#nanowrimo fanfiction

[vodika-vibes]

So you want to be a Bounty Hunter...

Chapter 1: In which Boba meets Jazz

Summary: Boba Fett has been the Daimyo of Tatooine for less than a year, and when the open air market starts getting targeted by a group of thieves, Boba is asked to investigate. What he finds changes his life forever.

Pairing: None

Word Count: 2298

Warnings: Mentions of Slavery, Mentions of Child Abuse

Tagging: @trixie2023

A/N: This is my NaNoWriMo story for 2023. Plus, this is my first time making a proper graphic for something I wrote, so any feedback on that would be appreciated, lol.

If someone had told Boba Fett 10, 20 years ago that someday he would be the ruler of Tatooine, and that he would put his bounty hunting on hold for the sake of the people he rules…he would have laughed in their faces.

And then probably shot them for good measure. 

Even ten years ago, his plan was to live, and die, as a Bounty Hunter, like his father before him. 

Honestly, it is a good thing that time travel isn’t real, because if it was then Boba would have to go back and punch the younger version of himself in the face, just out of principle. 

Boba turns when he hears light footsteps approaching him from behind, “Are you ready to go? The Market opened an hour ago.” Fennec says as she folds her arms over her chest.

“I am,” He agrees as he pulls his helmet over his head, “Do you have any additional information for me?”

“No.” Fennec falls into step behind him, “All I know for sure is that someone, or a group of someones more likely, has been targeting people at the market. With luck, we’ll be able to catch who it is.”

“You have to admit,” Boba says as he heads down the hall to where the speeders are kept, “It’s ballsy. Hitting the same market, week after week.”

“And they’ve never been caught. So they’re good.” Fennec agrees. “Good enough to dodge the sharp eyed men and women at the market, at least.”

“Then we’d better get there and see what we can figure out, if anything.” Boba says decisively. He smirks, unnoticed, as Fennec immediately jumps into the driver’s seat as soon as they reach the garage.

The older woman might trust and respect Boba, but she refuses to let him drive ever again.

Fennec is a careful driver. Quick, yes, but she’s also very careful. Boba never asks her about it, though once, when she was drunk, she mentioned something about a speeder crash when she was a child. Though she pretended she never said anything like that.

And Boba respects her enough to not push.

After all, he has his own trauma that he’s never shared with anyone too.

The open air market on Tatooine has always been an event, though, with the death of Jabba and slavery becoming outlawed, the market has grown exponentially. And now has everything from handmade clothes, to homemade pastries, to art pieces. 

There are even several stalls dedicated to tattoos and hair styling. 

Boba enjoys the market every time he comes, the large majority of his tattoos have come from artists he’s met here, after all. Though he rarely buys anything from any of the merchants. 

He leaves that to Fennec.

But they’re not here to shop today. Today they have work to do.

Work begins as soon as Boba steps out of the speeder and a haggard looking man hurries over, “Thank the force you’re here!” He blurts, “The thieves have already hit some of the stalls.”

“Which stalls have been hit?” Boba asks as Fennec steps to his side.

“The food stalls,” The man frets, “The thief, or thieves, stole food from several of the vendors, and then took the payment box from another one.”

“They only took money from one stall?” Fennec asks as she frowns.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Boba releases a thoughtful hum, “I think we’ll walk around and see what, if anything, we can see.” He turns slightly, “Fennec?”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” She replies with a nod as she falls into step behind Boba, her sharp eyes scanning the crowds of people. 

As they walk, Boba keeps a sharp eye out for anything suspicious. Or, well, anything that hints at a thieving group. He’s pretty sure that at least three of the stands that he’s passed are fronts for Spice Smuggling, and though he should do something about it, he just gets Fennec to make a note of them, to be handled at a different time. 

His gaze is drawn to a group of children, of various different races, huddled on a street corner. They’re speaking softly, and they burst into giggles for a moment, and then they notice Boba’s attention, and they scatter into the crowds of people.

“Fennec,” Boba says quietly.

“Aa. I see them,” Fennec frowns, “You think the thieves are children?” She asks, as she watches a child hurry over to another one, and then the pair hurry over to a third. 

“Would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Boba asks, “They’re easy to overlook due to their size, and-” His gaze lingers on a small twi’lek boy, “They’re very small.”

Unhealthily small, he means, though he doesn’t say it. 

“They must have a ring leader.” Fennec replies, “An adult, probably, who forces them to steal for him…or her.” She scowls at the thought.

“Agreed,” Boba flickers his gaze around for a moment, “Get someplace high, and see if you can find a common location for these kids.”

Fennec nods, once, and turns into the crowd. 

Boba gives her five minutes to find a nest, and then he continues his meandering path through the market. This time, keeping his gaze on the children he sees.

