#“you mean its not safe for them at home”

[0gl1tch0]

Nothing wakes a young lady up quite like a hammer.

“Good! You’re not completely dead. Can you repeat what I just said?”

My brain was as foggy as the morning, so it took me a few moments to really grasp the question. Today was my first day as an apprentice blacksmith, working under master craftsman Friedrich. He had just thrown a hammer at my face, the head of which was larger than my fist. While one face of the hammer was flat, the other end was sharp, and had I dropped the thing I might have lost my toes.

When Friedrich said “you’re not completely dead”, he was commenting on how tired I am.

Now to remember the important thing he’d said before.

“Always wear gloves when you touch metal. You cannot always tell how hot it is”.

“Very good!” said Friedrich. “Metal can still be hot when it isn’t glowing, and with the forge going, it can be difficult to feel the heat of the piece until you’ve grabbed it.”

I nodded solemnly. Friedrich just stared at me.

“You didn’t say anything more after that. Next you threw the hammer at me.”

“Go put gloves on!” shouted Friedrich.

He threw his arms in the air and mumbled in a foreign language. I bolted for the cabinet and put on a rough, gigantic pair.

“Right, I know you’re tired,” Friedrich said. “Traveling is hard. When did you arrive?”

“Last night,” I answered.

“Traveling is hard and you’ve just arrived last night. Safety is the most important thing. If you get hurt it all stops. I pride myself of keeping people safe, myself included. At any time any customer can have me put on my own mail and have a hhhwhack at me.”

I laughed at how hard he said the “H”.

“I mean it! If you aren’t as safety minded as I am you’ll never make it, and I’ll have to send you home. You’re not the first youngster to walk into my shop and try and learn the craft.”

“Do they ever take you up on it?”

“Hitting me with my own armor on? They do. I made the things armor myself, and his shield. He demanded it be strong enough to withstand the claw of a dragon, forged in fires so hot the shield would withstand its breath.”

“And he had you test it? With it on?”

“Aye, he did”

“Well he can’t have hired a dragon to have a go at you. Right?”

Friedrich gave grin.

“C’mon, we’ve work to do. Grab some materials from the back and bring them out here. I’ll also have you take this bucket and fill it up with water. We don’t have to drink it, but it needs to be clean.”

“Master, you can’t leave it off like that. How’d you test the armor?”

“Stick around, work hard, learn well, and I’ll show you. We got a new order today from the general, and it came with a bit of news.”

Friedrich looked at me with wild eyes. The flames of his passion burned brighter than the forge. This was a man who thought insane things and willed them into the world.

“In about 15 years we’ll be making another set. King’s got a son.”

You are a blacksmith, renowned not for your weapons, but for your armor and shields. One day, the King and his Royal Guards step foot into your workshop. He hands you a bag full of golden coins and gives you only one command. “Make me a shield that not a Dragon’s claws nor breath could pierce.”

[anadiasmount]

fireplace talks - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: after a eventful holiday dinner, your boyfriend shares his most devoted love language with you by the fireplace.

wc: 1.2k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: EEEWKK okay i literally love this idk why, it’s just so fluffy and warm, ughh… i love the holidays and bf! jude has a special place in mi corazon!! 🤍🤍

“i want to be as close as possible,” jude frowned as he fixed his position, his forehead resting on your neck as his cheek squished against your skin, feeling his heavy sigh as he finally found that spot. his arm was around you as he played with the tiny “j” necklace on you. you felt and heard his soft breaths as a silent air passed.

you both had decided to host a small holiday party in your home, for everyone to celebrate and get together. your friends, some of his teammates, and their family, it was a full house. but it was just those dinners you dreamed of as a kid, no drama just full-on getting along, with a holiday spirit.

what you most looked forward to was the fireplace to which you hadn’t used yet and waited off till tonight's dinner. it had been a funny but difficult task to do, jude struggling with the wood and its attempt to turn it on, hearing small groans and curses from time to time, when in reality all it needed was a bit of gas and old newspaper.

jude had helped you move around furniture and the dining table to fit everyone setting the table cover and its runner, in the kitchen he also helped you with slicing fruit and veggies and stirred the pots. his old rock music played in the back, grabbing you from time to time to dance and spin you as he sang.

yet during the dinner, jude and you were strangers. not intentionally, but you both tended to ensure everyone you loved and cared about felt comfortable and not left out. he did assist with setting the table with the food and extra plates. you greeted everyone as you finished a spicy sauce for the meal, took pictures, and captured core memories.

the evening went from a loud chatter to quiet conversations while drinking some hot chocolate or tea. some of you were inside, or others outside as jude liked to show off the patio he had rebuilt and constructed after moving in. you could hear the tiny kids running as the played tag or hide and seek, or colored in the coloring books you bought for them.

but now it was just you and jude, after saying goodbyes jude had moved his white couch closer to the fireplace where he felt the warmth after purposely turning down the heater. “geez, why is it so cold?” you shivered as you ran your hands over your shoulders. “Don’t know, come here, its warm,” jude said as he showed you the set up of pillows and a huge comforter.

as much as jude loved to be a big spoon, he loved being a small spoon as well, which is why he felt most safe and warm like this on top of you. the room filled with the sound of wood burning and the smell of ashes as it fumed. “you tired?” jude asked, as you had stopped scratching the back of his neck.

“not one bit,” you laughed.

“thank you for everything you did for me and our guests today, i know how much work and dedication you put in for this to be perfect,” jude spoke as he looked up and saw your eyes glow with the fireplace. “it was such a perfect evening, and we both needed it.”

“we truly did, i’m just thankful everything turned out as planned. everyone loved the spritz cranberry drinks, and the cookies you baked, but shh, they don’t have to know they're store-bought,” you motioned with your finger against your lips. jude let out a small laugh and propped himself against your chest.

“what are you thinking now?” you rolled your eyes playfully.

“what do you mean? i'm just sitting up,” jude defended.

“uh uh, you've had this look since our guest arrived and you know me, and i have to know. so tell me,” you pressed, jude shaking his head as he grinned. “i’m just extra thankful for this christmas this year… last year we were barely getting to know each other and i almost fucked that up,” jude grimaced as he scratched his head awkwardly.

it was true! jude and you had slowly distanced yourself from each other after some small miscommunication and you almost ended things because you felt like he didn’t want you anymore. but jude didn’t give up, he made sure to tell and express just how much you meant to him, and since then you’ve been inseparable.

“this year, you’re mine finally, and i get to spend my favorite holiday with you, wrapped up like this,” jude snuggled back and tickled you, hearing your burst of laughter. “i’m serious, just makes me think, this is just the start of something that will last forever,” jude whispered. “i hope you know you’re it for me. there’s no one else i want in this world if it isn't you…”

“jude…”

“i know i may not always be here, but no matter where i am, i’m yours and you’re mine. you have no idea just how much you mean and have done for me, and i don’t know how i can ever repay that. but just know that my heart belongs to you, that i love you, and that i can’t for our future together,” jude declared, from the bottom of his heart, his voice laced with shakiness.

“judeee, why do you always get sentimental with me at this time of night,” you laugh as you feel your eyes sting, your chest warm and fuzzy. “because my love language is physical touch and words of affirmations or whatever the hell you call it,” jude says, kissing your jaw.

“that and many more, hmm,” you run your hand against his back. “you know i struggle putting my words and sorting out my feelings, and i'm still learning how to communicate them, but i’m with you or without you no matter what. you’ve brought out the best of me, make me feel like the luckiest girl, and knowing that i’m with you? i just know im safe and sound from the world... i love you,” you pout, giggling when jude kisses the inner corners of you mouth.

“hmm, you love me?” jude teases.

“no i don’t actually,” you shake your head, jude tickling your side. “okay! okay! i do, i do! i love you thisss much,” you show him your pinch fingers to where jude gives you a look. “that’s not enough,” jude says. “say it, say you love me or i’ll hide your candy stash,” he warns earning a gasp from you. “you wouldn’t….”

“oh i would…”

“iloveyou…” you say stammering and quickly, not liking how he was putting you in the spot. “uh uh, i didn’t hear that right…” jude taunted further, his fingers sliding up your side. “i… love… you,” you said it clearly, jude laughing as he propped himself up and gave you a kiss that had you weak in seconds. “i love you more…”

he was perfect. your life was perfect. tonight was perfect. and in this moment it was perfect.

[myownwholewildworld]

requiescat in pace (a "per aspera ad astra" drabble)

main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: marcus acacius x emperor's daughter!reader. summary: you learn of marcus' son's death. a/n: welp... yea. can what i say, i enjoy making these two suffer c: apologies for the brief passenger's lyrics references. i appreciate comments and reblogs, they make me happy knowing that people enjoy my writing <3 take care x warnings: 18+, mdni. angst (what a surprise). mentions of death. marcus says "my lady" and i think that should be a warning. let's just assume that this whole series is pure angst, alright? w/c: 2.1k

“Did you offer your condolences to General Acacius, filia mea (my daughter)?”

Your father’s question broke the trance you had sunk into, the bronze spoon falling from your trembling fingers onto the porcelain plate set in front of you.

Leaning back, you looked at your father as if he had spoken a different language. Surely you misheard him — your mind still numb with grief, unable to process anything since you received the news of your husband’s demise.

It had been three days and the gaping hole in your heart had only gotten bigger. Like an umbra lurking in the shadows, you had stayed in your shared bedroom, crying your sorrow onto Resius’ breastplate, hugging the last piece of him you would ever hold. You grieved for your love but also for the life you would never spend with him, for all those precious moments that would remain in your memory as what if’s gnawing at the confines of your mind.

But now, right now, your pain lessened for a second, your brain focusing on something else.

“What do you mean, Caesar?” you whispered, voice cracking in the last inflexion.

The Emperor eyed you from across the dining table, silence lingering and stretching in the space between you. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, the wait almost forcing you up to stand on your feet.

“General Acacius lost his heir at the battle of Sarmizegetusa. He has asked to return to Dacia to retrieve the body of his son and bring him back home for proper burial,” he explained with caution, watching your every expression.

Your heart had now climbed up your throat, the pulse wild in your eardrums. You hadn’t misheard, your father had said Acacius very clearly, dragging the word out.

Mind racing, you fidgeted with your hands on your lap, twisting them in despair as you tried to recall your conversation with him a few days ago. “He’s resting now,” he had said when you asked about Augustus.

Resting. You had assumed he meant that his son was back at his villa, resting from the extraneous physical toll a battle would take on the body. Not for one second had you considered that Marcus actually meant resting in peace.

You had been so blind, letting your own grief consume you, you had not noticed the tells in the General’s behaviour. The feeble smile, the downcast almost solemn expression, the stiffened nod he gave you, the brevity of his response. It all made sense now, and you couldn’t help but feel… selfish. So drowned in your sorrow, Acacius had kept it together so you could cry your loss in his embrace.

Your stomach churned at the thought — the General had no one left by his side. No wife and no son waiting for his return, not even his best friend. How would he have felt in the emptiness of his home with no one there to console him? You at least had your family and closest friends, who had checked on you from time to time to ensure you were safe.

Had someone checked on the General?

“May I take my leave, pater (father)?” you requested with your gaze averted, a sudden need to find General Acacius, your hands twisting uncontrollably.

You needed to know he was… okay. Alive? He had talked to someone at least, asked to go back to Dacia to get his only son back home. You could only imagine his heartbreak, the hell he must be going through. The thought of him dealing with all of it alone… it fractured a piece of your soul.

The Emperor watched you attentively, eyes lingering on the full plate in front of you. There was something about his wary demeanor that didn’t click right away — and right now you were too preoccupied with something else to be paying attention to politics.

“You may go, but tread carefully, filia mea,” was his veiled answer.

With no time to waste, you stood up and curtsied before disappearing from the dining hall.

Marcus’ body was controlled by another being — a non-sentient one. He got up, attended his duties to the Empire, paid a visit to the barracks in the outskirts to train with his army, and then got back to an empty home.

It all felt like a sick loop, one he could not break from. His feelings had deserted him, leaving him be a hollow carcass of who he once was. There was no joy, no incentive to even pretend there was.

It took him a couple of days to finally let the dam crack in the solace of his villa. It all came to be because of something as simple as Augustus’ toy gladius. The one that Marcus himself had forged for his son’s tenth birthday. Little Augustus had been so excited, he had almost hit his head against the edge of the dining table while running around wielding his new toy. That memory had resurfaced unexpectedly and the smile that came with it quickly mutated into a sad grimace.

He longed for something that that was safe and warm, but all he had was all that was gone. Marcus felt as helpless and as hopeless as a feather on the Tiber. And the river was wide, so much he was scared he wouldn’t make it to the other side. And what would he find on the opposite shore? Did he really want to cross?

