#I don’t know how to write stories that well

[scamanderishredmayniac]

I was once called a curious writer, by someone who had read snippets of an original piece I was working on some many years ago. I had never heard of anyone saying that before at the time. It felt bizarre, I knew what it meant to be a curious reader, but not a curious writer. I’m not 100% sure, but I think it was because I was allowing readers to explore the character’s past story, exploring why they felt and behaved in a certain way. She said something about how she liked how I was building up character and giving back story. The reality was I knew these characters inside out, well sort of. They had history outside the story in my mind, and personality such that were not on the page. I imagined a whole set of people as though they were real in this strange town I had written about. I wanted the reader to explore these people, to see into the characters minds, and explore their world. I’ll admit I didn’t know everything about the town they were living in, and the only thing at the time I was exploring was the town and its history. The only thing I explored and was curious about in the characters, or at least 3 of them was their feelings for each other.

I hadn’t been in a relationship at the time, I hadn’t experienced falling in love and finding someone, and only added a sort of love storyline because a friend asked me too. So my curiosity as a writer was to explore that side of things. So maybe this reader saw that, I don’t know. I just got the gist that it meant something very good. I’m not even sure why I’m rambling like an idiot when i should be climbing into bed and going to sleep, especially when I said I wouldn’t come onto tumblr for a month. Oops! I just saw a friend had reblogged this, and it made me think of that comment left on my work. I don’t know why i had to share this ling rambly story, but I quite liked being called a curious writer. It’s been a long time since I got such a compliment that made me feel good about my writing.

Basically being a curious writer is apparently a good thing and makes one’s story interesting. And it should really be a widely spread piece of advice to potential writers to be curious of what you’re writing.

“Be curious about what you’re writing about” is not stock Common Writing Advice but it really, really should be. There are a lot of written works that fail due to the authors just being obviously incurious about what they are writing about.

[noosayog]

Sitting at the bar, alone, is far from Atsumu’s ideal Friday night. 

But Bokuto’s busy, Shoyo has a date, and Omi, well… he didn’t even bother to make an excuse. Some friends they are, especially when he’s going through a breakup. 

It does get better, minorly, when you, a pretty stranger, decide to sit in the stool directly to his left. Never mind that the bar is full and the seat next to his is the only free spot.

You’re pretty, dressed in something casual, yet memorable. He’s content to simply sit beside you, fantasizing scenarios in which he charmingly and successfully gets you to join him for a drink and dinner soon, when he hears you. 

“So how’s your night going?” 

“Uh.”

You giggle lightly. He feels his face flush a shade deeper. 

“Articulate, aren’t you?” 

Atsumu chokes out an awkward chuckle. “I’m usually better than this.” 

“Yeah?” You lean further in, propping your chin on your hand. 

“Yeah.” 

A moment of silence. Your smile drops. Oh, you’re definitely about to turn to your left and try your luck with the other guy sitting on that side. 

“Um-” 

“Ok, whatever,” you say. “I’m just gonna come out and ask. Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Uh, no. I’m actually going through a-”

You hold a hand up. “I don’t really wanna hear details. So you’re single? Not seeing someone? Not trying to see someone?” 

“No.” 

“Cool. Wanna make out with me? No strings attached, of course.” 

“Uh?”

“You’re not really doing too hot convincing me that your normal is better than this. Make out.” You gesture, lips puckered. “With me. Just looking for a little fun tonight, you know?” 

Yes, he does want to make out with the pretty girl sitting next to him, so charming, he thinks he might’ve fallen in love. But instead, what he says is- 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean it’s not really my things to hook up with someone right when I meet them and I’m going through a fresh breakup…” 

You sit back up, swiveling your stool so you’re facing the bar now. “No worries. I don’t wanna pressure someone who’s not down. Have a good night then.” 

You turn back to your book, which he didn’t even notice was there. A sip of your drink, knife to the conversation. 

Atsumu probably spends a good while racking his head for a way to restart the connection when he hears you order another drink. He keeps his head down, discreetly eavesdropping as you flirt with the bartender. 

The bartender rests both arms on the bar to lean closer to you, clearly bewitched. Not that Atsumu doesn’t understand but doesn’t this guy have a job to do? He makes a mental note to write a bad google review later. 

“So…” the bartender croons, “I heard your proposition for Blondie over there.” 

Excuse him? He’s sitting right here still! 

“If he’s not interested-”

“Who said I’m not!” 

Both sets of eyes whip toward him. 

“Bro, we both heard you say-” 

“Okay, so can’t a guy make a mistake?” He turns to you, voice accusatory. “Guys say things when we’re nervous. I’m nervous, okay? I’ve never been asked to make out with some like you,” he gestures up and down. “I am so interested in making out with you.” 

You blink once, twice, before turning to the bartender. “I think I’m done drinking for the night.” 

You turn toward him. 

“Put my drinks on blondie’s tab. He’s closing out now.” 

Atsumu hardly remembers throwing a couple of bills on the table before you grab his hand, trailing after your tinkling laughter. 

–

“- and that’s how I met your mother.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“No way she asked you, of all people, at that bar to make out with you.” 

”Seems kinda farfetched, Atsumu…” 

The MSBY team is gathered in your living room, your one year old son babbling on Atsumu’s lap. 

“Hey! No swear words around my son.” 

His teammates roll their eyes. 

“You’re so full of it. No way that story-”

“What are you guys talking about?” You enter the room with a handful of beers. 

“How you and Atsumu met.” 

“Oh, you mean how I asked him to make out with me?” 

“No fucking shot!” 

“Language!”

[plaidos]

Meat, or Candy?

okay so not to deflect your fun silly question but fun fact: as far as i can see it, Andrew has been referring to a meat/candy narrative structure dichotomy in fiction since at least the author commentaries to the hardback Homestuck books (though i can’t remember which one, i’ll have to find it).

now, of course, the relevance of meat & candy to the cherubs in Homestuck goes back further than that — 2011. but it’s interesting to see how early she conceptualised that in that way and makes me think, well, that’s always been part of it. like the idea that Andrew might have back in 2011 known she was going to split the story into Meat and Candy is fucking mindblowing to me. the Cherubs are and always have been commentary on authors/artists and especially in relationship to fandom and fanculture — Calliope prefers relationships and shipping and wish fulfilment, she likes filling in the gaps with stuff that makes her smile with zero reflection of if it makes contextual sense in the narrative — like how she draws the Alpha Kids as if their text color is their blood color, and assumes that they’ll have wings when they god tier.

Caliborn on the other hand cares only for the meat of the narrative. the real juicy stuff, none of the boring meandering. to him, stories should be straight to the point, and they should mostly be action (in both senses of the term). his writing is grittier, more to the point, more “honest” (from his perspective).

Anyway wouldn’t it be crazy if versions of these two were puppeteering the entirety of the Epilogues & Beyond Canon? i mean, we already know that a version of Callie, the dead cherub, is literally capable of that. and Dirk? well, wouldn’t it be an ironic twist of fate if the puppet-master Prince of Heart ended up being puppeteered by, oh, i don’t know, an all-powerful unkillable demon god composed in part by a splinter of his soul?

food for thought.

[thimbleandakiss]

How about a story about cowboy Sevika x y/n. Super soft one about Sevika finding the reader in their horse stables after a long day. >:3

Sorry this is kinda short, the motivation came and went so fast ����

Pretty Little Lady

Cowgirl!Sevika x Rancher's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Sevika finds you in the stable, brushing your horse an hour before schedule.

Content: fluff, banter, could possibly be interpreted as a suggestive ending, possibly

Cross-posted on Ao3

Playlist used to write

Much to your parents’ frustration, you’ve always loved to spend time in the stables. 

The sweet smell of hay, the musk of horses, is strangely comforting. And that’s not even beginning on the beasts themselves. 

With large, kind, intelligent eyes, silky hides, and personalities more interesting than most members of high society, horses are by far your favorite thing about the ranch. 

Well, second favorite. 

While you’ve been preoccupied with brushing down your favorite painted mare, murmuring sweetly to her, Sevika, the head ranch hand, has been leaning against the entrance to the stables, just… watching you. Enjoying the sight of you in your pristine, pastel-colored dress, stockings, and straw hat tied beneath your chin with a delicate ribbon. 

“Well, now I’ve seen everythin’,” She drawls, pushing herself off the doorframe, boots crunching on the hay strewn about the floor. 

You whirl, breath catching in your chest, you hand gripped tight on the horse brush. After a moment, you clear your throat, smoothing out your skirts, trying to grasp at that air of superiority your mother seemed so skilled in. 

She tips her hat in greeting, but there’s a mocking gleam in her eyes, dark lips pulled into a smirk. The late afternoon sun cast her outline in an almost golden glow, making the sweat of the day on her skin gleam almost ethereally. 

“What’s daddy’s little girl doin’ in the stables all by her pretty little self?” She coos, coming within arm’s reach of you. 

“I am not ‘daddy’s little girl’,” You retort, crossing your arms in a very unladylike gesture. 

You look at each other for a heartbeat longer before breaking out into wide grins, and she barely opens her arms to you before you’re in them. 

“That’s right,” Sevika hums, lifting you up for a little spin, giving you a kiss on your forehead after setting you back on your feet, “‘Cause you’re mine, aren’t ya, doll?”

You smile up at her, eyes sparkling, and nod. 

“Whatcha doin’ here, anyway?” She asks, gently readjusting your hat. “Riding lessons aren’t for another hour.” 

“I know,” You sigh, taking a step back to admire her, “I just thought I’d get a head start, I suppose…”

You trail off, a little too lost in the sight of her. Sevika’s naturally darker complexion is tanned to a medium-dark brown from long days in the field, smudges of dirt on her hands and cheeks. Her leather hat sits low on her head, shielding her face from the glare of the sun, her short, silky brown hair tied back into a small ponytail at the base of her neck. 

Her clothes are… ragged, to put it kindly. The sleeves of her shirt are torn off to reveal the bulky muscles of her arms–not that you’re complaining–but with how much your father pays her, you’d think she’d be able to buy better clothes. 

You’d asked her about it, once, on one of your long trail rides. “Rich clothes, poor clothes, I’ll rip ‘em the same,” She’d said, “no point wastin’ my money on ‘em.”

Sevika gently flicks your nose with one of her large fingers, bringing you back to the present. 

“Starin’ pretty girl?” She teases, and you huff indignantly, ducking your head to hide your grin. 

“Well,” Sevika begins with a sigh, “Since we’re both here early, why don’t I saddle us up, and you can have an extra hour, hm?”

Your entire demeanor immediately brightens, biting your lip excitedly. That’s exactly what you’d been hoping for. You had a sneaking suspicion that Sevika knew that already. 

“Yes, please!” You exclaim, polite as ever. 

Sevika scoffs and shakes her head affectionately, moving over to the saddle stand, effortlessly lifting the hunk of leather off the stand and onto your mare. You watch her as subtly as you can manage, which isn’t much better than openly drooling at the way her muscles flex. 

“I know of a real nice spot by the river,” She grunts, leather groaning as she tightens the straps, “Covered in that soft, spongy kind of moss.” 

She turns to find you already leading her own roan mare forward with a hand on the horse’s strong neck. Sevika smirks appreciatively, haltering the animal and tying her next to yours. 

“If we ride at a reasonable pace, we can spend that whole extra hour there, how’s that sound?” Sevika suggests, eyes sparkling beneath the brim of her hat when she glances at you. 

You smile, lifting onto your toes to plant a kiss on her cheek. “That sounds lovely."

[liliasenbyhusband]

I keep returning to this fanfic to reread it (like with most your fics tbh) aaannnddd I no longer feel too shy to do this soooo it only felt right to share this

First of all this fic never fails to make me giggle but these parts in particular always tickle me:

And when she murmurs a soft, "baby, no, come on, let's go to bed', you protest like a child, her name stretched long in its affectionate bits, tone heavy with tipsy impatience. "I need to show you, my love, something, I don’t know where it is yet, but it’s important, it’s—”

“Cruel,” your murmur is thick with drowsy affection. “So cruel of space to keep you away from me like this. Or are you and the concept of space teaming up against me, huh?”

So real of us to want to be closer to Lilia 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Though Lilia, ever knowing, ever perceptive, keeps you tethered to her, her fingertips pressing insistently into your soft flesh, securing you as you try to wander. She knows your ways, knows you too well; how everything illuminates in new hues when drink lingers on your tongue, how your sly little tendencies take root, your flickering marvel with everything but still, somehow, and mostly, always her.

The way Lilia takes care of us- *incoherent gay screaming*

A quiet guardian of your untamed spirit she is, settling herself onto the mattress and tugging you into her homely embrace before you could try to form the idea in getting up to rove around the room and further.