Some are at the market with their parents. Those children are appropriately dressed for the sun, and they’re clean and healthy looking. 

The large majority of children he sees, though, are small and ragged looking. Many have angry looking sunburns, and they’re all filthy and covered in sand and dust.

“Remind me to secure funding for an orphanage.” Boba says over his helmet comm to Fennec.

“Maybe more than one.” Fennec counters sarcastically, “I’ve been keeping count of children, and there’s over two dozen.” She’s quiet for a moment, “Also, you have a shadow. Little girl, messy hair, beige tank top, at your six.”

“I see her.” Boba replies, “You think she’s going to try and pick my pocket?”

“I think she’s thinking about it.”

Boba chuckles and cuts the comm, and turns so he’s able to keep the little girl in his peripheral vision, as he examines a table full of some kind of meat filled pastry. He considers the child thoughtfully, and then he buys a pastry, one of the largest ones, and he turns and continues his way through the market.

He makes two more stops. One, at a stall that sells shawls, where he buys a child sized shawl in dark green. And then at a stall that sells simple pendants, where he buys a pendant that looks like a convor, as well as a leather strap to hang it on.

The girl seems content to just watch him, so Boba continues walking, until he’s in a more secluded area.

And that’s when the girl moves.

Her steps are feather light in the sand, hardly making a noise at all, and she’s a talented pick pocket, if he hadn’t been watching for her, he wouldn’t have noticed her hand in his pouch at all.

Boba’s hand moves swiftly as he firmly grabs her wrist, “Does that seem like a good idea, little one?” He asks as he turns to look at her.

Now that he’s closer, he realizes that her hair, which he thought was black, is actually dark blue. And the yellow splotches under her eyes continue down her neck and arms, which hints at some non-human ancestry. Twi’lek, perhaps, or possibly Miralian.

She tugs uselessly at his arm, and upon realizing that she’s not going to be able to break free from his grip, she tilts her chin up and glares up at him defiantly. 

Without releasing her wrist, Boba reaches up and removes his helmet, and then crouches so he’s not towering over the child. “Well?” He asks.

“Ya weren’t payin’ attention,” She says sulkily, “Rich people don’t care when credits go missin,”

“If I let you go, are you going to run away?”

She nods, and so Boba sighs and shifts his grip so he’s not in danger of hurting her.

“I have a meat pastry, and a shawl for you, if you agree to talk to me.” Boba offers.

“Um…”

“And,” He adds, “I have a convor pendant for you if you promise to be honest.”

Her lips turn down into a thoughtful frown, “An’ all I haveta do is answer questions and be honest?”

“That’s right.”

She considers his words for a moment, “Okay.” Boba smiles and releases her, and the child immediately sits on a crate against the wall, and holds out her hands, “Food please.”

Boba hands her the still warm pastry and watches as she takes a big bite, “So, what’s your name and how old are you?”

“‘M Jazz, an’ I’m 12.” She says through a mouthful of pastry. “How old are you?”

“My name is Boba, and I’m 41.”

“Wow…that’s old.” Jazz says as she looks at him wide-eyed.

He chuckles, “Maybe you’re just really young.”

“Mm…maybe.” She takes another bite of the pastry and releases a happy hum.

“Jazz, I have some questions about the theft happening in the market.” Boba says gently, “What can you tell me?”

She tilts her head, “Um…there’s a man.” Jazz explains as she pulls a piece of meat out of the pasty and pops it into her mouth, “He came from Coruscant, an’ he said that he’d take care of us if we work for him.”

“So he’s teaching you all to steal?” Boba asks.

“Jus’ th’ smaller kids,” Jazz says with a shake of her head, “He’s makin’ the bigger kids mean.”

“Is that how you got the bruises? From the bigger kids?”

“Nah-uh.” She shakes her head, “He was picking on one of the littler kids, an’ I yelled at him, so he hit me.”

“It doesn’t sound like he’s taking good care of you.” Boba notes.

“He said he was gonna feed us, but we only get fed if we bring him so much credits.” Jazz complains, “We’re hungry a lot.”

“So he lied.” Boba murmurs thoughtfully, “Why do you still listen to him?”

“Cause he’s bigger. Cause I don’t have anywhere else to go. Cause someone has to look out for the littler ones.” Jazz shrugs.

“That’s brave of you, little one.” Boba says softly.

“I don’ think so. I’m used to adults hittin’ me after all.” Jazz replies, “I used to be a slave. The littler ones are just orphans.”

Boba frowns thoughtfully, “I have a proposition for you,” He offers.

“A what?”

“A…an offer.” Boba clarifies, “I’m going to build an orphanage for your friends, but I need to get this person first.” He says, “So, help me with this, and I’ll help you get adopted. What do you want to be when you grow up?”