Marcus couldn’t, at least not yet. He needed closure before he could carry on with his life, if that was even a possibility. Augustus belonged in the family’s mausoleum next to his mother, so they could both be laid to rest in peace together. With Dacia under the iron fist of the Romans, he could retrace his steps and get his heir back home.

His leave had been approved that same afternoon. In a hurry, he had packed the bare necessities he would need for the long trip and headed towards the barracks once more. In the stables his stallion was awaiting, all prepped by one of the ostlers.

He was ensuring that the saddle was properly on when a gentle voice called his name.

“General Acacius,” as soon as you spoke, he recognised your delicate accent.

Marcus turned around, his back bending immediately at your presence.

“My lady,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the straw splayed across the dirt on the floor.

What brought you here, he wondered. The horses belonging to Traianus’ family were kept elsewhere, away from the mediocrity of the reminders of war. This was no place for someone of noble birth like you. It reeked of the musky scents of nature to which he was immune now, but you sure weren’t.

Your hand found the way to his shoulder, a light tap to silently ask him to straighten out his posture. He obliged, his brown orbs showing his confusion at finding you here. And you seemed unbothered about the mess surrounding you.

“How may I be of service?” his question was a trained response, the only reason for you being here was that you required something of him.

Perhaps you needed to know how everything unfolded so you also got closure. Perhaps you required details, something more than just a “General Atticus perished at the mercy of a Dacian sword” — had he been too concise in his explanation, too General-y? Or perhaps you were after the reassurance of a life well lived with your husband, a reminder that there had been light amongst the darkness.

The Gods knew he felt that way sometimes too.

“That is not why I am here, General,” you hummed with a broken smile, your hand dropping off his shoulder like the last needle-like leaves clinging onto a toppling, decaying cypress after a wildfire.

Your admission took him aback, unsure now of what else you could need of him. What else would he have to give for Rome to appease the Emperor — was his heir not enough? But you weren’t your father; Resius would always say you were too kind of a soul, would only speak high praise of you. But was not that what a husband was supposed to say about his spouse, especially Traianus’ daughter?

So perhaps he was mistaken in that regard, although he couldn’t know. Marcus had interacted with you multiple times, in serious and more relaxed settings, but the barrier was always there — he was just a General you graced with your presence because of Resius. You participated in conversation, laughed at Resius’ and his jokes and offered words of wisdom to Augustus like the mother he never had.

But despite all of that, he didn’t really know you. Knew your persona, the way you portrayed yourself to the crowds, but it was fair to wonder how much of it was just a front.

That was, at least, until three sunsets ago, when you cried your loss with him — something he had not expected. How your façade tumbled the moment his perhaps-not-so-carefully-delivered words furrowed through your mind until they took root. How he tried to console you in spite of his own sorrow.

The crease between his brows accentuated slightly, a small tell of his confusion.

“I heard,” you only said, a whisper that made his skin crawl with anguish, his throat squeeze.

The softness of your eyes left no room for misinterpretation, an unmistakable mist in them. About your son’s death, was the bit you did not pronounce out loud.

His chest tightened as his gaze drifted down, catching a glimpse of your fidgety hands, twisting nervously.

Did you feel guilty? Was that the purpose of your unexpected visit?

“My son lived and died for the glory of Rome, Your Highness. Honourable to the end, he gladly gave his life for the Emperor and the cause. A warrior’s death, I couldn’t be any more proud of his sacrifice,” he attempted to put your mind at ease, tone steady repeating the words he had been saying every time someone approached him with empty condolences.

Your hands paused wriggling, your expression shadowed by his automatic reply.

“Oh, Marcus,” you whispered, taking a step forward but stopping yourself before you reached for his forearm. “You don’t need to— to pretend this is okay. It’s not,” your trembling fingers played with the golden bracelet adorning your wrist. “War is a disease, an ailment to mankind, to ourselves and our loved ones. I regret to know that you have given so much for Rome’s thirst. You shouldn’t have to. My father… he asks too much of his people,” you added, the mist in your eyes developing into a single tear falling off your bottom lashes. “Far too much.”

Pain stirred within him, lost for words he was. What you just said was a good outline of his own feelings — thoughts he couldn’t put into words, because they would sound treacherous. Did you really mean it?

“I… thank you, Domina mea. I appreciate your sentiment,” he accepted with a stiff nod, his voice raspier than usual. But he wouldn’t let emotion overcome him.

“I was informed you have taken leave to bring Augustus back home. I came to see if you would accept a few soldiers of my own personal guard to escort you,” you offered, your tone gentle and delicate.

Marcus was moved by your offer, one he didn’t expect. Were you worried for his safe return? That the journey back with his dead son in tow would break him, his resolution? Because he was worried too.

“I am touched, my lady, truly. But it’s not necessary. Some of my men will be accompanying me,” he assured you.

Marcus was lucky to have loyal fighting men under his banner. People he could blindly trust in battle, and outside of it.

“Please, send for me upon your return, General. I would like to attend Augustus’ wake. Unless you want it to be private, in which case I completely understand,” you almost stumbled with your own words towards the end, lips pursed with nervousness.

Resius was right. You were too kind of a soul, worrying for him when you had your own demons to deal with. The dull ache blanketing his heart lifted ever so slightly, your petition soothing and a reminder that he was not alone in grief. You would understand.

So Marcus nodded, his throat tighter.

“I will, Augusta (Imperial Princess),” a promise he would keep.

“Safe travels, General. May Salus watch over you.”

[topochicoslut]

everybody wants to rule the world: chapter one

fic synopsis: A young woman is sent on what is sure to be a suicide mission to spy on Ryomen Sukuna by a rival curse user who has heard rumors that the infamous King of Curses might have found the secret to true immortality pairing: heian era ryomen sukuna x fem!reader rating: 18+ ONLY!!!! (mature for now) word count: 8.8k+ lmfao fuck me

chapter warnings: some language, reader is kind of sort of a (huge fucking) klepto and doesn't feel bad about it, heavy angst (death of a parent due to illness), the briefest of mentions of someone getting handsy with reader but nothing intense or graphic, ummmm the overall looming threat of Sukuna's presence??? and the death and destruction that follows him wherever he goes??? probably some typos and/or grammatical errors i missed while editing (my bad y'a'll), lol i think that's it for this one a/n: hello, hello, helloooooo. first of all, thanks so much to everyone who read the prologue from a couple of weeks ago! this is the first official full length chapter of this story, and it takes place thirteen years before the prologue. it's mostly world building and exploration of reader's ✨back story/lore✨. sukuna doesn't appear in this one (plz forgive me! he's on his way i promise!!!), but he is mentioned/plays a big off screen role so to speak at the end of this chapter. i thought about breaking it into two parts, but decided to keep it as one so as not to prolong when Sukuna makes his first official appearance a couple of chapters from now : )okay that's all i've got. enjoy! 🖤 divider by sweetmelodygraphics

|masterlist| |ao3|

Hida Province, Japan, 875 AD

The late summer air was thick with the scent of hinoki and sunshine as you basked atop a pillowy bed of grass in the afternoon sun at the edge of your village. You’d come down here as you so often did when you wanted to get away from everyone and everything around you, passing the time by watching the clouds as they floated across the bright, blue sky above you. 

Sadly, there wasn’t much else to do around here.

The village you’d grown up in was not only small, but remote. So small and so remote in fact, that it didn’t even have a name, let alone appear on any maps of the area. Its residents would come and go only as needed, traveling to other villages and towns to barter and trade not only in material goods, but also sometimes dowries and the young men and women that were included in those marriage deals. No one really had any reason to leave its confines besides that. Its isolation wasn’t without its perks however, your home was safely nestled in a small valley surrounded on all sides by lush forest and far enough away from the main road and the numerous wandering bandits that plagued the area. 

But according to the village elders, there were worse things than bandits that lurked out there in the world. Though admittedly you had a hard time believing in that sort of thing. 

As if in a warning to your skeptical thoughts, a particularly strong breeze blew around you, carrying with it the soft twinkling sound of the brass bells that hung all around the forest in a protective perimeter that perfectly encircled the village. The bells had been there since before you were born, a gift given to the village decades ago by someone who claimed to know magic- or jujutsu, as some of the elders referred to it- and had blessed them with their energy to provide protection to the village and all its residents from the evil spirits and monsters that supposedly roamed the land. While everyone else was convinced the bells existed to keep unwanted guests from getting in, sometimes you couldn’t help but think they were actually there to keep people from leaving the village for good. People like you. 

Granted, you were only fourteen, so it wasn’t like you had much of a reason let alone the means to leave. But god you wanted to. Each passing year the urge to run away grew stronger and stronger, to venture out of the valley, past the forest, and to see what the rest of the province really looked liked. To visit  a town, or better yet, an actual city. Surely there was more to life than spending yours hidden away in the smallest corner of the world. But you had responsibilities that kept you tethered here, namely being your mother’s sole companion. 

You had no other family, supposedly a father, but seeing as you had never met him you were almost inclined to believe he didn’t exist. Your mother rarely spoke of him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to press her for more information about him whenever you noticed the tightness of her mouth and eyes whenever he did come up in conversation. All you knew about him was that he had all but disappeared shortly after she had gotten pregnant with you. There were rumors he had run off of course, leaving your mother high and dry as not only a pregnant girl barely past adulthood, but an unwed one at that. 

But then there were the other rumors. The ones that no one dared say after dark when the sun went down. The rumors that something far worse had happened to him. Something evil and sinister, committed by some thing that lurked in the forest past the protective barrier of the brass bells around the village …he wouldn’t’ve be the first person to have gone missing like that. But since the bells had gone up all those years ago, there was simply no longer anyone still alive in the village who had actually seen any of those so-called monsters. But there were enough rumors and wives’ tales that had been passed down through the generations, whispers not only of cursed spirits, but of the men and women who battled and exorcised them. Those stories had left a mark on the village strong enough that even the most skeptical of those who resided in it never tried to tamper with the bells, and that anyone who needed to travel past the barrier always carried one of the spare ones borrowed from the elders for extra protection. 

You had never admitted it out loud to anyone, not even yourself, but sometimes when you were bored and wandering alone around the forest- never crossing the barrier of course- you thought you’d see something move out of the corner of your eye. Or hear some sort of chittering that didn’t sound like any animal you’d heard before. But no matter how quickly you would turn your head, whatever thing that may or may not have been hovering nearby would be gone. For the sake of your own sanity, you decided it was just your imagination running wild. That the elder’s stories had finally gotten under your skin. ‘There is no such thing as monsters,’ you’d tell yourself. ‘There are no such things as curses.’

But despite how many times you would repeat that mantra over and over again, it didn’t stop the hairs from rising on the back of your neck sometimes whenever you were alone…

The sun was no longer at its highest point in the sky, signaling that it was much later in the day than you had realized. Soon it would be dark out, and not even you felt comfortable staying this close to the forest when night fell, bells or no bells. 

With a stretch and a groan you stood up, your hips popping slightly as you rose to your full height. Turning your back to the forest, you began your journey home, the occasional sound of the bells growing fainter and fainter the closer you got to the heart of the village until there was nothing but silence around you.

The sky had faded from a calm blue to a fiery orange by the time you reached the small house you shared with your mother, and when you entered the main room that also served as your kitchen and dining area, you were relieved to see that she was already in the process of preparing dinner for the two of you. You quickly made your way towards her side to help with whatever finishing touches needed to be done before the two of you ate.

“You’re late getting back,” She said. You did your best to keep your mouth from twitching up in annoyance at the barely perceivable tone of accusation in her words. 

“I was down by the river,” You replied, as you stirred the pot of vegetable soup that was bubbling over the hearth. It wasn’t a total lie, you had passed by the river on your way towards the edge of the village. 

“Are you sure that’s the only place you went?” She asked you, this time suspicion heavily laced her question. 

You knew she wasn’t asking about you going towards the forest, for that was the least of her worries when it came to you. Your mother knew that even though you scoffed whenever anyone brought up curses and sorcerers, you didn’t dare tempt fate by being foolish enough to wander too far past the barrier without a bell of your own to protect you. No, she was worried about the other ways you chose to spend your free time.

“I’m not stealing again if that’s what you’re getting at,” You grumbled under your breath. You kept your eyes trained on the contents of the pot in front of you, counting the number of mushrooms floating towards the top of the clear broth, not trusting your gaze to give away the fact that while you hadn’t stolen anything from an unsuspecting villager today, you most definitely were still stealing whatever and whenever the mood struck you. 

Which was often, and had been for years at this point.

