#august snippets

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Six Fuck it some of these are one word do they really count as sentences? Ten Sentence Sunday

“You think you would have gotten to the Premier League without me pushing you?”

The bottle slammed down. Picked up again. Drink. Insult. Repeat.

“Your mother raised you fucking soft. Without me, you’d be nothing, Jamie.”

Jamie bristled at the mention of his mother. Hated the sound of her name or title on his father’s rotten lips.

[felassan]

Some notes from today's new BioWare Blog post, which contained some new character insights and also gave some information on what is coming next and when:

Creative Performance Director Ashley Barlow helped to cast and direct over a thousand conversations in the game

Lucanis is bloodthirsty, calculated, and a workaholic. He was raised with high expectations and fears disappointing those he loves. To him, being an assassin is his only job and identity to be excellent at. He's constantly attuning himself to the kind of shifting terrain of every mission. There's a lot of love between him and Illario

As Zach is a comedian, he would easily find the humor in anything Lucanis was saying

Neve is a Shadow Dragons rebel who cares deeply about helping people and never leaves work half-done. Epler: " [she is] the working class hero trying to make her hometown better"

Emmrich is sincere, friendly, scholarly, sophisticated, eager to teach and learn, a well-meaning but oblivious academic, with a "hot nerdiness". He assumes everyone has an academic's curiosity so can be pedantic on select topics

The Mourn Watch are revered in Nevarra but odd at best and evil at worst outside of it

Nick: "I love the fact that the writers took Emmerich and explored the whole idea of death and the whole idea of necromancing by bringing kindness into it. I really responded to that and got into that and I know it sounds crazy, but it’s to not have this idea that death is vulgar or something to be terrified about, but something to actually engage with on so many levels. I just love the fact that the writers had the courage to do that in a game like this."

"Often Nick is just playing off of someone making a sound, and he takes it and internalizes it and gives it meaning and care, which is amazing to watch."

The world has changed a lot since DA:I

Harding has been leading teams through the wilderness while covering friends in battle

Harding loves her mom. She loves to write letters home and is always talking about her mother. She likes plants and raising plants. She has grown and is a veteran now, a trusted voice at the table

Footage of the full DA:TV @ SDCC companions panel should be available in a couple of weeks

Next month there will be a new roadmap, more looks at the game, and the reveal of the release date

[emphasis mine]

And this paragraph:

"Dragon Age: The Veilguard sees players embark on a perilous quest to face powerful Elven gods and stop the apocalyptic destruction they’re unleashing. You’ll step into the role of Rook, battling on the front lines alongside a deep and compelling cast of companions who together comprise The Veilguard, a group of heroes who have come together to stop the veil from breaking and bringing about the end of the world. Rook must become the unexpected leader who can rally and unite the group. Throughout the game, you can explore the detailed storylines of each companion, navigating love, loss, and complex choices that influence your relationships."

[source]

[rayjayoo]

if i had a nickel for everytime i got deeply invested into a musical to the point im thinking about it 24/7 id have 2 nickels

[pagegirlintraining]

Sunday snippet

Also very very excited to share something from chapter 2 of Young Riders, co-written with the wonderful @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

“How’s my favorite little lady doing?” August went on before she could finish the thought. He’d stepped across the stall’s threshold at this point, leaning casually inside the opening of its sliding door, arms crossed in front of his chest in that effortless way Sara had started to associate with him. Something about his question made the warmth in her stomach well up again, the edges of it fuzzier than last time, almost bubbly. This time, it was definitely affection, brought on by the sheer fact that he cared enough to ask about her favorite baby.

“She’s been doing much better”, she told him, returning her attention to Madam to give her neck a scratch right beneath the roots of her mane, where she liked it best. “All her samples have been coming back clean, and there haven’t been any more signs of colic.”

August’s forehead bore the beginnings of a frown when she threw him a glance. “Colic?” he asked, then she watched something in his expression change as it brightened up again. “Oh, you mean Madam.”

That surprised Sara. Who else could he have thought she was talking about? She didn’t get to ask him, since he went on with that same, easy smile, “I’m glad she’s doing better. She does have the very best vet taking care of her.”

[rambunctioustoons]

(sun/moon/reader)

Chapter 1: Prologue.

Summary;

The halls of FazCo science have been left abandoned for years, mysterious circumstances rendering most of the human staff dead and robots less than operational or too damaged to function.

Through a string of ironic circumstances, the three of you evaded the clutches of the same fateful death. Call a truce, and escape the laboratories together.

[bluedalahorse]

Sunday Snippet: more from that canon divergence during August, Nils, and Vincent’s first year

This is a canon divergence set in the same universe as Alone to Two, where August and Sara meet two years earlier. In this scene, circumstances (Marcus and Nils arguing and Marcus storming out the door while Vincent and August are out in the hall) have led to Nils having to come out a little bit earlier.

