flannel shirts and huge boots. The more clothing she has on, the more protected she feels. Layers upon layers. Band shirts worn soft with too many washes; jeans more grey than black. She still has her pink jacket from high school (Mary hung it up in their wardrobe and shrugged when Mandy found it, saying, “You always looked cute, and I’m a sucker. So sue me.”) Mandy pulls her hair up and away from her face; she doesn’t wear make-up. Still has the signet ring, though. She’s a sentimental doofus, she knows.

Mandy loves arts and crafts. Pottery, weaving, knitting; painting, sketching, cooking. These are things that bring her peace, that quieten her inner world. Growing up, she wasn’t creative in the slightest. Mandy was decidedly pedestrian: the most creative thing she ever did was design banners for the cheer squad or doodle in the margins of her school notebooks. But after Pete was returned, she needed something, anything, to stifle the panic static in her brain. Countless nights were spent sitting on the couch in front of the television, Pete curled into her side, her doing finger knitting or making a collage, eyes darting between her project and the cartoon onscreen. Over the years she’s gotten better -- last winter she managed to knit Mary a hideous scarf -- but her hobbies were never pursued in the same vein as her other achievements. Mandy still remembers practicing for cheer for hours in the cold, or studying in her room until midnight, eyes dry and head aching, quietly panicking about a test the next day. Everything she did, she did obsessively. These days, Mandy just wants to be still. Their apartment is stuffed with half finished craft projects: stacks of coloured paper, jars of beads, wool in miscellaneous piles, flowers drying on the windowsill. Sometimes Mary will come home to find her sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, a pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, Stevie Nicks in the background, Mandy carefully cutting out prints for her art journal. She started journaling when she was a teenager, mainly to help with her father’s murder and the stress of the subsequent trial, but it’s a habit that has followed her happily into adulthood. Mandy would be lost without her projects, her art. It’s a channel for everything she feels; it clarifies her. And it’s never undertaken with any attempt at perfection. Mandy’s learning, slowly, to let go of unattainable ideas. Life is messy. She’s trying to accept that about the world, herself.

Mandy failed community college. Well, it felt like she failed. In reality, she dropped out. There were only so many classes about psych and childhood trauma that she could take (and ironic, right? That she studied psych? Mandy remembers the day she flicked through the brochure to pick her classes, ticking boxes on the vague notion she’d specialise in children, maybe, in kids who’d been taken or abandoned, and help them find their childhood again). The people were too much. Tons of people like her -- great in high school, but not good enough for a decent college out of state -- and older people too, people who reminded her of her dad (not that he’d gone to college; he used to joke that that was all above his pay grade, No, no, I’m happy where I am! Although Mandy knew how avidly he poured over science magazines, and how impressed he was with Apple and that computer stuff. Maybe in another world he would have done something else, been someone great. Maybe it runs in the family). Mandy felt boring in turning down invitations to parties or even drinks down the campus bar. She’d cite anything -- Pete’s homework, the long drive home, dinner waiting -- and soon that got old. She felt old. Like she’d skipped the fun part of her twenties and jumped right into middle age. It didn’t help that everything after ‘84 melted her brain into goop. The minute Mandy received her final marks from school, she shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and hid it with her dad’s old things. The word failure pounded in her head. How did it happen? How could she have gone from mathletes and cheer to barely scraping by? To holding on by a thread? And why? Why did it all affect her so much; why was she such a damn baby about everything? Pete was back safe. That should have been enough, right? But his return didn’t come with everything. Somewhere between Pete disappearing and that Christmas, Mandy cut herself loose. Swapped SAT prep for making spaghetti for her returned little brother. Watching reruns on TV until it was way too late, tucking him into bed. Some nights she didn’t want to leave him, so she put out a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed between him and the door. Just in case. Mandy always wanted to go to Oberlin for one reason: it was far away from Devil’s Knot (and, okay, she liked the name). Ambition was a thing she wore because it fit, not because she liked it. Watching her dad’s face light up when she showed him her grades was reason enough to try hard; and studying with Bobby made her feel light, if only for a little while, them laughing and whispering about D&D campaigns, teasing each other like siblings. Being smart felt good, even if it didn’t come wholly naturally, and Mandy worked damn hard to keep it up. Giving it away should have been freeing. Instead, Mandy knows she disappointed everyone. She’s just another person who raced to the state line only to stop dead, toes at the edge, and feel fear prick the back of her neck. 

[mamabearcat]

The Importance of Ramen Ch.8

I think I lied when I said this was only gonna be ten chapters long. I just love writing them so much, I don’t want to let them go. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and if you need to get back to earlier chapters, they’re all here on my Master List, and also here on fanfiction.net where I go by Dasiy73.

Mama had hardly sat down on her own chair in the waiting room when Kagome’s name was called by an orderly approaching them with a wheelchair. 

“Your chariot awaits, Miss”, he smiled at Kagome. Inuyasha held her to him a bit tighter, his chin jutting out defiantly. He felt unsure of himself without the Tessaiga, and the smell of this place, illness and blood laced with pain and fear, made him want to run out the door and take Kagome with him. He took a deep breath, trying to keep a tight rein on his emotions. He figured they might not like swords in hospitals, but they’d like a rampaging red eyed demon even less. 

“Kagome don’t need a chariot”, he said gruffly. “I can carry her wherever she needs to go.” 

“I’m afraid it’s hospital policy sir.” 

“Inuyasha dear, I know you’re worried, I am too, but everyone here just wants to help Kagome. It’s just the way things are done. I’m sure we can come with her, isn’t that right?” 

The orderly nodded cheerfully. Rumbling his annoyance under his breath, Inuyasha carefully placed Kagome into the seat with wheels, thinking how ridiculous it was when she would probably be much more comfortable in his arms. He bit back an impulse to growl and pick her up again when she winced as her swollen thigh touched the cold hard metal of the arm rest. 

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” asked the cheerful orderly, and they were buzzed through a glass sliding door to the examination cubicles on the other side. The orderly led them to a curtained cubicle with an empty bed, and when he moved to assist Kagome out of the wheelchair, Inuyasha swooped forwards and picked her up himself with a defiant glint in his eye. An embarrassed Kagome swatted him on the shoulder with her good arm, and the smiling orderly disappeared with the wheel chair. An overly cheerful nurse appeared, asking Kagome questions and taking her temperature and measuring her heart rate. Then they were told to wait for the doctor. 

Inuyasha snorted, pacing around the bed in an irritated fashion. “This place is weird. Why do they have all these different people when one person would be enough? If I’d taken you straight to Kaede’s there wouldn’t have been half this fuss.” 

Mama turned a serious face towards Inuyasha. “I am very glad that you brought her back here. If left untreated, an infection like this can spread across the body and into the bloodstream; it is possible to die from something like this.” 

Inuyasha stopped his pacing, his ears drooping under the cap. “Yeah, that’s what Sango said”, he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “She said she’d seen people die from it and wanted me to bring her straight back. Miroku insisted too.” 

“Then they have my thanks. Should you go back through the well once we get home and let them know that you and Kagome arrived safely?” 

“Nah, they probably won’t be there yet. Kirara needs to take breaks when she’s carrying more than one person, and I’m not sure if they’d go over Mount Mitsumine like I did.” 

Inuyasha had rarely ever seen Mama surprised. Even the first time he had met her, when he’d burst into Kagome’s home, demanding she come straight back through the well, she hadn’t screamed about a demon in her house, but had immediately rubbed his fuzzy ears instead. He had to admit, that had thrown him a bit. But now, after he mentioned Mount Mitsumine, her jaw had dropped open, eyes wide in a silent expression of surprise. 

“But… that’s over one hundred kilometres away! You were carrying her on your back! Didn’t you say you left this morning?” 

Misunderstanding the reason for her surprise, Inuyasha apologised. “I’m sorry I didn’t get Kagome here faster. I just didn’t want to jostle her by going at my top speed. I didn’t want her leg hurt any worse than it already was.” 

He was totally unprepared for the hug that Mama suddenly launched at him, her arms clasped tight across his back. “Thank you”, she whispered. 