Your almost eerie talent for stealing had manifested at a young age, much to your mother’s horror. It had started with you taking dolls from neighborhood girls who had pushed you or bullied you in some way. Then it turned into you taking fishing hooks from some of the men, chopsticks, sandals, scrolls of poetry and other books, and even private letters from time to time, (though in your defense you only took those so you could learn how to read). Important family heirlooms and other priceless trinkets also made their way into your possession, whatever you could get your hands on really. It was all just a game to you. One that you had gotten away with for a shockingly long time until your mother had discovered your secret stash of stolen goods in an old basket in the corner of your home one day.

She made you go through the entire village that afternoon returning the items while she begged for forgiveness, promising with a deep bow that you would be swiftly punished once you returned home. The looks of anger you got from most people should’ve been enough to stop you from ever doing it again, but it was the expressions of shock and even slight fear when you returned certain items that stuck with you. 

Somehow, on more than one occasion, you had managed to find the most prized possessions belonging to your neighbors that had been so well hidden, not even other members of their own household knew they existed. And when you were confronted with how you knew exactly where so and so had hidden an item of particular value, you merely shrugged your little shoulders and said in a bored tone, 

‘I dunno, I just knew where it was.’

Your nonchalant attitude about the whole thing only added to your mother’s shame and embarrassment, and she made you promise to never do it again, but you had your fingers crossed behind your back when you did. You kept at your thieving, but you were a lot less greedy with it. Taking only small things here and there, simple items that could easily have been misplaced by the owners themselves. And you never kept them in the house. Instead you stashed your goods in a hollowed out tree stump behind your house that no one paid any mind to. Your own personal treasure trove filled with broken hair pins, sticks of incense and a few of their ceramic holders, a long forgotten calligraphy set, and other things that you slowly added to your secret stash over the years. Sure you were still greeted with the occasional suspicious glare from a villager here and there, but as long as no one could find your hiding spot, they couldn’t prove there was still a known thief in their midst.

“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort,” your mother huffed, but she kept her gaze focused on spooning heaping mounds of rice into two bowls. The two of you didn’t have much in common, but you both shared the inability of masking your true feelings when it came to your eyes. One look could give away your truest of moods, no matter what expression decorated the rest of your face. It was easier for the two of you to deflect your gaze elsewhere when lying.

Not wanting to pick a fight, you instead turned your attention on portioning out some soup for the two of you, carefully setting the bowl that had more mushrooms in front of your mother knowing they were her favorite. 

“I know you weren’t mama,” You said. “I’m sorry if I came across as being disrespectful.”

You bowed your head, hoping that your show of earnest remorse would be enough to sweep the entire conversation under the rug, and it did. Your mother merely sighed before leaning forward to place a kiss on the top of your head. A gesture you were familiar with that signaled the almost-argument between you two was indeed over and forgotten about. The two of you fell into an easy silence and tucked into your dinner.

“I have to leave after this and won’t be back until much later,” Your mother said suddenly in between bites of rice. 

“Is someone expecting?” You asked with a mouthful of food, ignoring the slightly pained look on your mother’s face at your lack of manners.

Your mother was considered to be the village’s unofficial midwife, a status that offered her enough respect and trust that those who would potentially judge her for being a single mother to a not so reformed delinquent of a daughter would at the very least have the courtesy to do so behind closed doors.

“No, but there’s been a few cases of people coming down with some sort of sickness. The village healer has asked me to help check in on a few of them tonight since he can’t make his rounds to everyone on his own.”

“That sounds serious,” You said with mild alarm. You’d heard a few people coughing over the past couple of days, but assumed it was nothing more than a late summer cold signaling the changing of the seasons. 

“I doubt it is,” She replied as she collected her now empty dishes and set them aside near the bucket you would be tasked with washing them out in once you were finished with your own meal. “It’s probably just a summer cold.”

Your concern melted away at her seemingly carefree dismissal that there was any serious illness potentially ravaging the village. And as you watched her gather her modest medicine pack that was usually filled with various tinctures, tonics, and teas that helped the women in your village navigate their pregnancies however they saw fit, you noticed that her eyes held nothing but sincerity in them at her belief that she was merely being sent out to help treat a summer cold. 

You waved goodbye to her as she left, and told her to be safe. The smile on her face promised that she would, and in that moment you almost believed she was telling the truth. 

It wasn’t just a summer cold.

In the span of a week, nearly a dozen people had fallen ill with whatever illness had found its way to your tiny village. The more superstitious residents were convinced that the bells had failed, and something had snuck past them in the night, cursing anyone it had come in contact with. You knew that was nothing more than the work of paranoid minds, and thankfully most of the other villagers agreed with your sentiments. You knew the most likely reason behind the sickness had to have been from one of the handful of men who had recently come back from trading with one of the neighboring towns in your province. They easily could’ve picked up any sort of illness and brought it back with them. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But it had never been this severe before. And when the first person ended up dying from it, panic began to take hold of everyone. Your mother forbade you from leaving your house, and she spent her days going to and from every corner of the village doing her best to provide everyone with whatever sort of comfort she could pull from her trusted medicine pack. When she returned, it was only to quickly wash herself, change her clothes, refill her bag, and bring a hand to your forehead to make sure you didn’t have a fever. 

You felt more useless than you ever had in your entire life. And for the first time you found yourself feeling ashamed that you had spent so many years focusing on honing your skills as some petty little thief, rather than actually bothering to learn anything about your mother’s craft like a normal, respectable, daughter would’ve done. You could’ve been helping her replenish the herbs she needed, grinding up seeds and plants into medicinal pastes and powders. Instead you stayed home, all but twiddling your thumbs while she worked herself to the bone trying to help your neighbors. So you made yourself as helpful as you could and instead focused your energy on cooking and cleaning and maintaining the house to the best of your abilities in her absence. Hoping it would be a strong enough showing of your unwavering support in her endeavors. 

It took over five weeks for the mysterious illness to work its way through the village, striking down people seemingly at random, and eventually claiming the lives of  nearly forty-five people in the process. The dead were taken out to the forest and past the brass bells, their remains laid to rest as far away from the village as safely possible in an effort to keep any possibility of the sickness from coming back and infecting anyone else.

You knew it was finally over when you woke up one morning and saw your mother’s sleeping figure on the other side of your shared bedroom, the white linen mask she had been wearing over her mouth for the better part of a month discarded next to her medicine pack at the foot of her futon. You crept around her quiet as a mouse, brushing the hair from her face just as she so often did whenever you were asleep and smiled, silently rejoicing that the worst of it was over and things could finally go back to normal. 

Three days later, she started coughing. 

You never believed less in magic than you did in the weeks your mother was ill. How could there be sorcerers, real life sorcerers out there in the world wasting all their crazy infinite powers on fighting invisible spirits, when they could, no- should, be using said powers to heal and help the sick and dying? It just didn’t make any sense to you. 

You did your best to tend to your mother. You made her her favorite mushroom soup, making sure to finely chop the fungi you used in it until it was so tiny, she wouldn’t have to waste her energy on chewing anything. The village healer stopped by every other day to check on her recovery, or lack thereof, and each time he left he said that you just needed to give it more time. But time didn’t seem like it would be enough, and the waiting was eating away at you, just as whatever it was that was ravaging your mother was eating away at her. You never cried though, not even once. You knew that if you did, that would mean that you had accepted that the worst was going to happen, and you refused to give in to those thoughts. 

You thought about stealing one of the extra bells from the elders, it would be so easy after all, it always was, and then you could make a mad dash through the forest, past the barrier that protected the village and seek out a cure. You would steal whatever you had to, from whomever you had to. You would snatch the very moon from the sky if it meant saving her, grind it down into some sort of iridescent powder and make a tea with it, helping her take careful sips until she glowed from within with its healing lunar power, and not the fever that had taken over her body. But that would require sorcery, and you didn’t believe in that. Though a hidden part of you liked to imagine that if you possessed even an ounce of it, that’s how you would be able to fix her.

Above all, you were afraid to leave your mother’s side. The healer’s voice telling you to give it more time echoed in your head, but time didn’t feel like it was on your side.

Even so, there was nothing else you could do but wait. Wait for her to get better. Wait for her to get worse. So you waited, and waited and waited…

It turned out, you didn’t have to wait all that long. 

Your mother’s sickness lasted two full weeks, and when she finally died, it was the most unexpectedly expected moment of your life. Even though you had been preparing for it to happen for what had felt like a century at that point, the sting of coming home to a silent house from doing the laundry down by the river that was a mere ten minute walk to and from your home felt like a punch to the gut.

When you first entered the doorway the house was still, no coughing or hacking came from your mother’s futon in the corner of the room. And the sigh of relief you let out was so deep, all the tension you’d been keeping in your shoulders finally eased out. Setting the basket of clean linens on the ground you padded over to heat up some tea for her.

“Mama,” you whispered as you crept towards her silent figure. “Mama, I’m back.”

Carefully, you kneeled to the ground and reached a hand towards her head to check her temperature, but the feeling of her cold skin caused you to draw back with a sharp hiss, and you fell flat on your backside in shock.

Her fever was gone. And so was she. 

You didn’t know how long you sat there on the ground staring at her. Years later, when you would finally allow yourself to think back to this moment, you realized that you had wanted to spend as much time with her as you could. Studying her features in a desperate bid to immortalize her face in your mind and your heart. It wasn’t until the soft golden light of the late afternoon began to seep into the open doorway that you finally willed yourself off the ground, but not before crawling over to your mother’s body to place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Goodbye, mama.”

Her funeral was quick. 

Two men from the village helped you bring her body to the same part of the forest where everyone else who had perished from the illness had been laid to rest. As you watched them perform the funeral rites, you realized through your fog of grief that this was the furthest you’d ever gone from the village. And as you finally made your way back, you realized that this would be the very last time you’d ever set foot in it again. 

You had barely crossed the barrier of bells when you swiped the solitary one from the pocket of the man who had been charged with carrying it when the three of you had set out to bury your mother. They didn’t notice of course, but still you kept it silently hidden in your fist, and tried to ignore that not only was it surprisingly warm, but it almost seemed to radiate the faintest of rhythmic thumps, like it had its own heartbeat. Instead you chose to focus on the  thick twine that it hung from that was wrapped around your hand and wrist so tightly that the coarse fibers dug into your skin. You knew they wouldn’t have given it to you if you had asked them for it. After all, what would a young girl need a protection bell for when she was merely going home?

When you arrived at your house, you knew you had a short window of time to gather what you needed before the men realized the bell was gone and came looking for it.  You grabbed your mother’s medicine pack and took the mostly empty jars from it, only bothering to keep a few whose contents you actually knew. You packed up a few meager belongings you wanted to take with you, mostly items that would help you on the journey you were about to take. The tiny house that you’d called home all these years felt bigger than it had any reason to, and you found yourself eager to leave it behind. Your mother had been the only thing keeping you tethered to the village, and now that she was gone there was no real reason for you to stick around. 

The last thing you grabbed before you left your home for the final time was your mother’s fall outfit from storage. It didn’t quite fit you right, the legs of the pants were too long, and the waist of the top was too short, but it was warm, and smelled like her, and you knew you would need both of those comforts once you were on your way. It dawned on you as you began your trek back towards the forest that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing or where you were going. But there was no fear in your heart as you walked deeper into the lush greenery that surrounded your village. The single brass bell you had triple knotted to the strap of your mother’s medicine pack that was slung over your shoulder chimed with each step you took, and when you crossed the barrier of bells the air filled with a chorus of them ringing even though there hadn’t been even the slightest gusts of wind to disturb them.

That secret part of you, the part that you had kept buried deep within, reached towards the surface of your mind and for once you didn’t fight it. Maybe there was some truth to the bells and their origins, that maybe once upon a time, a sorcerer really had stumbled across a tiny village in the middle of nowhere and decided it deserved to be protected. The hundreds of brass bells that they had enchanted all those years ago granting one of its inhabitants a final farewell in the form of a gentle symphony that overtook the entire forest.

The wave of sound washed over you and it followed you all the way through the rest of the trees until you cleared the forest and stood before a road that stretched for miles and miles in two different directions. The silence was almost deafening, but the bells still echoed in your head as you turned to face left, then right, then left again, trying to decide which way to go. Left meant going south, and you knew enough from the stories of the villagers who made it out this far to do their trading that the south was filled with more villages that were much like your own. Small and remote, but clustered closer together. Right meant going north, and north meant less villages, but there were several towns scattered that way. Including an actual city that was so massive, there were supposedly whole neighborhoods that were bigger than your entire village. 

North also meant the higher possibility of running into bandits, because there were better opportunities for them to rob people that way. Something that also bode well for you, because even though you weren’t one for violently mugging people, you could still survive off of pickpocketing. And who knew what sort of unfathomable treasures you could possibly get your hands on in the process.

The rush you got at the thought of finally being able to fully flex and test your skills as a thief was all you needed to make your decision, and you turned right without a second thought and began your journey north.