So now the trio is having a bit of a debrief:

Vodka is shit at room temperature, especially sipped from a travel mug, but this might just be one of those conversations. The good thing about Vincent and August, unlike Marcus, is that they don't try to touch Nils when they're having a serious talk. They aren't shunning him, obviously, but they also aren't demanding a heartfelt testimony about coming out. Nils does notice that they're all sitting as far apart as possible—Nils on his own bed, August perched precariously on Reza's on the opposite side of the room, Vincent on the floor with his back against the door. They're still here. Nils… is okay with that. "Don't worry," he says, lips stinging after he takes a sip from his travel mug. "I promise I haven't had sex dreams about either of you." That's almost true. But Nils forgets his dreams, for the most part, so it might as well be true. Vincent snorts. Sympathetically, even. "No, I get it. Like. I'm pretty hot, but August's face looks like ass." August chokes on his vodka and spits it back into his cup. "And," Vincent adds brightly. "Just because you're gay doesn't mean you're going to bone your friends. Bros before homos or whatever." "He didn't say he was gay, dipshit." August flicks his arm to the side like he wants to smack Vincent across the shoulder, except the alcohol has impaired his sense of the distance between them and he just looks like he's flailing. To Nils, he adds, "Wait. Did you?" Nils shrugs. He's been shrugging a lot. "I'm not really looking for a boyfriend." "If you were," says August. "It uh. It wouldn't be a big deal to us." "Yeah," says Vincent. "We'd be chill." Somehow, August and Vincent's assurances of no big deal feel different than Marcus's. Even if August is gazing at the window and Vincent is staring down at his vodka mug and therefore neither of them is making eye contact with Nils right now. Their declarations are hesitant, awkward—but unrehearsed, and weirdly sincere? It makes Nils wonder, with a quickening pulse, what would happen if he liked a guy enough to want to introduce him to them. He's not even the romantic sort. That was true even before he got here. But maybe if August and Vincent are saying… well. "Gotta be honest," Nils begins, not quite feeling buzzed enough to make such a confession, but what the hell. "I hooked up with Marcus because I knew he wasn't going to be a boyfriend. I should have known he wouldn't understand that, though." "He isn't one of us," August agrees, and Nils fights to keep the grin off his face because that means Nils is part of us.

Oh the many complicated layers of identity these boys have.

And now I’m off to the market again. Might write some female characters later today instead because it is time.

[runekeepershymnal]

“Two questions,” Nanami said tersely as they made their way out of his building and onto the street.

“Shoot,” Gojo replied, trying to fight down the vague panic about his side of the binding vow.

“One,” Nanami said, tone unchanged, “what are you staring at? And two: Why am I leading us when you haven’t told me where we’re going?”

Gojo swallowed hard.

“Well,” he hedged. Nanami stopped in his tracks and turned on him, snatching the sunglasses from his face.

“Lie to me and I go right back upstairs and back to bed.”

Gojo felt his eyelids crinkle with tension despite his best efforts as a beam of sunlight from between two buildings lanced over Nanami’s head and right into Gojo’s sensitive eyes.

“One,” Gojo answered, raising his hand to try to hide from the light Nanami didn’t block, “I was staring at your ass. I don’t suppose you checked the back in the mirror when you were trying those pants on, but I’m a little afraid that someone’s going to see it and run their car off the road. Two: I was too distracted by your ass to think about what we’re supposed to be going to do. Three, not that you asked, but yes, the sun is very bright and my eyes fucking hurt, so please give me back my sunglasses.”

A scowl, then a deeper one, and then a very slight softening around the mouth as Nanami returned his glasses. Gojo put them back on silently.

“Better?” Nanami asked.

“Yes,” Gojo answered. Through the darker lenses, he could now appreciate the way the sun filtered through Nanami’s backlit hair. Nanami, in turn, took off his hoodie and tied it around his waist, censoring himself.

“Also better?” he asked again. Gojo shrugged.

“Depends on your definition of ‘better.’”

“Less distracting?”

Nanami sighed as Gojo remained silent.

“What?!” Gojo whined. “Your top half is also fantastic.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, but Gojo thought he might've been blushing.

“It is absurdly hot out,” Nanami finally said through gritted teeth, apparently oblivious to the other pedestrians straining their necks to look at the very tall, built blond man. Slow motion whiplash.

“So you're just going to have to cope."

[redo-rewind-if]

Redacting most of the second paragraph because it's objectively funnier that way.

[indighostoast]

windmill.

He looks on. 

There were other things out there, besides that black-and-white home. Other places he could be that didn’t have him being thrown around and sparring all the time. 

And he was staring at a house; something that he hadn’t seen before yet. 

As Orange presented him with the block. 

It had color. A house with color and little paintings on the side. 

And wood. It was made of wood. 

He jumps, in excitement. lifting it up so high like a treasure to be held. 

