#hopefully there will be interest in this fic lol

[tailorvizsla]

A small intro to my current fic.

Title: The Diplomatic Incident Rating: M Universe: The Orville Pairings: Human f!OC x Krill m!OC Note: tfw when there is no more Orville so you decide to write a 150k+ fic so you can have a hot Krill husband

Under the cut for length. :D

The door swished open, startling her from her reverie. She managed to not drop her tea.

"Morning, Ensign," Captain Mercer said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh, not really," she admitted. "You?"

"Not at all," he said with a shrug. He looked down at the coffee. "You are a lifesaver." 

He grabbed one of the mugs and sat down before drinking it down. Once he appeared properly caffeinated, he spoke again. 

"Your report?"

Nia swallowed anxiously as she forwarded it to him. Captain Mercer picked up his pad and started skimming through it.

"I have read over Ambassador Crovrel's notes, and everything seems okay," Nia said. "I genuinely cannot tell what she could be doing that would be causing offense to the Za'ari. However, body language is quite important, so there may be subtle cues that she's missing or weird vibes that she's giving off, so to speak - "

"Captain, we will be rendezvousing with the Sarakev in eight minutes," came a voice over comms.

"How are we an hour early?" Captain Mercer asked.

Her stomach dropped through her feet. She hadn't even gotten through the first paragraph. She had no idea if her plans were even acceptable. What if she had made a mistake? Nia felt her heart starting to race.

"We have not altered course. The Sarakev has chosen to meet us here. They must attend to another incident."

"I see," Captain Mercer said. He gave her a look. "Well, let's go meet our guests, then."

Nia nodded in silence. She followed after him obediently, her stomach twisting tighter with each step. Commander Grayson came to join them about halfway there. She had a frown on her face, and her lips were set in a thin line. Nia noticed that her mug of coffee was much larger.

"Did you get a chance to review everything?"

"Nope," Captain Mercer said. "It should be fine."

Nia gave him a look of horror as she trotted along behind them. Commander Grayson sighed and finished the last of her coffee.

"Ensign Hreevan, could you do me a favor?" she asked. "Can you throw this into the recycler?"

"Of course, Commander," Ensign Hreevan said, giving them a curious look.

All too soon, they came to the shuttle bay, where a Krill vessel had just landed. The back ramp dropped, and a group of four Krill stepped off. A few more unloaded some boxes and crates behind them. They exchanged a few words. 

Just as quickly, the shuttle left, leaving the four individuals and a pile of crates behind. Captain Mercer stepped forward. Nia shuffled forward a step, trying her best to hide behind Captain Mercer and Commander Grayson without actually looking like she was trying to hide.

"Hello," Captain Mercer said, putting on his most welcoming smile. "Welcome aboard the Orville, gentlemen."

"Captain Mercer," said the Krill who looked like he was in charge. "My colleagues and I thank you for assisting us in our diplomatic mission."

Oh my God. The holographic videos had not done his voice justice, Nia thought to herself.

"It is our pleasure to help," he said. "Please allow me to make introductions. This is Commander Grayson, my second in command." Captain Mercer seemed less than impressed when he realized she was trying to hide behind him. "This," he said, shuffling her forward, "is Ensign Bridges, our resident expert on Za'ar and her people."

Nia suddenly felt tiny as they scrutinized her. She swallowed and tried to give them a welcoming smile. 

"Hi," she managed to say.

Their eyes met, and she suddenly felt like she could not breathe, an odd electric feeling starting at her toes and working its way up. He tilted his head in acknowledgement and diverted attention from her. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. Her hands and knees felt oddly shaky after that brief encounter.

[fumifooms]

Your post about falin manifested some Thoughts in me. Seeing how such a big part of her arc was becoming more independent and discovering what She wants to do, mixed with a lot of parts in the manga where she is much more comfortable looking masculine - embarrassed about how blushy she is but not really liking makeup, enjoying more masculine clothes, that one haircut swap where she seemed really happy in laios' cut, it made me realize there's totally some room for even some transmasc falin headcanons! Or at the very least, she's definitely GNC and it would be fun to see that explored in fanfic and fanart... anyway, your in depth analysis posts have really inspired me, got me itching to create some obscure dunmeshi fancontent or analysis now!

Omg…… I’ve never fully thought about it but you’re so right transmasc Falin would go so hard… There’s also how she idolizes Laios a lot… Male older brother role model she puts on a pedestral, could play into her relationship with it. Because of the dragon I like to see her as intersex, including post-canon but beyond that I always saw her as being the more or less agender type that just goes with whatever she feels fits her better, the sort of cis by default for lack of caring about it all that much, not unlike how I consider Laios cis by default but if you dig deep enough there’s otherkin stuff going on in there… Def agree with GNC Falin.

She and Toshiro have some interesting parallels, of being passive and suppressing themselves for the convenience of others, it’s a reason why seeing her being unabashedly entranced by a bug struck him so much— himself being a bug fan and polishing his demeanor to be perfectly respectable. Because of that and including specific details like getting told "boys don’t cry" by Hien- Actually just let me link this excellent post about trans Toshiro. Transfem Toshiro is so compelling and I think pairing it with transmasc Falin would be very interesting… The gender envy of it all, the talks… Need them to go on a trip together post-canon so so bad, life changing self-discovery camping trip

I’ll be munching on this... I love it. Your reblog tags have been a delight, I’m so happy I could inspire you in any way! So looking forward to what you might make in the future

[odo-apologist]

Smegtober #1: Memory

The memories didn't come back all at once, but gradually. Whether this outcome was preferable to the former was anyone's guess, including Lister's. Still, this meant they had to be careful, try not to disorient him or overwhelm him with the changes over the nearly three decades–plus three millenia–he needed to catch up on. At least not as much as was necessary; it would be difficult to keep someone completely oblivious when they saw a 50 year old in the mirror when from what they knew they should be 25.

     It might be surprising that Rimmer would try to be careful and wouldn't attempt to break the news as ungracefully and shockingly as possible. Indeed, in other situations, he would've gotten a bit of smug satisfaction out of seeing the Scouser's face when told some starling news. But with the enormity of the facts in this case, and after Lister's heart scare, false alarm though it was…well, perhaps Rimmer was feeling more gentle than he'd ever care to admit.

     “So, Lister,” Rimmer started as he strided into their quarters, a day or two into the loading of Lister's lifetime, “What bit are you up to now? Have you had the misfortune to relive Holly's ridiculous Queeg farce? Or maybe–”

     Lister was sitting at the table, shoulders slumped and head lowered. His old work jacket hung on the back of his chair, leaving him in one of his ratty, stained T-shirts. A few empty cans of lager sat in front of him.

     Rimmer realized with a jolt of alarm that he was crying.

     “Listy?” He asked uncertainly.

     “I,” a hitch of breath interrupted Lister's quiet response. “I remembered. Jim and Bexley.”

     Of course. Rimmer himself remembered now: Lister's heartbreak after the twins had been given over to Deb and Arlene, his days of drinking, of barely moving from his bunk. He remembered him watching those sappy old films he loves, tears running at any scenes of children. And he recalled his own pang of loss, having felt a similar (hidden) parental pride when he looked upon the boys for the first time and realized that he'd done what Holly had brought him back for–he'd kept Lister going.

     Rimmer didn't know what to say. He rarely did when it came to situations of comforting others; his time with the Samaritans proved that. Instead, he sat beside Lister and tentatively reached a hand out, then settled it on his arm. Lister jumped and looked at Rimmer in surprise.

     “I felt that!” He exclaimed, momentarily shocked out of his tears. Then the incredulity shifted to sheepishness. “You said you could do that now, even though you couldn't then. I forgot.”

     “I hate to break it to you, Lister, but you have forgotten a lot of things recently.” Lister snorted at that, but Rimmer continued in a softer voice, barely above a whisper, “I wish I could've done that then. When you first needed it.” Yes, he was feeling very gentle.

     It was Lister's turn to reach out, and he placed his hand over Rimmer's, thumb rubbing little circles. “Even without it, you got me through it, yeah?”