You had been on the road for nearly a week, and despite the sharp aching in your feet from all the walking you had done, you were feeling pretty confident in your decision to leave home. You had passed by a handful of people so far on your journey, but apart from a polite nod of acknowledgement you didn’t really interact much with any of them. No one seemed to really bat an eye at a teenage girl walking alone on the main road, or maybe they just didn’t trust that you weren’t bait being used by some bandits looking to rob and kill whoever would be dumb enough to stop and speak with you.

You didn’t mind it all that much, you yourself were always cautious whenever you walked past someone, even a harmless looking cattle farmer perched atop  a wagon that was being pulled by two horned bulls that towered over you. The first time you crossed paths with one of those, you stood slack jawed and frozen in place at the sight of the monstrously large animals. The farmer had been so amused by your reaction, he offered you a ride as far as the next town over on the back of his cattle cart, which you graciously accepted. But you still made sure the knife you had taken with you for protection that was stashed away in the front of your shirt was easily accessible as you clambered up the back of his cart.

You admittedly made one mistake during your journey, and that was when you had foolishly accepted a ride from a lone soldier who rode past you one afternoon on an elegant but battleworn horse. He had seemed harmless enough at the time, but when his hands started roaming across your thighs not even a mile in, you threw a sharp elbow as hard as you could to his nose, and hopped down and ran off into the woods while he was still holding a blood soaked hand to his mangled face. You laughed as he cursed at you, calling you all sorts of names, and when you set up camp that night, you laughed even harder when you helped yourself to the stolen provisions you’d nicked from his saddlebag when he wasn’t looking. 

You figured this talent of yours would be what would keep you alive once you got into the city. You couldn’t think of any other job you would actually want to do. You could be a maid, but that sounded boring. Not to mention your employers might notice that your arrival would undoubtedly coincide with items going missing, and you may be a thief, but you certainly wouldn’t try and pin any of your handiwork on the other help you’d end up sharing a roof with. There was always the option of selling your body, but you didn’t think you had it in you to walk that path. Not to mention you wanted to think you were still too young to do so, being just a girl of fourteen. Though others might not agree with that.

You shuddered at the thought of what sort of man would find a child like you a desirable bedfellow and almost missed the sound of shuffling feet headed your way. It wasn’t until the frame of an old man entered the clearing you were calling home for the night that you let out a shrill scream.

“Shush!” He cried out, while pressing a gnarled finger to his lips. “Please, quiet down. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I noticed your fire and was wondering if I could warm myself.”

“You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” You snapped at him. He hovered near the edge of the woods as you sized him up. He looked as though he was well into his seventies, and seemed to be more skin and bones than muscle and flesh. Despite that he carried a large sack on his back like it weighed nothing at all. You determined he wasn’t much of a threat, and gave him a quick nod gesturing to him to come sit beside your fire. 

“Thank you,” He groaned as he sat down opposite you. “I’m headed towards the city to do some trading and fell behind schedule. Growing old slows you down more than I would care to admit.”

You merely hummed in response, still eyeing him cautiously across the flames. 

“You’re a brave one for lighting a fire out here,” He said. 

“Brave?” You asked.

“That or very foolish.”

“Listen you old buzzard-” You growled, but he raised his gnarled hands in a silent apology. 

“I only meant that not many people in this area would be willing to risk doing that,” He said. “I’m sure you’ve heard about what roams these lands.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” You said, while lazily waving a dismissive hand towards him. “Monsters, and curses, and sorcerers. And all sorts of other things that go bump in the night. That’s just a bunch of nonsense.”

Sure, you had finally made peace with the idea that the bells that had surrounded your village might’ve been placed there by an actual sorcerer. And yeah, everyday you would absentmindedly reach down to make sure the little brass bell you’d taken with you was still tightly secured to your mother’s pack. But that was still as far as you were willing to go with admitting you believed in anything more than that. You hadn’t seen, heard, or crossed paths with anything weird or unexplainable since you started your journey north. And you had started to think you never would. 

“Is it?” He asked with a grin that was a little too grim for your liking. 

“It is,” You insisted. “Just a bunch of old wive’s tales to keep children in check. They told those stories in my village all the time. But that’s all they are- stories.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed. “Is that your cryptic way of telling me you’ve crossed paths with that stuff before?” 

“I’ve seen the aftermath of a battle before,” The old man replied, his eyes twinkling with both mischief and the light of the fire reflecting in them. “Even met a few sorcerers in my time. But I’ve never seen a curse, because not everyone has the ability to see them.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. No one in your village had ever once mentioned needing some special type of sight to see curses or spirits. No wonder no one had ever seen anything before, every new detail you learned about this jujutsu nonsense seemed more and more ridiculous.

“Whatever you say, old man.” You yawned. “Feel free to stay the night and keep warm, but I'm getting some sleep. Don’t try anything funny.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it girl,” He chuckled. 

You rolled to your side curling into a tight ball as you heard him groan and creak as he settled into a resting position of his own on his side of the clearing. You tried not to let his words get to you, just as you tried not to stare too hard into the inky darkness ahead of you in the woods. For the first time since your journey began you noticed just how silent the woods were. 

You didn’t fall asleep until just before dawn.

You awoke a few hours later feeling cranky, hungry, and sleep deprived. You didn’t bother trying to remember if you’d had any dreams the night before, you never did. Even when you were a child no matter how deeply you slept, you never dreamt. You would listen with envy to the other kids in the village as they talked about how they would fly higher than the mountains, or breathe underwater, or talk to animals, all in their sleep. You ended up tearfully asking your mother once if she had dreams, to which she responded yes, but usually they were quite boring and often involved a singing tea kettle.  She was shocked when you wailed in her arms that you would give anything in the world to dream about a singing tea kettle just once. She gently rocked you to sleep in her arms, telling you that maybe your dreams were just too big for your little head to remember when you woke up, and maybe once you were older and bigger that would all change and you could dream about all the singing tea kettles you could ever want. 

You felt the corners of your eyes prick with tears you still had not shed over her, and you silently told yourself to keep it together, suddenly remembering you had a guest that had spent the night across from you and your fire. A guest who you could see moving out of the corner of your eye.

The old man had seemingly already been awake for about as long as you had been asleep. He sat cross legged in front of your now dead and smoldering fire, helping himself to a breakfast of smoked fish and tea. You were surprised when he handed you a tiny mug of your own, and wordlessly accepted it with a nod. Your first sip was strong and bitter, but its warmth was welcome in the chilly morning air.

“So,” He asked as he stared at you, seemingly taking in just how young you actually were in the light of day. “Where are you headed girl?”

“The same place you are I reckon,” You yawned.

“The city is still three days from here,” He mused, reaching forward to refill your mug that you hadn’t even realized was empty. “Perhaps we can walk the rest of the way there together.”

“Worried you’ll get lost?”

“I’m worried you will,” He said. “It would weigh on me something heavy if I let you continue the journey on your own out here. After all, you’re just a girl.”

“I’m not just a girl,” You hissed. 

He let out a wheezened giggle that only annoyed you further and you chugged the rest of your tea to keep from biting out a cruel retort in his direction. The hot liquid sloshed its way down your throat and into your stomach as you considered his words.

“Maybe…” You started quietly. “We could walk the rest of the way together…might make the rest of the trip go by faster.”

The old man flashed a joyful grin your way. You didn’t even know his name, but his presence though slightly irritating at times, had been a welcome one. And you hadn’t realized just how lonely you’d been since you had left the village with no one to really talk to. Your stomach growled, and he handed you the last of his smoked fish. 

After you finished your breakfast, you packed up your belongings, slung your packs over your shoulders, and carried on down the road together. 

The rest of the journey was enjoyable, and you were right- it was passing by a lot quicker with the old man accompanying you. You learned that his name was Genji, he was a widow, and that he spent his remaining days traveling back and forth from his town to the city selling the various ceramics he made himself every other month. For someone who was pushing eighty he was remarkably spry, and as quick witted as a man more than half his age could ever hope to be. 

Every night you lit a fire, and every night he would watch you do so wearily. But the desire to stay warm outweighed what you still considered to be the imagined risks of a superstitious old man. You didn’t want to admit that there were moments during the night where you thought you saw movement in the shadows that had nothing to do with the fire. Quick flashes of light that looked less like crackling embers and more like eyes that glowed. You didn’t want to admit that your hair standing up on the back of your arms and neck had less to do with the chilly night air, and more to do with... Well, you just didn’t want to admit it. 

Genji did not press the issue either, and for that you were thankful. Perhaps he saw the uncertainty in your eyes despite your best efforts to put on a brave face in the night. He never outright asked if you had seen anything, not wanting to start an argument with you by indirectly implying you possessed some sort of totally not real gift, or sight, or whatever the hell it was he had called it the first night you met. Nevertheless, you still managed to awaken each morning in one piece, albeit sore, and cranky from a lack of a good night’s sleep. You would eat smoked fish, drink tea with Genji, and then go back to walking. All in all, it was a very uneventful two days.

That was until the third day.

That morning started off as all the others had. Genji had already brewed tea before you had even woken up in the tiny pale pink tea pot he used every morning. He wordlessly passed you a piece of smoked fish, and you ate it in bleary eyed silence. Knowing you would make it to the city by nightfall made you all the more eager to hit the road again, and you were on your feet quicker than you had been during your previous mornings. Genji was busy quizzing you on all the different neighborhoods that awaited you in the city when you arrived, reminding you which ones would be the best for you to find work in (“The River District is home to plenty of affluent families who are always looking for help. And most Marketplace vendors will pay people to help them set up and tear down their stalls.”). Along with which ones were in your best interest to avoid (“The Red Light District is nothing but trouble, you wouldn’t last a minute there. It’s filled with thieves, unsavory women, criminals, and worse.”). 

He thought you were joking when you said the Red Light District sounded like it would be the perfect home away from home for you, but the serious look on your face when you confirmed that you were in fact planning on checking out that particular neighborhood, and only that one had him scolding you like you were his own grandchild for even thinking such nonsense. The two of you were still bickering loudly with one another as you neared a curve in the road, and you were on the verge of calling Genji a particularly rude name when you rounded the corner and ended up crashing face first into Genji’s pack that was filled with all his ceramic knick knacks.

“What the hell Genji!?” You shouted out as you rubbed your nose. “You can’t just stop walking in front of someone without any warning!” An uneasy silence was all that greeted you, and you were about to yell at him again, but when you peered over his shoulder to see what all the fuss was about, any and all words died on your tongue. 

The road that you had been so diligently traveling on for the past week and some odd days was gone. Or at least part of it was. In front of you there was nothing but a large hole. No, a crater was more like it, one that seemed deep enough to swallow a small lake, but had settled for the crumbling earth around it. In the not so far distance across the sprawling center of it, you could make out the other half of the road that was somehow still partially intact. It seemed impossibly far from where you stood.

The two of you stared speechless taking in the sight before you. The trees that lined the edge of the crater were burnt and turned on their sides, like old long forgotten sticks of incense. The gaping charred earth that lay before you still faintly smelled of smoke, and when a breeze blew past it kicked up bits of dirt and ash that stung your eyes. It was only when you looked down to cough and wipe your eyes with your sleeve that you noticed the bones.

They were human. Blackened and broken, and blasted into bits and pieces by whatever had caused the crater that stood before you. There were animal bones too, and with horror you realized the larger skulls, at least that's what you assumed they were based on their half intact shape, were horses. 

You were standing at the grave site of what appeared to be an army.

But what could have-

“Gods above,” Genji whispered. “He was here.”

“He?” You said hoarsely. “What do you mean he?”

“Come on girl,” Genji said, face paler than death itself. “We have to keep moving.” 

“Moving? Moving where? There’s not a road to move on Genji- Hey!”

But Genji wasn’t listening to you. Instead he was pulling your arm with a strength you didn’t know he had and dragging you with him into the crater. You didn’t have time to pull yourself free as you both slid down the side of it, narrowly avoiding being tripped by the remnants of tree roots, rocks, and god, burnt human remains. You both landed at the bottom of the crater with a soft thump, your feet kicking up plumes of ash. But even then Genji didn’t let go of your wrist, dragging you behind him as he walked as swiftly as he could through the pit with you in tow.

“Genji, I don’t understand. What could’ve done this?” You were alarmed at how scared your voice sounded, and you tried to focus on the comforting sound of the brass bell that clanged shrilly from its home on your pack.

He didn’t answer. Instead he just kept pulling you as he walked across the crater. Not bothering to side step the remains that were in his path, while you tried your best to dodge every last piece of human being you could. It wasn’t until your foot collided with a skull that was half buried in at least half a foot of ash, staring face up toward the alarmingly blue sky in a silent scream, that you finally yanked your arm free from your companion.

“Genji! What the fuck is going on?” You yelled. 