Like this is so peak Lilia and always makes me feel so soft and cared for and I’m just a poor lesbian who is down bad for this woman

I was already down bad for Lilia but this fic made it 10000 times worse:

Baby, doll, my love, darling, angel, sweetheart, sweet girl, honey.

Even pet names in her mother language were aerated against your temple before sealing them with a sweet kiss, lips and endearments skimming across the apple of your cheeks, the curve of your forehead, reaching every corner of your being where love collects like morning dew.

"Behave for momma, darling girl," She is speaking to you in such honey-soaked croons, lilted with firmness that portrays her gentlest, most instinctive protectiveness when you try slipping away from her.

Oh I see how it is, you’re trying to kill me. You want me to die of gay panic.

And then of course my all time favourite moment.. like my favourite words ever written in any Lilia fic because I’m always sat here with the biggest smile and tears in my eyes when reading it:

You stare at her then, brow furrowed, irises dazed and musky with wetness but gleaming with something unbearably enamored. “You’re so beautiful,” Admiration douses your every whispered syllable, thumbs brushing a path over the swells of her cheeks. “So unfairly beautiful. Pretty. My pretty, pretty Lilia.”

Then Lilia, for all her age, for all her wisdom, stills as your drunken confessions peel back the centuries and for a moment, just a flicker of a second, she looks young again. Not in body, not in form, but in the way her lashes flutter like the edges of a butterfly's wings beneath her eyes, the way her lips parted just vaguely, taken by surprise. The sensation is familiar — this sensibility of being gazed upon as if she were the very reason of someone's existence, but goodness gracious, it never loses its luster. Not with you.

Even drunk you are in love, you are a poet, mapping the delicate silver in her locks with your fingers, each strand conveying a story you so desperately wished to learn by heart. Your words, though unclear, hold such conviction, such dizzying sincerity, that Lilia is left breathless, humbled by the depth of your love.

The devotion, the love I can feel pour out of your written words, the way I can just see the scene unfold in my minds eye because of how well you write, AAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

You write Lilia so well and I just am obsessed with how you write her and this fic just always makes me fall in love with her all over again.

Also Lilia deserves someone who is this devoted to her and besotted with her 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

︵ ✮⋆˙ 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝙡𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙪 ރ 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

︵ ✮⋆˙ ᥴꪮꪀꪻꪖ꠸ꪀᦓ : FLUFF, drunk!reader, alcohol usage, softness, hopeless!reader for lilia, lilia being a caretaker and the sweetest lover, physical affections, usage of pet names, touch!starved!reader, drunken confessions that are pretty much well known, cliché and sapphic shit I experienced and cannot get over ︵ ✮⋆˙ ᭙ᥴ : 1k+

quick note : one thought to, “oh, lilia calderu would be the sweetest girlfriend to ever exist with her drunk s/o” wounded up into this and all I can feel and see are hues of oranges, tangerines, soft reds, golds, yellows, sparks and stars while I was on cloud 9 for a few hours — I hope you enjoy !!! <3

─────── .𖥔 ݁˖✮˖ ݁𖥔. ───────

There is a patience to Lilia, a devotion so effortless, so intrinsic, that it feels like an enchantment interweaved into the very fabric of her being. And never is it more evident than in moments like these — when the weight of your intoxication has rooted profoundly between your limbs, rendering you languid and sun dappled-eyed, your voice spilling over in hazy murmurs that make impeccable sense solely to you.

She holds you close, her arm a firm but gentle band around your midsection, guiding you through the soft golden glow of your shared sanctuary. You are all movement at the beginning, all impulse, your hands reaching for items on her shop’s shelves, tugging at the silks of her sleeves, attempting, with slurred determination, to drag her toward something that has suddenly become fascinating in your clouded mind even though you have come across these items thousands of times.

And when she murmurs a soft, "baby, no, come on, let's go to bed', you protest like a child, her name stretched long in its affectionate bits, tone heavy with tipsy impatience. "I need to show you, my love, something, I don’t know where it is yet, but it’s important, it’s—”

You are liquid in her grasp, slipping and flowing, drawn to the world in a way only being drunk allows — every warm lamp, every shimmer of the beaded curtains as you both made your way through them ( or rather, she's come to recognize, she gives into your nonsensical sentences enough for you to become completely engross by uttering them to her that you barely recognize the change of scenery as she drags you away ), every shadowed outline that swayed along the walls, every gleam of silver catching the low light suddenly a wonder worth chasing.

Though Lilia, ever knowing, ever perceptive, keeps you tethered to her, her fingertips pressing insistently into your soft flesh, securing you as you try to wander. She knows your ways, knows you too well; how everything illuminates in new hues when drink lingers on your tongue, how your sly little tendencies take root, your flickering marvel with everything but still, somehow, and mostly, always her.

And oh, how she lovingly indulges you.

She listens, her mouth curving at the edges as you ramble, voice swaying between dreamlike astonishment and tiny complaints, entirely enraptured with her as though she is some celestial thing newly discovered. And to you, even in this state of supple-limbed reverie, she is; otherworldly, ethereal. You cling to her, as if proximity alone might keep her from vanishing, and she laughs, airy and betrayed with a soft snort, something bashful curling beneath the sound when you burrow yourself into her while you sit at the edge of the bed and she's standing in front of you.

“Cruel,” your murmur is thick with drowsy affection. “So cruel of space to keep you away from me like this. Or are you and the concept of space teaming up against me, huh?”

Lilia hums, entertainment whirling her whiskey-hued gaze as she presses a sweet kiss into your hairline. “I am right here, my love.”

But it is simply not enough. Not when her warmth is mere inches from you, not when she moves to ease you into fresh, soft and cozy pajamas and she barely grazes your bare skin with her touch, and the whispers of oxygen between your bodies feels like the greatest injustice within this universe.

You let out a whine, a prolonged sound wholly unguarded for her to come back, and she hushes you with a saccharine croon, guiding your gauche arms into the sleeves of a clean, long sleeve shirt you always claimed was the second-most comfortable feeling in the world besides Lilia herself. Her hands are stable, metallic rings pressing ever so slightly into your heated skin as she works, and every touch is a soothe, a promise that she is not leaving, not ever.

Fingers become greedy and cherishing as they catalog the elegant lines of her features, over the regal slope of her nose, the fine etchings of age that time has worked with grace into her skin, the way the light softens her edges.

You stare at her then, brow furrowed, irises dazed and musky with wetness but gleaming with something unbearably enamored. “You’re so beautiful,” Admiration douses your every whispered syllable, thumbs brushing a path over the swells of her cheeks. “So unfairly beautiful. Pretty. My pretty, pretty Lilia.”

How you then speak something along the lines of how her smile makes you feel like you are dissolving into love itself.

Then Lilia, for all her age, for all her wisdom, stills as your drunken confessions peel back the centuries and for a moment, just a flicker of a second, she looks young again. Not in body, not in form, but in the way her lashes flutter like the edges of a butterfly's wings beneath her eyes, the way her lips parted just vaguely, taken by surprise. The sensation is familiar — this sensibility of being gazed upon as if she were the very reason of someone's existence, but goodness gracious, it never loses its luster. Not with you.

Even drunk you are in love, you are a poet, mapping the delicate silver in her locks with your fingers, each strand conveying a story you so desperately wished to learn by heart. Your words, though unclear, hold such conviction, such dizzying sincerity, that Lilia is left breathless, humbled by the depth of your love.

A quiet guardian of your untamed spirit she is, settling herself onto the mattress and tugging you into her homely embrace before you could try to form the idea in getting up to rove around the room and further.

Baby, doll, my love, darling, angel, sweetheart, sweet girl, honey.

Even pet names in her mother language were aerated against your temple before sealing them with a sweet kiss, lips and endearments skimming across the apple of your cheeks, the curve of your forehead, reaching every corner of your being where love collects like morning dew.

"Behave for momma, darling girl," She is speaking to you in such honey-soaked croons, lilted with firmness that portrays her gentlest, most instinctive protectiveness when you try slipping away from her.

Utterances are tenderly pressed into the flushed skin of your cheekbone as you protest in indignation, too busy letting petulant complaints tumble out of your mouth that you are oblivious of the soft grin she harbored as she chuckled.

Her fingers start grazing the side of your face, the chilled silver of her rings gliding over your fevered flesh, soon ascending to brush through the pieces of hair adorning the crown of your forehead. She then tucks you into her bosom, placing her chin at the top of your head with a low 'hush now' exhaled as you try writhing in order to sit up, drowning out your mumbled words from the slumber overcoming you, finding solace in her heartbeat, your arms winding around her in lazy devotion.

︵ ✮⋆˙

[burnt-by-marigolds]

Astarion’s Story: A Closure

Going through the finale of Astarion’s personal quest wasn’t exactly easy for me. I got overwhelmed by a vast array of difficult emotions – the oppressive atmosphere of the lavish halls of Cazador’s palace was obvious to me from the very moment my party stepped in. Talking with Godey, Astarion’s various commentary, seeing Victoria’s body, confronting the victims – it’s one thing to know what the pale elf’s past was like, it’s another to stand face to face with the reality of it.

But that’s not what this post is going to be about. After I sorted through all of this, I decided to write down the most important thing: what brought me a sense of closure after finishing the quest. 

(For the record, this was my first playthrough and I went the spawn route.)

In the end, Astarion’s story arc proved deeply rewarding to me. Almost every sentence he says afterwards is perfectly quotable – as evidenced by how many people repost their favourite words as screenshots, gifs or captions to artwork. The dialogues, the cemetery cutscene – all are immensely powerful. And still, it was something else that drew my attention.

What brought me real closure was watching Astarion himself. The way he changed. It’s subtle, and yet immediately evident: his features are somehow smoother, his tone of voice lighter. He smiles a lot in a much more genuine way and talks so animatedly (even though he’s always been very expressive). There’s something… softer about him. I don’t want to sound cheesy, but I’ll risk it: he’s radiant. Like he had become a tiny ray of sunshine himself.

I stared at the screen and was tempted to tease: who are you and what have you done to Astarion?

The change in his demeanor made me acutely aware of just how heavy was the burden he carried through Acts I and II, and the start of Act III. Again, I knew it in theory. And again, it’s one thing to know, and another to see it with your own eyes: the contrast between Astarion at the beginning of the journey and near the end of it. The burden is no more. He’s free. And very much alive.

All of this made me briefly forget I haven’t actually finished the game yet. There’s still more to do: more quests to complete, a Netherbrain to tackle. And yet, for a moment it felt like I have finished it. But that's the power of well-written stories – sometimes saving the world comes second to making a cherished companion happy.

[madefortherain]

february fic recs ⋆ ༘⁀➷

the end of february means it’s, once again, time to shout about my favourite reads of the month! (same as last month, tagging authors i know the blogs of, but feel free to lmk if you want anything changed/removed) <3

multichapter:

Astronomia Nova by sreka (@smodernlife) - T, 35k. sirius raising harry, meets beautiful librarian remus and subsequently ruins a priceless book (meet-ugly everybody cheer!!). absolutely adored this!!

Be My Baby by pixelated (prettyremus) - M, 21k. dirty dancing au!! enough said just with that, really, but also the way queer themes are woven into the original story is so cool!

The Proctor House by @eyra - M, 5.2k, MCD. i honestly think it’s best to go into this one fairly blind. just let the beautiful writing take you where it wants to, it’s so so worth it. this one has stayed with me since i read it.

you don’t have to be alone (when you’re the place i wanna go) by @quiethauntings - E, 37k. remus reunites with his friends on a trip to the scottish highlands. nostalgia bottled into a fic! a very lovely depiction of loneliness and rekindling friendships. really beautiful!

Of Prefects, Pretence, and Precedent by Whoops_E - M, 121k. shouting this one out again because it’s now complete!!! i’m immediately diving in for a full reread. i go insane for this fic and specifically think about the grape jam chapter approximately 30 times a week.

oneshots:

nightlights by sadgeminimoon - T, 9.2k. single parent remus raising teddy, & sirius who helps out far too well. the pining!! adored this. i, too, would lose it if i came home to find sirius black doing a load of my laundry.

The Best By Far Is You by orphan_account - T, 13k. padfoot and moony are tumblr mutuals, while blind remus hires sirius as a reader for his classes. i believe this one is fairly well-known, but i only just got to it and it’s so so wonderful! there are also 7 more shorter oneshots (ratings vary) following this, all of which i subsequently inhaled. really recommend the entire Tumblr Trash series! (E, 35k total)

Perfect by wanderingdonut - T, 3.7k. ace4ace wolfstar learning to love each other :’) such a wonderful acespec story, i adored this <3

A Cup of Sugar by MsAlexWP (@languagelessonswolfstar) - T, 5.3k. harry pov feat. disabled harry and disabled remus (bonding!!). so sweet, such great disability rep, and adorable little peeks of wolfstar! loooved this!!