Jazz shrugs, “I don’t wanna be helpless.”

“Okay…then how about I adopt you and teach you how to be a bounty hunter.” Boba offers.

“What’s the catch?” Jazz asks warily.

“Bounty Hunting isn’t easy, and you’re probably going to get hurt in training. But you’ll learn everything I can teach you…and then some.” Boba promises, “And you’ll never go hungry again.”

“Um…that doesn’t sound so bad, I guess.” Jazz says quietly.

Boba waits patiently as he absently sets the other two gifts on the crate next to Jazz, a smile crossing his face as she runs her fingers over the material of the shawl and then picks up the pendant and turns it over in her hands.

“Okay.” She says, after almost five minutes of thought, “I’ll show you where the boss’ hideout is.”

“Good girl,” Boba replies with a sharp smile as he pulls his helmet on, “Fennec, I have him.”

“I heard. I’m heading your way now. I also sent word to the palace to make a room for the kid.”

“You’re a godsend, Fennec.”

“Yes. I am.”

Fennec appears only moments later, and she glances at Jazz, “Alright, Kid.” She says, “We’re going to go and find this boss, and then you and I are going to the speeder, while Boba here deals with your boss.”

“Who are you?”

“Names Fennec, I’m going to be one of your teachers.” Her grin is all teeth, “Come on kid.”

Once Boba knows where this petty criminal is hiding, it’s child’s play for him to clear out the building. Literal child’s play in this case, since the only security the guy had was half starved, half abused children. 

And it was an easy decision, turning the massive building that he was using as his home base, into an orphanage for the children who already called it home.

At least the beginning of the orphanage is started, he decides two hours later as he watches several of the people from the city step up to take charge of the children, and the Orphanage itself.

There was still work to do, of course. 

But-

His gaze flickers to the side, where his ad is sitting on a barrel with Fennec standing protectively next to her. They appear to be talking about something, and Boba sees Fennec point out something about the building, and he smiles.

Well, he has his own aliit he needs to get settled.

And, as he turns to go to Jazz, he can’t help but wonder if his buir would be proud of the man he’s become. And as Jazz nervously grins up at him, Boba reaches out and ruffles her hair. “Come on, ad. Let’s get you home.” He says gruffly.

Yes, he decides as he watches Jazz get settled in the back of the speeder, his father would be proud of the man he’s grown into. Even if it’s not what either of them ever intended.

[ellipsus-writes]

We know many of you have seen NaNoWriMo's recent statements on generative AI...

Well, we have too—and that's why we've made the decision to retract our sponsorship of NaNo.

Your support and belief in human creativity, transparency and collaboration mean everything to us, and we're committed to staying true to that. Thank you all! 💙

You can read our full statement here.

The Ellipsus team xo

[phantomkinoc13]

WRITE NOVEMBER!

Because nanowrimo decided to allow AI bullshit this year, we’re saying fuck ‘em, and doing our own november writing prompts!

November is still national (novel) writing month, but we say NO AI IN ART OR WRITING!! Join us saying No to ai in writing with No-AI-November, and do WRITE NOVEMBER this year, instead!

HOW IT WORKS: You can write as you normally would, set word count goals, work on your novel, your fanfics, or just writing scenes you want to write throughout November. You can optionally choose from the list of weekly themes, or daily prompts as you’d like, for inspiration.

REBLOG THIS POST, & USE THE TAGS: ‘write November’ ‘novel November’ or ‘no-ai-November’ as well as any other writing tags you feel appropriate.

Feel free to use either of the images above, when posting writing. Use this post or make your own to post your writing goals, and any work you want to share!

Let’s Write! ✍🏼 💻

[the-bar-sinister]

So like. Scope. I always feel like I see people talk about pacing, and I never see people talk about scope.

The way people talk about stories in fiction writing circles, especially fanfiction writing, it often feels like people treat it like there's only two types of scope for a piece of fiction: a "one-shot" 5k or under short story, or a 100k+ beast of a novel.

But like, scope is important, and there's so much more range between those two poles!

And here's the thing. Here's the thing.

You don't need to know the scope of your story when you're coming up with your idea. In fact, you should come up with the core of your idea, and then decide on the scope afterward!

Here is the revelation I have for you.

Your "idea" can span a whole intricately world built series of events that you know the chain of for 1000 years.

And then you can take that 1000 year idea and decide on the scope. You decide which part of the story to tell! What's the important events, or character beats that you want to focus on, and how long will it take you to tell them?

You can have your 1000 year idea, and your first thought might be "well, I need to write 6 whole novels in this series before I get to the part I'm excited about"

But no! You don't have to do that! With Scope (tm) you can actually choose to just focus in on that one part you're excited about and tell a short story! Maybe 5k. Maybe 30k! Bring back the novella!.