He should try it out! Something special! 

And he bolts away before Orange can reach out for him.

Something! Something he can do! 

And he builds. And builds. 

He didn’t have any plan, in particular, the blocks were placed down automatically, painting a picture that he already had planned out. 

Then it was done, and he jumped down and watched, admiring the result despite the blocky feeling it reflected. 

A windmill. 

Built at seemingly lightning speed. 

And sure, there were some things he could’ve done better, and he knew that. The back of his mind nudging him to change. 

Still, he dashes back like an excited child, gesturing for Orange to come see it.

With his hands on his hips, and watching it turn, around and around.

Orange looks on in awe, as they step down the stairway.

(Something they like! Something he might be good at!) 

“It’s amazing.” They remarked. 

Amazing. 

Amazing. 

It was Amazing. 

They were patting him on the back, too. 

And elated, he held the block up again, pumping his arms up and pointing. 

And he’s still in a daze, shaking Orange’s hand, again, like the first time they met. 

It would be embarrassing if they knew how much it made him want to soar. 

See, they've already changed his life. 

He had wanted to make something else too, something better than that;  before Blue had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere, snatching it from him to plant crops and trees. 

He hopped onto his own creation, leaning against cobblestone as Yellow made a beacon, with stained glass. 

Orange’s words continued to echo and replay in his mind. Again and again.

Amazing. Amazing. 

That’s what he it was. 

He didn't forget. Even after the whole incident with Red. Even after all this time.

Amazing.

[landinrris]

A snippet! Now that I'm finally editing the Witch! AU, I wanted to share a bit of Lando and Carlos meeting properly for the first time. The events as they happen in this 1.1k don't really spoil anything plot-wise. I humbly present, Lando as a witchy shop owner and Carlos as a human tourist stumbling into Lando's shop while on vacation for the second day in a row.

Around ten, Lando looks up as the motion detector chimes and almost chokes on the air he’s breathing. Because Sober Guy is there. Standing in front of him. A hesitant yet hopeful expression on his face if Lando didn’t know better.

He can’t hope for that.

It takes a lot of Lando’s Professional Adult ability to smile normally and greet him. “Oh, hi. Is there something I can help you find?” That’s a normal, professional response, right?

Sober Guy’s smile morphs into something more relaxed— Lando has to be dreaming. There’s no way this is real life.

Unlike yesterday, he isn’t dressed strictly for the beach, but rather in something much worse, in Lando’s humble opinion. No, today, Sober Guy has on a pair of running shorts that ride up a bit higher on one of his thighs and a workout shirt that’s damp to match his hair. He has running shoes on as well, proof that he’s decided to stop back into Lando’s shop along his morning run for whatever reason.

Lando wants to scream at him, ‘You came to the beach and you brought workout clothes?’ He doesn’t, but he could. It would be so easy to.

“Oh, uh no, I’m not here for anything specific you sell.”

“No? Is there something else then?” Lando had thought he’d seemed normal enough in the few minutes they’d more or less interacted yesterday— certainly not one to come and stand in the middle of a shop and stare. Maybe George and Oscar had been right after all.

Sober Guy rubs a hand over the back of his neck and steps closer to the counter. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Carlos, I was in yesterday with a group of people. They were a bit drunk. I just wanted to apologize for them again. Make sure you knew we weren’t just another group of annoying tourists.”

It’s a silly thing to say the world shifts upon learning Sober Guy’s name. Carlos. It’s the perfect name for him. Lando suddenly feels like he can breathe easier, like he’s just cleaned his glasses for the first time in too long.

Lando thinks he only misses a beat before responding. “Yeah, I remember. I’m Lando, nice to meet you, Carlos. Your friends were fine, honestly. I’ve dealt with far worse. They had you looking out for them. Someone had to be better at holding their alcohol,” he tacks on, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t watching Carlos too closely. Carlos probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing Lando thought about him all afternoon and night.

Carlos just smiles. “Ah no, I wasn’t drinking, actually. Designated sober person and all that.”

“I guess that would explain how you’re up without them exercising. I’d ask if you’re sure you’re not a local, since who the hell goes on holiday and exercises— no, no, runs— but you’re down here, so I guess that answers that.” Lando allows some of his normal snark to come out, desperate to keep Carlos standing in front of him for even a few minutes longer.

He takes it as a positive sign when the smile on Carlos’ face morphs from something polite to properly amused— like Lando joking with him puts them on a more level playing field. “What, you don’t like to run? But it’s so great— feel the air in your lungs, the breeze in your hair. You wake up early enough and then you have the whole day in front of you.”

The thrill that sings through Lando’s body is pathetic. “More like burning fire in your lungs, sweat dripping into your eyes, and your calves on fire.”

Carlos actually laughs at him, and Lando has to hold himself back from actively preening. “Do you not get a lot of runners who come through here? Maybe they are clearly using a better running area that I should know about.” Lando swears there’s a hidden ‘for next time’ that goes unsaid but can’t figure out why it would be there.