Genji stopped and turned to look at you. His eyes were no longer filled with their usual cheery warmth. Instead they shown with fear. 

No.

Terror. 

“Those things you like to lie to yourself about not being real exist.”

“Okay, but they couldn’t cause this,” You hissed as you flapped your arms in a panic gesturing to the carnage all around you. You didn’t even realize you hadn’t corrected him on how they weren’t real. “Those things just, I don’t know, spirit people away or eat them or whatever grandmother’s tell their grandkids. They don’t punch a goddamn hole through the earth!”

“This wasn’t the work of one of those things,” He replied, looking around like he was worried that something, or someone might hear him. “This was something else, a man.”

“Oh come on, Genji,” You laughed but there was no humor in the sound. “There’s not a man alive who could do something like this.”

“He’s not much of a man anymore if the rumors are true.”

“Oh my god, what rumors? What man? You’re not making any sense right now.”

“Ryomen Sukuna.”

Ryomen.

Sukuna?

It was a name you had never heard before, but the moment it fell from Genji’s lips in that hushed whisper ripe with the same terror that matched his desperate eyes, it felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water on your head. The air itself became still, and you were suddenly, painfully, aware that you were much too far from the sky. Too deep in the earth. Too deep in a grave, a grave that was shattered into existence by a man named-

“Ryomen Sukuna?” You repeated, the name itself filled your mouth with the taste of iron, and for a second you wondered if you’d bitten your tongue and it was your own coppery blood that you were tasting.

“Shush!” Genji hissed at you, much like he did the first night you met. Though this time it was a warning and not a plea. “Don’t say it again.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“He’s a sorcerer. Or he was before. I’m not sure what he’s become over the years to be capable of doing something like this. He’s been running around this entire province for ages now, striking down anyone who so much as dares to look at him a certain way. But he’s never been this far south before, this road was perfectly intact when I was in the city last month.”

“But sorcerers aren’t re-”

Genji didn’t even let you finish the lie you’d been telling yourself since childhood only because you hadn’t seen the truth of it all until this very moment with your own eyes.

“Look around you girl,” Genji scoffed bitterly.  “You still deny that you live in a world where the impossible is possible, that jujutsu is real, and there are those who wield it not for the greater good, but for their own cruel desires and bitter amusement?”

“But all I've ever heard anyone say about sorcerers is that they’re good,” You countered, immediately thinking of the faceless and nameless one who had shown up at your village long before even your own mother had been born, and gifted everyone who lived there the protection of those bells. The bells that you wished were still surrounding you right now.  “They protect people! You’re saying this Ryo- oh for heaven's sake. This guy is not only some crazy powerful sorcerer, but a bad one at that. And he did all of this…What, for fun?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I'm saying.”

The two of you stared the other one down. Genji watched as you silently began the process of realigning everything you had ever believed in before this moment. Finally coming face to face with the truth that while there were no such things as miracles in your world, that didn’t mean there weren’t curses. 

And there really were people out there, actual honest to god sorcerers, who had somehow harnessed the unchecked power of jujutsu that walked among you. Maybe they had never set foot in your village for as long as you had been alive, but they were out here in the real world. Roaming the lands like they owned it, leaving nothing but scorched earth and dust in their wake as proof that they were here. 

And apparently one of them, quite possibly the worst one, had been living in your province this entire time wreaking havoc, and you’d had no idea. Maybe leaving the village had been a bad idea after all. You weren’t even remotely prepared for any of this.

“How do you know for certain it was this Sukuna person?” You finally asked, and you cringed at the way your voice shook as you said his name.

“Because he’s the only one I’ve ever heard of who’s even remotely capable of causing devastation such as this,” Genji answered as he looked up fearfully towards the sky. You followed his gaze. 

“You can’t be serious,” You groaned. “He can fly?”

“Do you really want to stick around and find out?” Genji asked.

You didn’t. So with all the courage you could muster, you gripped your hands tightly around the straps of your pack and gave Genji a curt nod, signaling him to lead the way out of the crater. You both made quick work of it, sprinting your way across the tomb you’d stumbled across as fast as your legs would carry you. When you made it to the other side, the two of you scaled your way towards the top of the crater, desperately clutching any rock and root you could reach as you hoisted yourselves back up to the surface. 

Genji didn’t give you much time to catch your breath or even wipe the dirt and ash from your clothes before he began trudging ahead on the other side of the road that was still intact despite the damage that had been inflicted on a sizable chunk of it. The two of you hoping that it would lead you not only to civilization, but safety.

You allowed yourself one final look over your shoulder at the crater, and did your best to ignore the shudder that ran its way down your spine as you tried and failed to imagine exactly what sort of man this Ryomen Sukuna was to be capable of such wanton destruction. You wondered if there were others like him out there, who were just as violent and deadly, but better at hiding it and themselves from the masses. You silently prayed to whatever god that would listen that if you ever did cross paths with any sorcerers, you would never have to encounter one like Ryomen Sukuna. 

And on the chance that you were ever unfortunate enough to do so, you prayed even harder that perhaps they would be willing to show you mercy. 

tag list: @after-laughter-come-tears @officialholyagua @clp-84

[rascalentertainments]

Wish Granted AU: Gabo 😡

THE ANARCHIST— I mean grumpy boi is finally done! I've been wanting to show me redesign of him for ages, and I finally found the time! That being said, I can drop a little more lore not only for Gabo, but for Wish Granted's version of Rosas.

Design wise, he's still inspired by Grumpy, but I added a little more detail from his concept version. It looks like all the teens clothing were really leaning into the Dwarves reference, but it got changed later. Most of the citizens of Rosas wear more regal attire, but their outfits look strangely similar in color and length, with only the style being different. Gabo refuses to wear those conforming clothes, so he wears a really basic outfit that's just a vest (with the rose symbol ripped off) and undershirt. His mom makes him wear the hat though. 😂

(Here's one of his original outfits. It actually looks more unique.)

And notice this little detail here? 👇 Gabo had a dagger at one point.

GABO HAD A DAGGER. The angry guy had a weapon and they cut it out?! You know how hilarious that is?! If this kingdom is so safe, why did he need a weapon? I like to think Gabo had it to defend himself because the original version of Rosas had some shady things happening with the royals. So I'm keeping that little accessory in my AU as well.

Gabo does have a little scar on his face that he likes to call his "battle wound". He claims he got it from fighting off a guard single handedly and got cut by the guard's sword. No one really believes it though.

No offense to people who like the canon movie, but to me, Canon!Gabo was kind of an asshole. Like, the insults weren't even funny, he just was saying mean things to his friends. And the fact that Perrito's voice actor is Gabo makes it sadder. Aside from his best line "What are you, five?" I didn't really like his portrayal.

Wish Granted Gabo's his personality is SASS. Lots of it. 😂 He's also sarcastic, pretty easy to annoy, and pessimistic. However, he can keep a secret better than anyone in the kingdom. Gabo can come off as a jerk sometimes, but he's still got a good heart. He just wants Rosas to finally wake up and smell the.....roses. (That was a bad joke) Especially when finding out Asha wants to take down the royals and is proven right about his belief that the royals are evil. Gabo does have to get adjusted to Star, though. He's a little too happy for his taste, but deep down he's glad to have someone more upbeat around. And he found a kindred spirit with Asha, both of them hate the rulers, are pessimistic and want to tear down the monarchy! Of course he's gonna help them!

Now for some facts about him:

• Gabo is the youngest of the teens, being 15 years old. Though some think he acts younger.

• He has a mother who is just a regular citizen who's a jewelry maker, (OG Seven Dwarves nod) and is very loyal to the king and queen since they provided a home for them. She doesn't approve of Gabo's anarchist behavior and tries to get him to show a little respect to them. Gabo is also an only child, so its just him and his mom.

•The reason Gabo has become the resident conspiracy theorist is because he actually saw a few of the local citizens disappear shortly after they expressed their discontent with Magnifico not granting their wishes. They were growing suspicious on why it was taking YEARS to grant. One shopkeeper stated he was going to leave Rosas and demand his wish back. Gabo hasn't seen him since. Since then, he's been trying to warn the people that the royals are evil, but nobody believes him. However, Magnifico and Amaya haven't silenced him because he's literally no threat.

• He causes minor problems like breaking the mirror in the center of town, defacing the royals statues, and basically destroying anything that idolizes them. Its his way of fighting back, little by little. This really pisses off Flazino because he has to fix it every single time. Gabo loves screwing with Flazino since he works for the royals, but he has no idea Flazino is a double agent.

• He actually got that scar from Sabor, who caught him sneaking around looking for a dungeon he believes is where the missing citizens are. It left a really deep cut, so it didn't fully heal.

•Gabo does have a wish, but he doesn't want to give it to Magnifico and Amaya for obvious reasons. He also refuses talk about his wish with the Teens or Asha. His wish is to have some friends.

• Finding out he was right about the royals being evil, the dungeon, the missing people, and literally everything he was shouting about is great. HE IS LIVID RIGHT NOW.

•Most of the teens don't really like Gabo since he causes trouble (Dario and Hal seem to be fine with him), but he has major beef with Simon since he's the one chasing Gabo a lot. He's also on Dahlia's bad side because he destroys her Magnifico and Amaya shaped cookies whenever he gets the chance. Soooooo Dahlia is REALLY reluctant on helping Asha knowing he's with her.

Kind of referencing Grumpy and Doc arguing with each other a lot from the original film.

• Gabo might be asexual? I'm dropping a few hints in the story, but I'm not sure if I want to fully make it canonical. One reason is because I kind of got that vibe from the canon Wish movie. And Harvey Guillen is queer in real life so its possible Canon!Gabo is too. I don't think Disney has ever had an openly asexual character in a movie or series either. Second reason is because I don't want to just write stereotypical things for him or just throw it in for no reason. I have a few ace friends here and on YouTube, so I want to learn a little more about how it works for asexual people before making it canon.

And there you have it! The other teens will get full redesigns later on, I just wanted to show Gabo first. Since I'll be busy this week, the only thing I will draw out is the rough draft for the first teaser poster so I can get some help on it. And the next chapter will be written after Christmas. See ya!

@your-ne1ghbor @tumblingdownthefoxden @oh-shtars @chillwildwave

@annymation @thesafireartist @snackara @pinkninja0708

@uva124 @jojo-ker06 @kenihewa

[writersnook11]

I'd Wait Forever

Life Day Exchange 2024

@lonewolflupe @cloneficgiftexchange

Word Count: 5.5k+

Warnings: 18+ but no smut, no use of Y/N, SFW, grief, mentions of death and lack of closure, denial, angst, mentions of corruption, mentions of Order 66, emotional reunion, fluff, kisses, holiday activities, mentions of a tiny square box with a very specific purpose

Summary: After Fives’ death, you’re not sure what to do with yourself. Your last conversation with Fives left you confused, scared, and reeling with its implications. You learn to live with your grief, and when the Republic is replaced by the Empire, you decide to leave Coruscant. You move to the place you and Fives had intended to live after the war, choosing to face head on what could have been. Months later, an unexpected visitor arrives.

Disclaimer: I should note I’m not 100% sure of the amount of time that passed between Fives’ death (canonically) and Order 66. In writing this I took a creative liberty in saying it was several months, please forgive me if that’s wrong. But also, this is fanfiction, so *shrug*, anything goes sometimes. I think a timeline issue in this case is a minor thing, but I at least wanted to be upfront about my doubt. I also don't know if the GAR troops were paid, but in this case they were, albeit extremely minimally.

Gift Note: Happy Holidays! Lupe, I hope you like it! I went a bit crazy with the angst but I hope the fluff makes it worth it. I read your About Me and stuck a nugget or two in there for you specifically. It's not perfect by any means, I'd edit this for months if I could. Also, I'm not sure if you use Spotify, but during the writing process I made a mood playlist/soundtrack and I'd be glad to share it with you if you're interested! Anyway happy reading, let me know what you think! <3

AI Notice: My consent to any and all use of my work in training AI is expressly withdrawn. Do not use my work in training artificial intelligence.

It had taken a matter of weeks for your world to turn upside down.

You longed for those hushed whispers of comfort, his rumbled assurance that he’d be back before you knew it. You desperately craved his arms around your waist again, holding you close and hanging on like you’d never let go, both of you warm and safe. 

Part of you didn’t believe it. How could you? He called you only hours beforehand, a rushed warning of something you couldn’t quite understand. 

Be ready to leave the second I get home, all those plans we made to move? We’re doing it now—

Fives wait—

Listen to me, okay? There’s something big happening, I can’t explain it all yet, I don’t have much time—

Fives you’re scaring me, what are you talking about? What’s happening?

Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, I’ll be home soon and we’ll get far away from here, just like we said we would.

Yeah, but that was after the war— is it over? Will it be over soon? Is that what you’re saying? 