WIPs:

Let me Believe (Ever After) by @brigid-faye - M, 6/12, 47k. ever after: a cinderella story (1998) au! sad-eyed prince remus, riches to rags sirius. such great characterisations, relationships, and storytelling. i devoured these chapters so quickly!

Brave Face by @zoemillinwrites - M, 28/?, 252k, MCD. a canon-divergent, sirius-centric fic starting in hogwarts first year. such real and raw characters, being a little in love with your friends, and some of the cleverest, most unique magic explanations i’ve ever read. seriously, can’t emphasise enough how SO insanely cool the magic is!! (also shouting out the accompanying Story Shards WIP (E, 1/?, 4.3k) for some brilliant extra character studies!)

four thousand holes by aeridi0nis (@steelycunt) - E, 2/5, 41k. pride (2014) au. lesbians and gays support the miners; sirius is part of the organisation, remus is the son of a miner. truly so so obsessed with this premise. and the writing!! incredible, incredible prose.

As You Walk On By (Will You Call My Name?) by @imsiriuslyreading - M, 6/15, 23k, jily!!!! royalty au AND university au in one! royal james and eat-the-rich lily, creating such a fun jily dynamic. + a lovely dose of background wolfstar, too :)

[asaka-lucy-hl]

Report on the 3rd Online Meeting of the Last Defense Academy School Council (Held on February 28)

The archived video is now available for the School Council members, so I’ve listed the key points and comments from Kodaka and Inou (THL’s producer) that I found particularly important or amusing. Part of the report is written in the form of a conversation, and the person named Miyokawa who appears in it is the editor-in-chief of a Japanese gaming media outlet called Famitsu.

Q: There are now 55 days until release. How are things going? Kodaka: We’re working on some patches, but development itself is basically finished. Until recently, I was making final adjustments to the parts I was responsible for, as well as checking the balance of the SRPG sections. But now that’s all settled, so I’ve been playing through the parts written by other writers—the ones I wasn’t involved in during development—as a player.

Q: So you're playing THL from a player’s perspective? Kodaka: Yes, exactly. There are parts I didn’t oversee at all, so I’m experiencing them for the first time myself.

Q: The demo’s reviews have the status of “Overwhelmingly Positive”… Kodaka: They’re all fake reviews. (Everyone laughs) Kodaka: We paid people 100 yen each to write them. Miyokawa: That’s cheap. (laughs) Inou: I personally wrote about 30 of them. (Everyone laughs) Miyokawa: Let’s not make jokes like that—it could spread in a weird way. It’s not true! (laughs) Right now, there are around 806 reviews. Kodaka: It’s really nice to see so many reviews for just the demo.

Q: Do you feel the impact of the feedback? Kodaka: Yes, I do. With Rain Code, we didn’t release a demo, and while DRV3 had a demo, there wasn’t really a place for people to leave reviews like this. So being able to see this kind of reaction is really valuable. We’ve even used some of the feedback to make adjustments in patches, so in that sense, I’m glad we released a demo. Also, as I mentioned in my Famitsu interview today, seeing the reactions to the demo has been a relief. My worries have eased a bit. Before the demo was released, I was thinking, “What if we only sell 600 copies...?” But now I know we’ll at least sell 800, so I feel a little better. (Everyone laughs) Miyokawa: I don’t think 800 copies is a number you should feel reassured about. (laughs)

Q: The SRPG sections were more challenging than I expected. Kodaka: That’s true. I think that’s one of the aspects that received particularly good feedback. When it comes to the story, a lot of people commented that it felt “Danganronpa-like” and nostalgic, but for the SRPG sections, it seemed like many players only truly understood what they were like after playing them.

The SRPG has a system where, if you get a game over, various relief measures kick in, making it progressively easier. Personally, when I play action games and keep getting game overs, I always think, “Why doesn’t this game have some kind of relief system?!” Since I’m more of a casual gamer, after dying three times, I just want the game to let me clear it already.

Miyokawa: So THL has that kind of relief system? Kodaka: Yes. Since I’m the type of person who wants that kind of feature, I made sure to include it.

Q: Since we have Kodaka here, I’d love for the School Council members to share their thoughts directly with you. But at the same time, many fans are hesitant to say too much because they’re worried about spoilers.

Kodaka: Yeah, but honestly, what’s playable in the demo is really just the tip of the iceberg—actually, more like the tip of the tip of the iceberg. I’ve seen a lot of reviews commenting on how surprisingly large the demo is, saying things like, “I can’t believe they released this much content.” But in reality, it’s just a small fraction of the full game. So many more things are going to happen from here on.

On the other hand, since the development team talks openly about all this stuff among ourselves, I sometimes worry that I might accidentally slip up and drop a keyword or something.

Most SRPGs tend to have a fantasy feel, but I think this demo really conveys just how much of a 'chuunibyou' (edgy, over-the-top) vibe the game has.

(Everyone laughs)

One thing that’s always bothered me about SRPGs is how, toward the end, the gameplay often turns into just surrounding the last enemies and bullying them. At a certain point, you realize, “Oh, I can’t lose anymore,” and the tension disappears. I wanted to reduce that as much as possible.

So, I designed the game around "comeback victories." The more allies you lose, the stronger you become.

I set it up so that, near the end, you might think, “Only two of us are left... but if we risk everything, we might just pull this off... We did it!!!” That kind of dramatic, high-stakes moment. I feel like that also adds to the game’s chuunibyou spirit.

---

<Kodaka's Comments During the Fan Q&A Session>

Darumi is the kind of character that seems like they could fit into Danganronpa but actually can't. If you have a character like that, they’d basically have to be killed off early on. So, while they might seem like a Danganronpa character, they actually wouldn’t work.

Maruko wouldn’t fit either. Someone that much of a coward would be hard to use in the story. Ginzaki as well—if he keeps sinking into self-loathing every time he speaks, the Class Trial wouldn’t progress at all. Surprisingly, there are a lot of characters that seem like they could appear in Danganronpa but actually wouldn’t.

For the first nine characters (except for Takumi), I wanted them to feel a little more relatable, a bit more grounded compared to the ones in Danganronpa or Rain Code. Maruko, Kawana, Shizuhara—they don’t have over-the-top appearances. Since this game has war as a theme, I wanted to include somewhat realistic reactions to that. So, at first, I aimed to depict real high school students with these nine characters. ...But I couldn't really do it. laughs In the end, I just kept adding more and more, and it turned out the same as always—intense characters all over again.

(Everyone laughs)

Kodaka: Still, I think the designs are slightly more relatable than those in Danganronpa, don’t you? Miyokawa: Darumi might be a bit extreme, though. Kodaka: Yeah, that’s true. But then all the characters that got added later ended up being way too intense, which made for a really unbalanced mix. laughs

Q: Are you participating in the 100-day login campaign? Kodaka: I haven’t logged in once. (Everyone laughs)

Q. The controls with the keyboard are difficult. Can they be improved before release? Kodaka: To be honest, I strongly recommend using a gamepad. Well... making adjustments for keyboard controls costs money, you know. Inou: Yeah, it’s not like we didn’t consider it, but given the budget, we decided it was better to just ask players to use a gamepad.

Q: Will there be any shocking announcements before the release? Kodaka: Honestly, we’re still debating how much to reveal. From a marketing perspective, it would be better to make an honest announcement that "This and that happen," people would go, "Whoa, this game is insane!" But at the same time, I want players to experience those surprises firsthand. So I’m thinking maybe it’s best to hold back and rely on post-release word-of-mouth instead. I don’t want to ruin those moments of shock for the players.

That said, I was looking at the demo reviews, and it seems like a lot of people were really reacting to Aotsuki’s event CG from Tokyo Game Show. Maybe that’s because, after playing the demo, they understood the characters better?

Inou: Yeah, that one definitely got people buzzing and stirred up a lot of "What!?!" reactions. Kodaka: At TGS, we had a bunch of event CGs on display at the booth. And we figured, "Hey, let’s throw in something fun at the edge of the lineup!" So we deliberately included one of the more intense event CGs. But I think it’s still hard to understand why things turned out that way.

There are over 600 event CGs in the game, so I doubt many people will see all of this.

---

On the development process

Kodaka: Today, various sections of the team were interviewed, and while reminiscing about the road to release, our staff kept saying things like: "I never thought we’d finish this game." "There’s no way this is possible."

Honestly, for the past two years, I’ve been hearing nothing but people saying, “It’s impossible! We can’t finish it!”

Miyokawa: Sounds like the whole Tookyo Games team was in despair. Kodaka: Yeah, Tookyo Games was in despair. Even Media.Vision (the company handling the SRPG sections) was in despair. Inou: Right. And since I was managing the project, I was in despair too. (Everyone laughs) Inou: So, at some point, I thought we had to force ourselves to finish it. Speaking of which, someone started saying scary things like, "If we had another year, we could have done even better..." Kodaka: It would never be finished at that rate. laughs Miyokawa: That just shows how ambitious the game was. Kodaka: Yeah, and I think the quality turned out really high. The character sprites and music are really abundant, too.

Plus, in the ADV sections, the scripting was all handled by the actual scenario writers. For the sections I wrote, I also did all the scripting myself. In fact, the entire ADV section of the demo—I handled all the scripting for it.

That’s probably why people kept saying in reviews that it feels like Danganronpa—because everything, from the way sound effects are used to the way music changes, was all done in my style.

While working on this, I realized that I’m actually really good at scripting. Maybe even better than writing scenarios. I genuinely feel like my directing makes things more engaging.

Miyokawa: Do different writers have their own distinct styles? Kodaka: Yeah, you can really tell, especially with Uchikoshi—his writing stands out a lot. There are some sections where you just know it’s him. But I think that’s part of the game’s charm—there are so many different routes, and multiple writers contributed to them.

---

[Closing Segment]

Miyokawa: Now then, does anyone know what day it is today, February 28th? Kodaka: Monster Hunter release day! Miyokawa: (laughs) Oh, the team members know what I mean. That’s right—it’s Ginzaki’s birthday! So, we have prepared a cake for him!

What do you think? Kodaka: That’s impressive. It does look a bit like his ears are melting though. Miyokawa: Well, is he really that beloved? Inou: I believe a lot of people will end up loving him. He’s already popular at ANIPLEX, and he’s one of my favorites too. Kodaka: He does have a great range of expressions. A lot of them are annoying, though. (Everyone laughs) Miyokawa: Even the expression on the cake is a little irritating, right? He doesn't seem to be aware that he is being celebrated. ---

Miyokawa: Lastly, do you have any message for the School Council members? Kodaka: Well, after the release, I’d love to have a meeting where we can share our thoughts without worrying about spoilers. I think a lot of different impressions will come up. Probably, about a month after the release, people who have played it will have completely different opinions, so I’d like to hear everyone’s thoughts at a good time. I think this is a work where sharing impressions will be a lot of fun, so please look forward to it and wait until the release.

---

That’s all for now. Please note that this post only highlights the parts of their statements that I found interesting, and some sections have been edited for flow, as they were not originally consecutive.

I hope you find some parts of it enjoyable to read. Thanks for reading! 🌟

[vandme12]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠? - 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

This will be long-planned series. I love Diabolik lovers and now Killer Chat

This series will contain

TRIGGER WARNING : Graphic Violence, Gore, Murder, Obsession, Manipulation, Death, Dark Themes

SUMMARY :

In the future, you fucking are.

Fuck—what did you do? Who did you murder? Who did you hurt, who did you kill? People surprise you, don’t they? All soft edges and perfect faces, but inside? A rotting mess—like the guts spilled out when you cut too deep. And shit’s well—shit there. Black hearts. Black souls. Rotten teeth behind pretty lips.

The devil got his due.

Guess you like your girls best when they’re dead—

Brains blasted open, a Jackson Pollock on the wall. That’s your taste, isn’t it? A little blood with your sugar.

People surprise you. Every last one of them loved you. Loved you as you are—ugly, awful, too much, too sharp. What did you do?

In the future, you fucking are.

Fuck—what did you do? Who did you slice open, tear apart, leave gasping? Who did you kill? People surprise you, don’t they? All sugar on the surface, but inside—oh, inside, they’re crawling. Rot-black hearts and maggot thoughts. Shit’s shit, and it’s everywhere.