Even though Kagome still felt woozy and ill, she couldn’t help but giggle a little at the blush that escalated in Inuyasha’s cheeks. 

“It’s no big deal”, Inuyasha blustered. Both of them were smiling at him, and he felt an unaccountable desire to run away. Fighting the impulse, he plonked himself down on one of the hard plastic seats near Kagome’s bed, jamming his hands into his sleeves and tapping his foot impatiently on the cold linoleum floor. “How long have we gotta wait for this healer anyway?” 

Mama sighed, sadly well acquainted with how modern hospitals worked after her husband’s accident. “As long as it takes Inuyasha, as long as it takes.” 

xXxXxXx 

Inuyasha growled. The doctor had finally come, and he had been asked to wait outside the curtained cubicle. He could hear Kagome’s swallowed whimpers and smell the scent of infection as the doctor removed the bandage on her leg. He hated this place. He hated the way it smelt. He hated that everything was shiny. He hated that Kagome looked so small in the bed on wheels, face so pale her features almost disappeared into the starched white pillowcase, apart from the contrast of her dark eyes and blue-black curls. He hated that he felt so powerless. And he hated that Mama seemed to be wilting; her usual cheerful demeanour had been replaced with sadness, covered badly by a pasted-on smile. 

He heard a high-pitched yelp come from behind the curtain. The vibrating rumble in his chest increased. That was it, he didn’t care that Kagome and Mama had asked him to behave; Kagome needed him and there was no way he was staying out here any longer. He thrust his way belligerently through the curtain, just in time to see the doctor patting Kagome on the shoulder reassuringly. 

“I’m sorry if that hurt Miss Higurashi, but I needed to examine your injury carefully to decide if we needed to debride the infected tissue in the wound.” She removed her stained latex gloves, tossing them into a nearby bin. “You’re lucky. I think an intensive course of intravenous antibiotics should do the trick; you’ll probably be on your way home in three days.” 

“Three days! I can’t stay here for three days!” Kagome bit her lip, her eyes welling up. 

The doctor smiled at her. “Just think of it as a holiday from school. I’m sure your teachers won’t hold it against you when they’re informed of the seriousness of your injury. I’m happy to write a medical certificate excusing you from school for the next week.” 

“At least you’ll be home in time for Obon Kagome”, said Mama softly. 

Kagome turned her tear-filled eyes towards Inuyasha. What would he think? Here she was, slowing them down again. She hoped he wouldn’t be too angry. The gentle look in his amber eyes surprised her. 

“Hey, Kagome, don’t worry. Three days is nothin’ right? I’ll let our friends know you’re okay, and we’ll all be there to help you when we leave to… um, study. Yeah.” 

Kagome pouted, bottom lip trembling slightly. “I suppose I’ve got no choice, huh. Guess I’d better make the best of it.” She managed a small smile. “At least I’ll get breakfast in bed, right?” 

“That’s my girl”, smiled Inuyasha toothily, then felt the heat rising in his cheeks as soon as the words left his mouth, watching a matching blush struggling to rise in Kagome’s pale cheeks. He failed to see the small smile on Mama’s face, or the wink sent his way by the Doctor. 

“Well, I’ll go organise your admittance Miss Higurashi; someone will be along to take you to your room shortly; the pain medication I injected should be taking effect by now.” The doctor left them behind in the small curtained cubicle, bustling over to the patient admin desk in an efficient manner. 

“Maybe you should go back to Kaede’s Inuyasha”, said Kagome despondently. “It’s going to be very boring for you here. 

“Nuh uh”, grinned Inuyasha. “I’m stayin’ around to make sure you do what you’re told. You might be good at dishin’ medicine out, but don’t seem to be too good at takin’ it.” He looked towards Mama as an afterthought. “That’s okay ain’t it?” 

Mama smiled at him. “Souta will be delighted. And I’m sure I can find jobs for you to help with when you’re not visiting Kagome. Grandpa was talking about dusting in the storage shed again.” 

Inuyasha whined a little, then sighed. “Alright. But tell ‘im that he’s not allowed to try an’ purify me with those weak ass ofudas of his. It’s annoying.” 

Mama grinned. “I promise that he’ll behave. He does actually like you, you know.” 

Inuyasha snorted derisively. “Could a fooled me.” He glanced at Kagome, who was laying back against the pillow, her head drooping. “You ‘kay ‘Gome?” 

Kagome yawned. “Sleepy”, she muttered blearily. “Prob’ly the medicine…” Her eyes fluttered closed. 

The orderly arrived, ready to transfer Kagome to the ward. Mama and Inuyasha followed behind as the bed was wheeled down the maze of corridors to the room where Kagome would spend the next three days. 

xXxXxXx 

Inuyasha sneezed. The dust in the storage room was getting up his nose and into his eyes, but he only had two more boxes to carry back before he was released from duty. It was nearly visiting hours at the hospital, and he hoped that Kagome would be feeling better today. He grimaced. Yesterday had not been a fun visit. The doctor had warned them that Kagome would probably seem worse for a day while her body continued to fight the infection until the antibiotics gradually took effect, and he and Mama had sat silently next to her bed after Grandpa and Souta left, while she slipped in and out of a doze. 

After they’d left the hospital and gone back to the shrine, he’d slipped down the well and gone to Kaede’s to leave a message for the others. Kaede was most interested to hear how they were treating Kagome, but Inuyasha struggled to describe it, finally concluding exasperatedly that Kaede would just have to get Kagome to explain when she returned. 

He’d spent a grumpy evening back at the shrine, teasing Buyo the cat, and sitting morosely in the Goshinbuko after dinner. When everyone was asleep, he’d let himself into Kagome’s bedroom window, but her usually comforting scent didn’t make him feel any better, and he dozed fitfully, sitting up against her bedroom wall with the Tessaiga balanced on his shoulder. 

Breakfast this morning had cheered him up a little. Bacon always made him feel cheerful. He’d wondered aloud if bacon flavoured ramen was a possibility and was cheered even more when Mama said that she could make that happen for him, if he wanted. 

Souta had run off to school, and Inuyasha was stuck with Grandpa Higurashi while Mama tidied up indoors. Helping the old man with his ‘treasures’ was annoying, but at least he didn’t try to throw any ofudas at him this time. Irritating old bastard. He straightened up after carrying the last box into the storeroom, while Kagome’s grandfather fluttered around in the background, prattling on about how valuable his crap was, and how he was going to meet up with possible collectors at Obon in a few days. Keh! At least he was done now. He stomped back over to the house, to see when they could leave to go see Kagome. 

After Inuyasha washed most of the dust off, they drove the short way to the hospital. Souta had decided that the novelty of visiting his sister in hospital had worn off, especially when she wasn’t doing anything exciting, so had opted to go straight to a friend’s house after school. Grandpa was hosting visitors to the shrine that afternoon and said he might visit Kagome tomorrow. So it was just the two of them making their way through the maze of corridors, a baseball cap perched on top of Inuyasha’s fuzzy ears. 

When they first arrived, Kagome didn’t seem to have changed much. She was still asleep, although Inuyasha was happy that the smell of infection coming from the bandaged leg hidden under the white sheets was much harder to detect. She had been changed into a pale blue hospital gown and smelt like soap, so she must have washed. Her arm was still attached to the beepy machine that Kagome’s mother had called a ‘drip’; she had explained yesterday that this type of medicine worked better if it went straight into Kagome’s blood, rather than her stomach. Whatever. As long as it made Kagome better, he didn’t care how they did it. Ignoring Mama’s pointed look, he took off the annoying baseball cap and scratched. Stupid thing always made his ears feel sweaty. 

When Mama had left to go to the bathroom, he took a chance to hold Kagome’s hand for a moment. Trying to sleep last night in Kagome’s bedroom, being constantly exposed to her lingering fragrance but not being able to touch her or see her had made him feel lonely, even more lonely than when he was five hundred years away. 

He gently ran the pads of his fingers over the roughened callouses on the inside of her hand, built up over time from using her bow. Her hands were so much paler than his, her tapered fingers more delicate. His fingers traced the lines on her palm, softly pressing against the tender flesh on the heel of her hand; he drew circles on the blue lines patterning her wrist, feeling the pulse of her heart against his fingertips. He wove their fingers together, smiling a little at how their hands fit, at how comfortable and right it felt. 