     Rimmer made a noise of noncommittal; Lister still hadn't remembered everything, not knowing all of it. He hadn't seen all the times he'd failed.

     Lister, still misty-eyed, looked down at their hands. “Things change, don't they?”

     “Over thirty or so years, it's fair to say things do tend to do that.”

     “You know what I mean, smeghead.” He gave Rimmer's hand a slight squeeze.

      “I…suppose so. I don't want to knock your teeth out whenever you use them to clip your toenails anymore.”

      Lister smiled, shook his head. “I can't imagine that.”

     “Well, keep remembering, miladdo, you'll get there.” Rimmer grinned the grin of a man certain he'll be proven right–not one he got to show off too often.

     “Yeah. I guess you did too.”

[bandsandwristbands]

This is your last warning, share the fic or else ☠️☠️🔪

(any fic you're comfortable enough to share sweetie 🥰)

so I've been angsting about how much is too much to drop as a snippet, like I'd be giving you a whole chapter from the middle of a long ass fic, or spoiling the end, or dropping a few highlights out of context??

so i guess I will drop the a scene my partner chose at random lol Light spoilers for Backyard Heathens (My religious Sunan slow burn gaalee that I have not posted or finished yet 🙃)

Gaara’s swamped in paperwork; drowning in preemptive piles of legislature that he wishes could wait until after the coming festivities. The council is stubborn in their grip to hold on to ‘tradition’ but getting funding for the yearly celebration before the rainy seasons was like pulling teeth. The old fogies can’t stand to see the general morale of Suna’s citizens rising every season. Namely, they don’t like to see the younger people having fun. They have a scarcity mindset despite growing technological advancements and stronger trade agreements. 

Suffice to say, they relented in the budget but Gaara is now being punished with the duty of reallocating remaining funds appropriately. He’s trying to remember if the irrigation system will need maintenance soon when Kankuro trudges dramatically into the Kazekage office without knocking. 

“What is it?” Gaara offers flatly.

“You’re such a grumpy bitch this week. You could at least pretend-” Gaara rolls his eyes to his brother in a sharp glare, “Fine, fine. I see you’re busy but I need to drag you out into the daylight for a bit. Fazluna needs you to meet her at the front to go over the security rotations for the festival.”

“The front office?” Gaara asks but he’s already tossing the irrigation logs onto his ‘in progress pile’ to be dealt with later.

Kankuro offers a sympathetic look and leans against the door frame expectantly, “Sorry, kid. Front of the village.”

Gaara gets up and mutters that he ought to check the irrigation himself anyways, but the way he sighs begrudgingly says enough about his displeasure. 

“Come onnnnnn, some sun is actually good for you, yknow? Besides, I thought you were excited about this year, it’s the big one for you!” Kankuro’s tone is teasing as they walk. 

Gaara can admit that sun feels good, but it’s higher humidity these days, the first streaks of clouds forming stringy in the bright sky, and Gaara does not  appreciate the sweat forming on his back and neck. His jacket clings uncomfortably, but he can’t remove it because a plain shirt is improper for a young kage like himself. 

“It’s not as if this one will be any different.“ Gaara finally grumbles once the towering entrance to Suna is within his sight. 

“Think you won’t get any suitors brave enough to approach you?” Kankuro teases.

Gaara huffs derisively, “Hopefully not. I’m not interested anyways.”

Kankuro gives him a sidelong glance like he knows something Gaara doesn’t. “Not anyone from here you mean.” He titters obviously, “You’re just grumpy ‘cause none of your friends can make it.” Before Gaara can respond, they're stopping next to Fazluna just outside the Sand stone walls. They immediately launch into a very dull and standard recounting of the shift changes for the festival and Gaara is getting irritated now. They clearly don’t need Gaara for this and Kankuro dragged him away from a full desk of work for nothing. And to add insult, he had to remind Gaara why his mood was so sour. 

Although Gaara is grateful to have so many friends, he is actually kind of upset that no one can make it over to Suna for this particular one. It’s a big deal for most in his culture, a coming of age sort of thing. The Squall is supposed to symbolize renewal. Death and nurturing the seeds of rebirth. It’s also a time of indulgence, a brief reprieve from the dry, barren heat, where water is plentiful and one is free to celebrate excess. And at Gaara’s current age, people are allowed to publicly court him. 

He dreads that part. He doesn’t want to be running away from groupies (Kankuros phrasing) or politically motivated dignitaries. He wants to be able to celebrate with people he actually likes. Most of his closer friends have learned to play guard dog at these functions so even just one would be a comfort. Gaara understands regardless. They’re all busy in their own villages with their own obligations and missions. Even in a time of peace, he finds everyone pulled in many directions. It hadn’t really bothered him until he got his response letter from Lee, confirming he wouldn’t be able to sneak over to Suna in time. He apologized profusely even though Gaara had omitted the importance of this year specifically. He tries to tell himself he doesn’t feel a bit sad and a bit emptier, he already knew after all, expected the answer but he offered the invitation anyways. Lee is a bad influence on him sometimes. Gaara struggles with expectations, and he stumbles with Lee the most. Maybe it’s best Lee can’t make it then. Gaara can focus on the practical aspects and-

“Hey,” Kankuro slaps Gaara’s shoulder with the back of his hand, interrupting Gaara’s internal spiral, “What’s that?” 

Gaara blinks and follows the direction of Kankuro’s lazy point to the open desert before them. He squints against the melting mirages on the horizon and barely makes out a cloud of sand. For a moment Gaara stiffens in alarm because whatever this is, it’s approaching fast. He wasn’t warned of anyone coming to the village today, maybe one of his teams wrapped up early?? 

Then, in a blink, a flash of green in the kicked up sand. Gaara’s eyes go so wide they burn a bit, in disbelief even as he focuses his chakra out to sense who it was. The ninja beside him had stopped talking and Gaara turns his confused stare to his brother. He smirks back at him and snatches the kage hat off of the younger’s head. 

“Is that-?” Gaara wheezes.

“Yeah, Go get him!” Kankuro says it like Gaara is stupid but he’s smiling and nods towards the growing dust devil and Gaara doesn’t even think about it. 

His feet break into a sprint against his will. His gourd is tossed to the side in a rush. He’s not nearly as fast as the approaching ninja and sand begins pushing at his feet like it can propel him a bit faster. His skin is buzzing, he’s so sweaty and his face just gets hotter as Rock Lee comes into focus clearer and clearer. 

Lee pushes himself to slow down as he approaches the walls of Suna, but his heart is dancing around his chest in nervous excitement and by the time he processes the redhead running right towards him he can’t withhold his shout of excitement. 

“Gaara-kun!” He exclaims loud enough he’s sure it carried well into the village. However, once he really looks at Gaara, hair shining brightly in the midday, pretty blue eyes wide and locked directly on Lee, he almost stumbles. Suddenly it is difficult to pull in a full breath as Gaara leaps up, propelled by sand on his heels. His head blots out the sun for a brief second, but Lee can see it in slow motion, knows he’ll never forget this instant. Backlit by sunrays like a halo, eyes almost glowing when they curve up at the corners and one dimple obvious as he beams. Gaara lands right in Lee’s outstretched arms, squinting like he can’t contain the grin on his face. Lee thinks he has never seen anything so beautiful. 

They collide heavily, Gaara gasping like he’s had the wind knocked out of him as Lee skids them both to a stop. He uses the momentum to spin Gaara in a quick circle as he trips over his feet. Sand comes up to steady their intertwined weight and Lee thinks he must be smiling so hard it looks like a grimace.

An elated laugh bubbles up and out and into sweaty red hair that sticks to his chin and mouth. Lee squashes Gaara against him just a bit tighter, not sure if it’s too hard. Gaara is huffing into his neck, trying to catch his breath after a rather impressive sprint from him! And Lee can’t help another happy spin before finally releasing him onto the ground. 