1. The devil got his due.

2. Guess you like your girls best when they’re dead— Brains on the floor, blood in their hair. Pretty things are prettier when they’re ruined, right?

3. When their heads get blown open— Art in the aftermath. Mess in the marrow. A little tragedy for your collection.

4. People will surprise you. They loved you, didn’t they? Every last one of them. Loved you as you are—sharp, mean, a little god playing with his food.

What did you do?

You must be proud, Tragedist. Peeling a story apart like skin—digging your hands inside, pulling the guts free. Twisting the entrails into something that looks like meaning. Something that looks like yours.

Does it feel good?

Nah—feels better. Feels godly.

So, congrats. Really. What a beautiful little slaughterhouse you’ve built.

Hell is empty. And the devils?

They’re all you, darling.

(goreboy called you.)

“Why’d you do it?”

Static hums in his throat like a wound that won’t close, teeth bared—smiling, because of course he’s smiling. Of course. But the edges are too sharp, too real, voice slipping through the cracks like something rotten.

“You wanted them alive? Alive? Alivealivealive? That’s cute—hey, wanna write me in next? Come on, author. You’re the one with the pen—ain’t this your fantasy? Killed ‘em good, right? Had to. Had to. Had to.”

He giggles like a knife scraping bone.

“I’m your little maggot, baby—crawl, crawl, crawling right where you want me. So why’re you acting surprised?”

(They’re calling. All of them. And they want answers.)

The screen flickers—no, it twitches, glitching like something breathing, wet and wrong. Your inbox swells. Message after message. Missed calls. Missed, missed, missed. But they never really miss, do they?

goreboy is typing…

"Writer."

The word leaks through like blood through a cracked tooth.

"You killed them."

Static gnaws the edges of the call. You can almost feel his grin, split-wide and twitching, something feral tucked beneath the velvet purr.

"What, thought you could bury your toys without us noticing? Cute. Real cute." He laughs—no, he cracks, the sound sharp enough to flay. “BRING THEM BACK. BRING THEM BACK. BRING THEM BACK—”

Another call. Another voice.

V is calling.

It’s colder. Precision in the quiet, the kind that slinks down your spine like fingers dragging through marrow.

"You’re playing god." No judgment. No heat. Just the weight of a verdict already passed. "And gods should fear the things they make."

A pause. Static breathes between you.

"Fix this."

The chat explodes—

MISAKI:

YO WRITER—WTF!? U CAN’T JUST KILL PEOPLE WITHOUT ASKING!!!

MISAKI:

NOT COOL!! NOT COOL!!! DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND DECENT COMPANY!?!??

MISAKI:

…also like. bring ‘em back. Please??? 🥺👉👈

And then—sugar-dipped venom:

Angel is typing…

"You’re selfish." Sweet as a mouthful of broken glass.

"They were ours to ruin, not yours. You think you can end this? No, no, honey—"

The next message drips through, slow. Intimate.

"We’re inside your head now."

And from the shadows—one more voice. A whisper in the crawlspace of your heart, soft and rotting.

goreboy:

Writer.

They’re not dead until I say so.

And we’re not done.

What are they to you?

Misaki is the itch you can’t scratch. Neon burn in the back of your throat, tastes like sugar and gunpowder. Pretends to be a punchline, but the knives slip through the gaps—cute, if you don’t mind bleeding out. Broke as hell. Anxious as hell. Laughs in the face of danger (then panics about it later). Probably thinks aliens would love them. Wants out, but where’s the fun in leaving when the world’s this messy? If you’re lucky, they’ll let you buy them a milkshake. If you’re not—well. Good luck with that.

Misaki.

Angel is poison in a crystal glass. Soft-spoken in that way that makes you lean closer—too close—right before she twists the knife. Femme fatale with a body count, sweetheart. Collects secrets like love letters, and she’s been reading yours. Wants to see you beg, wants to see you break, but most of all? She wants to win. Would kiss you just to taste how desperate you are. Probably already has. Don’t worry—she won’t kill you. Not unless it’s fun.

Angel.

V is judgment carved in stone. Black-and-white in a world that bleeds red. Thinks he’s the answer, the reckoning, the last thing bad people see before the lights go out. Maybe he is. A ghost story told in whispers and gunmetal. The law wasn’t enough���so now he is. Empathy buried under a steel spine. If you ask, he’ll say he doesn’t feel regret. If you listen close enough, you’ll hear the lie.

V.

Ronin is rot, plain and simple. Smiles like he’s never done a good thing in his life (he hasn’t). Wants the world in pieces, wants you in pieces, wants everything and will rip it apart just to feel something. Makes a joke out of everything because if it’s funny, it can’t hurt—right? Hates authority, loves attention. Would set a church on fire just to watch the light show. And the worst part? You’d watch with him.

Ronin.

They’re calling for you. All of them. Loud enough to wake the dead.

How did you destroy them?

Angel dies beautiful. Always would’ve—she planned it that way. Heart-shaped lips, heart-shaped hole in her chest, confession live-streamed like a love letter. Heartsick Angel, she says, voice honey-thick, dripping sweet for the camera. Always was, always will be. Justice chews her up and spits her out, but she smiles for the kill shot. Poetic, isn’t it? The femme fatale falling for herself in the end. She’d call it symmetry. You’d call it a waste.

Angel.

V dies quiet. No blaze of glory—just handcuffs too tight and a name that isn’t his. The Butcher, they call him, like the word fits. Like the blood belongs to him and not the devil in the dark. Truth never mattered to them. Never mattered to him either, but irony? Now that’s a bitch. Stone-faced as they take him away, but you know better. You know it gnaws at him—being the wrong monster, being caught. But maybe it’s easier this way. Someone had to pay the price.

V.

Misaki dies messy. Of course they do. Too bright, too loud, a firework gone wrong. Thought they had time—thought they’d be the one to get out. They never did have good luck. Bullet in the brain mid-mission, body hitting the floor with the joke half-told. Would’ve laughed at the irony if they weren’t so dead. No alien abduction. No happy ending. Just blood on cold concrete and a half-eaten cup noodle at home.

Misaki.

Ronin dies pretty. He makes sure of it. Carves the scene like a love poem, drips blood like wine. He’s laughing when he makes you do it—laughing when you hesitate. C’mon, he says, soft and sweet, like a dare. Like a prayer. Wants you to ruin him. Wants you to mean it. And you do. When you kiss him, he tastes like copper and cherry cola. When you kill him, he looks like something holy.

Ronin.

They loved you. Maybe they still do. Maybe they never did. But they're gone now—ashes in your mouth, ghosts in your bones.

And all you’ve got left is the question: Was it worth it?

Maybe.

Maybe in another universe, Angel never presses "Go Live." She keeps her secrets, keeps her life. Flirts with death but never marries it. Maybe she dances in red silk instead of bleeding it, teasing you with half-truths and sugar-coated lies. Maybe her hands are warm when she cups your face, and you never have to wonder if she'll die for the drama.

Maybe V never takes the fall. Maybe he’s still out there, hunting in the dark, making the world a little quieter—one guilty scream at a time. Maybe you find him on a rooftop, blood-splattered and exhausted, and he lets you touch the mask. Lets you see what no one else does. Maybe he believes in justice—but this time, not at his own expense.

Maybe Misaki lives. Kicks the bullet’s ass and comes home laughing. Talks about aliens like they saw one—maybe they did. Maybe they drag you to a jazz club after a job, wearing something loud and ridiculous, and hold your hand like they mean it. Maybe they’re still scared, still anxious, still them—but alive. Always alive.

And Ronin? Oh, Ronin.

Maybe he doesn’t make you do it. Maybe he lets you keep him—like that was ever possible. Maybe he curls up in your bed like sin with a smile, making promises he’ll never keep. Maybe he still flirts with death but never asks you to pull the trigger. Maybe, in that universe, he wants you more than the fall. More than the ending.

Maybe they’re all waiting. In some other place, some other story. If you can write them dead—can’t you write them back?

The devils are still shouting, you know. Still screaming your name.

So, what’s it gonna be, writer?

You cry.

Cry like it’ll bring them back. Cry like the dead care. Cry until your throat aches and your chest cracks open, raw and hollow. But no one’s listening. Not really. Not anymore.

You killed them—don’t you remember? With your words. Your hands. Your heart.

And still, you cry.

Cry because Angel’s voice is gone—no more teasing, no more honey-dripped danger. Cry because V let the world swallow him whole, and you didn’t stop it. Cry because Misaki should’ve lived—should’ve laughed, should’ve stayed—but they didn’t. And Ronin… oh, you cry for him the most. Because he made you love him enough to do it. And you did.

You cry because they loved you. Maybe they still do.

Maybe.

A dream, maybe. If dreams tasted like blood. If they clung to your skin like phantom hands, too cold, too real.

You tell yourself that—whisper it against the ache in your throat. Just a dream. Just your mind playing tricks. Just shadows curling where they shouldn’t.

But dreams don’t leave fingerprints, do they? Dreams don’t stain. Dreams don’t echo when you’re awake, calling you back.

If it’s a dream, you should be able to wake up.

You ran from Reality To chase after your fantasy of a cute, kind, idealistic version of this world, Who said whatever you wanted to hear..?

To Ronin

My devil, my ruin, my exquisite catastrophe— I could carve your name into the marrow of my bones, and it still wouldn’t be deep enough to satisfy this hunger. To love you is to understand madness, to walk the edge of a blade and smile as the blood trickles down. You consume, and I am already swallowed whole.

You, who dance on the edge of oblivion, who wears cruelty like a lover’s embrace—tell me, will you let me be the hands that hold your throat, the fire that burns at your heels? I don’t want to save you. I want to stand beside you in the wreckage and laugh at the flames.

If you tear me apart, at least I will die as yours.

To V

You hold the world at arm’s length, but I would cup your face in my hands if you let me. Every word from you is measured, every silence weighted, and yet—I hear you. You, who judge, who punish, who carry the weight of a thousand condemned souls upon your back—do you ever wonder what it would feel like to rest?

If I stand too close, will you call it weakness? If I offer warmth, will you see it as distraction? I do not wish to make you stumble, only to walk beside you.

You are not untouchable, no matter how hard you try to be. And if the world dares not reach for you, then I will.

To Angel

You are beautiful in the way glass is—something to be admired, something that cuts if handled too carelessly. There is light in you, but it is the kind that casts shadows, the kind that lingers in the eyes of those who adore you. I wonder if you know just how breathtaking you are when you smile, even when it’s only for the sake of others.

If love were enough, would you finally feel whole? If I gave you all of mine, would it settle the ache in your chest?

I would never ask you to be anything other than what you are. I only ask that when you stand in the light, you remember you are more than just a reflection.

To Misaki

You are a melody I can’t stop humming, a fleeting spark that lingers long after the firework has faded. You laugh as if the weight of the world isn’t pressing against your ribs, as if you aren’t carrying ghosts behind your smile. And yet, even when your hands shake, even when the words don’t come easily—you are still here.

If I hold out my hand, will you take it? If I promise that you don’t have to be alone, will you believe me?

You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to pretend you don’t care. If you ever need a place to land, I will be here.

“Do you blame yourself?”

“What?”

“Well it’s quite common in this situation for a patient to feel a kind of... guilt.”

“What situation?”

“The accident.”

You ran from Reality To chase after your fantasy of a cute, kind, idealistic version of this world, Who said whatever you wanted to hear..?

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Part 3: Blood Traitor

A March 2025 Hinny Microfic for @ginnystrophyhusband using Prompt 18

841 words (back on brand today!)

All the March prompts that I write will be set in the same universe as, and form a prequel to, this fic. Hopefully they'll all stand alone, but they'll also form a little story of their own, which is why they're numbered.

Fair warning - it's going to be fluffy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s a bit of a shock for Bill Weasley to learn that his baby sister intends to move in with her boyfriend. 

She’s not even nineteen yet. Barely out of Hogwarts, clutching a respectable set of NEWTS and with the ink still wet on her contract with the Holyhead Harpies (another thing that Bill can’t quite get his head around, quite frankly). None of it seems… possible? Right? It just isn’t sitting well with him. Ginny’s too young. Too precious. Too everything. 

The fact that his own wife was only a year older when they got engaged is neither here nor there, of course. 

Neither is the fact that he’s known Harry Potter for years—not just the legend but the boy himself. He seems a good sort, even without the whole ‘saving the world’ business. 

But still; it’s the principle of the thing.

At least Harry’s had the good sense to ask for Bill’s help with the wards on the house. Never mind being one of Gringotts top curse-breakers, you don’t survive a war when you’re part of the biggest family of blood traitors out there without being bloody good at protective enchantments. Bill prides himself on it.