“So, Inuyasha, how long have you been in love with my daughter?” 

Inuyasha froze, his eyes still directed to his and Kagome’s clasped hands. He had been so engrossed that he did not hear or see Mama return to her seat on the other side of Kagome. Fuck! He didn’t know what to do. What was he meant to say? ‘Maybe, probably, yes, I think so, please don’t hate me’ didn’t seem right, and probably wouldn’t be taken very well.  What if he was forbidden to see Kagome again? He knew he could easily overpower anyone and take her back to his time, but would Kagome choose him over her family? He didn’t want to make her choose. 

“Inuyasha?” 

Taking a deep breath, still holding Kagome’s hand to boost his courage, he looked up. Mama was smiling at him, her eyes warm. A small whine of relief escaped him before he could hold it back. 

“It’s very plain to me how much you care for my daughter, and that she cares very much for you in return”, said Mama gently. “I truly believe that my daughter’s destiny is intertwined with yours. Do you two have any plans for a future together, after your quest is completed?” 

Inuyasha made a small sound, somewhere between a whine and a growl. Dammit, why was he the one getting asked to answer these questions that he’d barely even dared to think about, especially with Kikyo still out there somewhere, while his wench slumbered away oblivious between them. 

“We haven’t… that is… I want to…”, he coughed, and then sighed. “It’s… complicated.” 

“Love is usually a lot less complicated than people think”, Mama smiled, a little sadly. “I’m sorry if my question made you feel uncomfortable Inuyasha. I’m not exactly feeling like myself at the moment. I haven’t been back to this hospital since my husband died, and being here, and worrying about Kagome has rattled me a little.” 

She turned her head and looked out the window, directing her gaze towards the heat haze reflecting off the tall buildings in the distance, her hands twisting in her lap. Even though she was older, and her hair was shorter, her distressed expression and clenched hands reminded Inuyasha so much of Kagome when she was sad that he had to say something. Knowing him it would probably be the wrong thing, but he would try. 

“I’m not very good at talking about feelings and crap like that”, began Inuyasha hesitantly, “but Kagome said once that I was a good listener when I wanted to be. I’ve got the ears for it, you see.” He waggled them a little bit for Mama’s benefit, guessing from the way that she’d grabbed them when they first met that she liked them almost as much as Kagome did. 

Mama chuckled, wiping away the single tear that had escaped and slid down her cheek. “That you do, Inuyasha. Tell me, has Kagome ever told you much about her father?” 

“Not very much. I think she was worried she’d make me feel bad, because I never met my father; he died before I was born.” 

Mama smiled sadly at him. “I see.” She looked down at the golden ring on her left hand. “I first met Kagome’s father through some other friends, at Obon. We all danced together; it was so much fun. He bought me shaved ice, and he looked so handsome in his indigo yukata. By the end of the evening, I was a little in love with him already. It was a shame I was already going out with someone else at the time.” 

“Going out?”, questioned Inuyasha. 

“Hmm, would the phrase ‘courting’ make more sense to you?” When Inuyasha nodded, she continued. 

“Yes, I was being courted by someone else, a much older man. At first, I thought I was very much in love with him; I was so grateful that he’d noticed me in the first place, that I didn’t pay much attention to the way he treated me. He told me I was pretty, but he never wanted to know what I thought, or how I felt; he expected me to change and fit in with what he wanted and needed.” She sighed, twisting the ring on her finger. 

“Then the older man moved away for work; we were still courting, but I didn’t see him as often, and I spent more time with my other friends, including Kagome’s father, Toshinori.” 

She smiled at Inuyasha. “Toshi was studying to be a kannushi, ready to take over the Higurashi Shrine from his father. He embraced life, and always looked for the best in people. He valued my opinions and feelings, did his best to make me laugh, and even though we argued sometimes, usually over very stupid things, when I was with him, I felt more alive and… more myself, than I did with anyone else. It was then that I realised that I could never spend my life with someone who didn’t want me as I truly was.” 

Mama chuckled. “I met with the other man and told him that I had decided I didn’t want to see him anymore. My mother was furious; it was a very good match, according to her, he was quite wealthy. But I had made up my mind. Two months later, I was married to Kagome’s father.” 

She grinned at Inuyasha. “It turned out, we’d both been hiding our feelings of love. I hid them because I felt a weird sense of loyalty to the first man who had asked me out – it didn’t seem fair to abandon him when he wasn’t there to defend himself, even though I knew I loved Kagome’s father. Toshinori had kept quiet about his feelings for me because he didn’t want to put me in the awkward position of having to choose between us. He respected my feelings and had decided he would never tell me how much he loved me.” 

Mama looked down at the golden ring again. “I was so angry with him when I found out. We had a huge argument under the Goshinboku, and then he asked me to marry him. Once we both knew how the other felt, there seemed to be very little point in waiting.” 

She sighed again, twisting the ring on her finger. “We had ten wonderful years together as husband and wife before he was killed. Kagome was nearly eight years old when he died; I was pregnant with Souta, so like you, he never got to meet his father. I still miss him, every day.” 

Inuyasha watched the tears gathering on her dark eyelashes, dripping down onto the fingers that twisted the golden ring. “Was… was it worth it?”, he asked softly. 

Mama looked up into the anxious golden eyes of the half-demon sitting across from her, still holding tightly to her daughter’s hand. Her heart clenched at the expressions of fear and hope warring in his expression, and she was reminded that even though Kagome had told him he had lived much longer than any human, he was comparatively still a young man around Kagome’s age, who had not had the love and support of a family like her daughter had. She smiled gently. 

“Was falling in love worth it? Yes, Inuyasha. If I could go back in time, knowing that I would only have ten years with Kagome’s father and of the heartbreak there was to come, I would still choose to be with him. I would still love him. I always will.” Her eyes shifted from Inuyasha’s to the pale face of her daughter, still sleeping. “Love is always worth it, in the end.” 

Suddenly Kagome snorted loudly in her sleep, causing Mama Higurashi to giggle through her tears, and Inuyasha to let out a bark of laughter. The sudden noise woke Kagome up. 

“Huh, what’d I miss?”, she asked blinking her eyes. 

Still giggling slightly, Mama smiled at her. “Nothing dear. Inuyasha and I were just chatting, getting to know each other better.” 

“Okay.” Kagome went to rub her eyes with both hands, then realised that one was clasped within Inuyasha’s. She blushed, and although she looked away from him towards her mother, she squeezed his hand a little and rubbed her thumb lightly across his. “Have you guys been here long?” 

“Actually, it’s time for me to go”, said Mama, kissing her daughter on her cheek. “Your dinner should be here any moment, and I need to go pick up Souta from his friend’s house. Inuyasha, you can make your own way back to the shrine, can’t you?” She pointed to the baseball cap sitting on the bed in front of him. “Just don’t forget to wear that.” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “Fine”, he sighed, “I’ll wear it.” 

Mama tweaked one of his ears playfully as she walked past. “Don’t be late for dinner, Inuyasha. I’m cooking steak.” She blew a kiss to Kagome as she walked out the door. 

“Ugh, I wish she hadn’t mentioned dinner”, sighed Kagome, rubbing her stomach fretfully. “The food here is nowhere as good as Mama’s cooking.” 

“Do you think they’ll let you come home tomorrow?” asked Inuyasha. 

“Why, do you miss me that much?”, teased Kagome, playfully pulling on one the silver locks of his hair with her other hand. “If you’re bored, you can go back and annoy the others, I’m sure they’d be back to Kaede’s by now.” 

“It’s not the same without you there”, said Inuyasha softly. He coughed, clearing his throat, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Kagome, can you explain to me what obon is? Your grandfather mentioned it this morning, and your mother did today too.” 

Kagome looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Um, sure.  It was originally a Buddhist festival, but everyone celebrates it now. It’s all about going back home to your family; you visit and clean your ancestors’ graves. You wear a summer yukata, and there’s always dancing at night, and carnival rides and games and lots of food. It’s actually lots of fun.” 