Just because you have 1000 years worth of material doesn't mean that the reader needs all of it to understand the beautiful shining jewel of your story.

Scope is like gem cutting and polishing. When you decide on scope, you cut away the parts of your story that stop the part of it that you want people to see from shining.

[cheezely]

DIY NaNoWriMo

Hi! If you still want to participate in a NaNoWriMo type challenge but don't want to support the AI nonsense happening over there, there are plenty of free alternatives!! Here is a simple spreadsheet I made to track my daily word count that you can also use/edit as you'd like (File -> Make a Copy or Download) and here is a much more in-depth one made by Alex Penland if you'd like more options for viewing your progress. TrackBear is an online tool for tracking progress on your writing projects that also lets you set word count goals. You can also set up leaderboards with your friends :) LibreOffice is a free alternative to Microsoft Office that includes documents, spreadsheets, and presentations if you're looking for a place to actually write/plan! Happy writing!

[fanovember]

IT'S FINALLY HERE, PEOPLE, OUR PROMPT LIST FOR THIS YEAR'S FANOVEMBER!!! (Written list below the line)

We decided to go through literary genres this time, although you can fit the prompt however you please (by using the literal word in your piece, a small reference, or writing in the style of that prompt!)

→We'll be posting some ideas every day to spark creativity if any prompt in particular doesn't work well for you. Although you don't have to complete the challenge 100% (I won't, more on that later)

→There's no limit on extension at all, whatever you need will be fine. (At least 200 words was the initial idea, but I, for instance, sometimes need less)

→You can write in any language you want, we'll repost anyway. It's also valid if you mix languages! (I'll use Spanish since the media I've chosen is originally in that language)

→Arists are welcome too, of course!

→Remember to mention this blog @fanovember or use any (or all) of these tags:

#fanovember

#fanovember 2024

#fanovember 24

Personally, I don't think I'm completing the full list, as I'm absolutely surpassed by daily responsibilities. But since Softober went well, I'll choose 12 or 13 of the prompts that appeal to me the most and write those throughout the month. You can do whatever works best for you too, we don't want you to feel pressured by any means.

Choose your fandom (or fandoms) and start creating! Let's have some fun!!

Fanovember 2024

01. Romance

02. Short story

03. Terror

04. Adventure

05. Art

06. Retelling

07. Historical

08. Journal

09. Theatre

10. Witchcraft

11. Religion

12. Fantasy

13. Astrology

14. Mithology

15. Poetics

16. Reality show

17. Press

18. Urban fantasy

19. Film/Movie

20. Family

21. Music

22. Epistolary

23. Sci-fi

24. Autobiography

25. Cuisine

26. Dance

27. Board games

28. Classic

29. Triller

30. Flash-fiction

[pagesinmylife]

It’s fascinating watching the difference in opinions on AI between people who simply want to consume content vs people who create said content. Like, I have yet to meet an artist or a writer who is happy with the growth of AI, particularly generative AI. Yet there are so many people online calling creators ableist and classist simply for wanting to protect their work! And there’s so many people who refuse to listen to the valid criticisms of AI!

Yes, AI can be an awesome tool but there’s a lot of ethical issues that haven’t been addressed yet. Creators aren’t in the wrong for wanting to have a conversation about this

[duskyashe]

CAMP NANO DAY 6

[chapter 4] [AO3]

(please see tags for trigger warnings)

============<×^-^×>============

It was a little known fact that Bruce Wayne hadn't only fostered his boys. As one of the few above-the-board trained and highly experienced foster parents in Gotham, Bruce had actually fostered dozens of children from all kinds of situations over the years. The only kids the press ever actually found out about were the ones he legally gained custody of, in one way or another, due to stringent privacy policies set in place back when he'd applied to be a foster parent for Dick.

Sometimes Bruce is able to keep in contact with his former foster kids, and he's always happy when that's the case, but other times he loses complete contact with them and can't legally track them down again. It's those children, outside of the ones he's legally able to claim as his own, that he worries about relentlessly. But even among those kids, there's two he worries about the most.

Jasmine Madeline Fenton and her younger brother Daniel Jackson Fenton had come into Bruce's life and home when Dick was thirteen. They weren't the first kids he'd fostered since adopting Dick, but they were the most impactful. Jazz was six, her hair was freshly cut and washed, her clothes neat and a bit on the baggy side, and her backpack still had a tag on it. Danny was three, he, too, had freshly cut and washed hair, his clothes were brand new, and his diaper bag was fully stocked.