“If only ‘cause all the people I know who live here use the trails in the parks that are around here a lot more. Run into fewer tourists that way. I guess if you’re staying down here though, it doesn’t make as much sense to go all the way out to them.”

“Yeah, we’re just here at the Harbor. It’s nice even if I think some of the amenities are wasted on me for such a short time. The girls like them though, so it could be worse.”

“Are you like the fifth wheel on this trip or something?” Lando doesn’t necessarily mean to blurt out that he’d been watching them that closely, but the words leave his mouth anyway, lulled into a false sense of security by their ease.

Sure enough, Carlos’ eyes go wide, a laugh at least close behind.

Before he can speak, Lando hurries to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to like, call you out or anything. I just noticed that it didn’t seem like you had a girlfriend or anything. Unless the others weren’t also together. Talk about just assuming.” Lando’s about to magic his own fucking mouth closed so he’ll stop talking even if Carlos doesn’t look mortified.

“No, no, you’re right. You just took me off guard a bit. I have been their fifth wheel for a bit of an embarrassingly long time, I’m afraid. But I don’t mind. It gives me more time to myself.”

If they knew each other better, Lando might reply with something like, ‘forcing yourself to run, even in the May mornings, is not proper time to yourself.’ But Lando is capable of not saying everything that comes to his mind, so he settles on something more mundane. “Oh, well that’s good, I suppose. Hopefully, they’re not too irritating and in your face about it while you’re here.”

Carlos goes to open his mouth when his watch lights up with an incoming phone call that must also vibrate against his wrist by how he startles and turns his wrist to look. Lando can’t read the caller id from here, but he figures there are only so many people it could probably be on a Sunday morning.

“And that would be my friends wondering where I am.” Carlos sighs like it’s the worst possible outcome— a reaction Lando tries and fails not to attribute to himself as the reason. “I should probably go. It was really nice to properly meet you, Lando. Good luck with everything.”

Lando tries to keep the melancholy out of his voice. This will probably be the last time he sees Carlos, and it’s worse now that he actually has a name to his face. “Yeah, you too. Try not to run into a car or anything. They’re not really used to people running voluntarily around here.”

Carlos gives him one last bright laugh that turns Lando’s insides to jelly, and then he’s gone.

[amethystpath-writes]

Bread and Eggs

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

It started with the ringing of Villain’s phone. He wasn’t surprised to see Hero’s name pop up. He admired the too-small circle with her picture on it. It was impossible to tell by looking at the emblem, but Villain knew it was a picture from their first date.

To think it had been five years ago...

Villain’s picture on Hero’s phone had been a more recent photo, one from their engagement. An image of him kneeling with the classic black velvety case. It was warm the day of their engagement- Villain didn’t dare propose on a cold day; it would have led to an obvious refusal.

He used to joke that warmth was the only reason Hero even liked him. “You scorn me constantly,” Villain would tease. “You only like me because of the heat I so generously produce.”

“As if you have any control over it! You can’t help that you’re so warm, but it is definitely a plus,” she would ultimately agree.

Now, they were married- and, oh, hadn’t it been a dream? Looking for homes, buying a home, getting groceries, coming home to one another, holding each other at the end of the day. It was all Villain wanted in life, and for so long, it seemed impossible. Yet, here they were; her joyful face was beaming at his under the name ‘Love of my life’.

Answering the phone, Villain jokingly began, “Yes, honey, I remembered to get the bread and eggs.”

The voice that answered wasn’t Hero’s.

***

[normalpeoplethiings]

wilhelm defender for life‼️‼️

[aparticularbandit]

Just A Jump To The Left (I)

Summary: When Haruhi grabs the collar of her shirt and tugs her backward, Junko expects it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt when the back of her head bangs against the edge of Haruhi’s desk, doesn’t mean she doesn’t still wince with the pain of it. She glances up, blinking, and meets Haruhi’s golden honey eyes with a grin. “We’re gonna start a club,” she whispers, mouth moving a fragment of a second before Haruhi’s, so it sounds almost like an echo but not quite.

“We’re gonna start a—” For a moment, Haruhi’s enthusiasm, her excitement, falters. Her brow furrows again. “What did you say?”

OR: Kyon's role is sabotaged by none other than one (1) Junko Enoshima. This...probably won't end well.

Brought to you by a discussion @tobiasdrake and I had about what it would look like if Junko and Haruhi ever met.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Ryoko hasn’t done anything with her hair yet.

