#going back to my roots and drawin with my fingers

[jo-speaks]

good graces ft. quinn hughes

in which…

quinn hughes realizes you'll be okay, with or without him.

warnings: MDNI. brief smut (again, it's like a paragraph), mature language, mentions of cheating, and i think that's all.

track three in short n' sweet (hughes brothers version) series!

When I love you, I'm sweet like an angel

Drawin' hearts 'round our names

And dreamin' of writing vows, rockin' cradles

“What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, wrapping his arms behind you as you shut the oven door, leaving the sweet treat you made to bake.

You took off your oven mitt before sighing and leaning back into his hold. “Baking cookies. You said you wanted some this morning, right?

He let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. How did you hear that though?”

“It’s not like you’re quiet when you’re on the phone with Conor.”

Quinn rolled his eyes playfully, dismissing your comment about how comfortable he was when talking to his teammate. He set one of his hands to lean back against the kitchen island where he felt a piece of paper under his palm. He furrowed his eyebrows, creasing the sheet slightly to pick it up. 

After a quick examination, he realized it was the recipe you had written down for the cookies. In the top corner of it, he saw his initials next to yours, enclosed in a heart. Quinn felt a warm feeling in his chest knowing you had done that, not caring if he saw it or not.

He held the paper in front of your face, which you had buried in the crease of his right elbow. “What’s this?”

You traced your eyes over the paper, “The recipe for the cookies? Don’t tell me you can’t read all of a sudden.” He gave you a thin-lipped look before tapping his finger over the childish drawing causing your eyebrows to lift in realization. “Oh, that. Got bored, thought it was cute. Something we could show the kids.”

Now it was his eyebrows that rose, “Kids? Like our kids?”

“Yeah, two of them. One of each. We can have them after our billion-dollar wedding.” You stated that like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Quinn knew you weren’t entirely serious. The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and he knew you wanted him to focus on his hockey career while you focused on your career. You both agreed you didn’t want to rush into anything until you were settled. And since Vancouver had been his home for 6 years and yours for 5 of those when you decided to move in with him, maybe it was time to start putting down those roots together.

Don't mistake my nice for naive

“Y/N, please. You’re being ridiculous. You were the one who told me to come in the first place!” Quinn called out to you as you walked away from him.

You stopped and turned back to face him, “Because I thought you’d have fun celebrating with your team here! Not flirt with the bartender the whole night!”

He rolled his eyes, setting you off even more. “I wasn’t flirting with her! I was getting Brock his drink!”

“Whatever, Quinn. I’m going home.” You sighed, not wanting to continue arguing with him in front of a bunch of people.

“I wasn’t flirting.” He mumbled, defeated.

You almost felt bad for reacting the way you did, but you knew him. The half smile and constant nodding all while keeping his eyes on her lips as they moved. 

You weren’t stupid.

I don't waste a second, I know lots of guys

You do somethin' suspect, this cute ass bye-bye

Like, ooh

Baby, you say you really like it being mine?

So let me give you some advice

After the whole bar argument, you decided to repay the favour a few days later when you had gone out to that same bar with your girlfriends. The same night you knew the Canucks would be celebrating their victory there. You watched the door attentively before a tap on your shoulder caught your attention.

“Y/N, this is Josh. He thought you were cute!” Was the only thing your friend said before walking away. The stumbling in her steps was the only thing you needed to explain the situation. 

Josh rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he placed his drink down on the bar and took the seat next to you. He cleared his throat, “Hey. Pretty interesting friend you have there.”

You snorted, “Tell me about it. You should see her sober, she’s still the same way.”

He laughed, “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone?”

Before you could answer, you heard the bar erupt in whistles and clapping. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who had walked in. Josh glanced over your shoulder, getting a view of the team himself. His focus came back to you when you tilted your head to interrupt his view. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But to answer your question, I’m just here because I’m pissed at my boyfriend.”

You noticed his face drop before returning to the way it was before, “No way. I’m here because I’m pissed at my girlfriend!”

Your eyes widened at his confession, letting out a small chuckle. “Yikes, you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah?” He propped his arm on the bar, “How are you not?”