Jazz was six and her clothes hung off her frame. She had bags under eyes and didn't know how to brush or wash her own hair. The backpack she had when she walked in his front doors was the very first new thing she'd ever seen that her parents hadn't immediately cannibalized for their experiments.

Danny was three and hadn't been given a real bath in almost a year. His clothes were all either too small or his sister's hand-me-downs. His diaper hadn't been changed in over six hours.

Bruce had been so sure he was going to be awarded permanent custody of the two. There had obviously been criminal neglect going on in that household at least, it should have been child's play to gain permanent custody of them. His lawyer and the children's case manager had assured them their case was practically airtight.

The kids had only been in his custody for two weeks before the state awarded full parental rights to the Drs Fenton. Jazz had only barely started getting used to eating three times a day again. Danny had just started smiling whenever Dick played peekaboo with him. And the courts sent. Them. Back. A month later and the Fenton's moved without a word, leaving behind not a single trace. It was almost as though they'd vanished.

Dick had been devastated. Alfred was crushed. And Bruce? Bruce experienced the five stages of grief for the second time in his life twice over. For years, he had private investigators searching everywhere he could think of for the siblings, desperately hoping to find even the slimmest glimmer of hope that they were alright, that they were still alive.

Jason coming into the household lessened some of that pain and desperation, especially after Bruce obtained full custody of him, but the tension between Dick and Jason drove the lingering tension between Dick and Bruce to critical levels. Argument after argument, fight after fight, all about the same topic: Why did Jason get adopted when Jazz and Danny were still out here?

Eventually the tension exploded in one of the worst ways possible, and the family was reduced back down to three. The first six months after Jason's funeral, Bruce refused to take on any new children. He even asked the private investigators to only contact him if they definitively found proof of the kids. The pain, the grief, the guilt was just too much for him. He'd failed Jazz and Danny, and he'd failed Jason, too. He couldn't handle failing yet another child.

Then Tim showed up, too tiny and too determined to get his way. The shock of seeing the obvious evidence of yet more criminal neglect from his own neighbors drew Bruce out of his downward spiral just enough to realize he needed help. Tim was right, he had been killing himself with his work, and doing so was the exact opposite of what Jazz, Danny, or Jason would have wanted from him. He notified CPS of a possible situation he was keeping an eye on, as well as the fact that he was pulling himself back together so he'd be able to reapply to be a foster parent, and then sought the help of a therapist sworn to absolute secrecy with the help of multiple NDAs.

A year later, he was reinstated as a foster parent, awarded first temporary, then later full, custody of Tim. He fostered a pair of blonde little girls for a few nights before an aunt was found in Vineland, New Jersey, who got custody instead. About a month after them, he fostered a ten year old boy for a week before his dad regained custody. He even fostered Tim's friend, Stephanie Brown, for two months while her mom went through rehab.

And then Red Hood came to town.

Between trying to track down and figure out who Red Hood was, Bruce also took on twin eight year old boys for about five days, a fifteen year old girl for two and a half weeks, a pair of cousins for ten days, and three siblings for a night. When Red Hood was finally revealed to be a revived Jason, angry at the thought that Bruce had replaced him and missing a few key memories, it had been two years since the last time he'd heard from the private investigators he'd hired eleven years prior. After weeks of careful negotiation and peace talks between Bruce and Jason, the family of four was well on their way to being the family of five they legally were, when Bruce decided it was time to get back in contact with the team he'd left in charge of the investigation looking for the Fentons. They only had a potential sighting of the Fentons at a class reunion in Wisconsin a few months prior, but any sighting was better than what they'd had for most of the eleven years prior, so Bruce asked them to double down and see what came from it.

Two weeks later, there was a knock on the manor door. It was the middle of a torrential downpour, one of the worst thunderstorms Gotham had seen in years, yet there was undeniably someone knocking at the door. Bruce, who'd been passing through the entry hall on a late evening stroll through the manor, was the one to answer the door.

She was in her late teens, her hair was long, wet, and stuck to the side of her face, her clothes in poor repair with splotches of dark red and neon green on them, and her backpack was worn and frayed. He was in his early teens, he, too, had long, wet hair that stuck to his face, his clothes were rags and barely hanging onto him with more of those dark red and neon green splotches, and his duffle bag was stuffed to the gills.

"Mr Wayne?" Jasmine Madeline Fenton asked, voice quivering as the two of them huddled on his doorstep, Daniel Jackson Fenton's eyes drooping to half mast from exhaustion. "We need your help. Our parents are trying to murder us."