Inuyasha looked down at their clasped hands. “Kagome, if you’re feeling better…” He coughed and then started again. “Would you… if you’re feeling well enough that is, would you like to go to the festival with me?” Inuyasha said the last part of the sentence so quickly that it took Kagome a few moments to work out what he had said. 

“You’d like to take me to the festival?”, Kagome asked, wanting to make sure she’d heard correctly. 

“Forget it, it was a stupid idea”. He went to pull his hand out of Kagome’s but was stopped by her firm grip. 

“I would very much like to go to Obon with you Inuyasha. I will make sure I’m feeling well enough to go, because I really, really want to.” 

“You’ll go with me?” 

“Yes, I’ll go with you”, she smiled. 

Inuyasha smiled back at her. His heart was still beating too fast. He couldn’t believe she’d said yes. Crap, she’d said yes! He didn’t know the first thing about what people did at this thing. He was gonna embarrass her. What should he do now? He couldn’t ask Sango or Miroku, because he was pretty sure they didn’t have this festival in the past. And there was dancing. He’d never danced at a festival before. What if he was bad at it? What if he made a fool of himself in front of Kagome? Dammit. Wait, Mama had mentioned the dancing, so she should know how to do it right? 

Kagome was still smiling at him, when he leaned forward and placed a lightning fast kiss on her cheek. “Gotta go Kagome, see you tomorrow!” He snatched up the hat from the bed and launched himself out the door before Kagome could say a word. 

xXxXxXx 

Mama was wiping her hands on her apron after checking the rice when Inuyasha barrelled into the kitchen, knocking over a chair. 

“Wow Inuyasha”, Mama chuckled, “I know you liked the steak last time we had it, but this is… what’s wrong?” She took in the stricken look on his face, and his slumped posture as he picked up the chair and plonked himself down in it. 

“I asked Kagome to the Obon Festival”, Inuyasha whispered, staring wide-eyed at her. 

“Have you ever asked a girl to a festival before Inuyasha?” He shook his head vehemently. “Is this something you would like my help with?” He nodded frantically. “Okay, don’t worry, this isn’t a problem dear. I’m sure it will all turn out just fine.” He nearly bowled her over with a sudden hug, then let her go just as suddenly. She took in his suddenly puzzled expression. “Inuyasha?” 

“I don’t know what to call you”, he said quietly, a blush suddenly rising to his cheeks. 

She giggled, then seeing his expression, hid her smile behind her hand. “Well, what do you call me in your head when you think of me?” 

Inuyasha looked down at the table. “When I first met you, it was just, Kagome’s mother. Then after a while, it was Mama Higurashi. But these last few days, in my head I’ve been calling you”, he looked up into her face anxiously, “just… Mama”. 

Mama’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Inuyasha, I don’t have a problem with you calling me Mama at all.”

[mafiabosstsuna]

Scenario: Hibari, Xanxus x Reader. Sick wife, deceased child, pregnancy.

Original Request: I want a happy ending scenario of Hibari’s au normal life where he had the dead child and sick wife where wife finds out she’s having another child? Can you do for Xanxus too if possible? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVYRYTHING ADMINS<3

Hibari

After, before; Shamal had overseen your health. When you’d miscarried, when you’d miscarried, you hadn’t really wanted to know why; but that didn’t stop your doctor from telling you why. Incompatible blood types. Apparently, your baby had a positive blood type to your negative; this made your body consider the baby a foreign object. As something dangerous to your health. He told you that your body, and your unborn child’s, were both fighting each other. You were being given blood poisoning by the tiny being still growing inside you.

You were lucky, he’s said. As you laid in a hospital bed, an indescribable feeling of emptiness; filling your heart with lead, you didn’t feel lucky. It was at that point that it had been organised for you to come back home, with Shamal overseeing your health; you would hopefully be back to full health soon.

Soon came and went, for some reason you weren’t getting better. You were losing weight, you were always tired; and honestly you just wanted to cry all the time. Curling into your bed, you hugged a pillow to your chest, sniffling as you though about what could come.

Hearing the door open softly, you knew who it would be. Hearing clothing being placed in a wash basket; you shivered when you felt the chill of the air, as your husband lifted the blanket before fitting his body to yours. His body almost branding yours with the heat of it, you snuggled back as you enjoyed it; like a proof of him being there, that he hadn’t left you.

Arms tucking around you, he pulled you further into his chest. It had been nearly two years since. For the pain throbbing in your chest, you could swear it was just yesterday. Drawing you from your thoughts, you felt your heart lighten; the feeling of his nose nuzzling the back of your neck reassuring. You knew he still wanted children, you still did too; but you knew he wouldn’t try again while you were still sick.

You were getting better, you thought. So when you asked him to make love to you two months ago, you almost cried at how he responded to your request. It was the softest and most delicately he’d ever treated you. He worshipped your body, as if you were more precious than anything else on the planet. The lightest of touches, of kisses; gently pulling you to your release, over, and over again. It almost made you feel guilty. You’d planned this. You loved him. You wanted a family with him. You’d used a needle to ruin every condom in the box.

Now as you laid here, his warmth burning away your worries; you coughed slightly to get his attention. Shamal knew. You’d told him after you’d missed your first, but you wanted to wait until you’d made it to your first trimester before you told Kyouya. The feeling though, of his hand absently drifting down; drawing soft patterns on your skin, you decided now was close enough.

“Kyo?”, a soft hum was your response as you stared at the stitching on the pillow; “Um, I’m pregnant again.” Squeaking as he froze, before grasping your shoulder and pulling you back onto your back; you smiled, confidence waning at the searching look in his eyes. “It- It’s yours-” You rushed, unsure about his reaction.

Smiling softly, he leaned down; lips brushing against yours.

“I know it’s mine.” Looking into your eyes, you felt yourself begin to melt at the love that shone down at you; hidden only for you to see. “I’m glad you’re getting better.” Pulling you to lay with your head on his chest, you felt relief flood through you.

You were glad you’d done what you had; and as you felt his hand trace hearts on your shoulder blade, you were sure he was glad too.

Xanxus

He was used to whispers.

People talking behind his back was something he’d always dealt with; he was used to it, and it no longer bothered him.

Most of the time. When those whispers concerned you however; it was a different matter. Grinding the barrel of his gun into the man’s skull; the back side of which was pressed against a wall, he wondered when people had decided it was alright. Glare focused on the man, he sneered when he pissed himself.

“What, was, that, scum.” While it may have been phrased as a question, really it was just a challenge. Daring the, man? Standing in a puddle to repeat what he’d said. Watching as his face went pale he was tempted to count down; three, two. Well, that was earlier than expected; scowl etched on his face, he kicked at the man unconscious in his own piss.

Stalking past a observing Squalo, he told him to take care of the trash; he was going to wait in the car, he wanted to go home. People had been making comments about you. About how you were obviously not fit to be a mother. Just over a year ago, you’d given birth to your son. In the next few moments, many things happened.

The room was silent for about five minutes. Realisation setting in. Your baby was dead on arrival. The doctors and nurses hurriedly attempting to remove the child from the room; your screams of pain continuing. Drawing his gun he had forced them to let you hold the child, if even for a minute. To this day, he could still hear your cries.

The sound like a trigger; it always brought him to that moment, the vision of you more distraught than he’d ever seen you before. Now as he looked in the rear view mirror, the man from before being rolled into the boot; he just wanted to get home to you. After the loss of your child; he couldn’t look at you. He was too angry. There had to have been something he could have done; some point where he fucked up. He realised where it was though. It was months later; when he heard Lussuria telling Squalo about your health decline. Abandoning you after was where the mistake was.

That night he’d apologised. In the only way he knew how. That whole night he held you, kisses soft as he made his way down your body. Whispering about how you were stronger than he thought; how he was glad he’d married such a capable woman. When you whimpered that you weren’t, he made sure to steal the words from your lips; reassurances floating back to you.

As you fell apart under his hands; he dealt with your insecurities, including the ones he’d bred. A few months ago you’d approached him; telling him that you wanted to try again. While it was true your health had improved, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being broken like that again; so he’d turned you down, trying to ignore the pained expression that crossed your face.