“Well for starters, I’m not approaching anyone. Second, my boyfriend just got here, so he knows where I am. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that your girlfriend has no idea where you are.” You answered, seeing the team take a seat at the tables next to where you were sitting.

As Josh sat in front of you, stunned at your words, you caught your boyfriend's eyes. He took a double take, not realizing it was you the first time. You looked away, bringing your attention back to the man in front of you as Quinn kept his on you.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Josh asked.

You smirked slightly, “Quinn Hughes.

Josh’s eyes widened, “Bullshit.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer so you could talk in his ear and look over it to lock eyes with Quinn. “Don’t believe me? You’ll see who walks over to you when I leave.”

You backed up and got off your stool, heading to the bathroom as you kept eye contact with your boyfriend as you passed him. After you did, you heard him get up, his footsteps going the opposite way from where you were heading.

~

“What the fuck was that,” Quinn grumbled as he got into his car.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Quinn scoffed, “This is fucking gold, Y/N. You were all over my ass for doing the same shit on Tuesday, but when you do it’s all good.”

“Yeah, no. See, the difference between what I did tonight and what you did earlier this week is that I actually wasn’t flirting, I just wanted you to see what it was like to feel how I did when I saw you actually flirting with someone else.” You retorted, knowing how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth sounded to him.

Yet on some level, Quinn knew you were right. He sighed before reaching over the center console to take hold of your hand. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sober, but I still knew what I was doing. I don’t want to lose you over this, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” He whispered.

You turned to look at him, “You like being my boyfriend?”

He nodded.

“Then don’t lie to me.”

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

That was cool

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3

Yeah

“She’s the last person I’d want to piss off,” Jack told his brother over the phone as Quinn finished up telling him the whole bar fiasco the two of you had gone through a month ago. 

“Tell me about it. I’m not just saying this because she’s my girlfriend, but she’s literally always right. It’s getting scary.” Quinn confessed, pulling his car into the parking garage of the apartment complex.

Jack sighed, “Well, shit. Good luck with that, bro. Lukey’s calling you later, I gotta go.” 

Quinn said goodbye to his brother, hanging up the phone as he stepped out of his car, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you for no reason. After the whole situation, he knew he couldn’t only make it up with verbal apologies. So he went old-school, settling for getting you flowers whenever he felt like they were needed. 

He stepped into the elevator, rocking back and forth on his heels as he reached your floor, walking out the second the doors opened. 

As he unlocked the front door of your shared apartment, he could hear you talking in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t want to forgive him, but he’s making up for it.” You said to whoever you were talking to over the phone. 

Quinn stepped in quietly, your back still turned and your AirPods in your ears as you cooked dinner for the two of you. Still unbeknownst to you, Quinn walked to the hallway across from the kitchen, wanting to hear your conversation. 

Was it wrong to eavesdrop on you? Yes. Did Quinn know this? Also yes. Did he care? Not really. 

You let out a sigh, “Listen. He knows better than to do that to me. He also knows that I’m the last person he wants to fuck with because I can switch up incredibly fast. If he wants to cheat on me, he can go right ahead. But he knows damn well I’ll be out replacing him that same night.”

His face dropped. He knew that you were telling the truth, which is what scared him straight. 

“I don’t give a fuck if he wants to go out with Bella Hadid. If he does that without breaking up with me, I’m going straight to his mother and maybe even social media if I’m feeling petty enough.” You laughed, but there was nothing you were joking about. 

By now, Quinn wanted to ignore any woman that came his way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much. So much to the point where I would get down on my knee and propose to him. But, if so much as lies to me about anyone or anything, he’s gonna need a good lawyer.”

I'll tell the world you finish your chores prematurely

Quinn lined himself up in between your legs, pushing into you completely in one swift movement. You let out a breathy moan as your nails dug into his biceps. He didn’t move, letting not only you but himself adjust to the feeling. 

“Fuck, Q. You feel so good.” You mumbled, your brain foggy from the feeling of him being buried inside of you.

He mumbled something you didn’t quite understand before pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you completely. He did this a few more times before letting out a guttural groan, spilling into you.

This caught you completely off guard. Quinn had never finished this quickly before nor had he cum before you did. When he came to, he realized what had happened.

“Shit.” He mumbled, too embarrassed to move or even look you in the eyes.