No— I— I can’t tell you or I’d be putting you in danger.

What? You better tell me what the hell is going on, right now.

I can’t—

Fives!

A beat of silence. 

Dammit… Listen, you can’t repeat this to anyone, and I mean anyone, okay? Not Rex, not Fox, not Commander Tano, no one. Not until I give you the all clear. Got it? 

Okay, I hear you… 

The Kaminoans put something in every clone. Every clone. And it can control us. It’s an implant in our brains. Tup’s malfunctioned, that’s why—

Control you? What? Fives I’m confused—

This goes deeper than I ever thought possible. I don’t know what to— Kriff. I have to go—

Fives be safe! I can’t—

I love you baby, see you soon.

You were beyond confused and scared, but Fives was one of the best troopers in the GAR and you knew better than to doubt him. You trusted him more than anyone in the galaxy. You did as he told, if not to comfort yourself then him. 

You were waiting in the living room of your tiny Coruscant apartment, bags packed by the couch, when the Guard knocked on your door.

How could you believe them? 

This wasn’t in the plan. 

His funeral wasn’t like any you’d ever attended. It was lumped in with hundreds of his brothers fallen in combat, more like a memorial than anything. You went through the motions numbly, half-heartedly acting the part of a grief-stricken loved one because you still couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. Something in the way Fives had told you about behavioral implants, the war being fabricated; you didn’t trust many people anymore, even clones. It didn’t help that no one could meet your eye; not Rex, not Kix or any of the 501st. Maybe they felt responsible somehow. Survivor’s guilt, perhaps. You simply couldn’t believe Fives was dead. 

Weeks went by. Everyone looked at you with such sympathy. Rex even called to check in or visited when he was able, however rare that turned out to be. 

When months went by and there was still no word from Fives, you started to believe them. Maybe he was truly gone. He wouldn’t leave you this long without at least a word of comfort, even an acknowledgment or letter.

You returned to work, pouring yourself into it, saving money and filling your days as best you could while you hoped and waited to be wrong. Sometimes you’d pass by clones on shore leave, laughing and making merry. You’d see glimpses of him in his brothers, hear him in their voices. Those days you couldn’t help but wonder if any of them had known him, if they’d had a chance to hear him out. You often thought about his last days, especially the few hours after he comm’d you. Was he afraid? Angry? How deep did this go? You wanted to ask Rex, General Skywalker, anyone and everyone who was near him in his final days. Before you had the chance to speak to them again, everything Fives said to you in that call coalesced. 

The fall of the Jedi Temple, eliminated by Republic clones, and the emergence the Empire. Headlines that shook you to the core. 

You knew good and well the Jedi would never turn against the Republic, Fives had told you too much about them. You also knew just as well that the clones would never turn their backs on the Jedi without a second thought. No creature in the galaxy could meet a more loyal band of brothers. Behavioral implants suddenly made a frightening amount of sense. 

You didn’t like what this implied about the Republic, what it had been under the surface all along. When the Chancellor seemingly declared himself Emperor, you knew where the galaxy would head. You’d read too much about such governments. All too soon, free thoughts even as simple as questioning a new policy would be deemed threats to democracy, threats to the Empire. Any and all of which would be punished, if not eliminated entirely. 

You thought back to your final call with Fives, how he’d said telling you those things would put you in danger. If his last words to you ended up a warning without him ever knowing truly what would transpire, you wanted to make sure it wasn’t in vain. It had to be worth something, even if that only meant your escape from a corrupt regime. 

The night of Emperor Palpatine’s inaugural address would be your last spent on Coruscant. 

The instinct to run away was a powerful one, one you had never felt so tangibly. You spent the larger part of the night packing and repacking your bags, trying to dwindle your life down to the bare necessities for starting over. When you finally slept, you tossed and turned, waking in the morning feeling like you’d have been better off not sleeping at all. 

With one bag over your shoulders and one in hand, you turned to give that dingy, budget apartment a last once over. At first, you looked to make sure you didn’t miss anything you wanted to take. You’d never be coming back, after all. But then you were watching Fives sneak up on you while you were making dinner, food flinging to the ceiling as you shrieked. Then you were falling all over him, giggles and exclamations of surprise filling the room. You watched how his hands fit perfectly on your hips, sliding up your waist to your back to envelope you in a tight hug, your kisses peppering his face. Your lips fell on his, humming contentedly and standing there together in bliss. Then dinner started burning and you had to practically tear his arms off to get to the stove, a wide grin never leaving his face. 

A tear slid down your cheek, one you brushed away with the palm of your free hand. You couldn’t bear the thought of a whole life without him. 

You pushed that memory to the back of your mind, turning on your heel and locking the door behind you. At the front office you turned in your key, bidding farewell to the only office manager you actually didn’t mind. She asked if there was anything she could do, but you shook your head and assured her there were just too many memories in that apartment now. She gave you a knowing nod and you told her about the rest of your belongings, that she could sell or donate or throw away the rest. She asked if she should leave it as is for a while, in case you changed your mind. You shook your head again. 

You’d never be coming back, after all. 

Clouds of dust billowed as you dropped your bags in the doorway, making you cough. Carefully, you made your way through the foyer into the living room, then into the kitchen, stepping over rotted floorboards and soft spots. You assessed needed repairs as you went, cringing as the list grew. 

It was worse than when you and Fives bought it. Granted, there were already numerous issues when you put down an offer. That was the main reason you were able to get it so ridiculously cheap. It wasn’t like they paid clones well. Now you’d just spend an arm and a leg repairing everything, and hopefully get it finished before winter. 

You ran a hand across the window over the kitchen sink, barely brushing enough dirt away to see the barn clearly. You stepped back and made your way to the mudroom, walking out back to take a look at the yard. Fenced in (if you could call what remained a fence), the barn stood several hundred units behind the house. It was weathered and worn by time and lack of tending, standing nearly twice the size of the main house. Its hayloft was in desperate need of new supports and the whole thing in need of new siding. 

You sighed, turning on your heel to head back inside. Crossing through the mudroom again, you looked to the stairs leading to the second floor. Sheets of wallpaper, fallen from upstairs, laid across the steps. As you climbed the stairs, you leaned over and crumpled up what was in your way, having to tear some the rest of the way from the wall. 

The second level was not in much better shape than the first. Of the two small bedrooms and one large, only about ten units of wallspace still held wallpaper. The refresher needed serious TLC to the plumbing, the sink running brown for the first ten minutes of waterflow. When it finally ran clear, it only ran cold. 

You pinched your lips together and let out an exasperated sigh. After retrieving your bags from the front door, you marched upstairs and began getting settled as best you could. At least you brought one of Fives’ old bedrolls.

You spent your first few weeks getting the most pressing repairs in the house finished. Plumbing, replacement floorboards on the ground floor, and leaks in the roof patched up just in time for the rainy season. You got your hands on some budget furniture to fill the emptiness, met with neighbors though they were a mile away, and familiarized yourself with the village even further down the road. As much as you could, you kept your days busy. 

Nights, however, were always lonely. That’s when the longing settled back in. Missing him, his company and warmth, the life in his smile that filled your soul with purpose. Laying alone in the bed meant for you two was more draining than you expected. You thought getting away from Coruscant would be more of a fresh start than this. You’d hoped your grief wouldn’t follow you this closely. 

You often found yourself just… angry. 

Who was responsible for taking away millions of clones’ free will? Who was responsible for taking away the future you and Fives had dreamt up? What political scumbag took away your goodbye? 

You established a routine. Breakfast, wash up, chores. Stop into town if needed. Lunch. Work on the house and the land. Wash up again, start on dinner. Sit on the porch with your meal, watch the sun go down, and go to bed. 

It wasn’t elaborate or set in stone. You’d alter any of it when needed, but you knew you needed consistency. You wanted it, even. Anything to take your mind off Fives and the Empire. 

Month by month, your old house tucked in the woods became more of a home. It wasn’t so empty, dusty, or broken anymore. No more leaks, peeling walls, or rough spots in the floors. Good, kind neighbors pitched in to help where they could, mainly with the heaviest lifting. The Apande’s down the road helped put in—forget just supports—an entire new hayloft. With things shaping up, you were able to find peace in many things you hadn’t been able to living on Coruscant. 

Each morning you could listen to the world around you waking up. Birds would start singing just as sunlight struck the treetops. Light filtered in through thin, floating curtains, shadows of branches and leaves dancing across your wall. In the summer you’d sit on the porch steps, counting fireflies and listening to crickets. When autumn came you reaped your first harvest in the garden, albeit small, and felt immense pride in what your hard work produced. When the first snow of the season fell you couldn’t help but stare at it in awe. You must have sat on the porch for an hour, watching flakes twirl around each other, hot mug in hand. 

Each of those peaceful moments were supposed to be spent with Fives. You often imagined him sitting next to you, wondering what he’d say or do, if he’d try to catch fireflies and how many he’d beat you by. You wondered if he’d experienced snow before, if he’d have the same light in his eyes that you did when he first saw it fall. Over time it became less of a bitter ache for what could have been, and more of a sweet gratitude for his memory, for having the ability to imagine him there at all. In turning that broken down house into a home, you could grieve and start to come to terms with the future you’d never have. But as time approached your first Life Day without Fives, it was like the whole grieving process restarted. 

You never had the chance to celebrate together. He was always deployed. You never complained, he was where he was needed, but you were always a little downcast. You’d rather him be home with you than at risk of being shot by some Separatist droid.

You delayed decorating longer than you ever had. By the time you went to town to get a tree, nearly the entire lot had been sold. You thought about trekking into the woods surrounding your home to find one, but they were almost guaranteed to be too tall or wide to fit through either door. So, you brought home the best one you were able to scrounge up out of the last pickings. It was a bit scrawny, with thin spots here and there, but it was soft and sturdy and could—without a doubt—fit through your door. 

You cried when you finally got it settled in the living room. He would’ve loved the smell. He would’ve gotten sap all over himself, cursing how it stuck to everything and was so hard to wash off, but loved it all the same. He would’ve loved the crackling of wood in the fireplace, how different it was from the hustle and bustle of traffic on Coruscant or blaster-fire in the field. You could see him thundering into the mudroom, arms full of logs for the fire, stomping as much snow off his boots as he could. He’d look up at you, nose red from the cold, and smile that smile that made your face flush, heart flutter, and stomach do backflips. 

You’d gotten good at building fires. The house didn’t have an electric heating system. Pipes of water ran through the floors, warmed by the furnace in the kitchen. You’d often come back from trips to the village and find it completely cold. You considered yourself lucky; one of your neighbors taught you to split wood. Most of the time he provided it himself, on account of his darling wife (who swore up and down she’d teach you to bake the spiced apple pie her grandchildren loved). All you had to do was carry it to the house from the barn. Granted, it was a trek through almost knee-high snow to get it, but you’d rather that than freezing. 

You still hadn’t decorated your tree by Life Day’s Eve. You didn’t have the heart to, so the boxes sat in a corner. You avoided walking through the living room altogether. The very thought of the tree got shoved to the back of your mind, having almost intentionally forgotten the whole reason you bought it in the first place. You could heal your Life Day heart another year. 

Instead, you filled your time helping your sweetheart neighbors in preparing for their guests. She asked for your help the week before, assuring you it’d be then that she’d teach you to make that blessed pie. You stood in the kitchen with her from dawn to dusk, measuring and mixing and getting covered in flour. By sunset, a full day’s meals and feast awaited the next morning’s oven. 

She thanked you profusely for your time and help, insisting you join them for Life Day festivities. You assured her that you were grateful for the invitation, but didn’t want to intrude on her family gathering. She persisted again, citing her fear that you two made too much food, and you relented to join them for dinner. She smiled gleefully, ushering you out the door. 

The walk home wasn’t quite as lonely as you expected. Sure, your shoulders were weighed down a good bit that Fives wouldn’t be there, but you felt a little lighter. 

Snow crunched beneath your feet. You shivered in a particularly cold gust of wind, hugging your coat tighter on yourself to shield against it. The house is going to be freezing. 

As you made the turn onto your drive, you immediately headed for the barn to get more wood for the furnace. Approaching the pile, you huffed a few breaths on your hands to warm them and heaved several logs into your arms. You followed the path back to the house and into the mudroom, dropping your haul to the floor before shaking snow from your coat and boots. 

You leaned over to untie your boot laces when it struck you.

The house was warm. 

You wrinkled your brow in confusion. Had you put that much wood in the furnace before you left? Surely not, you were gone all day, it’d still be burnt out. It should’ve been cold. 

Footsteps sounded from the living room, shooting a cold lightning bolt of fear down your spine. You fought the urge to freeze, flattening yourself against the wall adjacent to the living room door. Heart pounding, you peeked around the frame. The light was on. When you saw no one, you darted into the kitchen, careful to keep your footfall light. 