Gaara lands gracefully as always, light as a grain of sand atop the shifting desert. And it’s all they can do but stare at each other in disbelief and Lee feels speechless. He watches Gaara slowly relax into a much calmer demeanor, like he’s caught himself, but he’s still got a dusting of pink across his cheeks. The corners of his mouth quirk up like he can’t quite contain it. It is rare to see Gaara so excited. Lee thrills at being the cause.

“I apologize for dropping by so last minute…” Lee manages to say on a nervous exhale. He had really thought Gaara might be mad at the surprise but the young Kazekage just shakes his head at the apology. He eyes Lee like he still isn’t sure if he’s really there. 

“I thought you couldn’t make it?” Gaara finally says, no pleasantries, a straight shooter like always. His tone is light, though, almost airy, and it gives him away.

[tovalhallaandback]

A Game of Revenge and Loyalty

Pairing: Stiorra Uhtredsdottir/Sigtryggr Ivarson

Summary: The career academy may have taught them how to win the Hunger Games, but nothing of how to win the game of love. A forbidden love becomes more complicated as they quickly learn, the Hunger Games were not the only thing they signed up for when they decided to volunteer.

AKA - It's a Hunger Games AU! Mentor/Mentee vibes. Career vibes. - But not in the way you might imagine! TONS of angst but a promised happy-ish ending.

Trigger Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! HG Canon typical violence and atrocites. TLK Canon typical violence and atrocities. Better tags on AO3, with each chapter having a content warning drop down for those who do not wish to be spoiled.

REPLY TO THIS POST OR SEND ME AN ASK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED OR REMOVED FROM THE TAGLIST

Read the first three chapters on AO3, or try the first chapter in full below the cut:

Falling in love with Sigtryggr Ivarson might just be the biggest she has ever made, but there’s no space to think about that right now - not when she’s leaning into the crook of his shoulder, not on a night like tonight. 

All around her, the voices of her classmates from the Career Academy rhythmically shouting “Speech!” echo off the surrounding boulders as they gather in celebration of District Two’s next champions. She and her boyfriend stand closest to the high rock wall where a few wooden pallets form a makeshift stage. A wall of red stone wraps around them like an amphitheater, opening up into a landscape of sand, cacti, and boulders of assorted sizes. With his arm already wrapped around her waist, he pulls her closer to his body, their gazes never breaking as chocolate brown eyes meet ice blue. Her smile widens, dimples deepening as he leans down, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before turning to the crowd.

“You want a speech?” His gaze scans over the crowd, a glint of mischief awakening in his eyes as the surrounding rocks amplify his voice. The laughter of the gathered crowd bounces off the walls, a unified “Yes” quickly following. As they begin to shove him towards the pallets, his grip tightens on her, pulling her along with him onto the stage as the whole quarry vibrates around them from the music and cheers. 

Since the first graduates of the Career Academy came of age to volunteer, it has become tradition to send off the next tributes with one last party. While District Two often produces a victor, there could only ever be one who returns. But even as their champions celebrate their last nights, sorrow never tinges the atmosphere (at least, no one lets their sorrow be known). They are proud, honored even, to be offering this sacrifice to the Capitol (at least, that’s what they tell themselves). And so, they feast and drink to their hearts’ desires, giving the next tributes one last night of memories. And tonight, the party is for her boyfriend - District Two’s next male tribute. 

Sigtryggr clears his throat, silence suddenly falling around them. A coy smile plays on his lips as she brushes her hand over his chest, her doe eyes peering up at him. “Tomorrow, Skade and I will volunteer with a promise to bring District Two back to its glory.” Two hasn’t had a Victor since his older brother, Ivar, won seven years earlier, while One, a fellow Career District and their rival, has had three more since his brother's victory. “No longer will we allow our power to be doubted. When we fight, we fight for all of you and show no mercy. But tonight…” His eyes meet hers once more as he offers her a small wink, “Tonight, we drink.” She suppresses the urge to giggle at his antics - he has always had a way with words. Then with a raise of a beer to the crowd, he finishes his speech, “May the odds be ever in our favor!” 

As the crowd erupts into cheers once more, he leans down capturing her lips with his own earning a few whistles amongst the applause and jubilation. A smile etches itself across her lips as he deepens the kiss, dipping her backwards until her long deep brown hair grazes the ground, briefly catching him throw a vulgar gesture towards the whistlers - Wolland, his brothers, and a few other snickering classmates of his. But, she hardly hears their jokes or even the rumbles of the crowd. Because for a brief moment, she finds herself forgetting their location and the reasons for this party. 

But as quickly as the moment has started, it disappears, suddenly tugged back up and released, the chants of his name intensifying. She gnaws on her lower lip, fiddling with the label on her beer as she watches him burst into his infamous battle cry. Reaching into the crowd, he yanks Skade up onto the pallets with them, then the two tributes raise their clasped hands victoriously into the air as the cheers become the primary resounding noise in the abandoned quarry once more.

As District Two’s newly crowned champions bask in their glory, Stiorra slips off the stage wandering towards one of the quieter corners of the humming party. Taking a moment to sip her drink, a smile finds itself on her lips again as she gazes at him from a far - blue eyes aflame with hunger and excitement. 

A year an half ago almost to the day, she complained to her brother about the stagnation in her melee skills. Daggers, throwing knives, and bows continued to be pushed upon her by the trainers, but in the small chance that none of those weapons became available in the arena, she decided that she needed to master all potential weaponry if she wanted to win. Upon hearing her doubts, her brother suggested she ask Sigtryggr for help.

Sure, she had always had a crush on her brother’s classmate, practically since her brother’s first day at the Academy. And, Sigtryggr had seemed nice enough - always polite in their brief exchanges, intervening when Skade went after her older brother…He had also always been a great fighter, ranking number one in his class since his first year. But, she didn’t need a tutor; she just needed extra practice. Of course, her brother, trying to be the helpful kind older brother that he is, did not see it that way, nor did he seem to get her message (she very clearly growled at him for even suggesting she ask Sigtryggr for help), so next thing she knew, Sigtryggr was asking her to train with him. 

For weeks, she fought the feelings that built inside of her. She denied that her temperament changed when he was around - denied that it killed her when the trainers forced them into individual studies. Told herself that the butterflies in her stomach were just from a questionable meal. But that all changed the day he pinned her to the ground after she refused to yield, even after losing her sword. 

His ash-brown hair, almost chestnut brown under the winter sun, created a curtain around them, providing an illusion of privacy. For a moment, it was just the two of them as his ice blue eyes blinked back at hers. Before she could even try to wiggle free from his control, his lips were on hers sending shockwaves throughout her entire body. “I win,” he had whispered by her ear before releasing her from his weight and helping her to stand. 

They both were punished for the incident, sent to their dorm rooms without food for the next twenty-four hours. Though, the kiss he gave her the next day when he yanked her into one of the darker corridors outside of the main training gym confirmed everything she had been trying so hard to deny. And after that day, she could not go a single day without seeing him. Too bad, she is about to lose him. 

Despite the dark shadow that looms over his number one class ranking, she remains the proud girlfriend. Or at least, she tries to for him. For every time she showed even a drop of sadness for his future fate, he would dial back his intensity at the Academy, taking blows during matches that he typically would have seen coming, allowing for the opportunity for someone to displace him. But his blue eyes always remained stormy, instead of like the sky on a clear day, even with his insistence that he didn’t care whether or not he ranked first in his class and gender. She couldn’t blame him though - it is in his blood. His grandfather, uncles, and two elder brothers had not only volunteered, but had won. Plus, it didn’t help that it would likely be his best friend, Wolland, taking his spot. So, she does what any good girlfriend would do - puts on a brave face and pretends to be excited for him. But with reaping day less than twenty-four hours away, the act grows harder to maintain with each tick of the clock. 

Eighteen months. Only eighteen months of stolen glances across the training gymnasium, lingering kisses in janitorial closets, scaling across ledges to dormitory windows…

They didnt have to hide it, not technically - more of a precautionary choice if anything. But, Academy leadership did find ways to discourage it - mostly by identifying it as a weakness to be culled. In the eyes of leadership, loving someone meant caring about his or her survival more than one’s own, an Achille’s heel in the Games. And to District Two, death will always mean dishonor. Dishonor to the district, but worst of all, dishonor to the families of the tributes who promised their people glory and wealth. Plus, there is the issue of her father who might just have a heart attack then and there if he finds out his little girl might not be a little girl anymore, especially once he finds out she’s dating a boy two years her senior.