You cleared your throat, pressing a soft kiss to kiss lips. “It’s fine, babe.” You pushed his body back, pushing him out of you. “I can just use my hand.”

He shook his head, finding his voice once again. “No, let me do it. I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”

Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on

With your favorite athlete

Shoot his shot every night

Want you every second, don't need other guys

You were scrolling on your phone, swiping up on all the notifications you were getting from Instagram, seeing as you had just posted. 

Quinn was featured in a few of the pictures, drawing the attention of his friends and fans to your account. Your head was propped up on Quinn’s lap as you lay on the couch as he played his video game on the living room TV. 

One notification caught your eye as you furrowed your eyebrows seeing the DM request that had come through. 

‘rjosi90 wants to send you a message.’

“Hey babe? Who’s this?” You asked, turning your phone around to show him the account.

He paused his game, looking down to look. “You don’t know who Roman Josi is? He was that guy you met at the awards ceremony, remember?”

“Oh! The one you never shut up about!” You teased as soon as you remembered the name.

Quinn rolled his eyes, nodding at your words before resuming his game but keeping his attention on your conversation. “What did he send you?”

You opened the message, your eyes widening as you internally debated on telling him the truth, not knowing how he would react. But, you knew you wouldn’t want him lying to you if he got the same message from another woman, so you decided to be honest.

“He said he thinks I’m pretty and that you’re a lucky guy.” You read, eyes quickly flashing back to Quinn.

His cheeks were red and his eyebrows were knitted together. You looked at his hands, which were now gripping his controller so tight that his knuckles were going white. “Are you gonna respond?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head, “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

Quinn had never been an insecure person, but he wasn’t always confident. And your delayed reaction probably didn’t help. You let out a breath before grabbing the controller out of his grip and setting it to the side. 

You sat up, swinging your legs on either side of his lap and taking his face in between your hands. “Hey. I want you. Only you.”

You pressed a kiss on his lips which he barely returned out of his own frustration. Pulling back, you started to litter kisses all over his face in an attempt to cheer him up. Trailing from his lips to his cheeks, then to his jaw, and stopping on his neck. You sucked on a sweet spot that caused his hands to come up and settle on your hips. 

“I don’t want anyone but you, Quinn.”

You do somethin' sus, kiss my cute ass bye

As you stepped into his room, he quickly shut off his phone and turned it face down. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” You questioned.

He shook his head rapidly, clearing his throat as he rubbed his hands together before walking over to you. “Just caught me off guard.”

You scanned his face. His cheeks were flushed and his face was sweaty. Not wanting the answer you thought it was, you gave him a look before speaking again. “Was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me. But if you’re… busy, I can just watch it by myself.” 

Quinn cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah. Let me just do something really quick and I’ll be right out.”

You simply shook your head, walking out of his room and heading back to your room and laying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you curled up in a blanket waiting for your boyfriend.

Even though the two rooms were separated by a small hallway, the walls were still relatively thin. You heard his door open and close but his feet remained still. You could hear the noise of his phone keyboard in front of your door, typing one last thing out before he walked into your room.

“So what movie are we watching, pretty girl?” He asked, setting his phone on your bedside table.

You eyed his phone before looking at him, “Everything okay?” 

He gave you a confused look, “Yeah, why?”

“Sounded like you were typing something important.” You shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of what could be nothing.

But, his wide eyes told you everything you needed to know. You sat up, raising your eyebrows in a way that said “Tell me what’s going on.”

Quinn shifted on his feet. “My ex texted me. She was saying she wanted to meet me for dinner and…” He cut himself off.

“And what?” You pressed.

“She wants to try again.”

You scoffed, “Okay. What did you say?”

He took a breath before answering, “I told her about us and that I’ll pass on the dinner because I’m very happy with you.” The way his words came out, you didn’t fully believe him. Yet at the same time, his face and body language told you he was telling the truth. You could tell he was nervous telling you, but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded your head, “Okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean? I can show you the texts if you want!” He rambled.

Pulling him down onto the bed with you, you wrapped the blanket around him as well before setting the laptop in a way where you could both see it while lying down.

“I trust you, Q. If you say that’s what you told her, I believe you.” You whispered.