============<×^-^×>============

I'm not gonna lie, it took me forever to figure out what I wanted to write today, but once I decided on this, it just wrote itself (⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠メ⁠) I actually got the idea for this fic from a prompt @evandarya had posted in the Batpham server a while back, which I absolutely loved and just had to write, so this ficlet is dedicated to them (not that they're aware of it yet lol)

Once again, I have no idea if I'll ever continue this ficlet, for my muse is fickle and likes to play favorites ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠⊙⁠_⁠ʖ⁠⊙⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ I might get lucky and get sudden inspiration for a sequel for this, or I might not, who knows? Honestly, if anyone wants to add onto this, go right ahead lol that'd be amazing.

[tmblr-university]

Statement on NaNoWriMo

Hello Students,

Allow your president to get sentimental for a moment. I first started NaNoWriMo - I failed. I failed every time, but I loved it. It kept me writing. I learned more about myself each time I tried. I saw communities grow on forums. I knew one day I would succeed if I just kept trying. Then today I learned of the plethora of NaNoWriMo's controversies. From allowing AI use to (allegedly) having predators groom minors.

I am heartbroken at the loss of a yearly staple. AI users miss the most obvious reason writers write, for the love of it. We do not create purely for the purpose of creating, in order to have some item to show off as proof that we "did a thing". We write to tell stories, to foster communities, to inspire, to make people laugh or cry, to realize the fantasies in our heads.

And though NaNoWriMo has torpoed in favor of AI, the spirit of it should not die.

@novella-november is starting a writing challenge: write 30K in a month

I will also be looking to see if there's a tag for those looking to do the traditional challenge of 50K words.

Tmblr University will be supporting writing challenges in November by reblogging or posting writing tips and prompts. (As best as a 1 person attending actual school can do)

I wish everyone a successful prepping during September.

[sniperct]

So this appears to be a good alternative to NaNo for the purposes of visualizing your word count and words per day. Its available for Windows and Linux and even has a portable version requiring no installation, so you could keep it on a thumbdrive or even a dropbox folder. It seems to do exactly what I personally liked about NaNo's website, and appears to be open source.

It also lets you track progress on multiple projects at once.

Couple of friends have taken to renaming NaNo to WriNo (for write in november) which I'm going to adopt.

[puttersmile]

Smiling Critters AU fanfic: A monster in Glowshade

Baba tries to avoid crowds but it gets her in trouble.

Wrote it because I'm still feeling spooky. October is forever. Also its NaNo time! Also some world building, showing off what Dogday and Hoppy's jobs are.

Link to first half of this post.

Most of the story is under the cut.

Baba Chops hadn’t meant to wander so far from Playton Village. All she’d wanted was a quiet place to clear her mind, somewhere far from the noise and company of others. She drifted to the outskirts, her feet leading her into the shadows of Glowshade Forest, where the solitude was deeper, the silence thicker. She didn’t usually venture out alone, but sometimes, she just needed to be far, far away.

As she walked, the air grew colder, and the branches above closed in, blocking out what little daylight remained. She tugged her scarf closer, ignoring the chill and focusing on her plan: find a quiet spot, settle in, and draw. She had her sketchpad tucked under her arm, ready for a peaceful evening in the woods.

Soon, she spotted a small clearing ahead. Pale moonlight spilled over a worn tree stump, creating a perfect spot. She sat down, opened her sketchpad, and let her pencil glide across the page. The silence felt almost comforting, wrapping around her, making her forget everything but the lines forming under her hoof.

Minutes turned into an hour. The forest was so quiet, only the occasional rustle of leaves broke the stillness. She was lost in her drawing when a faint sound pulled her back—a soft scraping, like fabric dragging over bark.

Her hoof froze, ears straining. She looked up, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing. Telling herself it was just her imagination, she tried to get back to her sketch. But then another sound—a soft snap, like a thread breaking. Her pulse quickened, and her neck prickled.

“Is… someone there?” she called softly, barely above a whisper.

Silence. Nothing.

And then, a figure stepped out of the darkness—a Stitchstalker. Its body was patched together from bits of fabric, its limbs long and twisted, with frayed threads dangling from its fingers. Baba’s heart pounded as she stared at the creature, her breath catching. She’d heard rumors about these things, but she’d never believed they were real.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, clutching her sketchpad like a shield. “Stay back…” she warned, though her voice shook. The creature tilted its head, its hollow face staring back. It took a jerky step forward, its threads twitching.

Baba’s instincts took over. She turned and ran, sprinting through the trees, her heart pounding. But the Stitchstalker moved with eerie silence, staying close behind her. She didn’t see the dark thread stretched across her path until it was too late. She tripped, hitting the ground, and in that moment, the creature’s threads lashed out, wrapping around her arms and legs, pinning her down.

“No—let me go!” she screamed, thrashing against the binding threads. But the more she fought, the tighter they pulled, trapping her, sapping her strength. The Stitchstalker loomed over her, its cold, empty face inches from hers, and her vision began to blur as her energy faded.