But, love is a fickle thing that is not easily ignored. So in the end, their primal need to love and to be loved won, even with all the programming from the Academy. And instead of trying to shove it behind a locked door, they made the decision to be together, even if it meant keeping it a secret. 

Only eighteen months, and so very close to making it. And now, eighteen months quickly slips through her fingers, faster than sand in an hourglass, every effort made suddenly feeling meaningless. Leadership is right - she should have never let herself fall in love. Not with him, at least. Not with the Academy all star.. 

But, she told herself she wouldn’t dwell on that notion tonight. Taking a large inhale of the warm dry air, Stiorra stares up to the sky where the stars are starting to reach their brightest, imprinting the memory of him - joyful and spirited and wild - into her brain one last time. 

Life at the Academy is hard, and would only continue to become harder without his presence there to distract her. Constantly pit against each other, their rankings become their entire personality, dominating everything from their social status to their dorm room. If they are anything but a perfect machine, then they might as well end their life then and there. As a result, graduating classes never top more than twenty graduates despite the hundreds of children the District has to offer as tribute to the Games. And so, they all find themselves relishing in these moments when they could just be teenagers rather than robotic killing machines. Teenagers who deep down are just as afraid of dying as the other Districts. And yet, relishing in the moment is the exact opposite of what she wants to be doing tonight. 

“And here I thought you’d be front and center this evening.” 

She gazes over towards the source of the sound, her older brother’s voice rousing her from her peace. While her lips still brim with a smile, her eyes speak differently as they cast downwards towards the ground. By the elation clear across his features, she figures he has simply come to jest with her about the party, a habit they formed when they were young children attending Capitol parties with their parents. But, tonight of all nights - she cannot bring herself to join him in his delight. 

Her voice is barely a whisper as she makes her confession to one of the few people that can see through her mask and to the only person who might understand her trepidation, “What if he doesn’t come back?”

Young Uhtred places a gentle hand on his sister’s shoulder as he speaks, “I have known Sigtryggr since we were eight years old. And since the first day we entered the Academy, he has ranked first in our class. If his superior melee skills do not win, it will be his brain. He’s outsmarted previous victors and trainers countless times.” 

The small squeeze of his hand on her shoulder paired with his words is sweet, but it doesn’t help much. With a drop of his arm, he joins her against the boulder, taking a swig of his beer. Filling her lungs with the dry air again, she straightens her posture, trying to initiate a shift in her demeanor as the feelings of dread and worry continue to fester inside of her, haunting every thought. The darkness once overtaking her eyes fades into a small twinkle as she attempts to pester her older brother hoping a change in subject helps, “Father still giving you the silent treatment after your little display in front of Edward at graduation?”

At graduation, each graduate announces their post-graduation plans - volunteering, joining the Peacekeeper Academy, joining the Weapon Manufacturing Division, or joining the Quarry. Seeing as only two can volunteer, the rest typically make the decision to join the Peacekeeper Academy while one or two decide to join the Weapon Manufacturing Division. But, no one ever chooses to work in the Quarry. Not until her brother.

Young Uhtred rolls his eyes, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I think we would see an end to these Games before Father ever speaks to me again." She swallows as she watches the agony transfer from her eyes to his, achieving exactly the opposite of what she intended. 

With their father serving as President Edward’s Minister of Defense, everyone expected her older brother to proudly declare his intent to enroll in the Peacekeeper Academy. As children of a Capitol representative, it is their duty to model loyalty to Edward and the Capitol, but Young Uhtred might as well have spit in the young President’s face by joining the Quarry instead of his Majesty’s precious army. At least, that’s how their father seemed to see the action. 

But, Young Uhtred had not made the choice to be defiant or radical. Not only does her older brother always avert his eyes whenever the next tribute death proves imminent, he also ranked dead last in his class - two facts their father has seemed to overlook entirely. He’s just not meant for the life of a Peacekeeper or to manufacture weapons of mass destruction. In fact, it remains a miracle that the Academy even let him graduate with the remainder of his class earlier in the week. It’s just not who he is, nor who he ever will be. 

Seeking the return of his light, she nudges at his shoulder with her own. “You’ll be the best Quarry worker that District Two has ever seen!” She matches his expression as the smile that had been briefly lost begins to return to her brother’s face. “Besides, I already told Father that if he doesn’t start speaking to you by the beginning of the Games, that I’ll drop out of the academy and join you.” 

Young Uhtred nearly chokes on his mouthful of beer, snorting at her declaration,“At least he will still have Osbert. That kid terrifies me.”

“I think Osbert will be the first to win the Games in a day,” she says with shutter. Having only been enrolled in the Career Academy for two years, Osbert has already made a name for himself due to his tendency to leave training dummies unrecognizable when practicing his melee skills. And, it definitely doesn’t help that he names them after his classmates. So once he inevitably volunteers in eight years, she’s certain her position as favorite child will be challenged. 

“Nope, not even a day. One hour,” Young Uhtred quips, causing the image of her ten-year-old brother, coated in the blood of twenty-three bodies to overtake her imagination. Luckily the sigh her brother takes as he steps away from the boulder frees her, “I’m empty. Do you want anything else?” Stiorra shakes her head. He lingers for another moment, cocking an eyebrow at her, “Do you need anything else?” She shakes her head again.

Her gaze travels past her brother into the distance where she spots Sigtryggr in the middle of an unassisted keg stand. Eyes rake over his half-naked body trying to commit the look of his flexed muscles to memory. Still lingering, Young Uhtred turns, following her gaze to the blue-eyed young man falling into the arms of his brothers. “That is going to be one killer hangover,” he says. 

When he looks back at her, she rolls her eyes with a giggle then nods her head in the direction of one of the bar tables sending him on his way. Finishing her beer with one final chug, she keeps her focus locked on his mess of dirty blonde hair as her older brother moves further and further into the crowd until disappearing completely. 

Alone again, she fidgets with the label on her bottle, prodding at it with nimble fingers until it comes off cleanly. As she smiles at the perfection of her work, she feels the tears begin to come. A frustrated sigh escapes her lips causing her to viciously tear the small label into pieces in hopes of quelling the emotion. When that does nothing, her hand grips the bottle until her knuckles turn white. She then turns herself towards the scattered sets of rocks and desert behind her. Wielding her arm back as far as her flexibility will allow, she hurls it forward sending the bottle into the night sky where it disappears. The accompanying crackle of glass in the distance acts as her only indication that it has landed. When even that action does not free her, she digs her nails into her palms and inhales deeply trying to regulate her racing heartbeat as her blood pumps loudly in her ears and her chest heaves over and over again. Her teeth dig deep into her lip as she suppresses both the scream and tears that beg release. 

Eighteen months. They only had eighteen months together. She wants more. She needs more. Every year. Every day. Every second. Even if he’s the most skilled tribute that District Two has ever laid eyes upon, there are always ringers from other Districts. Hell, even District Twelve got its first victor eight years ago. Besides, it has never been the other tributes that arouse fear inside of her. She has seen the best of tributes be taken down by the Capitol’s muttations, and even worse - starvation and illness. At the end of the day, it is a game of a chance not skill. 

Her hands begin to shake as a sob tries to break free, her true emotions slamming at the walls of their prison like a dam ready to burst. Just as she prepares herself for the breech, she hears small rocks tumble behind her. She welcomes the distraction, using it to quell the wild fire raging inside of her. 

“Sorry I’ll be pushing a dagger through his heart in a week’s time,” the sound of the small blonde’s voice dripping with acid has Stiorra retracting her earlier sentiment - she would much rather face her pent up emotions than deal with her intruder. Skade has always had a way of leeching herself beneath the girl from Two’s skin. With a roll of her eyes, Stiorra turns to face Skade, finding her perched on top of a large boulder picking at her nail beds, looking up only to offer the raven-haired girl a wicked smile, teeth gleaming in the moon light.