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

Oh, no

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3 

Oh

No, I won't

I won't give a fuck about you, no, I won't

(I won't, I won't, I won't) x2

Quinn sat in the parking lot of Roger’s Arena. You had driven home early, wanting to beat the traffic seeing as the score by the middle of the third period was 0-4. 

The loss of the game and your going home early left Quinn thinking. 

You didn’t need him. 

Sure, you loved him and you loved living with him and the company and affection he gave you, but at the end of the day, you were completely fine being alone. 

The realization had Quinn wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks as he started up the engine of his car. He drove back in silence, hoping you’d be showering and in bed by the time he got home. 

As he focused on the scenery around him in the late hours of the night, that feeling of sadness fizzled into a feeling of relief. If for whatever reason Quinn left you, you would be okay. And now that he understood that, he became even more determined not to lose you.

Because regardless, Quinn Hughes didn’t want to live in a world where you weren’t his.

[nb-n0v4]

A peaceful pepaw for ur dash <3

[theboredwritertm]

"Oh, darling, everybody sees how you look at him" fic request with Din/reader! (Please and thank you :3)

Everyone Knows

A/N: Another request done and dusted. I’ve been getting some new prompt lists ready for when I open requests back up again (not sure what tumblr etiquette is for compiling a masterlist using other people’s prompt-lists, but I’m considering doing something like that), but I still have about 4 or 5 fics to finish off before then!

Rating: PG?

Pairing: Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, a bit of alcohol, that’s about it. 

Word Count:  4500 (Me, failing to keep a story under 2k words? It’s more likely than you think)

Summary: After taking on the krayt dragon together, you’re forced to confront your feelings for Din (with a little help from everyone’s favorite marshal).   

***

The monster was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

There’d been times aboard the Crest, when there were still thousands of miles to go between stops, that you’d sit by Din, giving him your rapt attention as he’d recount one of his many stories about a particularly terrifying beast he’d encountered. Not that he would ever call them terrifying – the man had a will of steel when it came to facing these kinds of things. And on this occasion, in the middle of the Tatooine desert, things would prove no different. 

Only this time he had you.

You were still coming into your abilities, not really sure what they meant or the true extent of what you were capable of, and amazingly enough you found you were learning a lot from watching the Child. For instance, before he came along, you had never known you could heal people. A simple experiment with Din had proven this to be true enough – the man was prone to injury in his line of work – and though it had taken a lot of concentration, enough that you were sweating by the end, it got you wondering just what other miracles your hands could perform.

Now, standing beside Din and the man who had introduced himself to you both as Cobb Vanth, you stared down into the dragon’s lair and found yourself hoping those powers might come in handy.

“So, how’re we drawin’ this thing out?” Cobb asks.

You glance back at the dozens of townsfolk and Tuskens around you, sensing their uneasiness as they shuffle from foot to foot and cast occasional apprehensive glances in the direction of the danger and you’re surprised to see a couple of the Raiders step forward. Considering how well their peoples’ last attempt to draw out the beast had gone, you hadn’t expected any of them to be so willing to approach the pit again. 

Cobb glances over at them and cocks his head in immediate acceptance. Given his past troubles with their people, he can’t say he’s overly concerned over the prospect of losing a few more of them.

But you’ve never been one to stand by and watch people get hurt.

“No, wait.” The words leave your mouth automatically. Up until this point, you’d been feeling completely useless. Din had been keeping an even closer watch on you than usual since a stunt you had pulled back on Nevarro; one that had involved your unpredictable powers and the dozens of stormtroopers who’d had him cornered. Though he had come out of the situation a lot worse for wear than you had, he’d been hovering over you, keeping you a safe distance from any action ever since. You were starting to get sick of being kept on the sidelines. “I can do it,” you say. 

The Tuskens turn to look back at you, not able to understand what you’ve said, but sensing a potential change of plans, then their attention is drawn to the Mandalorian beside you as he quickly dashes their hopes. 

“No,” comes Din’s clear, expected response.

You turn to him. “I can handle this.”

“No. You’re staying where you are.”

You gaze at him for just a moment, anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach, before turning around and striding down the tall dune, towards the gaping mouth of the empty saarlac pit. You know better than to argue – you don’t have the time right now, but every time you did, he managed to use it as a way to distract you. You wouldn’t give him that opportunity now. You’d already made up your mind.