He’s pleased that Harry takes it seriously, but maybe that isn’t a surprise, after everything he’s been through. Bill’s only too happy to meet him at the new cottage to lend his expertise to the endeavour, because it means a bit of time alone with him; time to have a little chat, one-on-one.

He’s got this whole speech planned. You know the sort of thing; the one where he explains just how much his baby sister means to him. How special she is. Exactly what he’d do to anyone that hurts her. Bill can be pretty intimidating when he wants to, he knows this. It’s a vital skill when you’re dealing with goblins day in, day out. He’s sure he can impress his point on Harry.

The first thing he notices is the cottage itself. It’s actually lovely, solidly built, facing out to the grassy sand dunes and the beach beyond. It’s an unusual choice for a first home for someone Harry’s age, he thinks; Bill had expected him to want to stay amongst the bright lights and diversions of the big city. 

He remarks as much to Harry when they meet just outside the gate, once they’ve exchanged greetings, but Harry just shakes his head.

“Nah. Ginny’s happiest in the countryside, so it’s a no-brainer really. London’s great, but I’m there every day for work, and I can visit when I want. Plus, I’d rather have a bit of peace and quiet, so it suits both of us, I think.”

Bill nods, sagely. “Is there much to do inside?”

Harry pulls a face. “Yeah, quite a lot. I’m going to move in next weekend, even though I’ll basically be camping here, but it means I’ll have more time to get the work done. I want it to be perfect before Ginny moves in.”

Satisfied, Bill turns his attention to the wards that are already in place. He’s impressed; Harry’s actually done a pretty decent job with them, they’re far more complex, and more comprehensive, than anything he’d expected. Certainly nothing that would be covered at school.

“This is good work,” he comments, though he’s puzzled. “I didn’t think they covered protective enchantments in first year Auror training.”

“Oh, no. They don’t,” Harry explains. “We used some of them to hide our tent while we were on the run. The rest I researched in the Ministry library.”

Bill hadn’t been expecting that. “You taught yourself how to do all this?” he asks, wondering if he’s misunderstood. It’s a huge amount of work, and would have taken a lot of time and perseverance. 

Harry looks a bit sheepish. “Hermione helped me practice, but it had to be done.” He sighs. “The fact is that I’ll always have a target on my back, one way or another. That’s just something I have to live with. But I won’t put Ginny in the firing line. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all, to keep her safe, then I’m going to do it.” 

There’s a fire in his eyes as he says it, a determination and an honesty, and all of a sudden, Bill wonders what on earth he was worried about. It couldn’t be clearer just how vital Ginny is to Harry, that she’s his first and most important consideration, and really, what more could any big brother want? 

His carefully crafted speech now seems more than a bit superfluous, ridiculous, even. So, just like that, he lets it go, melting away to the breeze off the Atlantic.

Instead, he turns to Harry with a smile. “Well, there isn’t that much more I’d recommend adding, but there are one or two extras that I think would be useful. You can help me cast them, if you like.”

“Great!” Harry’s expression is earnest. “I’d really like that.”

“Me too,” says Bill. And he means it.

[khaoala]

tell me ur fav fics of each fk couplee

i got this ask a few days ago, but i was waiting to see if my problem with bookmarks would be resolved, but it wasn't. ao3 reseted my bookmarks and i usually use those to mark my favorites so you can see how that can be troublesome. idk about you, but i'm the type of reader who reads stuff and the one recollection i have after is of liking it a lot or disliking it. (also, i must admit i haven't been reading many fk-universe fics lately because my brain has been consumed by bg3 and i've been reading many fics about the many ways a certain vampire and a disgraced wizard can get together) so i struggled a little. but, regardless, here we have them:

AKKAYAN

business or pleasure by lovelyfanficwriter (you'll notice that i will have many of sarah's works listed here. i really like her writing and the stories she tells, and i know business or pleasure is probably THE akkayan fic people talk about all the time, but it's really good and you have so much fun with it)

stardust by lovelyfanficwriter (to no one's surprise. you give me a fic with fk's characters with kids and i will read it with the biggest smile)

choices by beanie

heart in a cage by lovelyfanficwriter

ALANGAIPA

today, you're my home by captainbonnet (i'm a sucker for alangaipa stories, they are so soft and sometime angsty but maybe bc they are older, the stories feel like a warm hug. this one feels like a little angsty inspired warm hug)

the moon represents my heart by ari_lookoflove (i love soulmate stories, it really is one of my favorite plots)

service & devotion by beanie

all your wonder by khaotunq (stilinski) (this is a must read btw, this one i remember clearly. i re-read it every time i miss alangaipa)

finally, finally, finally, finally, finally safe by itsmesyn (pretty sure this was my very first fkt fic)

SANDRAY

love unscripted by lovelyfanficwriter (i think this one was the first sandray fic i read in a long time, and i was so happy. i would wait every week for an update, i had a lot of fun reading it)

for the days when i don't believe by khaotunq (stilinski)

call me whenever by blackwatervial

for the days when i don't believe by khaotunq (stilinski)

KANTBISON

the tempest by semantics_error (i read this one around the time people were 100% convinced bison was into bdsm for trauma reasons and so many fics had that opinion, but not this one, this one made me happy when i read it)

i don’t do well with sharing by katychan666

can't keep my hands to myself by mslunita (this one was so fun to read)

between the ruins by wynterdepoo

hand in unlovable hand by hidden_joy

[cheesesandwichsanto]

He knew … II

Summary: Reader and Sihtric are seperated but meet again in Hunstanton, after he “betrayed” Uhtred

Pairing: Sihtric x f!reader

Warning: mentioned death, mentioned blood, heartbreak

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: Thank you for giving my first story so much love. I really appreciate that. So this one is a little bit longer than the previous one (even I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t stop writing)

If you enjoy the story; likes, reblogs and comments are really appreciated 🖤

Again proof-read by my friend @witchezandwonderz

Thank you so much 🖤

Check out her stories. She’s an amazing writer!

Click here for Part I

Everyone in Dunholm packed their belongings and got ready to leave for the battle against King Alfred, to fight in the Great Army and to get the chance of being welcomed to Valhalla.

You knew it was just a matter of time before your father or someone else found out you are with child.

Your belly just a tiny bump, hidden underneath your armor.

While getting your horse ready for the journey, your father approached you.

“Are you not feeling well my child? You look a bit pale” he said.

“Just the usual, father, you know I am not fond of riding for a long time” you told him and forced a smile on your face.

“If the ride is too much, tell Ragnar, and we can rest for a bit.” “I know, I know…” you mumbled while nodding your head lightly.

Your father turned around and walked back to Cnut and the others, to discuss the path they were taking.

The journey to the stop along the way and the final camp was exhausting.

The first one somewhere in the woods in the middle of Wessex, the final one in Hunstanton, East Anglia.

When the camp was finally put up, everyone was coping with their own stuff, so no one noticed you laying in your tent all day, except for your friend Brida.

She knew something was wrong, so she dragged you out of the tent to the nearest fireplace and pushed a horn of ale in your hand, trying to cheer you up.

“So, now you tell me what’s wrong. The whole travel here your head was hanging low and you think deeply about something, and I just can’t figure out what.”

“It is nothing, believe me.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing to me…” Brida mumbled, while taking a sip of her ale.

“Wait, it’s not about that boy, Sihtric was his name right?” She grinned.

Your eyes flicked to hers immediately. “Maybe… depends on how able you are to keep your mouth shut.” You answered mad. “Come on, it can’t be that bad right?” She laughed, but stopped immediately as she saw the corners of your mouth were pulled down.

“I think I am with child…” you sighed, while staring at the dirty ground.

“And he is the father” you said further, gripping the horn with ale tightly.

Brida listened quietly.

“You can’t tell anyone, I don’t want anyone to find out”.

“I mean, at least he’s not a Saxon right” she tried to make you smile “but I won’t tell anyone, not even Ragnar, not a word will cross my lips”. She threw her arm over your shoulder. “I promise.”

You thanked her and sat with her in silence, finally gotten it of your chest.

The next morning you were awoken by a scream, recognizing that voice as Brida’s.

As you exited your tent, you saw Brida and your father circled by numerous warriors.

Not knowing what happened before you saw Brida was trying to attack your father, but he knocked her to the ground.

The circle dissolved.

You were running to her, giving her a hug.

“He’s dead… Ragnar is dead…” she sobbed.

“I.. I have to go, find a place to bury him” she said with empty eyes.

Helping her collect stones for the grave, you let her and Ragnar alone to have their last moment together and you walked back to the camp with Cnut.

Back at the camp you went to your father with him. “We both will lead this army” he told Cnut.

Then he looked at you.

“I want to know you beside me, my daughter.” “I will always be loyal to you father.” You smiled.

He looked at you with pride, laying his hand on your shoulder.

In the evening, while Cnut held his big speech about how Ragnar has been a great warrior and that they are all united as Danes, you stood beside your father, and at the speech's end, when everybody cheered for the battle to come, you just stood there sadly, knowing that you won’t be able to fight because of the little secret you’re hiding.

The camp in Hunstanton was always busy. Warriors were training, maidens were preparing food all day. Cnut and your father talking about battle strategies, while Aethelwold listened carefully and you?

You were just sitting on a stomp next to your father, bored by everything because Brida was not here to keep you company.

Just as you thought you’re going to die of boredom, you saw that stupid fool Haesten with the seer Skade from afar, you were just rolling your eyes and continuing to listen to the battle strategies.

As they got closer, your father got up, and seemed to be relieved that Skade was back.

Haesten told them what happened, that he lost more than half of his men and that she is now his woman.

He was an idiot to think that your father would just accept that.

You got up to stand between Aethelwold and your father, Cnut still stood in front of Haesten.

Skade was chained and sat down at the muddy ground and as she saw you, she was taking a sharp look at you.

“You, daughter of Bloodhair” she was talking to you “I feel it, and I can see it, you are carrying a child, he’s going to be a strong warrior one day.”

Everyone went silent.

You mouth fell slightly open.

No, that can not be, how can she know that? Has she talked to Brida?

Brida is the only one who knows.

Even if they met somehow, Brida would never tell anyone.

She promised you.

But how did she know?

“My daughter is what?” your father asked furiously.

“You heard me Bloodhair, you know that my fortunes are always true” she said, looking arrogantly in your fathers face.

But your father just looked your way, disappointment in his eyes.

“Who is the father of this child?” He asked you, his voice softer as moments ago, but he was still mad.

You remained silent.

“I am not asking you again Y/N. Who. Is. The. Father?”

“Is it important? It is someone who isn’t here, and he doesn’t know I’m with child”

He just run his hand across his face.

“I thought I raised you better, I am really disappointed in you…” he said and turned around to walk away.

Your heart feeling heavy.

You hoped Skade would stay with Uhtred.

She brought nothing but misfortune to everyone.

“Who thought Sigurd’s daughter would get knocked up by some nobody” Haesten said laughing, trying to get a reaction out of you.

“Hey, I am talking to you!” he yelled in your direction. You stared at him.

“I heard you the first time, but I’m just not interested in talking with some moron like you.”

You responded calmly and turned away, looking for you father.

He just has to hear you out.

Standing in front of your father’s tent you took a deep breath, feeling kind of nervous as you entered.

He was leaning against the big wooden table.

“Can I talk to you father?” You asked, your voice not louder that a whisper.

“Of course you can my child” he answered, while sighing out loudly.

“I know you are disappointed in me and believe me, I didn’t plan to get pregnant right now, especially because we are just before a great battle. But I want to let you know that I was really in love with that man, I don’t know if he felt the same and if I will see him again, but now it is how it is. I can’t change the past…” you held in for a few seconds before continuing “The father of this child is a great warrior, just as you are father, and I would be more than happy if my son turns out the same way... ” he listened attentively before he started to speak.

“My reaction towards you was unfair my daughter, I could never be disappointed in you and you know that. I don’t care who the father is, a child is always a blessing” he stepped closer, holding your head between his hands “you are my only child, my only family, my only blood, the only person I trust fully. You are Y/N Sigurdsdottir, and I could never manage losing you.” He held you close, like never wanting to let go of you again.

Then he said “and you know, that after I lost your mother, my beloved wife, that I found almost the same love in Skade again. I want her back…”

You kind of understood him. Kind of.

Fighting for love is always worth it.

But fighting for love you already lost in fighting, is just stupid.

And fighting for a witch who is not interested in him anymore, is just suicide.

A day later, riders on horses came riding up to the campground and got to a hold in the middle of it.

You recognized them immediately as Danes, Haesten’s men, one of them Dagfinn.