Chunks of it still hold its natural blood red sheen, but streaks of it from her scalp all the way through to their tips have transformed to a pearlescent white.  She can’t say exactly when it happened; somewhere between the moment she fled her sister’s massacre of assassins (at her sister’s insistence) and the moment she found Yasuke in the little apartment where he’d been holed up since transferring to his new middle school (to intern at the nearby hospital, despite his age) – somewhere in that space of time, it had happened.  Yasuke didn’t comment on it the first moment he saw her, but he did shortly after, and she’d run her fingers through it, all grease-spattered and dirty, and wondered how he’d seen the white underneath all of its grime in the first place.

Eventually, she’ll have to decide what to do with it; whether she’ll return it to its blood red or bleach it all white or play around with something that is neither at all, she’ll need to do something.

(Not the red.  If not for the white streaks, it would look just like the blood she’d seen around the—)

((When she remembers all of that, she heaves, vomits.  She told Yasuke once – just once – and they’ve never discussed it since. Even then, she didn’t give him any specifics, just enough for him to understand why she is here.  Why she can’t go back.))

She hasn’t started attending middle school yet, not while she’s still recovering from everything, not when she doesn’t even have hair with one consistent color yet; she’d be bullied ceaselessly for that, and she’s in no condition to be bullied (she’ll snap, she’ll hurt someone the way that Mukie—), and Yasuke is so busy during the day with middle school and his hospital internship that the only time they can spend together is after dark.  He bikes to school, bikes to the hospital, because that means he loses less time to sleep (because that means he loses less time with her), but every now and again, as she slowly but surely gets better, she walks to the hospital to see him – to walk back with him, if she doesn’t sit on the back of the bike as he takes them back.  Sometimes they walk the streets, silent, and it’s clear that bothers him.  She’s always been the talkative one.  She just doesn’t have the words anymore.

Ryoko walks through the streets in a white gown, barefoot, with her hair streaked red and white, and people avoid her.

They probably think she’s a ghost.  That’s fine.

Yasuke bikes them back, and people avoid both of them.  That’s fine, too.

Ryoko holds onto both sides of the rack Yasuke’s tied to the back of his bike and leans her head back and looks at the stars.  They seem to stay in place as he bikes them back, and she reaches one hand up and out, as though she could almost—

The bike hits a pebble, something so infinitesimally small Yasuke couldn’t have known to avoid it, and the bike jumps, and Yasuke stays on, and Ryoko, with only one hand loose on the rack, tumbles off.  Her knee stings, as does the palm of the hand she’d pushed out to break her fall.  The skin of both has been scraped clean off.  She’s bleeding.  The same color as her hair.  The same color as—

To the left of her, something metallic jangles.

Ryoko breathes (had she not been breathing before?  maybe not) and looks up to see a girl of roughly her age with long brown hair and a ribbon holding it back trying to climb over some sort of metal entry gate.  She blinks twice – makes sure she isn’t seeing anything, and she isn’t because the girl is still there – and shouts out, “H-hey!”

The girl glares at her.  “Hey what.”

It’s not a question.  It should be a question, probably, but it’s not.

“What are you….”  Ryoko struggles with words.  She’s never struggled with words before.  “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” the girl calls back, still glaring at her, pert nose upturned.

Ryoko glances at the sidewalk around her, then slowly pushes herself up as Yasuke’s bike skids to a stop behind her.  “I fell,” she says.  She brushes the dirt and rocks from her skin, sees the blood bubbling and ebbing up through her broken skin, and her eyes begin to glaze over.

“Well, I’m going to break into the school!” the girl halfway over the gate says.  “And you’re going to help me!”

This has nothing to do with me.

The breeze lifts the edge of Ryoko’s white gown and sends it pushing back and forth against her ankles.  Yasuke’s saying something – barking it out at the girl whose name she still doesn’t know – and Ryoko’s just seeing the spot at her knee where the white gown is growing stained with her blood.

This has nothing to do with me.

Ryoko shivers as the breeze brushes cold against her bare arms, and she starts towards the gate, to the girl halfway over it.  Yasuke grabs her wrist, but she shakes his hand off.  “What are we doing?”

The other girl beams.

“You’ll see when we get to the other side!”

~

Ryoko doesn’t exactly collapse on the other side of the gate, but she hits her bloody knee when she lands and then can only hobble where the girl wants her to run.

The girl gives her a sour expression, lips a downturned V, and then glares up at Yasuke as he jumps over the gate with them.  “Fine,” the girl says, “you’ll do it then.”

“Do what?”

Which is how Ryoko ends up sitting on the bleachers with her arms resting on her knees, her hand wrapped in a fresh bandage, her right knee wrapped in another one, while the girl shouts out directions to a Yasuke who keeps glaring at her and then looking over at Ryoko, who is too tired to tell him to stop.

Tired.

That’s a funny word, honestly.

Tired.  Exhausted.  Weary.  Consumed.

If she’s honest, Ryoko hasn’t felt like herself since Mukie abandoned her, since Mukie told her to run.  She feels like something else – like someone else – like she’s in the middle of some great and terrible becoming.  Eventually, the girl sits down next to her, still barking directions at Yasuke occasionally, and without a second thought, Ryoko leans her head against the girl’s shoulder.