You feel the air stir as his hand shoots out to grab you, but you’re too quick; one of the things that’s managed to keep you alive this long, but now maybe the very thing that’s going to get you killed. 

“Dank Farrik!”

Cobb glances between the man beside him and your retreating form, attempting to hold back a smirk. In the short couple of days that he’s known you both, he’s already witnessed at least three separate arguments, none of which seemed to get either of you anywhere. He didn’t see this one going the big guy’s way, either.  

The modulator seems to amplify the frustration in Din’s voice, but you ignore it. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself, as you had proven to him numerous times now, and whatever problem he had with that was his own – you weren’t about to let his fears hold you back. Yet, as you draw closer to the yawning darkness, your heart begins to thud in your chest. For the first time, you feel the enormity of this creature, and you’ve never felt so small in your life. 

You sense him approach before you hear him. That was one advantage you’d always had over Din; he could never sneak up on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of watching everyone else do everything,” you say, finally coming to a stop, your gaze still trained forward, “I want to play my part. I need to play my part.”

“No, you need to stay safe.” His words sound threatening despite their context, but you ignore him once more. This time he does grab you, catching you around the forearm as you raise your hands in the direction of the cave. “Stop!”You’re tempted to use your powers to throw him off, but you can feel how much he means it and you’re struck with a sudden guilt. He cares. That’s all there is to it. 

“Please, let me do this.” You stare up into his helmet and feel him gazing back, considering things. His fingers loosen from your wrist. 

“Fine. But I’m staying with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, not bothering to hide your bitterness at the constant babysitting – though, if you’re being honest, you do feel better with him by your side.

You raise your hands again and close your eyes, focusing on the low hum of energy around you. You don’t feel it at first, but then its as if you’ve suddenly locked onto a connection – plugged yourself into an electric charge – and everything suddenly feels heightened. Everything feels more. You draw on from that, concentrating on the pit of darkness before you, then you push forward with your mind, reaching out. In the darkness, something stirs.

“What is it?” Din asks, as if he’s sensed the sudden change.

“I feel it,” you reply, eyes still closed, your brow now marked with a frown. 

He stares down at you and you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze (as much as you can through the helmet) but before either of you can say anything, a low rumbling begins to emit from the ground.

It had worked. 

And it was heading right for you. 

You’ll admit that, as much you’d wanted to play your part in this, you hadn’t really considered what came next once you did manage to draw the thing out. So now, as you watch the sand shift and begin to rise a hundred or so feet in front of you, you find yourself rooted to the spot. 

It’s Din who moves first.

Your hands had come up again, all you can think to do to hold the beast off, then suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and you’re being propelled into the air. You glance down just in time to see the enormous mouth erupt from the ground where you had just been standing.

This time, you don’t argue. You clutch onto him, air whipping through your hair, thankful that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

When you finally land, he sets you on your feet and quickly glances down to make sure you’re alright. You give him a quick nod, sensing the question in his gaze, and then he takes off again to rejoin the action. It takes you a moment to regain your balance, and you still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, but when you glance back you find that he’s set you down by the landspeeder, with the Child. He’s put you back at the kids’ table. 

You give a frustrated growl and the baby blinks curiously at you, eyes full of wonder. He’s just happy to be here, close to someone he likes. You offer a reassuring stroke over his little head, then turn to stalk back down the dunes; back towards the rest of the group whose lives apparently don’t mean as much to Din, since he’s more them happy for them to join in despite them having little-to-no fighting experience. You’re not about to sit back and watch them all die. 

As the dragon bursts out of the sand once more, the Tuskens and townsfolk begin firing harpoons into its side – a desperate attempt to keep it in place – and you watch as it wrenches itself free with a simple shake of its body. There’s no way this plan is going to work.

When you arrive back by Din’s side, he simply looks at you, not even bothering to admonish you, knowing it’s not going to get him anywhere at this point anyway. But as you look at him, a silent warning to not push you aside again, he sees you’ve got that same look in your eyes now as you had back on Nevarro. And it worries him. 