"Help!" Baba shouted into the emptiness, her voice echoing faintly. She struggled fiercely, but the more she fought, the tighter the yarn constricted, cutting into her wool and pressing against her skin.

The Stitchstalker's threads began to pulsate, a slow, rhythmic tightening that pulled Baba closer. The feeling was strange—a draining warmth—as if her very being was being siphoned away. Her strength waned, and her movements grew sluggish. She had fought for five entire minutes but had in sad truth, only managed to move four feet. The Stitch creature settled in next to her. Unbothered.

Thought fractured as Baba remained ensnared in the Stitchstalker's relentless grip. The creature had cocooned her in layers of yarn, leaving only her face exposed to the dim light filtering through the trees. She felt numb, both physically and emotionally, as the forest around her remained indifferent to her plight.

The creature’s threads pulsed around her, winding tighter and tighter. Time blurred—hours slipped into each other as it cocooned her in fabric, turning her into little more than a hollow shell. Baba drifted in and out of awareness, flashes of her life slipping through her mind. Her favorite café, the smell of rain. 

Poe’s dour poems…Simon’s teasing smile. She clung to those memories, feeling them slip away bit by bit, like strands unraveling. 

Baba was barely aware of her own existence when Dogday and Hoppy burst into the clearing, faces fiercely set as they take in the scene. Baba lies cocooned in thick, twisted threads, barely moving. Towering over her is the Stitchstalker, its patchwork body quivering as it tightens its grip, almost as if sensing its prey is about to slip away.

_____________________________________________

Dogday glances at Hoppy, and she nods, pulling out her curved knife and signal whistle. Dogday readies his staff and machete, his grip firm.

“Hey!” Dogday shouts, charging forward. “Let her go!”

The Stitchstalker turns, its hollow gaze locking onto him. Instead of fleeing like most of its kind, it bristles, threads twitching violently as it lurches toward him, almost… desperate.

Dogday doesn’t flinch. He swings his staff, aiming for its torso, trying to knock it back. But the Stitchstalker’s movements are fast, unnaturally so. It dodges, sending out a whip of threads that narrowly misses him. He blocks the strike and growls  grimly as he closes the distance.

Meanwhile, Hoppy darts to Baba’s side, her knife flashing as she begins cutting through the thick, tangled threads.

 “Hang on, Baba,” she whispers, her voice soft but urgent. “We’re here. We’ve got you.”

The threads are tough, resisting her blade as though sensing her intent. Hoppy pauses just long enough to blow a sharp, piercing blast on her whistle, the sound echoing through the forest—a call for backup. She doesn’t waste a second before returning to cutting the threads, her movements precise and steady despite the tension tightening her expression.

Dogday, locked in fierce struggle, dodges the Stitchstalker’s frayed, razor-sharp threads, using his staff to block and deflect. Seizing an opening, he lunges with the machete, slicing clean through one of the creature’s outstretched arms. The severed threads drop to the ground, writhing briefly before going still.

The Stitchstalker reels back, a hollow hiss escaping its stitched mouth, but Dogday doesn’t let up. He reaches into his satchel, pulling out a small vial of murky, greenish liquid—yarnbane potion. Without hesitation, he throws it at the creature, the glass shattering on impact. The potion seeps into the fabric, and the Stitchstalker lets out a shrieking, pained sound as its body begins to rot and unravel.

Heavily injured, the cursed thing gives one last twitch before staggering back into the forest, retreating into the shadows.

With the immediate threat gone, Dogday drops to his knees beside Hoppy, who has just freed Baba from the last of the threads. Baba’s eyes flutter open, unfocused but finding them, and a faint smile of relief crosses her face as she recognizes her friends.

“Dogday… Hoppy…” she murmurs, voice barely a whisper.

Dogday gently takes her hoof, his voice soft and comforting. “We’re here, Baba. You’re safe now, okay? Just rest.”

Hoppy leans in, her hand warm and steady on Baba’s shoulder. “We’ve got you,” she says, her voice soothing, a gentle reassurance. “We’re going to get you home.”

Baba’s gaze lingers on them, her expression softening with gratitude, before her eyes slip closed, exhaustion pulling her under. Dogday and Hoppy exchange a glance, relief mingling with worry as they know how close it was. Dogday carefully lifts Baba, cradling her as Hoppy stands watch, her knife still in hand.

In the distance they hear another whistle. More rangers coming in to help. Hopefully everything will be fine.

End.

[blitzsicedcoffee]

Hoping Ghost fuckers gives me some fanfiction fuel 🔥

[memelovescaps]

CHAPTER 24: CAPTAIN

In which we find out what McGonagall wants to tell Harry, and he has to face some insecurities with Severus.