This year’s female volunteer’s smug grin sends waves of heat through Stiorra, igniting the embers beneath her skin. As flames consume her, Stiorra digs her nails into the heels of her palm, teeth clenching together viciously as she inhales slowly, holding the breath for three counts, then releasing it.

More level-headed now, Stiorra manages to snicker back, “I bet he kills you before you even reach the cornucopia.”

Once upon a time, she had considered Skade a close friend, seeing as they basically grew up together with Skade’s father a Sergeant Major in the Peacekeepers. But by the time they were twelve and fourteen, close friends became enemies - first because of the rigorous nature of the Academy and second because of boys. In fact, the small blonde had been the first to insult the brunette when news spread that she was dating Sigtryggr. 

Skade’s nostrils flare, eyes like the ocean freezing over. Hopping off the boulder, the snake closes the distance between the two of them in three quick strides. Breath hot on Stiorra’s ear, she whispers viciously, “Maybe I’ll do it in his sleep while his arms are wrapped around me. Those nights sure do get cold and lonely.” 

The villainous smile plastered on Skade’s face quickly turns into a scowl as Stiorra erupts into laughter, used to the snake’s attempts to invalidate her relationship. She began dating Sigtryggr when she was fourteen and half, the half having been quite important to her at the time. When rumors spread about the two of them, so did the vitriol with Skade leading from helm of the I-Hate-Stiorra ship. Almost everyone thought the Minister of Defenses’s daughter was too immature for the sixteen-year-old Sigtryggr, so she claimed the half year as if it made a significant difference. 

'He’ll leave you once the games begin’ is their favorite. ‘He’s only with you for your father’s status' is hers. But even before she had started dating Sigtryggr, her classmates have tried to use her father’s status to discredit her - a feat also lead by Skade. Little did they know, Edward would sacrifice her entire family without hesitation if it meant maintaining his power.

Eventually, she learned how to wield more than just a few months added to her age against them. A small smile creeps over her lips at the memory of threatening some of their classmates when she had enough of their vitriol. Liv and Dagny had gone pale as a sheet when she taunted them with the threat of poisoning - so easy to slip a couple of drops from the deadliest berry in the country into their morning juice. Both girls avoided all beverages - juice, coffee, tea, even water - for the next few weeks. Then, there was Skade and her posse - much harder to terrorize, but still eventually received the message…once Stiorra threatened to tell everyone about how Skade wet the bed till she was seven, of course.

Skade inevitably changed her tactic - deciding to openly pursue Sigtryggr. One time last year, Sigtryggr received a chest wound during a sparring match. As it was minor, the trainers decided to take the opportunity to turn it into a lesson, showcasing how allies could be of use. Skade waltzed up in front of the entire upperclassmen, volunteering before even asked. Reaching for the gauze, eyes glinting with amusement, she stared Stiorra down as her hands roamed over Sigtryggr’s chest, drawling, “My, my someone hasn’t been missing upper body day.” Then taking one finger, the small blonde dragged it underneath the narrow five inch slash across his upper peck, wiping away the blood that had begun to trickle out, completely ignoring how Siggtryggr’s muscles stiffened and eyes fell shut underneath her touch. 

When his eyes reopened moments later, a deep onyx eclipsed the sunny blue as he turned towards the trainers, “Isn’t it better if I do this myself? This won’t be the injury that kills me nor does it require assistance to bandage.” Giggling in triumph as the trainers insisted she continue, Skade took her blood-coated finger into her mouth then licked it clean before finishing the task.

He didn’t let Skade get away with it though -  tutting every time she reached for the wrong item, ridiculing her technique, dissecting every choice till the snake was a bright-red fumbling mess. Their classmates chagrin became uncontrollable, laughter bouncing endlessly off the walls, only growing louder as the trainers tried to help the small blonde. But the icing on the cake? Immediately following the demonstration, her boyfriend threw his ruined training shirt at Stiorra with a wink while all the other girls fawned over him. Making his point clear, he would always choose the Minister of Defense’s daughter. 

“How many times has he chosen me over you? What was the tally again?” Stiorra snipes back. 

Skades spits her next words like venom, “I’ll be sure to bring you back a lock of his hair when he lets his love for you blind him. Maybe I’ll get lucky and your daddy will ask Adhelm to send a particularly vicious muttation designed just for him.” 

Flames explode into an inferno as the brunette shoves the blonde with all her strength. Laughter escapes Skade’s throat when she staggers back a few steps, “Is that all you got? I can’t wait to see you die within the first ten minutes in two years.” 

The small blonde stalks back towards Stiorra, the malevolence in her gaze taunting. Curling her hand into a fist, the raven-haired girl launches her attack, but a stronger hand catches her wrist stopping it midair. 

“Fuck off, Skade. Don’t you have some blood ritual to preform to ensure your victory?” Wolland barks. With a snicker, Skade makes her retreat as Wolland slowly releases Stiorra’s wrist from his grip. He sighs as his voices lowers, replacing the malice with tenderness, “Why do you let her get to you?” 

But instead of answering, Stiorra shoves past him, the table littered with bottles containing an assortment of different colored liquids her target. As she reaches her destination, she grabs the closest open bottle of clear liquid. Her nose wrinkles as the fumes sting her orifices. Squeezing her eyes closed, she brings the opening of the bottle to her mouth, leans back and then chugs.  Slamming it back onto the table, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand disregarding the burning sensation that radiates from her throat as Wolland marches towards her.

Practically tasting the displeasure and sarcasm on his tongue, he says, “Ah yes, the perfect solution. Shall I offer you some nightlock instead next time?” 

Stiorra’s gaze incinerates the back of the small blonde’s head, watching closely as she pushes her way back to the front, wishing she could slip some of the juice from the small dark deadly berry in reference into the snake’s morning tea. Hands curling into fists at her side, she says “She’s going to find a way to cheat, Wolland. I know it.” 

“You know the Gamemakers are too smart to allow that to happen,” he says gently, arms crossing over his chest accentuating the muscles of his biceps. If it isn’t Sigtryggr trying to reason with her, it’s his best friend. But, the sorrow in Wolland’s eyes speaks the truth - it’s not the Aldhelm and his fellow Gamemakers who are in control.

“They want a show, Wolland. Besides, all Skade has to do is tell her father that Sigtryggr’s family are conspiring rebels. Next thing we know, his own personal muttation is in the arena.” 

Licking his lips, the silence grows heavy between them until he quietly mutters, “I’ll take care of it.” 

Stiorra’s gaze softens - she hadn’t meant to drag him into this, not after all the punishments he’d endured with Sigtryggr to help keep their relationship secret. He’d done so much for them over the past year and half already, that it felt unfair for him to rescue them yet again. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You think I want to see him die either? For all I care, the bitch can rot in hell. You two aren’t her only victims,” he says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Thanks Wolland,” she whispers. Sure, she hadn’t intended for him to get involved, but he is right - this is bigger than her relationship with this year’s male volunteer. As the flames begin to retreat back into embers, she leans into the table, changing the subject, “When do you enter the Peacekeeper Academy?” 

“The day after tomorrow,” he says with a frown.

“Does Hella know?” Stiorra’s voice is soft as she gently probes at the subject. As Stiorra’s best friend, Hella has also gotten looped into preserving the secrecy of her relationship. As a result, Wolland and Hella grew equally close to one another, even sparking their own dating rumors up until recently, when Wolland suddenly found every reason to avoid the girl.

Casting his gaze downwards, Wolland begins to shift his feet, “No.”

“Wolland, you have too. You can’t just leave her.”, she pleads. 

Smoke clouds of sand erupt at their feet as he kicks at rocks, “I don’t know how, Stiorra.”