You move off together as a unit as the dragon begins its assault, firing with everything you’ve got to get its attention – in your case, your trusty blaster pistol – stopping only when it opens its jaws wide and proceeds to spit boiling acid down onto anyone within its reach. You watch in horror as people are disintegrated before your eyes.

A massive explosion beneath it distracts it long enough for any survivors to get clear of its path, and the creature suddenly dives.

You wait, watching for any sign that it’s coming back up, but the smoking landscape is silent and still. Yet, something doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Cobb says, voicing your concern, and you exchange worried glances.

“Me neither,” Din replies. His grip tightens on his blaster, waiting.

Then suddenly, up on the mountain, the creature bursts forth once more. It opens its mouth wide and you glance down at the people in its path about to be annihilated. You can’t watch this happen again. Moving as fast as your feet can carry you, you rush down towards them, shoving them aside with a powerful force-push seconds before the acid hits the sand, clearing them of its path just in time – leaving you in a tricky predicament. You’ve caught its attention now – and you have nowhere to go.

You catch the sound of jetpacks as Cobb and Din land either side of you, weapons raised and ready to come to your defense.

“Get back!” Din barks at you, and you find you have no choice but to listen to him. Failing to do so now, even just to prove a point, and you’re certain you’d be the dragon’s next meal. You’d pick your hill to die on one day, but this just wasn’t it. 

Din and Cobb take off into the air again, firing their weapons to draw the dragon’s attention away and give you time to escape. It works. The dragon, furious from the sudden new assault, turns and comes after them, spraying up sand as it whips its massive body in the new direction.  

As you watch them draw it further away, you can’t help but wonder what the plan is, since the original one has long fallen apart. They can’t keep drawing it away forever. Now that you have minute to breath, you look around for a way to help, and spot the explosives-laden bantha that had been led down as bait. It looks like it would rather be anywhere else and, hell, you don’t blame it, but glancing between it and the massive monster that currently has its sights set on the one man who never failed to put himself in the path of danger for you, you think maybe it was time to return the favor and finish this once and for all.

So, you grab the bellowing, hairy animal by its halter and do something stupid.

You start yelling. And waving your arms. And when that fails to grab the dragon’s attention, you start firing your weapon. Taking your odd behavior as some kind of cue, the townsfolk closest to you begin firing, too, and finally the dragon turns to face this latest assault, drawn to the movement of your waving arms and the scent wafting from the bantha. 

You spot the two armored men, now free of the dragon’s attention, flying up from the mountain before one in particular makes a sudden beeline in your direction. You can practically feel Din’s wrath radiating off of him before he even gets close, and it’s like the bantha can, too, as it begins to protest and pull against its rope. Or maybe it’s the giant monster coming to swallow it whole that has it so skittish.  Either way, you feel like an ass as you try to calm it down, knowing the only reason you’re doing so is to keep it in place long enough to be eaten.

You’re grateful to have the marshal land behind you first as Din drops down in front, poised to lose his absolute mind at you for your reckless behavior, but finding the situation momentarily put on-hold as Cobb asks to no one in particular, “Now what?”

Din’s staring at you, gaze heavy, burning, and humiliating all in one, but he doesn’t have time to berate you as the dragon breaks from a nearby dune. “I have an idea,” he says, and before either you or Cobb can ask what that is, he shoves you into the marshal’s arms and sets off the man’s jetpack, sending you both careening up and away from the dragon’s path – and leaving him right in the middle of it. 

You had come to suspect that you were in pretty deep with Din Djarin, ever since he had first rescued you many years ago, but watching him disappear into the enormous jaws of the krayt dragon was a lesson you had never asked for in how you really felt about him. Even as everyone around you falls into a stunned silence, your ears begin to buzz and you have to fight to keep your footing, absently leaning against Cobb for support as the energy drains from your legs. Cobb reaches for you but misses as you collapse down onto the sand by his feet. Your throat starts to tighten. Everything feels hazy. 

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it happens. 

Then the beast erupts from the sand once more and you spot a familiar shape fly out of its roaring mouth. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. Suddenly, you can breathe again. Then you’re back on your feet and racing towards him.

The huge blast that follows knocks you back and you hold an arm across your eyes to protect them from the cloud of sand billowing from the site of the explosion, but even that’s not enough to stop you as you keep your sights trained on the metal armor glistening in the hot sun. 