He wanted you to have another child; so as you lay spent beneath him, he hid the condom he’d pretended to use. Leaning down he whispered into your ear,

“You were so damn excited; you’ve made a mess.” Before nipping at it gently.

That was 3 months ago. When he’d left for a job that morning, you stopped him, kissing him gently.

“Hurry home, I have something I want to tell you about.” You had a tiny smile, but the glow that your skin possessed let him know, all he needed to know.

Now as Squalo drove back, he couldn’t wait for you to tell him the news he hoped to hear; and if the text he received from you was any indication, you were just as excited as he was.

  “Hurry back! It’s good news I promise! ♥️”

~

Admin Aria

[financiallymint]

Experiment 8: Backpacking and Studying in South America

I’m back!

You may have noticed a little less activity on social media and generally on Financially Mint in the last few months. Reason: the author (yes me) went a little crazy, decided to go travelling and never come back (and now I’m back). It was an amazing 3 months: I started in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and went all the way through to Santiago, Chile, up to Peru and then over to Bolivia. 4 countries, one backpack and an intrigued solo traveller. Of course, it was amazing; I did things I had never dreamt of doing (touching dinosaur footprints) and met people I didn’t know could exist (a horse psychologist??).

But I also learnt a lot. Not just about myself, but about the world, and people. I learnt a lot and it wasn’t until I had been back for 2 weeks and had was back in a routine that I realised how much I had learnt. So, of course, I’m writing a post about it: 5 things I learnt backpacking round South America.

1. You can study and travel

This trip was an experiment; I wanted to see if I could study, work and travel at the same time. I study online at The Open University (post on that coming soon) and I work as a digital marketing freelancer on the side. Throughout the travels I had to keep studying, turning in assignments on time and keeping up to date. With the freelancing, I dropped most of my clients and told them I’d be back in a few months.

So did it work? Kind of. I was able to study and turn in my assignments, but any attempts to work went out the window. I answered emails and did admin, but proper work was pretty much impossible. Sleeping in hostels and with couchsurfers meant I hardly ever had some quiet time and couldn’t really concentrate. But that was fine, because I was ready – I had 3 months of blog posts written and not much freelancing to do.

I study maybe 3/4 hours a week with the OU, and what’s cool with travelling alone is that I could rearrange my day around getting my studying done – study in the morning, tourist in the afternoon. A pretty cool arrangement (which was completely shattered the minute my friend from the US came to do Peru with me, since it was harder to manage my time). I also must mention that I am half Spanish and therefore could communicate easily with locals – a great advantage, I realised during the trp.

So you say: ‘Great! Studying and travelling sounds amazing! I’d love to do that too, but how on baby’s Earth do I finance it? I’m already broke as a student, where would I get the money to travel around South America???’.

Well my dear student friends, let me tell you something: those three months cost me around £3,000, excluding the plane ticket. £3,000. Think about it. Is it really that much?

If you got a job, even a student job, applied the 15% rule and budgeted correctly, you’d get to that number in no time. Next thing you know you’re getting a degree and travelling! I’m not saying you have to do it, I’m saying is that it’s possible.

2. Travelling doesn’t have to be expensive

Moving on from the last point: my trip cost me £3,500 in total, this time including all plane tickets, accommodation, food, trips, tours and souvenir llama jumpers. At first it may seem like a lot, but the budget was £1,000 of expenses a month, which ain’t too bad if you ask me.

Related: Mastering the art of travelling on a student budget

So why was it so cheap? Mostly because I did quite a lot of couchsurfing, did a 2 week workaway, hostel home cooking and also the fact that South America is a cheaper continent (yay!). But the most interesting part is that I know I could have done this trip on an even lower budget. Think of all these options: working in hostels, doing workaways, au pairing, etc. When I told other travellers my budget was £1,000 a month, they were surprised; most people travel on way lower budgets. Once again… all I’m saying is that it’s possible.

3. Travelling is one of the best forms of education

Why am I so supportive of the whole travel and study idea? Because travelling is one of the best kinds of education you can find. Just as important as a degree (or even more…).

Think about it: you throw yourself into an unknown world, alone and ready to learn. You have to figure out how to get from X to Y without internet, you have to communicate with locals and understand their culture, you get to meet other travellers and make friends. All that is education, because you learn how to be independent, how to relate to others and also you get to know a little more of yourself – something universities don’t really offer.

I’ve done quite a bit of travelling in my short lifetime, but what was different about this trip was the people I met. Some of them inspired me, some intrigued me, and some became my very good friends.

I met this guy in a little town in the south of the wine province in Argentina (Mendoza) called San Rafael. It’s famous for having tons of nature activities and is great for family outings. This friend I made was living in this little town and worked as a rafter on the river. He loved the water and his job was to guide people down the river and save lives. But he was taking it a step further; after seeing how underdeveloped and disorganised tourist information was, he joined up with a developer and was started building an app. This app would help families figure out which cool activity to do, how much it would cost and where it was. I loved it. By day he was a rafter, and on the side he was an app developer – in this little town in the middle of the Mendoza desert. I simply found it inspiring.

You learn so much from the people you meet, it’s quite unbelievable. You learn about their culture, their way of living, their day to day activities (sacrificing a llama fetus before each starting a construction project – Bolivia). And it’s fascinating.

Another important lesson I learnt was how lucky I am to have grown up in a Western country. Peru and Bolivia are lovely places with lovely people, but seeing what corruption, poverty and inflation does to people is heartbreaking. Yes, we’ve got our crazy politicians, fake news and are addicted to technology, but it’s nothing compared to what I saw in some places of SA. Thanks to our society, I am able to travel, earn my own money, get an education, have my own thoughts and express my own opinions. And now I realise, that’s a lot.

4. Travelling alone is LIT

I did the entire of SA alone apart from Peru, where I had planned to meet my friend from California and do the country together. Most were surprised that I would venture into the wild alone – but I was looking for real adventure, and I knew the craziest ones are the ones you do alone.

Travelling alone means meeting a ton of people wherever you go, and it forces you to be sociable. When I travelled with my friend, we stuck together and enjoyed each other’s company – I couldn’t be asked to talk to others. His lack of Spanish meant it wasn’t easy to talk to locals – so we mostly stuck together. It was nice to mix it up with a friend (thanks Ryan), but I was still happy to be overall backpacking by myself.

So I was able to meet a lot of people and go where and when I wanted. After doing a canyon trip in Mendoza, Argentina, I fell in love with the place and wanted to go back and stay some nights there (San Rafael). And guess what? I did exactly that. Boo yeah.

It also meant I could work/study when I wanted to, and that I didn’t have to organise stuff every five seconds for those who didn’t speak Spanish (*cough cough Ryan ;)). So overall, pretty amazing. You should try it.

5. I wasn’t productive

Of course, everything is not always unicorn and rainbows. The trip was awesome, amazing, life-changing. But there was one negative side: I wasn’t productive AT ALL.

Ok yes I did manage to keep up with the studying and some reading, and I did learn a lot from the people and the countries. But I wasn’t making any money, I wasn’t advancing with my career or my ambitions. It may seem frivolous or obvious to someone else, but it wasn’t to me.

So the 3 months were more of a holiday than anything else – which is great, of course, but I felt a slight frustration that I couldn’t get on with my career ambitions, because the constant changes and lack of wifi made it pretty much impossible.

Financially Mint was updated once a week from my stock of pre-written articles. But pageviews considerably decreased due to the lack of marketing, social media activity and interaction with others. Oops.

So yeah, for three months I didn’t do any work, really. And since I’m someone who likes to keep busy and work on my ‘goals’, those hours without wifi stuck waiting for a bus were a little frustrating. I wasn’t challenging myself professionally, something I only realised I missed when I got back to work; that feeling of progress, of reaching goals.

I’m not complaining – I’m simply observing. The the lesson here is: backpacking = holidays. You can’t work online and keep moving about every 3 days. Now I know.

What’s the next trip?