The girl flinches.  “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Ryoko quips back, voice soft with excessive weariness, as she glances up with big red eyes to meet the girl’s golden brown ones.

The girl gestures with one hand to Yasuke and whatever he’s writing with the chalk along the ground.  “Can’t you tell?”

Ryoko sighs.  She doesn’t have the dataset for this.  She doesn’t want to look for this.  But the girl asks, and so she does.  “You’re writing a message,” she says, voice growing monotone, “to anyone who can see it and understand what it says.  You’re saying, I’m here.  To aliens, to time-travelers, to espers, to sliders, to Santa Claus himself, if he’s out and about on a holiday that isn’t his.”  She doesn’t blink.  “As if that sort of thing would draw any of them to you.”

“You can read that?”  The girl’s eyes narrow, and her face gets super close to Ryoko’s.  She smells a bit.  Sweat, mostly.  Probably hasn’t brushed her teeth.  “Are you an alien?”

“No,” Ryoko says calmly.  “I’m a ghost.”

The girl presses the flat of her hand against Ryoko’s bandaged knee and scowls when Ryoko winces.  “Ghosts don’t bleed.”  Then she crosses her arms and slumps back down, glaring out at Yasuke.  She shouts another direction at him – Ryoko doesn’t care, so no matter how loud the girl gets, she doesn’t pay her any attention – and then gives Ryoko another suspicious look.  “How do you know that won’t work?”

Ryoko rolls her eyes.

(This isn’t like her.  She cares, usually.  She listens.  Even when Mukie used to go off on all of her soldier mercenary military assassin research and interests.  Even when Mukie spent hours correcting her posture because she was holding her stick sword wrong.  But this….

This has nothing to do with her.  Even if she’s sitting right here.  Even if she decided to break into the school with this stranger.  It still has nothing to do with her.

So why is she here?)

“If all those creatures are here and in hiding, a message like that isn’t going to get them out.”

“But it’s in their own language and everything!”

“Are you sure?” Ryoko asks, glancing out over the incomplete message, its chalk inscription trying to gleam in the moonlight and failing.  “Or did you just decide it was their language without any real proof?”  She leans against the other girl again.  It’s overly familiar, sure, but it’s comfortable.  And she’s so tired.  “If I were an alien, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

The girl frowns.  “Even if I guessed?”

“Even if you guessed.”

The girl barks out another instruction at Yasuke, but it’s not as enthusiastic as it was before.  Half-hearted.  “You really don’t think this will work?”

Ryoko shrugs.  “It might.  There are probably stupid aliens just like there are stupid people.”  (She is not like this.  She doesn’t call people stupid!)  She leans a little more heavily against her.  She’s warm, which really just means that Ryoko is cold.  “But do you really want a stupid alien?  Or do you want a smart one?”

“Any alien!” the girl proclaims, loud, enthusiastic, all that energy coming back all at once.  It’s endless, maybe, her enthusiasm for this.

It makes Ryoko feel even more tired.

(She was like this once.)

“People are all just boring and normal,” the girl continues without hesitation, "and aliens, time travelers, espers, sliders – all of them are infinitely better than people!”  She flashes Ryoko a grin.  “That means you, too, Ghost Girl.”

Ryoko blinks twice and then looks away.  (She’s too bright, this girl.  She’ll blind her with that warmth.)  “At least you’re looking for them,” she murmurs.  “You can’t find one if you aren’t looking.”  She runs her forefinger along the inseam of her thumb.  “Maybe I should write a message for them.”

The girl shoves her.  “Don’t steal my idea!”

“I won’t.”  Ryoko chuckles – small, broken – as she holds up her bandaged hand, used again to catch herself, twinging with pain.  “I’d have to break into another school first, and that….”  She sighs and stares out over the now quite marked up field in front of them.  “I’m too tired.  But you’ll let me know if yours succeeds, right?  Make all the papers?”

The girl just grins at her.

~

It’s as they’re leaving the school, as Ryoko carefully situates herself on the back of Yasuke’s bike, that the other girl pauses in her brisk walk in the opposite direction.  Then she turns, hands propped on her hips, and yells, “What’s your name?”

Yasuke doesn’t even turn back, answering before Ryoko has a chance to do so, “What do you need that for?”

“So I can tell you if they contact me!  Obviously.”

Ryoko hops off the back of Yasuke’s bike.  The action causes her knee to twinge again, but she doesn’t wince as she hobbles over to the other girl.  “Mitsuki,” she says, voice gentle.  Standing next to her, she realizes that she’s nearly the same height as the other girl.  How odd.  Someone so bright seemed like she would be huge.  Huh.  Still, she meets the girl’s honey brown eyes as she repeats, “Matsuda Mitsuki.”