When you finally reach Din, you stand for a moment looking at him, then a sound escapes you halfway between a sob and shout, and you shove him – hard. He stumbles backwards but remains on his feet.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry in your life. Fury radiates from every cell in your body, and still Din just stares at you. Then you hug him. Neither of you are expecting it, and his body stiffens immediately in surprise, but when you feel him relax and one of his arms comes up to wrap around you in return, everything suddenly feels right again. You couldn’t care less that he’s covered in gross dragon goo and that it’s probably getting all over your clothes, or that there’s a crowd of onlookers witnessing this moment between you – all you care about is the fact that he’s here, that he’s still alive. 

A cheer erupts behind you as you part, and it’s not for you and Din, but for the smoking remains of the dragon nearby, and it’s soon joined by the howls of the Tuskens as they raise their weapons in victory. 

It’s over. It’s done. And as you look up at Din, you can think of many things worth celebrating.

***

And celebrate, you do. 

As much as he had wanted to make a quiet exit once he had collected his promised armor from Cobb, you had managed to convince Din to stay in Mos Pelgo just a little longer for the revelries. It had been a long time since you’d stayed anywhere close to civilization, let alone had a good reason to celebrate; and though you’d grown used to the comfortable silence of the Razor Crest, there’s some comfort in being surrounded by happy, chattering people for once, instead of the lonely vacuum of space.

Cobb had asked you back personally for a couple of drinks at the bar, and though the invitation had been extended to both of you, Din had failed to take it that way. In hindsight, you suppose your initial run-in with Cobb is to blame for this sudden standoffish behavior, since your contribution to convincing the man to hand over the beskar had involved you telling him that the helmet was ‘a waste on a face like his’. You guess that comment hadn’t sat too well with Din, but it had just sort of slipped out. What could you say? The guy was a looker. Yet even now, as Cobb glances over at your table from the bar, offering a warm, friendly smile in your direction, you find yourself distracted. 

You look around and finally spot Din. He’d been radiating quiet irritation since arriving back, and stands now in the furthest corner of the room, watching the festivities with what you imagined was a sulky expression beneath the helmet. The Child sits by his feet, on the sandy floor, playing with something round and shiny, completely absorbed in his own little world.

“I take it Mandalorian’s aren’t much for parties,” Cobb comments as he finally reaches your side with drinks, breaking you from you trance. He sits down beside you and slides one of the glasses of bright-blue liquid your way.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He nods over towards Din whose gaze is currently burning into you, and you shift uncomfortably trying to find somewhere else to direct your attention, unsure why you don’t just look at Cobb. You realize why when your eyes shift back to him and the feeling of being watched intensifies. 

“Him?” you reply, trying to sound casual, now hyperaware that Din is currently reading every detail of this interaction, “Oh, he usually just prefers the quiet, you know? Not really the social type. He’s only here because I asked.”

“Just watching over his girl, huh?” Cobb teases, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“His gir—What are talking about?”

He frowns before giving you a knowing look, then risks a quick, pointed glance towards Din, who he’s noticed hasn’t turned his gaze away from you for longer than a few seconds the entire evening. 

“We’re just friends,” you tell him, even if that label doesn’t feel quite right to you. “It’s not like that.” You take a mouthful of drink just to give yourself something to do, and wince at the unexpected bitterness. When you glance back over at Din, your cheeks heat up a little when you realize he’s still looking back. You finally drop your gaze away, reassuring yourself that the weird feeling you’ve suddenly gotten in your stomach is just the alcohol taking affect, but when you look back at Cobb you catch him smirking at you. 

“We’re friends,” you repeat, wondering who you’re trying to convince now, since Cobb seems pretty damn decided on the matter. “Colleagues, you know. We’ve just been through a lot together.” You frown as he chuckles. “What?”

“I did not just spend two days listening to the two of you bicker like an old married couple, to hear you say that you two are ‘just friends’.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I just don’t look at him that way.”

“Oh, darlin’, everybody sees how you look at him.”

You think back to the desert, to your arms wrapping around him like he might disappear again at any moment; to the arm that had pulled you closer and squeezed you in return. 