So I’m pretty much done with backpacking – I want to get some real work done and start growing the FM community. Next time I go travelling, it’ll be for 6 months+, something called slow travel. I’m moving from Edinburgh to Barcelona for 4 months, where I’ll be doing an internship (my first 9-5!). And after that… who knows?

What are the plans for Financially Mint?

I put the website growth on pause for 3 months, which meant there was a lot of catching up to do when I got back. But my head is cleared and I feel focused.  After an awesome FI meetup in London and talking to other people working on similar projects, I created some new goals and tasks for FM. This website is my baby, I ain’t giving up now.

So what are some of those goals?

Coaching: I want to try helping other students face-to-face or on Skype. Free of charge, just talking. Contact me if you’re interested in being part of the trial run.

Courses: Apart from the 6 day email course, I haven’t created anything else. In the process of creating budgeting, investing, saving courses. Step-by-step and actionable.

Community: Once I start the courses and coaching, I want to create a community of students – a place where we can all ask questions and learn from each other (Facebook or Slack?)

Social media: As much as I dislike checking my phone every 5 min, I’ve decided to take on a bigger presence on social media. Check FM out on Instagram and LinkedIn!

Projects: I love the topic of Financial Independence, I love how it changes people, gives them hope and teaches them how to enjoy life. We started a podcast with 2 other friends called Financial Independence Europe (yes very original) where we interview people who have reached FI in Europe, figuring out the best countries to work, retire and invest in. Also on track to organising more FI meetups and events in the UK and Spain – Contact me if you’re interested in helping spread the word and make it happen.

So there you go! A little update on Financially Mint and myself, and some interesting lessons on travel. Hope you’ve learnt something and would be interested in hearing people’s thoughts!

[inky-thoughts]

hi! i was wondering, do u perhaps have any tips on what to pay attention to when applying for a zine instead of making one?

I actually planned to cover that a bit during a later post in the series where I also wanted to talk a bit about zine etiquette for contributors, but I definitely can give you some pointers already (also I love to procrastinate, soooooo this ask is more than welcome haha)

THIS GOT REALLY OUT OF HAND SO THERE’S A READ MORE NOW ^^;

First of all, find a zine for something that you actually feel passionate enough about so that you want to create for it. You don’t want to create something for something you actually hate. Zines are supposed to be fandom fun with this feeling of professionalism, not something you absolutely need to drag yourself to work on.

I also wouldn’t apply to too many at once, especially with similar/overlapping schedules. 2-3 is reasonable if you have a life outside of the arts, like a job or school, but if you’ve got both going on, maybe reduce it to a max. of 2 at a time. If you’re basically freelancing and the zines would be your next projects, apply to as many as you actually know you can handle. Always assume you get into all of them, and plan accordingly. If you don’t get in - more time for other stuff. But especially from the perspective of a zine mod, don’t take on too many if you can’t handle it.

Always, always, ALWAYS pay attention to the zine’s schedule. Check before you even open the tab for the application that you actually got time for the zine. Always be as pessimistic as possible (but still realistically so) because you never know when you’ll be in an art/writing block. If especially final drafts are due around major deadlines from school/uni/anything else important to your life, do yourself a favour and opt out of this zine. You’ll be endlessly stressed and the mods don’t know what to do with you.If you decide on applying to the zine and got in, write down all deadlines in your calendar of choice (I actually have two different calendars so I mark that in both), and if you know yourself as that person who is really forgetful about deadlines, please do everyone a favour and put yourself reminders on what works best for you (alarms, countdowns, reminders via phone, sticky notes in your room, etc.)

Check if you meet all of the zine applicant’s requirements, and if not all, can you work on them so you fit in time before applications close? It’s not worth getting your hopes up if you end up not even being able to participate because they look for certain people.

I would also always check out the zine’s mods/admins and what kind of reputation they have. If they aren’t publicly mentioned anywhere on the zine’s blog/whathaveyou, I would rather evade the zine.Same goes for any weird feeling you get, be it through the language they use (e.g. unprofessional tonality like My Immortal/2000s chat language seems like the mods don’t take it seriously enough unless it is actually the zine’s theme, the use of slurs or inappropriate/rude statements), or appearance of the blog/twitter account, … I personally also would steer around people who are self-acclaimed “antis” even if they support your OTP, this still can get ugly as the atmosphere might be tense/not very welcoming, or even downright hostile.Remember that if you participate, you will be associated with the zine and the zine with you.If it is not a free downloadable zine, what happens with the earned money? If they don’t state anything about it, it really looks shady. Same goes for a claimed Charity Zine where you can’t access any information to which organisation(s) they want to donate.

Here and here are some other really prominent red flags of how to spot possible scammers.

If you are just starting out with zines, it might be wise to rather look for smaller ones and see what comes out of it. An all-applicants-get-in zine is hard to find nowadays I believe, but is still a good opportunity to just get to know deadlines with creative works in a larger project.

Always tell in advance that you (possibly) can’t make a deadline if you got into a zine. Running after people 24/7 is exhausting and annoying and definitely triggers the will to strangle someone much more than you sending a small e-mail with “I’m sorry but I can’t make the deadline because [I’m sick/my dog died/my exams are more stressful than expected/I have to cover for a coworker/we have a big family celebration/…], can I please get an extension (of XX days)?” - please for God’s sake don’t be embarrassed or even scared to tell such things, it happens but it’s always better to know such things a few days or even a day in advance instead of … a week after the deadline actually was supposed to happen. I promise you, bascially all of the mods are very understanding and definitely will help you figure out a solution.

Be kind to other participants and try to get to know them a little better. Fan projects are such a great way to make new friends and actually find people to collaborate with as well, additionally everyone benefits from a good atmosphere on the team. The great thing about most zines having discord channels nowadays is that you can actually communicate with other participants instead of mainly just the mods. Also, if you happen to check out the other contributors you might find several hidden gems of artists/writers!

A bit on portfolios:

Depending a bit on the zine, it always is better for you to have a small compilation of fanworks that actually deal with the zine’s characters/the source material, even if it’s just a more detailed/polished sketch or a slightly longer drabble (between 500 and 1000 words). If it isn’t already required in the application form, it at least shows interest in the source material and the zine itself.

As an artist, have actually polished pieces with (preferrably full-body) characters and real backgrounds (physically interacting characters are always great btw). Think about what you enjoy about zine pieces yourself - you usually don’t discover everything at the first sight, or they just downright awe you so it’s actually worth it to look through the zine once more. Show pieces that are of the same quality because you want to get into a zine. If you apply as a merch artist, also have at least one or two pieces that show a style suited for the merch you apply for.

As a writer, it is good to have at least one solid one-shot between 1-5k words. Mods want to know how you deal with the rather small wordcount that is typical for zines. I really would recommend especially writers to have at least one piece from the source material the zine’s about.

Also, I wouldn’t include anything that is older than max. 3 years, however good and awesome it is. Whether you are an artist or a writer, I will guarantee you that you won’t create works the same way as you did back then. At some point, it’s just dated and you’ll have to say goodbye for good.Mods want to know what they can expect from your zine piece, so it’s also better to have a good average than an outstanding outlier that you are highly unlikely to ever recreate. Show what you usually do with a little bit of extra sprinkles of what they might get, as it is a zine entry.If you have already participated in zines, maybe include one of these pieces, that way they know you have ~experience~ and it gives them more realistic expectations.

Be honest with yourself: Are you actually ready to be in a zine, and is your art of choice, too? If your skill-level barely goes beyond middle-school art class/creative writing, and/or you don’t really have a portfolio to actually show people, maybe hone your skills a bit more as you create more pieces and challenge yourself.

I hate to be that person but I think especially artists are over-eager and just apply whether or not they are even skilled enough. I can guarantee you that just a poorly executed headshot of a character isn’t even close to enough to get into 99% of the zines out there, same goes for conveniently hiding hands behind the character’s back or other strategically placed objects. Know your skill-level, and know when it’s actually realistic to go semi-professional with it, because even if it is about a fun fan experience, mods also want to present a solid product in the end. This is not to discourage you but more as a sisterly advice because when I looked through the apps of our zine, I saw applications on a level where I would have never even dreamt of participating in a zine when I was at that stage.