And for some reason, underneath them was the man you were never able to forget.

Sihtric.

He was sitting on his horse, seeing you standing by your tent, looking even more beautiful than he remembered.

He felt like being back in Dunholm, looking at you for the first time in his life.

But his glance could only last a few moments, before he was involved into a conversation about what he, one of Uhtred’s men, was doing here.

You stood by your tent watching them talk, as Cnut approached you.

“Will you tell him?” He asked you.

“What will I tell who?” You replied, trying to sound confused.

“Come on, you know what I mean. I watched you two sneaking around in Dunholm, more than once, and I know what a pregnant woman looks like, I have two sons.”

“Why didn’t you just tell everyone when you knew the whole time?” You wondered.

“Because it’s none of my business what you do behind closed doors. So, are you going to tell him?”

“I’m trying to, he has the right to know … we will see.” You spoke, as you entered your tent again.

In the evening, Brida came back from her journey, apparently with a plan to safe Ragnar from Niflheim.

When the night was falling, and nothing but stars were seen at the sky, you were sitting at the campfire with the others.

You knew that Sihtric was watching you from across the fire, but trying not to make it too obvious.

Everyone was having a good time.

Dagfinn asked Sihtric where he was going to sleep, since he does not have a tent nor some furs. Unfortunately Brida saw that as an opportunity to play match maker again.

“Y/N’s tent is one of the bigger ones and she has some furs to spare, he can sleep there.” she stated emotionless, continuing to chew on some chicken wing, not giving a hint what she was thinking.

“Ehhm… right” you replied dumbfounded, not really agreeing with her.

“I am going to bed, good night” you said quickly further, feeling really embarrassed.

Sihtric remained seated for a short while, then he turned to follow, while Cnut said laughing “Hey Sihtric, I know she is a very beautiful woman, but keep your little friend in your breeches”

“No need for that my friend, she already is full” Haesten joked, but got quiet as soon as Brida’s and your father’s stare landed on him.

You gritted your teeth.

You cursed Haesten for his existence.

You wanted to tell Sihtric yourself.

You definitely didn’t want him to find out from someone else.

Well, that really didn’t turn out as planned.

What you didn’t noticed was how Sihtric got really pissed about that comment too.

He was mad he lost you to another man.

This fool could call himself happy to have a beautiful woman like you carrying his child, but he still seems not to be around.

But he didn’t had any right to be jealous. Sidgeflaed was in Winchester waiting for him.

You entered your tent and Sihtric followed slowly after you.

You stood there, your back still facing him.

Turning around, your eyes met. Both of you staring at each other for a while.

Sihtric was the first one to break the silence.

“So… you are with child. Congratulations. Your man must be really excited” he spoke with jealousy.

You looked at him confused.

Was he really that stupid?

“There is no man, I am on my own.” You told him, fumbling to pick out some furs for him.

“And… who is the father?” He asked, still oblivious, staring at the ground.

You looked at him for what felt like minutes. Throwing the furs to the side.

“Sihtric, you are the only man I have shared my bed with in a while, so you tell me” you gulped.

His eyes turned big.

“Wait… you mean… I am… the father?” he asked further, but his voice only a whisper in the dark.

You just nodded.

And then the unthinkable happened.

You thought he would be mad, that he didn’t want to have anything to do with you and the child.

But he pulled you into his body and kissed you passionately, the world around you both completely disappearing. You were breaking the kiss and leaning your foreheads against each others.

There was only you and him (and the little one still inside your belly).

You both crying and laughing at the same time.

It seemed like the perfect world, even if it was for just a moment, you enjoyed every second of it.

Now Sihtric knew for sure, he was going to leave his wife for you.

He didn’t care that you were Bloodhair’s daughter, the enemy, the Dane (even though he is one too).

He was deeply in love with you. He would do anything for you and your child.

But he still has somehow to tell you that he is in fact already married.

He really did not know how and when to convey that information and how you will react.

You were talking the whole night, snuggled up on some furs on the floor.

He wanted to know if anyone knows that he is the child’s father, you just told him that only Brida knows and she would never tell anyone, your trust in her is deep.

He even told you about the curse the witch Skade put on his Lord, and why he has to bring her back to him.

You understood it, curses are not taken lightly.

He wanted your help to get Skade out of the camp.

And you had just one favor to ask of him.

You wanted to go with him - as a hostage.

To give your child the chance to live, not having to grew up in a camp, but rather in a stable home and he agreed.

The following weeks were running by quickly. Sihtric awaiting news from his Lord.

You spend a lot of time together, trying not to make it obvious.

You trained together, sharpened your swords together, ate together almost every meal.

You were again training with Brida for hours.

You missed it dearly to spend time with her.

Unfortunately the ground was so muddy, as it has just rained before, so you slipped and got covered in dirt.

“I think you should go and take a bath” she laughed “maybe your lover wants to join” she suggested, nodding her head to Sihtric and wiggling with her eyebrows, carefully to be quiet enough so only you understood her words.

You just hid her shoulder with your fist in response, grinning from one ear to the other.

Sihtric was sitting at the campfire alone, eating his meal in silence.

You got up to him and whispered in his ear “I need you to do something, follow me, but make sure nobody sees.”

You walked out of the camp and into the woods.

Sihtric finished his food and followed you, always looking around if somebody noticed.

You were waiting for him behind a tree.

You heard the leaves rustle.

You knew it was Sihtric.

He was calling your name and just before he walked past you, you came out of your hiding place and stopped in front of him.

He took your head in his palms and kissed you full of lust.

Not being able to kiss in the camp was bitter.

“So what special task do you need me to do?” He smirked. You came closer to him, your lips just millimeters apart.

“I … I need … I need you … to look out if someone comes while I am taking a quick bath.”

“Oh… eh … alright” he mumbled disappointed.

“What’s wrong? Were you … were you thinking we were going to hump here? So when I told you I need you to do something, you understood that I need you to do me?” You asked kind of amused.

“Yeah… I actually kind of thought that.” He replied flustered while scratching his head in embarrassment.

“I mean, you could just join me, but we have to be quick, it’s freezing” you told him seductively while pulling him behind you to the lake in the forest.

What you two didn’t notice, was a man standing next to a few trees, a few meters away.

He watched the whole scene in front of him.

Dropping the bunch of flowers, he extra picked for you, onto the ground.

His heart shattering into a million pieces.

He saw you walking out of the camp and thought that would be his chance.

He finally found the courage to tell you about his feelings, picking flowers to surprise you but being disappointed to find you with Sihtric.

He thought you being pregnant was one of Haesten’s jokes. He felt like the last jerk.

A long time ago, even before Dunholm, he fell in love with you.

You both even shared a drunken night.

But that was long before Sihtric.

Back then Haesten was always picking on him, even though he’s his second in command.

One day you couldn’t take it anymore, listening to his bullshit and bad jokes all day, so you confronted Haesten.

That was the moment he fell deeply.

The the first time someone vouched for him.

He never showed his feelings for you towards anyone.

He was a strong and feared warrior after all, but he wanted you to notice him, in more than just the way of being a warrior, or maybe a friend.

But it was too late. He missed his chance.

Looking desolate he walked back to the camp.

The next morning you woke up alone, only covered in furs.

Sihtric was already up, somewhere in the camp.

It was cold outside, snowing.

You were just leaving your tent as you witnessed an heated argument between your father and Haesten.

Cnut trying to mediate.

But Haesten provoked you father, by calling him a coward because he fled in Fearnham.

Your father pulled out a dagger, Sihtric holding him back.

Haesten walked aggressively towards your father but Dagfinn got hold of him.

Your father demanded enraged for the square, cutting the throat of Aethelwold’s spy and walking towards his tent.

He wants so see Haesten dead.

You went to your father’s tent, as you saw Skade exiting it.

You passed her.

You both not even giving each other a glance, before you entered and noticed you father’s hair and face already covered in blood.

That meant he was ready to fight.

“What was she doing in here?” you asked, meaning Skade leaving the tent earlier.

“She wants me to kill Haesten. She doesn’t want him to win” you father said, preparing to exit the tent.

You hold onto his arm. “Watch out father, he might be an idiot, but he plays very dirty” you warned him.

“I know what I got myself into my child. Don’t worry” giving you a reassuring smile.

He continued walking.

You followed him outside, to the square where the fight is going to take place.

Cnut is explaining the sanctions.

It is to the death. Valhalla awaits one man.

Then he got out of the square, standing next to you and Sihtric.

“Your father will win, there is no doubt. He is a great warrior” he tried to cheer you up.

The fight started really good for your father, killing Haesten almost a few times, even disarmed him.

He has always been a strong warrior.

When he was tying the knot to end this fight and Haesten’s life, he suddenly became disoriented.

He was reeling and not even able to stand straight.

Skade poisoned him, that snake.

He got that really quickly.

He tried to attack her, but she was able to counter.

Then you saw how she put out two daggers and sinking them into your fathers shoulders.

The world stood still. The only thing you saw was your father’s life left his eyes.

Your color drained from your face.

“NOOOOOO, FATHER!” you screamed.

Flashback to a village somewhere in Norway

“Your footwork is sloppy, and you have to hold your axe higher, try again!” Your father screamed as shoving his shield against yours making you fall backwards on the floor.

“Don’t you think you are a little too hard on her? She is still just a young girl…” your mother said, walking towards both of you.

“There is not such a thing as being too young to train fighting Helga. She got your talent, but she still needs to work on it” your father explained to your mother, who was a well-known Shieldmaiden back in the days.

She just rolled her eyes and smiled. “Alright my dear husband, I just came to let you both know that feast is ready” she said, still smiling while walking back to the Great Hall.

Still hearing your fathers scolding in the distant, what you did wrong this time.

When you came back to reality, you realized you were dragged away by Cnut.

“Hey hey hey look at me” you looked into his eyes, tears running down your face “your father is now in Valhalla, feasting with the gods, Brida made sure he hold his axe”

“But that witch drugged and killed him. It was an unfair fight, father would have killed that turd if she hadn’t interfered.”

“I know, but we can’t change a thing now. Don’t do something you will regret later, we still have to stand together as an army and think about your unborn child” he tried to calm you down.

It kind of worked.

You thought about the words Sihtric told you, that his Lord has to kill her to end the curse. But you knew one thing.

That witch will pay for what she did, either by you or someone else.

You went back to the square, where your father was laying on the floor in his own blood, holding his axe.

You knelt down next to him, laying your hands on his. Your heart is broken. Sitting there in silence for what felt like hours.

“We have to prepare his funeral. His body should not stay in this ugly world longer than necessary. Bring him into his tent and lay him onto the table. You” you pointed to some of your father’s warriors “bring a lot of stones and dig a big hole, we are going to bury him.”

You got up to walk beside the man carrying your father.

Sihtric was one of them.

When they laid him on the table, you told everyone to get out.

You wanted to stay with him one last time.

But Sihtric didn’t leave you alone.

He knew how it felt to lose someone loved, the same pain he felt when he lost his mother.

You just watched your father’s face, scared to forget how he looks.

You run your hand through his bloodstained hair and let your tears fall.

Sihtric pulled you into a hug.

After a while you let go of him.

Your eyes looking from Sihtric back to your father’s face.

Hand back to his hair.

“Everyone saw him as a raged and cruel warlord, bathing in blood and bewitched by some crazy lady. But to me he was a loving and caring father, raising me all by himself since mother passed away.” You sobbed. “He was everything I had” you sniffed, a tear running down your face.

“I know how you feel, I lost my mother when I was really young” Sihtric tried to comfort you.

“I appreciate you trying to make me less sad, but pain is never the same, believe me…” you said with a small smile crossing your lips, caressing his cheek with your other hand.

Your gaze back to your father, you noticed a small leather band hanging at his neck. You pulled it out of his armor and smiled.

“What is that?” Sihtric asked.

Flashback to a village somewhere in Norway

“Father, father” 5-year-old you shouted, while running to a tall man with a face tattoo, standing at the docks with his back to you, talking to some warriors.

“Father, look what I found”.

The man turned around, looking at you, waiting for you to stop in front of him and got on his knees to inspect what you were holding.

It was a flat stone, exactly shaped like a snail shell.

“Y/N my dear child, where did you find that?” He asked with a soft voice.

“I found it in the forest, underneath some moss father” you voice filled with pride.

“Do you know what that is?” “No” “Then let me tell you” he said and leaning in to whisper “That’s the sea snake Jörmungandr, and this stone was sent by the gods, to protect the person who will find it from everything evil.”

“Is that really true father?” You asked.

“Of course it is”

Your eyes turned big with excitement and as fast as you were standing in front of your father, as fast you disappeared.