You went straight for the furnace, grabbing the firewood poker from its rack. Your knuckles whitened, poker gripped tightly against you. 

You rounded the corner of the dining room, holding your makeshift weapon in front of you. Still you saw no one. You frowned, wondering if you’d been mistaken. 

You stepped through the foyer, hands shaking with adrenaline. No footsteps and no shadows. 

Cautiously, you peeked around the corner to the living room. Still you saw no source of the footsteps you could’ve sworn you heard. 

A floorboard creaked behind you, sending your heart into your throat as you gasped and whipped around. 

Fives, wrapped in grungy blacks and holey socks, raised his hands in defense. 

The room spun and you faltered backward, your grip on the fire poker loosening as it clattered to the floor. You raised both hands to your head, gripping your own hair and trying to make sense of what you were seeing. 

He took a step toward you. “Hey,” he rasped. 

You held a hand out in a gesture to stop, falling to your knees. 

He stopped and stood his ground, fighting an overwhelming instinct to run to you and swaddle you in his arms. 

Countless tears slid down your cheeks, hands shaking for an entirely different reason this time. You pressed your palms into your eyes and rubbed them. Blinking hard, you looked back to him. “How? How are you here? Alive?” 

Fives took a tentative half-step toward you, kneeling down closer to your level. “It’s a long story,” he said softly. “I had to protect you from—” 

You launched yourself at him, knocking him to the floor as your arms swung around his middle. His arms were quick to wrap around you, hugging you close like he would soon wake up and you’d be long gone. 

Your body shook with sobs, forehead pressed into his chest and fists balling up in the back of his shirt. He held you, rubbing your back and planting gentle kisses atop your head, until your shaking stilled and breathing grew more even. 

Even after you calmed down, you stayed where you were, both of you relishing the familiarity of each other after so long. You tilted your head to look at him, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he was even alive. 

“I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so long. There’s so much to tell you,” Fives broke the silence quietly, meeting your gaze. 

You sighed, reaching up to hold his cheek in the palm of your hand. He leaned into your touch, cupping your hand in his. “You can start with how you’re alive,” you spoke, voice trembling. “I mourned you, Fives. I– I really thought I’d never see you again.” 

Fives brought his hand to your face, wiping away a fresh tear with his thumb. “I know, Rex kept me updated as best he could.” He averted his gaze, shifting into a thousand yard stare. 

A thousand more questions ran through your mind, but you said nothing, letting him find the words. 

After several beats passed, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. “I was trying to find anyone who would listen and believe me, but… well, that’s an even longer story. I was sure the Chancellor would listen, but I was wrong. He was part of it.” Fives paused again, a pained look passing across his face. “I got shot. And I was dead, for a bit, but Kix got me back. Rex thought it was best to keep it quiet, after everything.” 

Your breath hitched, fresh tears welling up. “Even from me?” 

Fives turned his head back to you, hand returning to your cheek. “I hated to, but it was the best option to protect you from the same people who wanted me dead. Anyone who knew what I knew was in danger.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Once I healed, I spent every waking moment making sure they wouldn’t come after you.”

Your lips trembled and you pressed your face back into his chest, another embrace swallowing you both. You flattened both hands to his back, breathing in his memory-laden smell. 

“After the Empire took over and things started settling down, I went back to the apartment,” Fives mumbled. “Shira never rented it back out, everything was how you left it.” 

You pulled away and sniffled. “Really?”

He nodded. “I guess she hoped you’d come back.” He shifted and reached behind him, fishing a folded slip of paper from his back pocket. “I wish I could thank her, I was able to grab this.” 

Fives held the paper out to you. You took it between two fingers and unfolded it, revealing a real, printed photo of you and the entire Domino squad, back when you and Fives had first gotten together. You had the holo-copy, but left the printed one behind for the sake of space and anonymity in your travels. 

You were rendered speechless, absently thumbing the edge of the photo. “I can’t… I can’t believe it.” 

Fives grinned. “Of all the things that happened today, the picture is what you can’t believe?” 

You chuckled and smacked his arm, a smile breaking across your face. 

Fives’ grin broadened.  

“Why come here now?” You asked, looking back up at him from the photo. “You said you went back when things started settling down. It’s been over 6 months, has it really been that chaotic?” 

Fives shook his head. “Things settled in pretty quickly, at least on Coruscant. Rex survived. I was able to meet with him, and we started helping our brothers that didn’t want to serve the Empire.” 

You hummed in response, turning back to the photo in your hands. He watched your eyes go from each member of the squad to the next, remembering them solemnly.

He whispered your name, drawing your attention back to him. Tears shone in his eyes. “I thought you left, really left.” His voice cracked, a drop sliding down his cheek. “I thought maybe you’d gone off to start a new life.” 

Your jaw fell slightly agape as you sat rooted to the spot, a bit astonished. You set the photo to the side and sat up, shuffling yourself to look him in the eyes.  “Fives, you are my life. If I had to spend the rest of my days alone, hoping and waiting for you to come back to me, I would.” It was your turn to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Your heart ached at the longsuffering now evident in his eyes. “It was always in the plan to live in this house together. I came here to escape the Empire and to try to heal, not move on from you altogether. I don’t think I could ever manage that.” 

Fives’ breath quivered. He cupped the nape of your neck in both hands, pulling you closer to rest his forehead against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you rested a palm on one of his hands. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly, breath mingling with yours. Your noses brushed against each other, lips tingling at the closeness. Slowly, tenderly, as if he was afraid of hurting you, he inched his lips closer until they met with yours. 

You had kissed him hundreds of times, but none of them came close to the warmth and relief and comfort that settled in your bones with that kiss. You were quick to lose your breath, pulling away gasping for air yet longing for another. 

Fives hovered inches away, catching his breath as you did. His eyes drifted open, gaze soft and dazed. 

You brought a hand to his chin, running a finger over his lower lip. “I’ve missed kissing you,” you sighed. 

He chuckled and grasped your hand, massaging your palm with his thumb. “You have no idea.” 

You both froze as an unmistakable rumble erupted from Fives. You burst into a fit of laughter, a sheepish grin tugging at Fives’ mouth. 

“Hungry?” You laughed, standing to your feet and offering out your hands for him. 

“As a rancor,” He confirmed, taking your hands and standing without tugging them. 

You spent the following couple hours cooking a quick meal together, including the pie your neighbor taught you, which filled the house with the warm scent of cinnamon. You paused occasionally for a kiss or a brief cry. The amount of joy and relief surging through your mind, body, and soul sometimes became overwhelming. Fives was dead, yet, there he stood. In your house that could now truly become a home. Your bed would no longer be half empty. Your table would be one plate fuller. All this, and you could hardly believe it was true. 

“Why is it naked?” 

Fives’ question jarred you from your thoughts. You looked to him, standing in the living room staring at the Life Day Tree. 

“Oh.” You stood from the table and moved to stand next to him. “Well, it didn’t feel right decorating it without you here.” You answered plainly. 

He turned his gaze to meet yours. “But we’d never decorated one together before, why not this one?”

You looked at your feet, slightly embarrassed at the scrawny condition of the tree, though Fives didn't question that. “Because we were supposed to do everything here together. I fought through everything else, but this… I don’t know— it just didn’t feel right.”

Fives grabbed ahold of your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Well I’m here now.” 

You smiled softly, giving his hand a return squeeze. “Yeah, you’re here now.” 

Fives turned in place, looking around the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place.” He released your hand and took a few paces. “Did you do all of it by yourself?”

You shook your head. “No, some neighbors helped, and a couple things were too far out of my scope so I hired help from in town.” You shuffled to the door frame, leaning against it. “It was a lot, but it was all I could do to keep from losing my mind.” 

Fives stopped and stood in place, looking at you with eyes so full of regret you wondered if he held an entire galaxy’s worth of guilt. 

You pushed yourself off the frame and crossed the room in large strides, wrapping your arms around him. “Don’t think like that,” you whispered, “You’re here now.” 

He sighed and draped his arms around you, accepting your reassurance. “How do you always know,” he relented. 

Fives jolted suddenly, interrupting the embrace to point at a box in the corner, something shiny glimmering between the edges of cardboard. “What’s that?”

You turned to look at what he was referring to and opened your mouth to answer, but Fives beat you to it, crossing the room and opening the lid. He looked back to you, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Can we?” 

You sighed and tried to bite back a smile, ultimately failing. “Fives, it’s late, can we do it in the morning?” 

“Come on,” he droned playfully, “What’s the use of having it dressed up for one day?” 

Crossing your arms in mock indecision, you brought a hand to tap a finger on your chin. “But if we leave it up for a month, it’s the same, isn’t it?” 

Fives picked up a bundle of lights, unspooling it. “No,” he deadpanned. 

You scoffed out a laugh, marching over to join him. 

The remainder of the evening was spent dolling up your dinky little Life Day tree. You taught Fives how to put lights on without leaving dark spots, how to attach hooks to ornaments and space them out, and how to top it. By the time it was finished, you were so exhausted from the day you were starting to see double. 

You and Fives plopped yourselves down on the sofa, cheap as it was, and leaned back to admire your handiwork. 

“Not bad, for a Life Day Tree shiny,” you smirked lazily. 

Fives gasped, looking at you as if offended. “You take that back!” 

You raised your hands weakly in defense. “I said not bad!” 

He grinned and threw an arm around the back of the sofa. You scooted over to lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

You both sat in silence for a while, a delicate kind of reverence settling over you. You both knew the magnitude of this Life Day in particular. You had each given each other a new meaning for the day. You, giving him a reason to fight on and live. And him, giving you a reason to celebrate life; the fact that he was still alive and with you, namely. 

Eventually, Fives opened his mouth to break the silence with a question, but froze when he glanced at you. You were passed clean out, mouth slightly ajar. Fives chuckled softly, enamored by the way the light of the tree danced across your skin. 

Carefully, he slid his arm behind your shoulders and the other below your knees. As he stood and scooped you in his arms, you stirred, mumbling that you could walk before promptly falling back asleep. 

Fives carried you through the living room, the mudroom, and upstairs to the bedroom, leaning to gently settle you on the bed. One by one, he unlaced and tugged your boots off, followed by your socks, then tucked you under the blankets. After placing a featherlight kiss to your head, he turned and headed back downstairs. 

Fives made sure the doors and windows were closed and locked, refilled the furnace, and made his way back to the foyer. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieved what he needed, and stepped back into the living room. 

He approached the Life Day Tree, pausing to absorb the beauty you added to his life, the joy you brought him in a single evening. After every separation you both endured during the war, then the worst separation of all, and you still loved him more than he felt worthy of. You were steadfast, funny, generous and kind, the most enchanting and incredible woman he’d ever met. And you chose him to love. Of all people in the galaxy, a soldier back from the dead.

More confident in his decision than ever, he crouched down and placed a small, square box under the tree. He leaned over to unplug the lights for the night and stepped back. 

Once back upstairs, he removed his hole-infested socks and climbed in bed next to you. He turned on his side, a quiet yet overwhelming contentment filling him as he refreshed his memory of every detail in your face. He itched to kiss you, to hold you close every hour of the night, but he dared not disturb your peace. 

Minutes ticked by and his eyes grew increasingly heavy. Fives fought sleep, afraid he might wake up and find the whole evening with you was a dream. Eventually he could fight it no longer, his eyes fluttering shut, falling into a more restful sleep than he’d had all year.

End Notes: Phew! That was a bit longer than I meant it to be! To be completely honest there was still a bit more I wanted to add, namely a few tidbits of Life Day itself, but I kinda love this ending and don't want to push it. I also ran out of steam lol. Not too shabby for my first Star Wars fic, I think. First fic since I was in high school, actually.

I hope you enjoyed, and Happy Life Day!