That became more than expected (and sorry for the little rant at the end) - I hope that was somewhat helpful and what you had in mind, nonnie

[shipme]

Day Four

Title : “We’re a matcha made in heaven” -Jin x reader 

Words count: 1873

Summary: You want to celebrate Jin’s birthday but nothing goes as planned...

Warnings: Read it cautiously, you might be attacked by fluff on the way

A/N: My first time actually writing a full OS related to k-pop, I had fun imagining the scenes and I hope you will enjoy it. I know it isn’t exactly Jin’s birthday anymore if we keep track of the Korean time but I sadly couldn’t post it earlier... -Admin Whiger

Today wasn’t an ordinary day. In fact, it probably WAS an ordinary day for most of the persons but not for you as your boyfriend was celebrating his actually born on the 4th of December. You had thought a long time ago about what you could do to celebrate and mark this occasion, knowing very well that you couldn’t exactly afford things too expensive -unlike the ARMYS who were always preparing such incredible and thoughtful gifts- because of your salary. You thought about creating something of your own but when you tried your best at sewing a jumper, you knew that it was for HIS best that you stopped right here (let’s just say that you had designed clothes adapted to an alien with three arms and little to no shoulders so basically, not Jin). You thought about offering him an album but if he wanted anything, he could actually buy it and this wasn’t even that personalised… A pillow was out of the question with his RJ one (he was so proud of it!) You couldn’t really sing him a song either, knowing full well that you would be too stressed to compare your voice to his... So what was left to do?

   After thinking for quite a while, you finally thought about something that could fulfill all your criteria in one go: what about cooking him something? It had been quite a while since he had the time to sit down with his comeback, the flight to the USA, coming back to Korea and train for the MAMA’s… He texted you a short message every day but even without seeing him and talking to him, you knew he was exhausted. Behind all the smiles and kisses sent to the fanzines, you could see his eyes containing some tiredness and you worried yourself for him: there was no way he could continue like this for too long. A few days before his actual birthday, you had contacted Big Hit, asking for a day free of work for Jin. You had received a positive answer and thanked them a hundred times, a smile on your face all the time: your boyfriend would actually have some time to rest!    You also contacted all the BTS members -apart from Jin obviously- and set up a plan with them: each one of you would offer him a gift to relax him. Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok were taking care of the morning by getting a massage with Jin, Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung were in charge of the afternoon, composed of relaxing by going to the sauna and watching a movie.    This would give you the time to put your own plan into action: cooking a full meal for Jin composed of his favourite things to eat. Most weren’t that difficult to prepare but you wanted everything to be perfect and waited until the last minute to have everything set up so that the quality would be the best. You already had selected some recipes to prepare lobster but had a hard time dealing with the shell, resulting in many projections and a loss of some considerable time. You sighed heavily when you read that it was already 10:43 A.M and that you were no way near done for now. You rushed things and prepared everything for the Naengmyeon (even though it wasn’t exactly the right season, you knew Jin would be pleased so why not?). You then ate quickly, try not to waste more time, and went right back to your preparations, creating some mini-pizzas and mini-hamburgers as entries. By the time you finished all this, it was 15:18 (making pizzas and hamburgers wasn’t that difficult but getting them bitesize was not the same story…) but you were right on time! 

   Feeling reassured, you set on the table, paying close attention to every details, trying to come up with a cozy ambiance, You even thought about candles -even though the sun was still lightning your room- privileging them over your usual lamps, knowing that it would give off a warmer impression without being over-romantic. Once you were also done with this, all that was left was to prepare yourself. A warm shower later, some make-up and classier clothes on, you were back, admiring your little creation with some pride: you really hoped this would be a great surprise to Jin!    You sat on the couch and started to wait (trying your best to be patient). You even started to doze off and were suddenly woken up by the sound of someone knocking. You jumped off your feet and went to the door, opening it wide and throwing yourself on the person in front of you, inhaling his scent that you missed so much. Jin’s arms slowly framed you against him as he held you with many emotions, relishing in your presence. You muffled a tiny “Happy Birthday”, nuzzling into him a bit more. Someone scraping his voice pulled you both out of the moment “ Hum… Well, we’ll live you like that hyung, spend a nice evening “ added Jimin a bit fast, his cheeks coloured a shade of pink as he watched the interaction. You also felt yourself blushing, not because you were ashamed but because you hadn’t seen Jungkook and by the smile he was wearing, he must have taken some photos that would probably be the center of many talks between the guys.    “Thanks for returning Jin to me “ You cut short, offering a bashful smile, “We’ll talk later, good night!” You concluded, taking Jin’s hand in yours and retreating back to your apartment. As soon as the door was closed, Jin swiftly bends and kissed you in a languid way, making you know he missed you. You were the one to break the kiss, out of breath, only to initiate it just after you caught your breath again. It went on for a few moments, just you two passionately kissing, before some lust got initiated. The kisses got shorter but more intense, and it took you a few moments to register that you suddenly weren’t in the entry anymore but on the couch. You tried to regain your senses back before it was too late, knowing full well you’d have all the time to do that just later.     

“ Hey, would you like to eat something before we can… Pursue? “ Your voice came out unsteady and hesitant but it was enough to make Jin stop as he gave you one of his dazzling smiles “Of course I’d like to eat, have you prepared me something?” He asked, eyes full of wonder. “And it would be a great occasion to speak, it’s been such a long time, you have no idea how incredibly I’ve missed you”. The quick faltering didn’t go unnoticed and you pressed a quick kiss on his forehead, a habit you had to calm down each other. “Get ready because I’ve prepared so many things! After you eat all this, you won’t be able to walk anymore! “ You chanted as you got up, making your way to the kitchen. Unfortunately, Jin picked on you bad choice of wording “Well, if I can’t walk because I ate too much, there might be another reason that makes YOU not walk”. You immediately turned in his direction, only to find him wearing his most angelic expression before he sent a flying kiss your way “Waaaaaaaeeeeeee, I thought I could trust you but look at you, saying this and then acting all innocent!“

   You cute reaction made Jin laugh, which in turn got you laughing, and you spent a few minutes calming you down. You then heated all your preparations and set everything on the coffee table. Jin’s expression was priceless when he saw what you had done: it was a mix of shocked and amazed as if it actually was the best thing ever, and you knew the preparations were worth it if this was the result. What you didn’t expect was for him to take some photos and start a V-LIVE right on the spot because he needed to show his fans what you had done. You casually talked with him as the life went on -the fans knew full well about you and supported you both, resulting in you not getting too stressed about the situation. Even though you couldn’t talk about every subject, you enjoyed the moment. That was until Jin cut off the V-LIVE, saying that he would come back after when you would bring the cake.    As the word cake was mentioned, you paled right away, feeling the dread flooding you. You… You couldn't have forgotten about the cake right? It wasn’t possible to forget a damn cake, not for a birthday! Your eyes started to sting and you didn’t have to look at you in a mirror to know they were starting to water as despair was clutching at your heart: you wanted everything to be perfect and-    “Sweetheart, what is wrong?” Jin’s voice got you out of your frenzy, as well as the feather-like touch of his hand on yours as he tried his best to comfort you and get you to open up. You tried your best to explain the situation and looked up, only to be met with a pair of worried eyes. 

And then, you broke down, sobbing because you hadn’t done what you wanted and instead of making Jin relaxed, you had caused him to worry. A few seconds later, you were cuddled in Jin’s arms, him gently tracing circles on your back and whispered “Shhhh” softly in your ears to calm you down. It took some time but finally, you regain some sort of control over your tears, stopping the water work. “Well, if you wanted to drown me, there are more effective ways to do it” He joked lightly, trying to lighten up your mood. You giggled and offered him a crisped smile before taking a deep breath and spilling the information “I’m-so-sorry-Jin-I-totally-failed-I-forgot-about-the-cake-and-then-I-cried-because-you-were-looking-up-to-this…”    Your declaration was followed by silence before Jin shook his head, a timid smile of his own on display. When he answered you, his eyes -full of fondness- found yours “There is NO WAY I can be disappointed in you for something so silly!” He ruffled your hair. “I know you organised the whole day and I couldn’t be more thankful to know you, know that you were the one to think about it and even more, know that I can call you my girlfriend. So please, don’t cry over something such as a birthday cake, you already did more than enough. And anyway, doesn’t it gives us a reason to cook together?”    He wiped the new tears streaming down your face with his thumb, tracing delicate patterns over your cheeks as he let his gaze trail over your face. “ You know you’ve stolen a pizza my heart, right?” His windshield laugh followed the sentence and you laughed along, all your disappointment was forgotten. Maybe this wasn’t the best birthday maybe it didn’t go as planned but didn’t things end best that way?