The girl looks her over, and then instead of offering her own name, she asks, “What middle school are you at?”

This time, Ryoko doesn’t have a lie ready.  Even if she did, something tells her it would be far better to keep that information to herself.  There are people she doesn’t want to find her right now, after all, and while it isn’t likely this girl has contacts with any of them, it isn’t an impossibility.  So instead, she takes one of the girl’s hands in her bandaged one and holds it up until they’re flat against each other.  “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“Ew,” the girl says, lips pursing, but she doesn’t take her hand away.  “Why’re you bringing that up?”

“Well, think of it like this.  If I don’t tell you and we see each other again, then it’s fate, right?”  This time, when she meets the girl’s eyes, Ryoko almost feels taller than her, but not by much.  She’s growing, finally.  Maybe she’ll be as tall as Mukie the next time she sees her.  If she ever sees her again.  “Like the cosmos says we’re supposed to be friends, or something like that.  And if not—”  She winks.  “Well, we’ll find those time travelers, and we’ll fix it, won’t we?”

The girl holds her hand still, flat against Ryoko’s.  “If I find a time traveler, I’m not going to waste my time finding you.”

“Fate, then.”  Ryoko tucks her thumb around the other girl’s hand.  “Like a good story with a clandestine meeting.”

“Hm.”

But despite the noncommittal sound, the girl tucks her thumb around Ryoko’s hand just the same.

There are no red strings when they leave.

That’s probably for the best. Ryoko hates red, anyway.

[bluedalahorse]

sunday snippet #2: continuing the canon divergence experiment

You also want some first year August and third year Erik, don’t you? Obviously you do.

Not going to indent this one because it’s longer.

Content note for many ideas relevant to August and Erik at this age: toxic masculinity, misogyny, bullying, drug use, traumatic grief, and disordered eating and exercising.

—

August is working out when Erik finds him in the gym. The advantage of spending so much time at the rowing machine—beyond building up muscle mass, not that August has built up enough yet, he has to keep going—is that it provides an excuse for the pain and the exhaustion. It numbs out the numbness, at least for a time.

Erik is clapping and making celebratory flexing gestures at August as he crosses the room. He’s been doing that more often since their recent rowing victory against Sprucewood. August glances sideways at the mirror, and ends up pinching at the skin of his stomach.

“I’ve got updates,” interrupts Erik, when they are standing close enough together to converse in low voices. “Your brothers are getting together tonight.”

“Tonight?” says August, turning away from his reflection. “Really?” 

Tonight is cursed. Tonight has the warped gravity of a black hole. Maybe that makes it a good night to be out with the Society, where someone might take pity on him and slip him a halfway decent pill for later.

Workouts can only do so much, after all.

“It’s Friday.” Erik shrugs. “I don’t recall anything urgent on your schedule. Unless you’ve got a hot date? Maybe with your hand?”

The jerking off gesture is expected, but it still makes August’s face burn.

“Erik,” he splutters. “Fucking—”

The usual retorts get stuck in August’s throat. It’s easier to have a comeback, with other guys. You just say no, with your mom and the whole room dissolves into laughs and rowdy chanting. But Erik’s mother is Her Majesty Queen Kristina of Sweden, and August’s cousin once removed. She is the living symbol of the traditions August’s ancestors have defended and died for. The idea of invoking her name in a your mom comeback makes August’s stomach twist like he’s about to throw up. Pappa would be furious with him for something like that.

“Relax.” Erik reaches out and ruffles August’s hair. “You know I fuck around with Wille the same way. If you do have a date, you can say so.”

“It’s just…” August pulls his shirt back on, avoiding both Erik’s gaze and the mirror. “Tonight…”

“I know.” And then Erik steps around so his eyes meet August’s, and his expression softens into something more solemn, and it’s obvious that he does know what tonight is. What it’s the one-year anniversary of this weekend.

“Look, we don’t want you to be alone tonight, okay?” says Erik. He rests his hand on August’s shoulder. “We want you to be with us. You’re family.”

“Okay,” says August. “Thank you.”

Erik’s hand remains on his shoulder. His palm is warm, and he gives August a squeeze. A question needles August in the chest: if he moved closer, would Erik hug him? He closes his eyes and pictures it, and realizes he wants Erik to. He hates that he wants Erik to hug him, but he’s never had a brother before and Erik can be an asshole to him but then Erik also says he’s the same way to Wilhelm and he calls August family and maybe August is too sensitive about stuff after all and it’s.. it’s confusing.

August says nothing. He does not move closer. Erik’s shoulder doesn’t feel warm anymore, but it doesn’t feel cold, either.

“Besides,” Erik adds to the silence. “No one else mixes the drinks as well as you do.”

Of course they don’t. August has been mixing drinks for people since his age was a single digit. If he closes his eyes he can still hear the ring of his pappa’s crystal when liquid hits the bottom of the glass.