Joining the Peacekeeper Academy hadn’t been the first on Wolland’s list, not after he met Hella at least. He had told her and Sigtryggr that he planned to surprise the blonde after graduation with the news that he would be joining the Weapons Division. But three weeks before graduation around when Wolland started avoiding Hella, Stiorra’s father suddenly asked her about her boyfriend’s best friend, intrigued by his Academy stats. Confronting the tall burly young man, she learned the heartbreaking truth - the Weapons Division was no longer an option for him. Sworn to secrecy, it absolutely gutted the brunette to have to watch her friends suffer. But maybe if she couldn’t have her happy ending with Sigtryggr, maybe her best friend could.

“Tell her tonight. Have one last night with her. All you have to do is tell her the truth. She thinks you don’t feel the same way anymore. And, maybe I can persuade my father to let you be stationed here.” He raises his eyebrows, staring her down. “Okay, maybe I can’t do that but she’ll understand, especially if you tell her about needing the money for your mom’s treatments.” 

Wolland sighs as he brushes a hand over his face, “Fine. I’ll do it.” But then, he looks back up at her, eyes blazing as a finger digs into her chest, “But, you need to tell him that you love him.” 

Stiorra fights the urge to roll her eyes - of course Wolland knows that she and Sigtryggr still hadn’t exchanged those words, despite how evident their feelings for each other seemed to be. But that was the point - they didn’t need to say the words.  Even with all the attempts to discredit their relationships over the years, she has never doubted Sigtryggr’s love for her. Time and time again, he proves it. He is the one who wants to tell her father about their relationship. He, who saw no harm in them being open about it tonight - he’s a graduate now, after all. Better yet he continues to talk of their future even though he plans to volunteer for the 68th Hunger Games tomorrow. 

And, she loves him too - more than anything else on this planet, so much so that even just the thought of losing him is enough to make her palms clammy, head dizzy. But saying the actual words… Measly words wouldn’t suddenly change their pre-existing feelings nor would it change their fate. 

So she opens her mouth to protest her boyfriend’s best friend’s request, while he holds up his flattened palm signaling her silence, “He needs to hear the words before he leaves.”

But, there’s no point in arguing with that this time, because he’s right - this might be her last chance and when he inevitably dies - at least he knows with certainty that she loves him. So with a groan, she grasps his hand solidifying their deal.

Just as their hands release, Stiorra feels two new ones suddenly slip around her waist, pulling her close. A tender kiss presses into her temple, then a chin rests on her shoulder, carrying the scent of honey swirled with mint, instantly making her smile. “I heard you tried to punch Skade,” he says. 

“And, I heard you tried to beat Ivar’s record,” she teases, referencing her boyfriend’s elder brother’s infamous forty-second keg stand record from the night before his reaping almost ten years ago. 

A soft laugh tingles her ear, “First, I beat said record by an entire thirty seconds. Second,” - he tickles at her waist coaxing laughter out from deep in her belly as she turns in his arms,  releasing her from his torture once they are eye to eye - “I beat it last year. My little charade with the keg tonight was to get out of talking to Skade and her friends.” 

Wolland leaves with a roll of his eyes, muttering something under his breath, probably a mocking insult. On most days, she’d throw one right back at him with a teasing glint in her eyes, but the scent of alcohol crashes over her, dulling the honey-mint as it pulls her attention back to her boyfriend. Eyebrows knitting together, she tries to recall if she’s ever seen her boyfriend this inebriated. Before she can find her answer, Sigtryggr leans forward, putting most of his weight onto her causing them to stumble a few steps back as teeth crash together, then catch her lower lip. Clumsy kisses becoming sloppier with each attempt as he pulls her closer, laughter rumbling low in his chest. 

“Someone’s a little drunk,” she murmurs as he finally settles for gentle kisses on her nose, cheeks, and forehead. Her hands explore the smooth muscles of his chest, rising slowly until they entwine themselves behind his neck as she makes a mental note to thank whoever rid him of his shirt. Tilting her chin upwards a notch, molten chocolate eyes meet eyes like dancing blue flames. 

With a flick of his tongue over his smug grin, his mouth drifts towards her ear, warm breath tickling her and dripping with a velvety coyness as he says lowly, “I may be responsible for this party suddenly becoming dry.” Stiorra lightly swats at the top of his left shoulder - or at least tries, the edge of her hand catching the edge of his shoulder. A small giggle flutters from her lips, as a warm buzz begins to overtake her senses - the aftermath of chugging white liquor finally catching up with her. “Happy Hunger Games, my love.” 

Her hand misses his face entirely as she goes to brush the hair out of his face, still giggling as she asks, “Was getting this drunk Rognvaldr’s idea?” 

“I could ask you the same question, my love.” She pouts at his non-answer, causing him to run his thumb over her lips.  “It was actually Guthfrith’s idea.” Of course, it was his eldest’s brothers idea - his younger brother, Rognvaldr, may be the drunk but Guthfrith has always been the instigator, at least that’s what Sigtryggr always made it seem like. Really, she only knows Rognvaldr as they are in the same year at the Academy. But, she has exchanged a few words with Guthfrith when he’s visited the Academy with other Victors, and as for Ivar - he keeps to himself these days, hardly ever talks with his family anymore. “Something about carpe diem,” Sigtryggr finishes.

With a small nod, she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she gestures with her eyes to his bare chest, “I see. And the shirt?”

“Rogvaldr. Thinks he can sell it at the market for a high price.” 

She resists rolling her eyes, imaging his younger brother at one of the weekend market stalls, spinning tales about the t-shirt. Though, she has to give the imbecile credit - if Sigtryggr wins, he’ll probably get a hefty price for it. Her heart constricts again at the thought of losing her boyfriend, killing the playful mood instantly. Woefully, she strokes a few pieces of his shoulder-length ash-blonde hair, streaked with red from the summer sun, away from his eyes successfully, then breathily whispers, “Don’t let them cut it.” Next to his eyes and smile, it’s one of his best features - wild and untamed just like him. 

As her hand recoils, he grabs it, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss upon her palm before placing it back over his heart. “I’ll start the next rebellion if they do,” he teases. At least, one of them has not yet lost their joy. But, he wants to volunteer, just like she wants to in two years…maybe…she isn’t quite sure anymore since meeting him…But, it’s one of the first things they had in common - a ferocious hunger to be the best the Academy had ever seen. So, she tries to find the spark of joy buried deep inside of her again, hoping the fog of the alcohol helps. 

Pressing herself up onto her tip toes, slightly swaying, her lips reach for his. Only millimeters a part, a roar of an engine tears them apart. A white vehicle rolls to a sudden stop, five Peacekeepers quickly exiting it. Forming a line, their guns take aim at the crowd. 

“Return to your houses immediately,” the middle one roars - sounding eerily like Haesten, the Head Peacekeeper of District 2. He’s typically pretty easy going, letting most law violations slip by unnoticed - unless of course, Edward or other Captiol advisors are around. So if he’s actually doing his job for once, it must mean Aethelflaed, their District's escort and older sister of Edward, must have arrived earlier than expected. 

Without a moment of hesitation, the crowd disperses, stampeding past the line held by the Peacekeepers. Sigtryggr tugs Stiorra behind him as they begin to join the crowd in fleet. They run for several minutes at full speed, stumbling occasionally with the alcohol still fresh in their system. Only slowing down once they reach the stone white buildings of downtown. Coming to a full stop with his hand still firmly gripping hers, he peaks around a corner. Her blood hums in her ears, adrenaline mixing with the alcohol in a way that lights her blood on fire. Coast clear, he keeps them moving until they come upon an alleyway. 

Abandoned metal scraps, wooden palettes, shattered pottery pieces, and other random misplaced objects lay scatted across the backstreet like a mine field. Creeping around the debris, he releases her hand suddenly, then jumps a top of a nearby dumpster. Then, he jumps again, grabbing the bottom rung of a latter that clatters down after a few tugs. Dusting his hands off of each other, he gestures towards the old rusty fire escape. With a smirk, she glides over to it, beginning their quiet ascent of the eight story building. 