Dividers by @enchanthings and @strangergraphics

[tiredwriter2003]

Danny had long since learnt not to question things in the Fenton household. Sometimes you really did not want to know, ignorance is bliss and all that. That being said he was desperately curious about the ninja assassins. They weren't a problem. Far from it in fact. They were, without a doubt, some of the most helpful ghosts he knew. They were always willing to make a distraction if he needed an out from his parents shooting at him. They helped with his homework. The ninjas would kill the reanimated food before he had too, meaning he could get his ecto-rich diet without the daily battle. They were even willing to help him with the strange instincts and muscle memory from the past he couldn't remember. Sword stances were gone over and corrected, fighting was taught in both human and ghost forms, old hand to hand and martial arts were dusted off and relearned. It was amazing. However, he had absolutely no idea why they were helping him! They called him my liege, little demon, the young heir, and refused to explain. They were loyal to the end, willing to cater to every little whim and comment he made. They had no boundaries or morals. He wanted to go to a reserved show? Sure, they'll blackmail the owners of the best seats, threaten a few people, make sure the cast is the best it can be and come back to him with some tickets. The only thing stopping them from slaughtering an entire branch of the US government, as shady as the GIW were, was Danny himself asking the creepy death ninjas not to. After he became the ghost king it became infinitely worse. Bodyguards were now a thing, political lessons were not to be escaped and tours of the ghost zone had commandeered his Saturdays. Recently however, they had begun speaking of his "blood kin" and "your inefficient natural clone", both of which had him very concerned. He knew he wasn't a blood born Fenton. His earliest memory was at what they could guess to be around 9 years old, biting a social worker who had found him in an abandoned building. No one knew how he got there, there was no record of him in the system and his go to language was still Arabic when he was surprised. That combined with his features did not point to an American child, despite his resemblance to his adopted family. The Fentons may not have told him but they didn't need to. He knew he was adopted. However he knew absolutely nothing about his birth family, other than they sucked going by the sheer amount of scars covering his body. There was a reason he didn't show people his upper body and that reason is he is sick of punching the lights out of some nosy bitch who does not know what none of your business means Dash. (Part 1)

Alright, random idea about the Twin AU, or any AU where Danny is an Al Ghul. Everyone knows that Ra's has an entire army of assassins, but what about the dead assassins? I doubt Ra's is dipping everybody in the Lazarus pit.

So, what if they went to the ghost zone?

And then when Danny dies, these assassins, who are extremely loyal to the Al Ghul family, immediately start following him.

The main assassin in charge, I'm gonna call him Carl, whose been around since the very beginning of the league, who was Ra's right hand man, starts acting as Danny's second in command basically becoming his Alfred.

Carl orders some of the assassins to help Danny out with some small stuff, like distracting some of the rouges so he gets to school on time, killing the hotdogs in the fridge so the little prince doesn't die of poisoning, setting off a Fenton invention so Danny get make a getaway. He definitely orders them to not interfere in big fights, unless Danny really needs the help, as a way for Danny to learn how to fight.

Carl has no idea who the GIW is, but he's gonna find out and then he's gonna blackmail/threaten/unalive some people.

Danny doesn't even know that he's suddenly gained a ghost army, all he knows is that there's a few helpful ghosts hanging around that really hate hotdogs. And then when Danny becomes the ghost king, hoo boy. The assassins replace the old ghost kings army, set up their own system and chains of command just completely change everything. Carl takes FrightKnights place as the king's right hand man/ bodyguard, makes sure all the members of the royal family are safe and is ready to fist fight the time ghost if he makes one more attempt to get his job.

Danny: I wanna be an astronaut. Carl who has no idea what that is: Sure, just let me do some info gathering and blackmail some people. Danny: What? And imagine the batfams reaction.

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

someone has never lived with a coke addict. lmao

no but for real i see these posts a lot and while the basic idea is 100 % correct (drug addiction and homelessness are not personal or moral failures and people affected deserve respect and dignity), they usually take a direction or have implications i dont agree with.

first off, drug addiction is not a class issue. people of all backgrounds are drug addicts. ceos too. so i dont know what this has to do with leftism? as someone who struggles with substance abuse and for that reason has lived with and been around addicts, there are good reasons for people to be biased against them. in active addiction, many people are erratic, unpredictable, and egoistic. being wary of active addicts is self-preservation, not „bourgeois“ or whatever the reference to leftism is supposed to imply. this is also partly a gendered issue because men tend to exhibit addiction, egoism, and aggression at higher rates than women.

secondly, especially at the intersection of homelessness and drug addiction - i see a lot of these posts taking the direction of „mind your business if a homeless man is next to you mumbling to himself“ etc - it seems these people also romanticise what drug addiction with nothing to lose can do to a person. a friend of mine was hit in the face by a homeless man walking by, someone else i know was stabbed by a homeless man after they took him in. just because someone is underprivileged you dont have to stop listening to your insticts and keeping your distance to erratic and intoxicated men who seem like they might do something unpredictable. this doesnt just mean homeless men by the way, i dont trust any men exhibiting this behavior, and yeah would possibly call the cops if someone like that hung around my home or work (never have though).

on the other hand, when a homeless woman was hanging out in the hallway i let her be. my neighbor wanted to call the cops but i told her not to. personally i dont even care if she shoots up there, but if i had kids i might not want her around either.

are homeless drug addicts vulnerable and more likely to be harmed than harm someone else? yeah. do cops and doctors treat homeless people like shit? yeah. these are important conversations to have, but i wish they would happen without romantisation.

talk to any woman who has worked with homeless men, myself included - marginalisation is not virtue. many still harrass and even assault women. and these posts never take a gendered perspective: how most homeless and drug addicted women land in prostitution, how they are not safe in homeless shelters because of the men, etc.

im not saying op here said all of this but from the tone (and the tags and reblogs) it struck me as one of those posts that shames people for being alert around drug addicts and alcoholics when there is ample reason to, especially if youre a woman and theyre a man. and they never take a gendered perspective which is really important in this context, as it usually is.

[koko2unite]

[solarpunkani]

Saw your tags on that post about swamp milkweed about having trouble getting it started--you may already know this, but milkweed seeds need light to germinate! They only need a light dusting of soil on top of them (and putting them somewhere with a lot of light helps!); if you can't see the seed through the soil, it's buried a little too deep. They basically want to be laying flat on the surface of the soil rather than poked down into it, with just enough soil on top to help them retain moisture. Yes this does make it kind of annoying to manage moisture because you don't really want them drying out either (sorry 😭) but I hope this helps!! I mention it because this is the most common issue I see with people trying to grow milkweeds from seed. They also want 4 weeks of cold stratification (cool temperatures like in a fridge while also being in contact with moist soil; you can plant your seeds, pop the whole pot in a ziplock/cover it with cling wrap, and just refrigerate it for a few weeks) so don't forget to do that!

You know

it's really funny

because i like to call myself the self-proclaimed milkweed queen of tumblr (at least on my gardening blog but still)

And yet

I

constantly fucking forget about the light thing

IDK if that'll fix all my problems (the soil at my house is pretty sandy so I think that's the problem when it comes to transplanting at least) but regarding getting those little shits to germinate??? that might be the ticket

(one of the other problems I face sometimes is the seeds deciding to mold when they're in the fridge cold stratifying, i lost a good chunk of seeds to that last year but i don't see any signs of it happening yet this year so fingers crossed everyone)

[mimiruku]

Jojooooooo! For ♡ Mimi ♡: "Which canon character annoys your OC?", "Is there someone your OC didn’t like at first, but then got along with later?", and "Is there a canon character your OC needs to forgive?"

█    𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐎𝐂 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄   ⸻   ( ⚝ )

Here we go again, Nimo! Thank you for always sending some & having me ACTUALLY set things up for him lmao.

Which canon character annoys your OC ? ╰┈➤    Annoyance is more often in a spectrum with him, he finds a lot of them a little annoying in more ways than one . . . or at the very least, dissatisfactory. Even the one he favors most ( Reborn ) , he had held something against at and had struct a nerve . . . rather than asking 'who annoys' Miruku, the better question might be 'what they've done to annoy him' . Currently, Momina, Kyoko, Ipin & Shoichi holds the distinct title of never peeving Miruku in any particular way.

Is there someone your OC didn’t like at first, but then got along with later ? ╰┈➤    GOKUDERA HAYATO. He's so loud, aggressive and accusatory and as a teen, it was almost impossible to have a conversation with him that didn't lead to him screaming defamatory and offensive statements ⸻ for a long while, Miruku had marked him as someone he wishes to avoid, though his temperament and patience surprisingly had them still comingling relatively well. ( Miruku is gentlehanded, inoffensive and never treated Gokudera harshly regardless of his actual discomforts. ) Admittedly, his active attempt to reach out to Gokudera where primarily because of Momina, who somehow recognized that ' he isn't all that bad ' . . . well, so if Momina says so, then Miruku has no qualms in believing it. Later, Miruku also began seeing what Momina saw in him, Gokudera is someone he can love too.

Is there a canon character your OC needs to forgive ? ╰┈➤    YUNI.    He could not, much as he tries, understand why he must remember such painful memories , why he must carry those burdens again and worst of all, that he has to exist seeing Byakuran's face again. There is this unpleasant bitter fear in him that he might not be able to forgive Yuni at all, that he'd hold her in contempt in spite of her good will. Miruku doesn't know how to hate properly, more likely he is just broken hearted, that someone unknowingly, with a smile, could hurt him this much without a thought. Yuni didn't think of anyone, did she?

[iwanttobepersephone]

Random short rant inspired by a plethora of things that I just wanna post lol

When people say, "It takes a village to raise a kid," I'm not entirely sure they understand that it takes a village

The village does not stop at your grandmother or your aunt. The village includes that college student who helped your kid up after they fell on the playground. The village includes the sweet old man telling your kid stories while you try and figure out the bus map. The village includes the high schooler who helped when your kid was a dollar short for some ice cream

Being safe does not mean teaching your kid to be instinctually afraid of everyone they meet, it means teaching your kid to be cautious about the information they give out and where they go. You don't have to fear the village, just be aware of it, please

[micamicster]

I just am obsessed with any story that’s about people who love each other but cannot do justice to that love because they have a duty to something else first. That there is something else fundamental and demanding that they must choose over love every time. To be forced to choose one irreplaceable thing over another etc etc

[likeawolfatthemoon]

yesterday i had a panic attack at work and sobbed for over an hour at my desk in front of all of my coworkers bc i was frozen to the spot and couldn't like...move myself to a different area at the very least. and i embarrassed the fuck out of myself and now i'm afraid of the new job that i loved 🙃

[tothesolarium]

Looking at art/magic lil me was desperately trying to make happen, all for a safe home.

now safely at home with my kitties and old people who love me. With the coolest lil sisters and a lil brother I love even if I can’t meet him. It happened, it worked, not in the way you thought it would but it did

[luetta]

idk if people on tumblr know about this but a cybersecurity software called crowdstrike just did what is probably the single biggest fuck up in any sector in the past 10 years. it's monumentally bad. literally the most horror-inducing nightmare scenario for a tech company.

some info, crowdstrike is essentially an antivirus software for enterprises. which means normal laypeople cant really get it, they're for businesses and organisations and important stuff.

so, on a friday evening (it of course wasnt friday everywhere but it was friday evening in oceania which is where it first started causing damage due to europe and na being asleep), crowdstrike pushed out an update to their windows users that caused a bug.

before i get into what the bug is, know that friday evening is the worst possible time to do this because people are going home. the weekend is starting. offices dont have people in them. this is just one of many perfectly placed failures in the rube goldburg machine of crowdstrike. there's a reason friday is called 'dont push to live friday' or more to the point 'dont fuck it up friday'

so, at 3pm at friday, an update comes rolling into crowdstrike users which is automatically implemented. this update immediately causes the computer to blue screen of death. very very bad. but it's not simply a 'you need to restart' crash, because the computer then gets stuck into a boot loop.

this is the worst possible thing because, in a boot loop state, a computer is never really able to get to a point where it can do anything. like download a fix. so there is nothing crowdstrike can do to remedy this death update anymore. it is now left to the end users.

it was pretty quickly identified what the problem was. you had to boot it in safe mode, and a very small file needed to be deleted. or you could just rename crowdstrike to something else so windows never attempts to use it.

it's a fairly easy fix in the grand scheme of things, but the issue is that it is effecting enterprises. which can have a looooot of computers. in many different locations. so an IT person would need to manually fix hundreds of computers, sometimes in whole other cities and perhaps even other countries if theyre big enough.

another fuck up crowdstrike did was they did not stagger the update, so they could catch any mistakes before they wrecked havoc. (and also how how HOW do you not catch this before deploying it. this isn't a code oopsie this is a complete failure of quality ensurance that probably permeates the whole company to not realise their update was an instant kill). they rolled it out to everyone of their clients in the world at the same time.

and this seems pretty hilarious on the surface. i was havin a good chuckle as eftpos went down in the store i was working at, chaos was definitely ensuring lmao. im in aus, and banking was literally down nationwide.

but then you start hearing about the entire country's planes being grounded because the airport's computers are bricked. and hospitals having no computers anymore. emergency call centres crashing. and you realised that, wow. crowdstrike just killed people probably. this is literally the worst thing possible for a company like this to do.

crowdstrike was kinda on the come up too, they were starting to become a big name in the tech world as a new face. but that has definitely vanished now. to fuck up at this many places, is almost extremely impressive. its hard to even think of a comparable fuckup.

a friday evening simultaneous rollout boot loop is a phrase that haunts IT people in their darkest hours. it's the monster that drags people down into the swamp. it's the big bag in the horror movie. it's the end of the road. and for crowdstrike, that reaper of souls just knocked on their doorstep.