Your father smiling and laughing as you run away to find your mother.

You showed her the stone and told her what you planned on doing with it.

In the evening at the feast in the great hall you stood shyly behind your mother.

“Go to him, he will love it, trust me.” She spoke gently.

She shove you in front of your father and nudged your shoulder.

“Father… I … I have something for you, it will protect you in all the battles you’re going to fight” you said nervously, while giving him a leather band with the stone you found as a pendant.

Your father looked at it for a while, turning it around, inspecting it.

His mouth formed into a smile.

The biggest smile you had ever seen on him. He hanged the leather band with the stone around his neck, picking you up and shouting, so that everyone in the hall could hear him

“All men want their unborn children to be sons, so they could call themselves blessed by the gods” he said mockingly.

“But only a man with a daughter knows how you feel, when you are truly blessed by the gods!”

Everyone erupted in cheering and laughing.

That was your favorite memory of him.

“He had it with him all those years…” you mumbled.

“Y/N, the stones are collected, the hole dug, the funeral can be carried out.”

One of your father’s warriors interrupted.

“Thank you, Halfdan. Tell the men to bring my father there.” He just nodded.

Everyone from the camp gathered together to pay their last respects to your father. But you wanted to be left alone with him.

You stacked stone after stone on his body.

“I swear by the gods father, she will die a painful death for what she did to you” you murmured.

When you finished, you stayed till the sun set, thinking about your childhood and the time you spend with him, then making your way back to the camp into your tent.

Sihtric was waiting for you inside.

“I know it’s not the right time to tell you, but tonight is the night to disappear” he whispered into your ear. You just nodded.

You were waiting for Sihtrics sign, a rock thrown against your tent. You packed your weapons as you waited, planning to leave everything else behind.

You knew that Skade will be with him, and justice for her will come soon enough.

You noticed them walking across the field to “collect herbs” around a nearby a tree.

You followed them discreetly, with enough distance.

No one noticed you leaving.

Arriving at the tree, the three men were already talking with Sihtric and Skade.

She was kissing Uhtred. His three friends were completely oblivious to the fact you followed.

Suddenly the brown-haired man with the beard noticed, pulled out his sword and pointed it at you.

You halted behind Sihtric and put your hands up. “I thought no one followed you Sihtric? Wait… I know you, I have seen you before, you are the girl from Dunholm, the warrior, the daughter of Bloodhair. What are you doing here?” He wondered.

“Finan, she is coming with us. She is a friend. She is carrying my child…” Sihtric explained. “Your child?” Uhtred asked surprised, “does your wife know about that?”

Your chest thundered with panic, your eyebrows raising in confusion.

You turned to Sihtric, peering your head forwards towards him.

“You’re married!?”

[revserrayyu]

3.1 Amphoreus thoughts [part 1]

***Spoilers ahead*** for everything covering the first trial, the fight at the grove and the quick bathhouse scene after, so don’t read any further if you haven’t finished. At the time of writing this I’ve completed the full story quest so be wary if I mention any details that may happen later.

Having us start off with Mydei’s pov and allowing us to use him in a couple fights was so cruel, if only because I spent quite a while getting distracted by his presence and simply admiring his.. everything. His voice actor did such a fabulous job this patch too.

I think it’s kinda endearing how fond his is of his mother and so ready to defend her at any moment. His father on the other hand, not so much.

So, it turns out it really was him that Phainon went ahead and “stabbed.” I figured it was during the trail, but the silhouette threw me off a bit so there were times I thought he was maybe just fighting himself instead.

No harm done however, not because Mydei is immortal or this whole fight is dreamlike, but because Phainon didn’t really hit him.. or Mydei blocked it off to the side. Either way, it’s something I didn’t while watching but yeah, it’s clear that sword didn’t even slice him.

I know people have their concerns when it comes to Aglaea, but the more plotting we hear of her off to the side, the more I enjoy her. I mean, it’s not entirely bad to believe that Phainon would fail his trail sense it just makes more sense for Mydei to own the coreflame of Strife given his lore.

On a less serious note, seeing him chat with some of the kids at the bathhouse and sorta scolding them from being away from their parents was cute. Who knew our tough king could be good with kids? This makes the whole situation of the 3.1 banners kinda funny since we got this tall, strong and handsome as heck man running alongside being Tribbie, Yunli & Huohuo, who are all on the smaller side.

I gotta say that whomever was voicing Mydei’s mother totally nailed it. The anger in her voice was spot on.

No offense to Castorice, but if I woke up and had literal death staring right back at me, I’d be terrified and probably pass out again right there. But huzzah, the notorious Penacony question makes its return.

ot gonna lie, but I’m actually quite pleased with Hyacine’s model. I didn’t have any strong opinions from the few teasers we saw of her previously, but she’s real cute in-game. She’s 100% gonna be an Abundance unit though, yeah? There’s no way a nurse could be anything else.

The amount of hate I see for Mem simply because the thing is pink is wild. I’m starting to enjoy them more and more and I always love catching whenever they’re able to actually speak words.

I can’t wait to learn more about whatever kind of history there is between Aglaea and Anaxa. We see them interact very briefly towards the end of the patch, where he forgets she’s even around and her thinking of him as an annoying child, so the tension is definitely there. I can only imagine how many times she threatened to end him if she treats Anaxa worse than us.

Well, too bad! Rules are made to be broken, ANAXA.

The way they worded this moment of disappointment was funnier to me than I could’ve anticipated.

It must be because the scholarly type of vibe I get with Dr. Ratio, but I originally thought Anaxa was going to be this self-centered guy, but at least he cares enough to put himself at risk for everyone else at the grove. With the mention of alchemy before and “equivalent exchange” now, I can’t help but think of FMA.

So we saw this image last patch too but it’s clearer now that Cyrene was killed by the Flame Reaver. It’s fair to assume she was a Chrysos Heir because of the golden blood, yea?

I know death is Castorice’s whole gimmick and her primary weapon is a scythe, so I wasn’t really expecting some ooze/poison/whatever we’re calling this stuff to appear. If it was shown in a previous trailer, then I don’t remember. Also love how we cycle through all our weapons. We saw the lance earlier while fighting alongside Mydei, we see us pulling out the feather-pen and Mem later on, and now we have our trusty bat back with us.

The Flame Reaver takes no time sending some powerful slashes our way, knocking everyone back in pain and we somehow manage to get those close to Castorice, even holding her up, without triggering her deadly curse? That’s concerning.

I’ve seen her combat, I’ve heard about the passive and I know Castorice is gonna be such a broken unit.. but I just don’t have it in me to pull when her banner drops next patch. She just.. doesn’t appeal to me at all? I enjoyed her more this patch than in 3.0, but that’s it. I see all the purple, the butterflies and the scythe and it just makes me miss Seele more, so to heck with meta, I wanna pull for my favorites! (I regret not pulling for her back in 1.4 each and every darn day.)

I know Cerces was sorta controlling Anaxa here and giving him some extra power to damage the Flame Reaver, but this arrogant smirk is doing something to me. Although Erudition units are probably my favorite, do I really need another wind dps if my E3 Feixiao exists? Who knows.

I remember last patch they said that Trianne only had enough power to launch a couple more century gates, so you bet I got hella nervous whenever a new one was opened. She really came in clutch to save us though.

Returning to the holy city and informing people that their relatives perished during the attacks at the grove was rough, but I’m like 95% sure this old man was voiced by the same dude who did Tiernan back in Penacony.

I like that they do mention the contact we made, but it’s a shame we don’t delve much into how we managed to survive holding death’s favorite daughter in our arms. I suppose there’s plenty time to learn more about this girl next patch when her banner drops. It’s bound to happen again anyway, so long as that one scene of Castorice coming to shield us with open arms in the Nameless Faces trailer actually happens.

Well, I’m so incredibly glad you had some quiet time to yourself without any life threatening chaos to deal with, Dan Heng.. how about next time you take the lead hm?? I volunteer you to be the protagonist next patch.

To think they would hold a silly challenge to see who would stay in the hot baths the longest right after returning from Phainon’s failed trial. It’s even better hearing how he claims Mydei only won because the guy is wearing less clothing.

Sorry to say this but I haven’t a clue on what y’all see with Aventurine and Ratio, but this is a guy pairing that I can get behind. The bickering these two constantly have going on and their endless competitive rivalry is fantastic.

And we’re gonna stop here for now. I think I’m good for only two more posts. Thankfully this parch seemed shorter than 3.0 and I can get a head start on jotting everything down sooner since I actually took a day off of work. (yes it’s because I was excited for Pokemon Day.)

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

This is probably an unpopular opinion, but when it comes to Rankane fics, I get annoyed when the fic takes place post-Jusenkyo/post-manga yet the conflict is still Ranma not admitting that he loves Akane or not realizing that he loves her. I mean, sure progress is not linear, but you’re telling me that Ranma - who felt like he had no reason to live anymore thinking that Akane died in Jusenkyo, crying that he never got to tell her that he loved her - is still struggling to realize he loves Akane post-Jusenkyo? I don’t know I’m probably taking it too seriously, but I wanna know your thoughts. 

To me, it’s like every Hotel Transylvania sequel being about Dracula struggling to respect his daughter’s life decisions and accept her bf/husband (I thought you learned your lesson in the last movie Dracula, why are you relearning the same lesson for the nth time).

Every time I see "Ranma doesn't know how he feels about Akane" or "he needs some sort of intervention to stop being indecisive and choose Akane" I'm in danger of suffering a stroke. I won't spend time looking for panels for this response to not endanger myself, I'll just vent: I need everyone to make the conscious efforts of emptying their minds, letting go of whatever the fuck they absorbed when they watched the show before they read the manga, because they're absolutely not doing the same things. Anime Ranma is often either a cardboard or a fraud. I need him to get shot before anyone opens a doc or grabs a pen to draft a story. He's deceiving you! Let him go! It is that serious!

The thing about good ol' Ranma is that HE KNOWS HE'S IN LOVE WITH AKANE. HE KNOWS IT FROM VOLUME 1. HE DENIES IT BECAUSE HE'S A SHY BITCH WHO DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH FEELINGS BUT HE KNOWS. STOP PLAYING WITH ME. Here's something important about Ranma: he's so secure in his feelings for Akane that he doesn't think there's anything to choose in the first place. Deep down he thinks it's locked in. This is why sometimes, when he gets jealous (which the old show KEPT OMITTING AGAIN AND AGAIN) he talks as if he thinks Akane is cheating on him. At worst, he can take Akane for granted (and so he's punished) The person who's more dense here in realizing their feelings at first is Akane, but she doesn't take fucking forever to know either.

Ranma and Akane are sparring. That's their dynamic throughout the manga. Ranma's whole deal in the final arc, when he denies that he said "I love you" out loud (which is true, he screams it in his thoughts, he didn't say it out loud. This being interpreted as "Ranma took back his I love you" is INSANE. Akane doesn't take it that way either, next panel she's going "you might as well have said it out loud you son of a bitch") is that being straightforward and verbally expressing his feelings FIRST is the equivalent of him losing their match, and he refuses to lose. Akane won't say it first either because "what if Ranma, immature and emotionally stunted as he is, makes fun of her instead?" there's pride here too. We could write an essay on what hold Akane and Ranma back from confessing their love, but they spend practically the whole manga in love and aware.

[ladykailitha]

Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 2

I am absolutely loving the response to this fic. It is such a blast to write.

In this we have some Steve backstory. Like lots and lots. And featuring bisexual Steve, Jonathan, and Argyle.

Part 1

~

Steve got into photography as a way to pick up chicks. There was a photography club in his high school where ninety percent of the club was made up of girls. The only other boy in that club was Jonathan Byers.

They both went for the same girl and Steve lost the toss up. Nancy Wheeler was going places, and those places were big named news outlets.

They became a journalism duo, he’d take the pictures and she would write the stories. Only Nancy hadn’t wanted to be stuck in the gossip column while Jonathan found he liked taking pictures of the beautiful dresses and stunning suits, so they parted ways.

Jonathan was a top fashion photographer highly sought out by major labels the world over while Nancy had become the next Barbara Walters. She had her own hit show and everything after 20/20 on Sundays.

Steve on the other hand had fallen into profession by accident.

With his trust fund from his grandparents he decided to see the world from behind the lens of his camera. He was traveling through Egypt when the riots hit and took his first award winning shot of this little boy stepping out of the rubble, holding his sister’s hand in one hand and her doll in the other.

It being in black and white was accident. He had been taken pictures of monuments in black and white for that old-timey feel and had forgotten to take it off when he took the shot.