A smile lightens her face when they reach the edge of the rooftop, coming upon her favorite spot, now their favorite spot. In a monotone world of white and grey stone, hidden treasures like the rooftop garden are a rarity. Her mother created the oasis when her parents first moved to District Two back when her father was still a low-ranking Peacekeeper.  But after catching the eye of the former President Alfred, her father, Uhtred, was quickly promoted prompting their move to the wealthiest area of the District. Knowing the garden meant something to his wife, Uhtred bought the building with his new wealth to ensure it could never be destroyed. But after the death of her mother, Gisela, he abandoned the building, evicted its tenants then left it to rot. It remained this way until the last year when she worked with her older brother to restore it to its former glory. 

Landing on the gravel, she closes her eyes, letting the sweet heavenly scent of the garden invade her senses, beginning to clear the fog of alcohol from her system. Wooden paths lead to a larger circular patio at the center of the rooftop. Vases and beds of pink roses in full bloom line the pathway with small fairy lights stringing along the posts. As Stiorra walks slowly towards the center, the lights suddenly flicker on. Waiting with her hand out stretched, Sigtryggr strides back towards her from the voltage box near the fire escape then grasps it firmly. Her head lolls to the side, leaning into his shoulder as they walk towards the center only for the sight ahead of her to make her pause. In place of the intrinsically patterned black iron table and chair set, there is a small makeshift tent instead. 

When they agreed to come here after tonight’s party, she pictured only sharing a brief private moment, one last night private goodbye in peace - then they’d separate till the morning, sleeping in their own beds. But, it seems he had his own plans for the evening. 

Turning towards him with a glint in her eye, she says, “You know. I’ve seen archives from the old world in my father’s office telling horrific stories of these scenarios - ‘Handsome young man lures naive young woman to her death’.” 

A small chuckle reverberates from his chest as he slowly runs a hand over her hair, a smile forming over his lips, “Really? I thought the headline read ‘Handsome young man gets knife to chest after luring young woman to death’”. 

Blue eyes enchant her, knees weakening beneath her as his thumb brushes over her cheek then tugs her upward by her chin. Lips meet in the middle, hands skating across his chest to tangle into his hair. Calloused hands slip under her crimson t-shirt as they graze the smooth skin of her stomach, sending shivers down her spine, pooling heat in her belly. A small gasp grants him the opportunity to tease her bottom lip with his tongue, then a low growl escapes his throat as his hands find the hem of her shirt. Slowly, he pulls the material upwards, kisses trailing from her mouth to her jaw, and finally to her neck. 

Parting only briefly to toss the shirt to the side, their lips find each other again as he effortlessly pulls her into his arms. Hands cup his face as he approaches the tent, then… she’s lost to the moment, barely able to hear the rumble of patrolling Peacekeeper vehicles as the night starts to feel less like a goodbye, and more like a new beginning…

Falling in love with Sigtryggr Ivarson may have been the biggest mistake she has ever made…. But as their bodies say all the words they can’t, she reckons - it also may have been the best decision she’s ever made. 

TAG LIST: @ladyaldhelm @holy3cake @arcielee @kingslionheart @whitedarkmoonflower // If you are tagged it is because you demonstrated interest (?) But happy to remove for future chapter postings! Also zero pressure to read <3

[kuiinncedes]

damn

[fruchtfleisch-art]

I finished the sixth and final book in the Duncton Wood series this week. It's a very special story, and I'd like to draw much, much more for it, but for now take this, some anonymous pilgrims coming to visit the famous Duncton stone!

[alectoperdita]

WIP Snippet Sunday

More stuff from Mob, but from a future chapter either 7 or 8. Finally getting some Jou POV though.

---

"Look, they're not in this life. They're normal," sighed Katsuya without removing the towel from his face.

"You mean they don't know you're..."

"Nah, they know. The amazing part is they don't care. But I don't wanna cause trouble for 'em. They have a white-collar job and everything. Perfectly respectable work."

If you didn't count whatever legal advising was done on Yoshimori's behalf, but hey, the law guaranteed everyone a right to trial and counsel. But Katsuya knew Seto had plenty of other clients. As he told him once, his specialty was actually in corporate governance.

"So why are they with you?" joked Kazuki.

"I'm wondering the same thing, kid," he mumbled under his breath.

Despite Seto's assurance that he wasn't "slumming it," the divide between their education and social class continued to make Katsuya antsy. When they were together, when Seto smiled and laughed for him, Katsuya could put it out of his mind for the time. But when they were apart like now? No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't measure up to Seto's standard.

[joyfulsongbird]

more kynan and cassandra!! for anyone who loves them as much as i do <3

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[seddair]

.

[mathmusicreading]

Blog(ger) Shift

I am, so weird and bad about original posting and about reblogging and about saving things on Tumblr and that's why my blog has been mostly inactive or the lurking consumer type. But I don't want my fears about putting myself out there, being seen and known, articulating myself well vs. having been told my whole life I'm too wordy and opinionated vs. not managing to articulate myself well enough to justify being verbose and passionate, etc. to continue to control me so much.

So for my new specific-interest sideblog that I'm not locking, I hope it being themed will help me with making more original posts and reblogging, and I'm publicizing that here to push myself and also welcome interaction.

RIP to my other public specific-interest sideblog and the fandom sideblog I took over for someone that I didn't take further and to my private sideblogs that were meant to make me reblog and save and say stuff because they would be personal and just for me. I still would like to make those happen and reblogging and posting things that matter to me here, and oh my heart for the content ideas I haven't been working on, but they're pipedreams with how I'm (not) managing my life and I keep kicking those cans down the road.

To the person who I developed a real relationship with as a beta but who by now I probably count as having disappeared on with how long it's been and my not coming back to explicitly say I still can't help and don't know when I can, I am so sorry. I'm being a coward languishing in hoping I can tell you soon that I can get back into beta-ing for you and talking, but that's turned into me not talking to you because I'm waiting to be able to say something positive. Hopefully my vaguing here can help push me into talking to you, or at least this is here for you to read if you happen to see it; and I want you to know you absolutely can talk to me, can call me out, and if you're so gracious as to still want to be friends with me and just chat despite my dropping being your beta, I'm here for you and still want to be your friend even if I don't know if I'll have the spoons to be a good one and I know my saying that preemptively isn't apology or justification enough.

Honest assessment, I'm going to curse and say my living situation and work have both become even more of a shitshow, and with those things in mind I can't begin to imagine handling a real project until basically literally a year from now.

Which segues back into the main topic of this post. My goal isn't to have my new sideblog be like an active mainblog nor to abandon this blog—people interested in that blog can and should still interact with me here given how primary vs. secondary blogs on Tumblr work, and in terms of using that blog to help make me be a better Tumblr user, I think I should make certain original posts here and reblog them there as opposed to them being original there. With my mental-emotional and time resources, I want that blog to be "active" for a given definition of active, but really I think I should see my objective as "clear out tabs and likes and photos and lists and notes and drafts, etc. from the last four months" by saving stuff there, as opposed to my goal being the original posts I want to make there, and actually my long-term goal should be to use that momentum to do the same for older digital and physical storage that hasn't been lost or stolen. In my failure to be an interesting person, do I at least manage to be fascinating as a basket-case? Ha. But, also, as expressed above the Read More, the exercise of my danmei/Chinese sideblog is supposed to be a foray into me allowing myself to be an interesting person.

[fearfulandhungry]

Gonna do some writing this weekend since I’m off from woooork :3c a smile on my face

[allylikethecat]

today's prompt!!!

soft contemporary domestic gatty OH I AM CRYING TEARS OF JOY 😭😭😭

i also just reread on a friday and am really looking forward to the next chapter

Ah! I'm so happy you enjoyed it! I know I write a lot of angst, so it's been fun to try and write something a little bit softer! I also know I spend a lot of time writing about the past - so it's also fun to write some present day Gatty sweetness! These daily prompts have been such a fun challenge, and while I have very much enjoyed them as a writing exercise, I am also very much excited for them to be done lol.

!!! thank you so much for not only reading On a Friday once, but for taking the time to read it a second time! I'm so grateful for how receptive people have been to that fic, and am excited to share the next chapter when it is finished! It's looking like this week's update is going to be You Know Where the City Is (I know the hope was for the Christmas fic but alas that is turning into even more of a beast and the chapter isn't ready yet) Thank you so much for reading, sending in this ask, and your support! I hope you have a great week!