You take another gulp of spotchka to calm the fluttering feeling in your belly, and shoot a quick glance over to see if he’s still looking at you.

But he’s gone.

Panic floods over you.

You look around the room, hoping you don’t look as desperate as you suddenly feel, when Cobb nudges you. You look back at him and he nods to the door, where you just manage to catch a flash of cape and armor and Din disappears through it into the night.

Cobb smiles. “Go on. Go talk to the guy. I’ll still be here if you want another drink. If not, I hope we meet again someday.” He tips his glass towards you and you nod, managing a brief smile of appreciation as you stand. 

Your legs feel heavy as you walk towards the exit. It’s dark outside – almost pitch black aside from a scattering of light coming through a few windows, and the few fires burning outside to keep people warm on the cold desert night – and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Din still standing out on the road. It looks like the kid is giving him some trouble, his fussy cries reaching your ears easily in the quiet. He settles as soon as he sees you, though, and Din turns to see what has the ability to calm him so quickly. 

Of course, it’s you, he thinks. He should have known – you have the same effect on him.

“Hey,” you greet, still fighting back these unexplained nerves as you approach him. You’d known him for years, spent a lot of time in his company, and been through a lot together, but it’s the first time you feel nervous around him.

“Hey,” he replies simply, “I was just heading to take him back to the ship.” He pauses like he’s weighing up what he wants to say next, then adds, “When should I expect you back?”

“Back?”

“I can meet you there in the morning if that’s more suitable.” 

He’s acting weird, and though you know exactly why, you can’t help but frown at the bitterness in his tone. He’s trying to keep it cool and calm around the kid. You wonder what he’d be saying instead if it was just the two of you. 

“Why would you do that? Why would—” You hate what he’s implying, but you need him to say it, to admit why it’s a problem for him – to know if Cobb’s right. “Where am I supposed to be in all of this?”

You stare at him, the question written on your furrowed brow, wondering if he has the guts to admit the accusation outright. 

He looks back towards the bar and then back at you, cocking his helmet as if he’s expecting you to be the one to make the confession, even if there is a low rage bubbling away inside of him at the thought of it. He thinks back to the desert, to the feeling of your arms wrapped around him, to the way his own arm had come up instinctually to hold you closer, and he thinks of how much he wants that again.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” you tell him.

“Don’t do that on my account,” he replies, and you swear he says things like that just to piss you off. 

Before you can formulate a response, he turns away and starts walking towards his borrowed landspeeder. The Child looks back at you over his shoulder and stretches his little arms towards you with a cry, but Din ignores it.

You almost shout his name, forgetting for a moment where you are, and instead splutter out an awkward ‘Mando!’, which you haven’t called him in over a year; not since he entrusted you with his true name. He stops and slowly turns back. By now the kid is wriggling and fussing so much in his arms that he has to put him down, and the little one immediately heads towards you, reaching up to be held. You scoop him up and Din watches as the kid coos happily and buries his face in your hair. He’d thought they were leaving without you, Din realizes, and he can’t help but wonder if the kid’s picked up on his own emotions too – at his own distress at the thought of leaving you behind. 

He watches you for a moment as you soothe the Child, observing the tender way you fuss over him, and feels guilt start to creep over him.

“I am doing it on your account,” you tell him firmly, after a moment, finally looking back at him again, and his helmet tilts slightly as he stares back at you. You screw up your face like you hate the idea of having to say the next words out loud, but you do anyway for his sake. “I’m not interested in the marshal.”

He makes a non-committal noise like he either doesn’t believe you or he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the kid. 

You wonder what you can say, how you’re going to make him understand what you’re feeling, because you can’t go back to the ship like this – things can’t just keep on going how they have been, with the arguments and all these unspoken words that are causing them. So, you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you as you rest a hand against his chest plate to get his attention. 

Din stares down at you, heart thumping as he tries to read your expression and figure out what you’re going to say before you say it, hoping he’ll be less caught off guard this way.

You reach up to the back of his helmet, guiding him down towards you, muttering, “Come here, you idiot.” Then you press your forehead to the cold beskar of his helmet and find a way to tell him.

“Where you go, I go.”

He seems to understand that well enough. 

[thiswasinevitableid]

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

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

“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

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

The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

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

“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

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

Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

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

The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.