It was also where he met his best friend and platonic soulmate Robin Buckley. She was in the country working as an interpreter and all foreign nationals in the city were all corralled into the two major hotels in the area until their embassies could be contacted to get them out of the country. They were grouped by country and that’s how he met her.

She convinced him that the shots he took were worth sending in to magazines and shit. Then the National Geographic told him they wanted his photo on the cover of the issue that went into the riots.

He happily agreed to sell it to them.

Then it happened again. He was traveling with Robin and got into another pickle and Steve’s shots of the day were wanted for their tender takes on a sensitive topic.

It happened a couple more times before National Geographic asked him to be their war photographer. They would pay him to take pictures of the people and their plight to bring awareness to their struggles.

Steve made friends with the locals and they were always happy to see him.

Then it went to hell three years ago.

Robin and Steve were kidnapped by local thugs and tortured for information and accused as spies. Information they didn’t have.

They tore apart Steve’s equipment and cameras looking for god knows what and then after three days of Robin and Steve pleading that they didn’t know anything, they were dumped two miles from the airport and left to die.

They were saved by a trio of girls who were taking their gap year traveling Europe. Max Mayfield, Ellie Hopper, and Erica Sinclair. Well, technically Erica was sixteen, but had somehow managed to convince her parents for this to count as her sophomore year of high school, saying that she would learn more about world history seeing it then she would sitting a dusty school room.

“I want to be a fashion designer,” Ellie said on the way to the airport after they were cleared to leave from the hospital. “But I don’t draw well enough. But I really love putting clothes together for other people and making them look good.”

Steve tilted his head to the side. “That sounds more like a stylist then a designers. Designers do that for like fashion shows and shit, but if you want to dress people up then that’s a stylist.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up and she pulled out her phone, reading up about it.

“I already know what I’m going to do,” Max said brightly. “I’m going to be a hair stylist. I’ve already got the school lined up and everything. I just want to see the world first.”

Robin gave her a high five. “Hell yeah! I always wanted to do makeup, but my mom thought that because I was super talented with languages that I should do something with that.”

“How many languages can you speak?” Erica asked. “Like are they all related and that’s why you know so many?”

Max pinched her side and she squirmed to get away from her.

“I speak French, Spanish, Italian, and Russian fluently,” Robin said puffing up her chest in pride. “I also know conversational Arabic and Farsi with a smattering of specific words in Portuguese, German, and Welsh.”

“Welsh?” Max asked raising her eyebrow. “Why Welsh?”

Robin shrugged. “I was trying something new in Duolingo before the app went to hell. So I know some basic words.”

Steve looked over at Erica. “So what do you want to be when you grow up?” He winked at her and she giggled back.

“I’m going to be a lawyer like my mom,” Erica said with a big grin. “She’s already helping me take college classes along with my high school classes next year so I can graduate with a diploma and an associate degree so I can have a head start on bachelor degree.”

“Holy shit!” Robin said. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“She’s super smart and dedicated,” Ellie said, “That’s why her parents let her come with us.”

“Yeah,” Max said with a snort and an eye roll, “there is no way that they would let Lucas do that at her age.”

“Who’s Lucas?” Steve asked as their cab slowed to a stop in front of the airport drop-off.

They all got out and then got their stuff from the trunk, Robin grabbing Steve’s stuff as he paid the driver. Once they were sure they got everything out Steve tapped on the roof and waved their driver off.

“Lucas is my older brother,” Erica said fondly. “He’s actually got a full ride to Duke on a basketball scholarship so that’s where he’s at right now.”

“He must be pretty good if he got into Duke,” Steve said with a low whistle.

Erica held out her hand and waved back and forth. “Eh...”

Max pinched her side again and she let out a shriek of laughter.

“Yes, he’s very good,” Max said.

“You’re just bias because you’re dating him,” Erica huffed.

Steve looked over at Ellie who shook her head.

“He is in fact good,” she said solemnly. “But Erica is being a typical little sister.”

Erica stuck her tongue out at her but didn’t refute the claim.

Once they got through security Steve handed each of them one of his business cards. “You guys need a reference letter or any of that shit for colleges or schools or whatever. Hit me up. I’ll be happy to recommend you to anyone.”

They all looked at their cards in curiosity as Steve and Robin made for their terminal they heard Max exclaim.

“Holy shit he’s that guy?!”

Steve and Robin giggled about it all the way back to America.

~

Once they were back in New York, they settled in Steve’s apartment to decide what they wanted to do with their lives.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a grimace. “Can’t go back to being a war photographer. I’m going to have nightmares for years.”

“Hard same,” Robin agreed. “I guess I could get into cosmetology school for the makeup. Do what I always wanted to do.”

Steve sighed.

He never really had a dream. He just kept falling into the next thing. He had taken the money from his trust fund and expanded on it so that he was independently wealthy. He didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to.

He also hadn’t spoken to his parents in years, them having long given up hope of him finding himself and coming home to work for his dad. And it really wasn’t that they didn’t approve his job, his mom was proud of him, especially. But with Steve traveling all over the world, they had merely drifted apart.

He did know that he was absolutely not cut out to be a financial consultant. He didn’t have a head for numbers and the sterile white of the corporate world was not for him.

Then Steve’s phone went off sounding a text message alert. He frowned and opened his phone. It was a text message from Jonathan. He was in New York too and wanted to see if Steve wanted to hang out.

“Hey,” he said looking up from his phone. “You want to meet Jonathan and his boyfriend, Argyle?”

Robin’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah! I would love to meet your bisexual awakening and his super chill boyfriend.”

Steve laughed. It was the first time he had done so since their kidnapping. It felt nice to know he still could. It felt good.

“Just a bunch of chaotic bisexuals and a hyper lesbian,” he said with a grin. “What more do you need for a party?”

Robin cocked her head to the side and said with all sincerity, “More lesbians.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “God, I don’t think they know any.”

“Just what is this world coming to if they don’t know any lesbians?” she admonished as they got ready to go. “Don’t they take pictures of models? Surely there must be some lesbians there. They can’t all be straight.”

“Of course,” Steve said shaking his head. “Go straight for the models, not everyone else who makes the industry run. The photographers, stylists, cosmetologists, assistants, and managers.”

Robin just cackled.

When they got to the bar, Steve wasn’t sure to make of the place. It was teaming with super models, actors, actresses, and rock and pop stars of every stripe and color. The music was thumping and the alcohol was flowing freely.

Robin’s eyes bulged out of her head. Steve gently closed her mouth. He could name at least a dozen of big names.

“Act like they’re normal people and you’ll be fine,” he cautioned.

She rolled her eyes but entered the fray anyway, Steve close on her heels. He touched her elbow and pointed at the table where Argyle and Jonathan were waiting.

Jonathan raised his hand when he spotted them and waved them over. Steve trotted up the table and slid into a nearby chair, Robin sliding next him.

“Hey, guys!” he greeted them brightly. “Thanks for this, by the way. We were just going to sulk in my apartment eating ice cream and watching period dramas.”

Jonathan burst out laughing. “This is way more fun.”

“Sorry we had you come here,” Argyle said sheepishly. “This isn’t our usual watering hole, but we met up with a client earlier and figured we’d at least make the most of their hospitality and them allowing us to put all our drinks on their credit card.”

Robin raised an invisible glass. “I’ll drink to that!”

A waiter came by and took their actual drink orders and once they got them they settled into chat.

“So what are you plans?” Jonathan asked Steve between sips of his beer.

Steve snorted but Robin told him about getting into cosmetology school to learn how to do makeup.

“Dude,” Argyle said, shaking his head. “What I wouldn’t give for a set makeup artist. With whoever hires you providing their own, it’s always hit or miss. Usually miss these days.”

“Unless you get Eddie Munson,” Jonathan agreed, taking a long draft of his beer. “He comes with his own. Vickie Cameron.”

Argyle rolled his eyes. “Vickie Cameron is the only good thing about having to shoot Eddie fucking Munson.” He sipped on his mai tai and shook his head.

Steve tilted his head to the side. “Who’s Eddie Munson? I feel like I should know, but I’m really out of touch with my well... old job now.”

“He’s gorgeous!” Robin enthused. “And I’m a lesbian.” She pulled out her phone and began pulling up picture after picture of the guy.

“Yeah, okay,” Steve said. “He is familiar. And you know, hot.”

Argyle snorted, his drink almost to his lips. “He’s also the biggest diva and pain in the ass known to model kind.”

“God,” Jonathan agreed. “He absolutely is. Like he is so fucking demanding. His rider alone is longer than my arm. A specific kind of water. Having his manager Chrissy pick out his clothes, only Vickie doing his hair and makeup. No wool. Shit like that.”

“He’s probably allergic to the wool,” Robin said with a shrug. “My mom is. My dad can’t even wear his favorite sweater when she’s not around because it sheds and she can break out into hives just from sitting in the same place on the couch as he was.”

“Okay,” Jonathan said rolling his eyes. “I’ll give him a pass on the wool, but seriously, he’ll complain about everything.”

“You should join us on set next time we have a shoot,” Argyle said. “You like dropping into new professions? Drop into ours. We’ve got hot babes and hotter dudes.” He tilted his head toward Robin. “Hell, once she gets her license, make her your go to makeup artist. A lot photographers do it. In fact more of them should, if I’m honest.”

Robin and Steve looked at each other and then nodded.

“One photography job is as good as another,” Steve said with a shrug. “And at least with this one, the chances of us being kidnapped goes down a hell of a lot.”

Argyle grimaced. “Sadly not zero.”

They all laughed.

~

Tag List: FOUR SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chaotic-waffle @steddieislife @oh-no-its-danger-gays @ollieolive @micheledawn1975

10- @little-birch-boy

[damthosefandoms]

been thinking a lot about cherrycola who were friends in early elementary school because they didn’t know about the “great tulsa divide” yet and soda was just a silly chatterbox who couldn’t read or write very good and cherry was a real bright little girl who didn’t like getting in trouble but loved helping her classmates—her friends—and they used to end up always sitting next to each other in their classes every year and it was great for a while, until they grew up. and anyway here’s a little wip from something I’m writing about that:

———

“You write pretty good for a soc,” Soda comments later that day, as they work on their short stories. The assignment was to write five chapters, each at least two paragraphs long, about an animal of their choice. His is about a horse that runs a little slower than all of its friends, but makes up for it by being such a great friend. Cherry’s story is about a cat who wants to be friends with a dog. They have to read each other’s stories today, then edit and revise them with a partner.

(Well, now there’s one group of three, since Dally hasn’t returned from the office yet, but that isn’t Soda’s problem.)

Soda and Cherry work together as usual, being desk-partners and all, and he’s about a paragraph into her story when he decides to bring it up. He can see all the red pen she’s covered his own notebook in, and he wants to get ahead of it, change the focus to her before she can point out his mistakes. It’s only because it’s been on his mind all day it kind of just slips out.

“You write pretty good, for a soc.”

“For a what?”

Cherry’s green eyes blink at him and he wonders why it has to be green that people associate with the word go. Like, sometimes it feels as if he can just say anything to Cherry Valance, like he can just get away with it. He can’t. He should know better.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I heard what you said. Sodapop, come on. That whole thing is so silly. I thought you knew that.”

He opens his mouth to respond, to say it’s not, that he’s seen firsthand as they’ve gotten older how different their lives really are. How she couldn’t laugh at Dally causing serious trouble. How he can’t laugh when he hears kids who he knows Cherry hangs out with telling Two-Bit to go back where he came from, as if he wasn’t born on the same cursed East Tulsa soil as Sodapop and his brothers were.

She’d never say anything like that; but then again, what does Soda know? He only sees her at school. Outside of that, they don’t exactly hang around the same playgrounds. He bets the swingsets in her neighborhood aren’t broken or have the chains wrapped around the top bar.

So he just shrugs. He glances at the chalkboard, where their teacher’s cursive twists and turns in front of his eyes, the same way the butterflies in his stomach are doing gymnastics right now. He tries to remember how they were supposed to phrase their peer-review comments and questions.

“I guess so. Sorry. Uh, I was curious about the part in your story where—”

“My story’s fine,” Cherry snaps, and she pulls it away from him. “You wouldn’t get it anyway.”

She’s blushing like she’s embarrassed, and Soda doesn’t understand why. He hasn’t even finished reading yet. He thought it was so interesting, how the other cats wanted the main character to stick with her own friends, but she wanted more. She wants to be friends with everyone, dogs, cats, rabbits, whatever. Soda might not be the best reader but he thinks Ponyboy would’ve loved it.

Heck, he loves it so far. It just doesn’t seem realistic, but that’s why they’re writing fiction stories, isn’t it?