❤️Ally

[linzerj]

Y'all I did not expect over 100 people to be interested in this idea somehow, but hi hello! I promise I am actually working on a fic for this, it just takes me forever to write - especially when I accidentally start at the end, then the beginning, then have to fill in the middle hghghghghg. Anyway, just for all of you, here is a snippet from the middle of the fic - so like. Spoiler warning? but its the first thing I wrote for this and I like it a lot and want to share it. So enjoy!

---

Teba watches Tulin continue to grow, watches him improve in his training and progress his skills – both with the bow, and with the winds. He and Harth go over the intricacies of the Great Eagle Bow, so that they can recreate it again should it ever break. He visits and is visited by Riju and Yunobo and Sidon, at least as often as four people with so many responsibilities can escape from their duties for something as trivial as catching up with friends. He settles into the routine of day-to-day life again.

And then, one day, the world shifts.

The first alert any of them have to something being wrong is the way Vah Medoh suddenly halts in her normal holding pattern above Rito Village, locks onto the castle, and lets out a screech as loud as she once did when the Blights had infected the Beasts.

The sounds makes everyone in the Village flinch from the memory, and Teba is calling for everyone to “stay here!” and launching himself from Revali’s Landing in a burst of Gale before he’s even fully aware of what he’s doing. All he can think is not again, please, not again –

He lands atop Medoh, who is still glowing that soft safe blue and showing no signs of infection - no flecks of Malice, no Blight manifesting before him, nothing. That matter settled, he looks out to the horizon beyond the Divine Beast, to see what could have caused Medoh to act in such a way, and thus he witnesses the chaos taking part across Hyrule.

Hyrule Castle is lifting into the sky, waves of what appear to be Malice (but is actually now called Gloom, not that he knows this right now) helping to hold it aloft. He can also see yawning pits cracking open in the earth, swirling with the same dark magic surrounding the castle once again.

Medoh cries out once more, and as she opens their connection to let Teba hear what she hears, he looks across the region and sees.

Vah Naboris falls from Spectacle Rock. Vah Rudania tumbles into the maw of Death Mountain. Vah Ruta sinks beneath the waves of what he’d thought was just a shallow reservoir lake upon an unnamed mountain in Lanayru.

And in the back of his head, thanks to his connection to Vah Medoh, Teba can hear the calls for help as the three other Divine Beasts fall.

. . . – – – . . .

“S.O.S.” – Save Our Souls.

A signal Revali had taught him, in the time-that-wasn’t, just in case he ever needed it – just in case. (He’d hoped he never would need it, never have to hear it. He wonders if this is the last thing the Champions of this time heard – their peers calling for help, none of them able to respond, all of them succumbing to Ganon and his Blights.)

As the clouds above Hebra begin to swirl with anger and the first snowflakes begin to fall, Teba stands on the back of the last Divine Beast, and tries not to be sick, tries not to wonder about all the why’s and how’s and what if’s, tries not to let out his own mournful cry as Vah Medoh does when the S.O.S signals finally fade into oblivion. (He doesn’t succeed on that last part.)

Just getting this idea out there so that maybe I'll actually finish writing it one day, but -

I've been on a Legend of Zelda kick recently. Currently replaying BOTW. Never played AOC but I've watched gameplay and all the cutscenes so I know what happens. Planning to play that and TOTK again soon. But I've got this idea cooking in my head.

Theres a post that talks about "what if you could find the Divine Beasts in the Depths", and another funny post that was just "what if Teba was the sage of Wind and not Tulin?" And I remembered when BOTW had just come out, and then AOC after, and people were speculating about the characters, like Teba, being the New Champions and getting to bond to the Divine Beasts.

That didn't happen in canon, but. Hear me out. What if even just one of the Divine Beasts bonded with a New Champion... like say, the one who doesn't become a Sage?

Teba, Sidon, Riju, and Yunobo return from their adventure in the past/alternate timeline/whatever, having saved those Champions and that Hyrule from destruction. Their own timeline is still the same, but they continue on as they do in canon.

Except they all meet up shortly after returning home, and one of them (Sidon or Riju maybe) asks "hey did anyone else try going to the Divine Beasts only to get rejected" and while the rest are like "yup wonder what that's about, sad" Teba is like "no wtf are you all talking about I was settling back in with my wife and kid."

But something about it sticks with Teba. He goes home, looks up at Vah Medoh, and thinks, 'it probably won't work but I may as well try just to confirm.'

...Vah Medoh accepts him as its new pilot.

I'm unsure as to whether or not Revali's spirit will still be there for a quick hello - but if he is, he'd be like "whomst?!" And Teba would be like "if you were still alive I'd definitely adopt you because thanks to some time travel shenanigans i know that you desperately needed a parental figure in your life".

Mostly everything else proceeds as is canon up to the start of TOTK - except for the other Divine Beasts continuing to chill at their resting places, because upon hearing about Teba successfully bonding with Medoh, the others want to keep trying.

But, for whatever reason, Hylia decided that you cannot be both a Sage and a Divine Beast pilot, so the Beasts acknowledge them but never quite accept them as their pilots.

Then, TOTK. Then the chasms. Then, the other 3 Divine Beasts taking a plunge into the Depths.

Teba freaks out a little bit, but Medoh is circling Rito Village and is fine, except now there's these random floating islands but also a fuckass blizzard that's making it almost impossible to keep everyone fed, and Teba's just been saddled with Elder status so he's super in charge and Tulin is in a bit of a "I can do anything let me prove it let's go" phase and is trying to convince Teba to use Vah Medoh to fly up and stop the blizzard, but Teba is way too busy trying to keep the village from falling apart to go right now -

Then Link shows up, and Tulin runs off, and Link follows him, and the two go up and find the Stormwind Ark and fight Colgera and as the magical blizzard finally ends, Teba is just like "what the fuck".

Tulin tells him he's become a Sage, and isn't that cool dad?! And Teba is like "you're 12 and you're going to help fight a demon king?!?! Wtf?!"

But then at some point, Tulin (who knows the other Sages from that time he was in AOC, and meeting them a few times with his dad after) one day looks up from his breakfast and says "oh hey Sidon just became the Sage of Water! I saw it through my connection with Link!" And that's when it clicks into place for Teba why the Beasts never quite accepted the other "New Champions" - because they were destined for something else.

But Vah Medoh is still here. And it's pissed that it's fellow Beasts are gone and it also wants to blast Ganondorf in the face.

Unfortunately, Teba can't let it blast the castle when Link and co go to confront the Zelda illusion, because Tulin is there, Link is there, Sidon and Riju and Yunobo are there, and it's not the real demon king yet anyway.

Teba is grumpy about it, about letting Tulin go off and risk his life when he's a child and Teba is an adult, but then a huge dark dragon explodes out from the chasm below the castle and Vah Medoh is all too happy to fire upon it, knowing it's Ganondorf and wanting some sweet revenge of its own.

Teba's just surprised he can see the dark dragon, it's huge but he'd heard tales of only the young, or those chosen by thr goddesses, could see dragons. Maybe it's because of Vah Medoh that he can see this one, and the little light dragon that comes in and - hey is that Link?!

Maybe it ends with Teba going down to the Depths with Link to visit the other Divine Beasts, and suggesting that the locations stay known so that future generations may try to awaken them. They don't really need the Beasts anymore since both Calamity Ganon and Ganondorf have been defeated, but Medoh doesn't want to turn off and is happy just chilling at Rito Village with Teba. The end.

I have like 2.5k of this already written, I just wanted to use this post to write more of the ideas for the fic structure before I go to bed lol. And this idea probably doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense canon-wise, but it doesn't need to because the only reason this exists is because i love Teba and wish he'd gotten more screntime (or at least some spoken dialogue in the cutscenes!) in TOTK.

[devondespresso]

i have an idea for a nancy pov post-s1 stancy mini fic/drabble 👀👀👀