[entrepreneurnut]

Productivity Hacks For Solopreneurs

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Productivity Hacks For Solopreneurs

If you’re a solopreneur then I’m sure you, like me, now how important it is to be as productive with your time as possible.

However, many solopreneurs find it difficult to stay focused and productive when working alone.

There are a huge number of distractions all around us that suck or time and prevent us from moving forward.

Fortunately, there are a number of productivity hacks for solopreneurs that you can leverage to make yourself as efficient as possible.

The more effective you are with your time, not only will you reach your goals considerably faster, you’ll also have more time to spend with the people you love doing the things you enjoy.

10 Productivity Hacks For Solopreneurs & Entrepreneurs

Master your phone

As useful as they are, the phone is a huge distraction and productivity killer.

Here are some important tips to improve your productivity by mastering your phone:

Don’t switch on your phone during the first or last hour of the day (your sacred hours)

Put your phone on silent while working

Put your phone out of view when you’re working

Don’t look at your phone during your working blocks of time

Don’t check your phone during a working block when you’re stuck or procrastinating on a task

Don’t take unscheduled called calls during the day

Figure out your peak productivity times

We all have different times of the day when we’re at our most productive and most creative.

There’s not a one size fits all solution here. You’ll need to find your times and then schedule your tasks around what works best for you.

For example, some people love to wake up early while others are night owls. If you find that your mind seems to be the most focused during the evenings then that might be your most productive time of the day.

Personally, for myself I’m the most focused during late morning, so this is the time I focus on creative tasks like writing. I then reserve the afternoon for tasks that I can do well without having to think too hard about them.

Morning routine

If you can win the first hour of the day then you have a much stronger chance of winning the rest of the day.

There is a saying that the first hour of the day is the golden hour and so, should be dedicated to ourselves.

Use this hour to do things for yourself that will enhance your overall health, well being and sharpen our mind.

In this video below from Brian Tracy, he recommends spending the first hour reading something inspirational, motivational or something that you can learn to improve your income.

Here is a shortlist of things you can do to set you upright during the first hour of your day:

Meditate

Stretch

Work out

Read something positive

Journaling

Affirmations

You don’t need to spend the first hour on just one of these tasks. You can spend 10, 15 or 20 minutes on a few different ones.

To give you an example, at the moment the following is working well for me:

Stretch – 10mins

Meditate – 10mins

Read – 30mins

Affirmations – 10mins

Experiment with it to find what works for you.

Evening routine

Just as important as your morning routine is having a solid evening routine.

Make the final hour of your day a sacred time for you to wind down and get into a good state of relaxation before bed.

If you don’t do it at the end of your working day, then writing down the tasks you need to get done for the next day can be done at this time. Getting them out of your head and onto paper will help to clear your mind.

Don’t look at any type of screens within this last hour before bed. That includes TV and your phone as well as computers.

Sleep is super important for productivity and studies have shown that the blue light from screens will inhibit the production of melatonin, the hormone our body produces to help us sleep.

Blue light blockers can help, however, engaging with your phone, computer or the television before bed will stimulate the mind and inhibit a good night’s sleep.

See also: How you can make money on Pinterest without a blog

Listen to music

Listening to music can be a great way to help get you into your flow state.

I find instrumental music the most effective during my creative hours as music with lyrics can often be distracting. When I’m working on tasks that don’t need a lot of focus then it doesn’t seem to matter if the music has lyrics.

We’re all different so you’ll need to experiment and find what kind of music works best for you.

My personal favourites that I find the most effective when working is inspirational soundtrack music or upbeat classical music.

Definitely do not listen to playlists on YouTube while you’re working unless you have a paid subscription to YouTube otherwise you’ll be interrupted by annoying ads every few minutes. This can really kill your focus.

Tap into your flow state

You’ve probably heard of the term “flow state” before. It’s the state of mind that top athletes and high achievers get into for peak performance.

Some people also refer to it as “being in the zone”.

We’ve likely all had experiences of being in a flow state where you seemed to have an unbelievably sharp focus and everything seems to flow. However, for most people, these times are very few and far between and they have no idea how to access it at will.

Fortunately, we all have the ability to do it as it’s a state of mind that we can all access.

It’s like a muscle and the more you flex it, the stronger it will get.

I’ve also noticed that it seems to be easier to get into flow state during our highest hours of creativity.

Here’s how to start to train your flow state:

Remember a time when you were in a state of flow, where you had a single-minded focus and were super productive. It may also be a memory of when you operated at peak performance when you played sport at school

The feelings are the key. Recall the feelings you felt in your body when you were in that flow state

Practice recalling those feelings at different times throughout your day, and especially before to sit down to do your most important work

Use and keep to a schedule

If you’re like most entrepreneurs then you’ll likely have hundreds of tasks you need to get done, but no time to do them.

The key is to schedule them.

First, schedule your days into chunks of time where you’ll be the most effective at getting different types of tasks done.

For example, if you’re really creative between 9am – 12pm then schedule all your creative tasks during these hours over the coming days.

Then, decide which tasks you can do without much thought. Those tasks can be assigned to your afternoon between say 2pm – 5pm when you come back from lunch.

For admin tasks, you can choose one day per week, say a Friday for example, where you spend the last 2-3 hours of the day getting your admin tasks done.

See also: Effective ways to make money with ClickBank

Schedule breaks

Scheduling breaks is also really important. I used to schedule no breaks at all, I’d even used to eat a sandwich for lunch while I was still working. That’s really dumb.

I thought I needed to work every second of the day I had in order to get things done.

Interestingly, once I started scheduling breaks throughout my day I found I got more done, was able to get into the flow state more easily and was happier.

For lunch I now take one and a half hours and also use that time to relax and go for a walk or even have a nap if I need one

Don’t check email first thing in the morning

Similar to turning your phone on first thing in the morning, this is also another productivity killer.

Replying to emails first thing in the morning is like saying to your subconscious, “other people’s agendas are more important than mine”.

Before you know it, you’ll have spent a considerable amount of your day prioritising other people’s needs while your important tasks pile up, spill over to another day and cause you more anxiety.

I’ve still not found the perfect time for me yet to check my emails, but it’s certainly not first thing in the morning. At the moment, I’m reserving 30-45mins per day after my creative morning time and before lunch to check emails and this is definitely working better.

If there are emails that I haven’t got to check in this time period and are not urgent, they can wait until the next day.

Use online tools and automations

There are loads of great tools out there you can use to automate some of your tasks.

Some simple ones include setting up automated email replies or using the free Voice Typing feature to create lists or even write articles in Google Sheets.

There are also loads of other cool software programs that can help you with more advanced tasks.

For example, Todoist is a great software app you can use to organise all our tasks. You can also sync it with any smartphone to organise and schedule your emails for you.

IFTTT is another great app you can use in combination with all kinds of other apps to automate tasks to simplify your work as well as other areas of your life.

Here’s a great article that shows you 35 ways to automate your life with IFTTT.

Hire a VA

If you’ve not done it before then hiring a VA might not be as expensive as you think.

You can find skilled workers to do certain tasks for you at very reasonable rates.

Some good places to look to a VA for ad-hoc tasks include fiverr.com and upwork.com.

If you’re looking for a VA on a part-time or full-time basis then I highly recommend taking a look at onlinejobs.ph.

Final Thoughts

Keeping away from the phone the first hour of the day and during your working blocks as well as not checking your email several times a day are two of the best things you can do to improve your productivity and get stuff done.

Are there any productivity hacks for solopreneurs that are not on this list that work well for you? Let me know in the comments below.