“Vincent mixes them too fucking sweet,” August says, to shake the memory away. 

“So girly of him.” Erik laughs. 

After a moment, August laughs too. That’s hardly throwing Vincent under the bus, since Vincent was the one who recently blabbed to the third years about how August still hasn’t had sex with anyone. With all the crap August has been getting about that from Erik and the others, he’s within his rights to say a lot worse about Vincent.

Erik claps August on the back. “One more thing. We’re low on gin. I don’t care, but Rasmus will complain. Can you arrange for more before this evening?”

It’s a command more than it’s a question. August nods. He’ll text Nils, who has a guy he knows in town for whatever reason, and they’ll transfer money around until the gin arrives at Hillerska without incident.

As August gathers up his things and prepares to head back to his dorm, he notices that Erik is grinning at his phone with an unusual intensity. He’d wonder if Erik’s getting more texts from the girl who had to sign the NDA, except Erik announced at dinner last week that he wasn’t into her anymore. Too pick-me, Erik said. You need a girl to be the right amount of desperate for you. Otherwise she’s high maintenance.

“Excellent,” Erik is saying, not to August, as he types out a text. “Perfect.”

“What’s perfect?” August asks.

“Later,” Erik replies with a wink. “You’ll thank us.”

August would feel nervous, if he could feel anything other than grief and self-loathing right now.

[its-all-papaya]

🌤️ 😁

from here

🌤️ Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

i've shared loads of stuff from dad lando, including most of my favorite dialogue (osc and lando first meeting.... nortrell golf date.....) and robot osc has only one line of dialogue written rn. so uh. meet the piastris? this wip distracts me like fucking nothing else, i swear. every time i go to lock in on dad lando this aus '24 wip looks at me like 0.0 and i'm forced to read it over without even really adding anything. ANYWAY. favorite dialogue from meet the piastris:

“To Monaco?” Oscar crosses the line to begin the final lap. “Yeah,” Lando says, “If you want. For a few days, or something.” Oscar’s quiet must last a second too long for Lando’s liking, because he adds, “You could stay with me,” without being prompted. Oscar’s been in Lando’s apartment before when he’s been around the principality, but he’s never stayed with Lando. Their shoulders bump again as Oscar makes the turn to the final straight. “Yeah,” he agrees finally, “that sounds good, then. Could probably do that.” “Mint,” Lando’s bright as he picks up his phone to tap out another message. On screen, Oscar finishes P1. When he sets the controller aside and surveys the room, Hattie’s looking at him with a stupid smirk on her face. “It’s a date,” she says. Oscar throws a pillow at her. He hopes the commotion distracts Lando from the way he’s blushing.

[rosyandraw]

A snippet of A/D/L 3sum pls !!!!

Hey my lovely!

I can absolutely give you this. I have a secret love of those boys sharing Damen so here

NSFW so be warned:

"That's it, just relax, let Damen's clever fingers open you up," Auguste said, leaning up on one elbow, fingers idly circling Laurent's sternum.

Laurent whimpered, turned his head in the opposite direction to mouth at the sheets "s'good," he said

Auguste just chuckled, tugging Laurent's face back "you like his fingers inside you?"

Laurent sucked in a breath, nodding, biting his lip as Damen continued to stroke his fingers in and out of him.

Damen was mesmerised, eyes darting down, still surprised to find himself between the spread of Laurent’s thighs. More surprised still when he glanced up, at the two pale heads bent together, whispering as though in confession. And the pretty picture they made, a tangle of limbs and miles of skin that Damen wanted to taste. The two of them together were beyond striking. He hadn’t expected the reaction but he should have. He knew better than that by now.

“Laurent you’re going to fucking love his cock,” Auguste said

The words were breathed as Laurent’s hips flexed, a soft sound coming from him, head tipping back to expose the flushing column of his pale throat.

“It’s so thick, he’s going to split you open and he’ll be so fucking deep in you that you'll never feel right again unless you’ve got him inside,”

Laurent moaned then, eyes flying open, meeting Damen’s transfixed gaze. Damen was torn between watching Laurent’s face and watching his fingers split him open, the soft pinkened skin stretching to accommodate him; a new strain that would definitely burn. Yet Laurent did nothing but whimper. It was possibly the most erotic sight he had ever seen; Laurent, aloof, untouched, and unobtainable, coming undone on Damen’s fingers whilst his hair was stroked back from his face by hands Damen well knew the shape of.

“Fuck you’re going to love it, you’re desperate for him, aren’t you? Look at you,” Auguste said in an approving hum from Laurent's side.

Laurent just nodded, panting, hands clenched in the sheets and face flushed pink, alive and wrecked and utterly fucking beautiful; like some kind of dream. Laurent nodded again, eyes on Damen, hips shifting with the deep probe of Damen’s fingers inside him where he was tight and hot.

“He’s going to be such a fucking whore for you Damen,”