Rating: 18+ for strong language and adult themes

word count: 124,380 as of chapter 24. Incomplete fic, Work in Progress.

tags: snarry, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, abandonment and trust issues, slow burn, eventual romance, romantic friendship

Severus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sank onto the couch.

“Not this again, Merlin...” he muttered.

The words hit Harry like a Bludger.

He froze mid-step, the badge suddenly heavy in his palm. Cautiously, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch, his grin faltering.

“Severus,” Harry began, his voice smaller than intended, “you’re not… mad that I’m captain for Gryffindor, are you? Or that I'm back on the team?”

The insecurity in his voice made him cringe.

But the idea of Severus resenting him for this—for something so trivial yet so personal—tightened his chest. Memories of their old arguments flashed in his mind, sharp and bitter. He couldn’t bear the thought of Quidditch—the one thing that had always been his solace—becoming a wedge between them.

Severus was a Slytherin through and through, Head of House no less. If Gryffindor beat Slytherin if they won the Cup… would Severus hold it against him? It seemed ridiculous, but families and friends had fallen into rows over far less.

The badge suddenly felt heavier in his hand, the enamel warm against his fingers. If it ever came to that, if it meant losing Severus—

A firm hand clasped his bicep, pulling him from his spiralling thoughts. Warmth replaced the tightening in his chest as Severus wrapped his other arm around him and tugged him into a gentle embrace.

“Calm your mind, Harry,” Severus murmured, his voice low and steady, the vibrations grounding Harry like a tether to reality.

Harry froze, then exhaled slowly, his forehead dropping to Severus’s shoulder. The tension started to drain from him as Severus’s arm settled around his midframe, his hand on his back, firm and reassuring.

Also posted on Fanfiction and Wattpad.

[builder051]

The tumblr app has been glitchy and basically refused to let me create a post. Hard-reset-app-uninstall-reinstall later, it’s back to the regular expected level of instability.

I’m working through Inktober. Definitely behind, but I’m producing stuff and having fun. Again, if you want to see the pics and commentary, check them out on my Instagram.

Regarding NaNo… I’m not going to be able to write an actual novel (haven’t done that since 2018). I’m not going to be able to write 50k.

I want to approach the challenge like Inktober. I want to make it a goal to put together some quality content every day (or at least most days) and own it and post it and throw it out into the world. I’m always down for some whump, sick, or angst, but themes will probably run the gamut, and a few will absolutely be boring. The one thing I definitely know is that I want to post on this platform.

I always wish I could put out more content, but I just physically can’t do it anymore. It makes me sad that I can’t connect with my readers so much anymore. I really, really don’t want to drift away from this community that’s given me so much support.

So, for NaNo, what content would you be interested in seeing?

[swampstew]

FuckNoWriMo - Raven's master post

I am so excited to try my shot at @quinloki 's writing challenge for the month of December. I'm aiming for the Fuck It category, meaning I'm challenging myself to write at least 50,000 words by the end of the year. Tall order!

My goals are to get back into daily writing habits, finish a fanfic or two, finish all my WIPS and drafts that I've let collect dust. And for added fun, I'll add my titles below with current word counts and the ending word count. You can send me an ask about my works in progress at any time :)

Working titles (note: some are just titled draft # and I like to keep it that way for the suspense)

At First Sight - current word count: 30,964 - hope to finish

Turn Back Time - current word count: 164,915 - new chapter update(s)

Untitled Draft - current word count: 2,148 - on going for 2025 release

KillerCook - current word count: 25,814 - new chapter update(s)

Captain_CumShot - current word count: 3,419 - new chapter update(s)

Rowena's Future Vision - current word count: 6,559 - new chapter update(s)

AU Khal - current word count: 0 - to start

SDV AU - current word count: 0 - to start

Hickey Hockey AU - current word count: 2,751 - to restart in different POV

Brown Eyed Trouble - current word count: 4,385 - ongoing for 2025 release

Modern AU - current word count: 55 - wip project with no real end in sight

Tumblr Draft 4 - current word count: 0 - to start

Tumblr Draft 5 - current word count: 0 - to start

Tumblr Draft 6 - lesbians - current word count: 829 - to finish second half

Tumblr Draft 11 - angst - current word count: 0 - to start

Tumblr Draft 12 - mini series CYA - current word count: 999 - hope to finish soon

Tumblr Draft 13 - current word count: 105 - wip with no real plan

Tumblr Draft 14 - cryptids and monsters - current word count: 60 - hoping to make into new fanfics (1 or 2)

Tumblr Draft 16 - current word count: 351 - hope to finish soon

Zine work (3 of 3) Draft 1 - 500 words Draft 2 - 193 words Draft 3 - 281 words

Wish me luck <3