#and then says she made it up. which makes me so upset

[vorchagirl]

“Don’t come any closer” for the prompt thing ? For Lucanis and Rook :3

(I love Untouchable btw I always get so excited when I get The AO3 Update Email)

Thank you so much for the prompt! This is a little snippet for Kash & Lucanis (technically Spite) from Untouchable. I hope you like this!

Lies

Kash heard soft footsteps on the rooftop behind her a moment before she scented Lucanis’ aftershave on the wind. Irritation, sweet and sharp, cut through her, and she wiped her eyes and gripped the edge of the roof tighter. The ground was a long way below and she sat on the very edge of the roof, her feet and legs dangling as the Treviso night sky blazed with stars above her.

Up here, it felt as though she was the only person in the world, and her problems felt very far away.

“Don’t come any closer,” she told him wearily. “I said I wanted to be alone and I meant it, Lucanis.”

The footsteps immediately stopped, and she heard a sharp intake of breath. “Not Lucanis,” a gravelly voice replied, his tone carefully neutral as though wary of upsetting her. “Me.”

Spite.

It got her attention, as the demon no doubt knew it would.

“What are you doing here? Is Lucanis okay?’ She turned to look at him, uncaring that she’d been crying for hours and probably looked horrible. A demon wouldn’t care what she looked like. He made a non-committal grumbling sound and moved closer, nimbly swinging down to sit beside her as though invited.

“Lucanis is. Angry at your Talon. And sad.” Spite scooted closer on the ledge, until his shoulder and leg brushed hers. “Worried. Everyone is worried. Rook didn’t come home.”

So they cared enough about her to worry if she vanished, but not enough to tell her truth about who she really was. But then, she thought bitterly, a useful tool was no good if it was misplaced, so of course they cared that she hadn't come home. Fresh tears leaked from her eyes, and the distant view of the ground blurred.

“I needed some time to think.”

The demon faced her, glowing eyes narrowed as he reached out a hand and caught one of her tears on the tip of his finger. “Rook is. Still sad?”

She nodded, her throat tightening all over again at the truth that had been kept from her for so long. At the lie she had built her identity sound. The mockery which she had become. Viago was no more her hero and saviour then she was his. She was just leverage against the Antivan King and the merchant prince families.

Everything she had believed in was a lie.

“I am not Lucanis,” Spite told her softly, and he put an arm around Kash, pulling her close as she began to cry again. “But he regrets. He is sad too.”

“He lied to me!” Kash buried her face against Spite's chest as he flared his wings, wrapping them tightly about her in a comforting cocoon. “They all lied to me!”

He growled softly and shook his head. “Lucanis did not lie. Not his secret. To tell. He wanted to. Your Talon said no. Coward.” Spite tightened his arms around her, and she felt him sniff the air. “I will stay with Rook. Despair is near. Lingers. Waits.”

She couldn't tell whether Spite was making it up to give himself a plausible excuse to stay by her side while she cried, or if he meant it. And she didn't care. The wounds in her heart ached terribly, and despite her earlier words, she didn't want to be alone anymore.

Spite didn't say anything else as she cried, he just tightened his arms around her and lay his cheek on top of her head.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Marriage Problems Chapter 1

Summary: They’ve been married for 19 years, their 20th anniversary coming up soon.  Older, busier, and stuck on the repeat of their daily lives, Y/N and Bucky are struggling.  Their marriage is good, but feeling rocky the last few years as they’ve settled into this stage of their lives.  Can they get their spark back?  Or is it better to do the unthinkable, and move on without each other?

Warnings:  language, forced kiss, eventual smut

Next chapter

“Come on kids, let’s go!” Y/N shouted, filling up lunch boxes and plating breakfasts.

The pounding of feet on the stairs and the ever-present sound of raised, upset voices filled the kitchen as they all thundered in.

“Just leave me alone!” the oldest, Becca, yelled at the second, Winnie.

“All I asked was to borrow your cardigan,” Winnie scoffed, then turned to Y/N.  “Mama, why can’t I borrow her cardigan?”

“‘Cause it’s not yours,” Y/N huffed, putting down the plates on the table then turning to grab glasses for their orange juice.  “Respect the no.”

“Yeah, respect he no, butthead,” Becca smirked.

“Don’t call your sister a butthead,” Y/N said loudly, bringing over the glasses and filling them up.  

“Mama, I don’t want eggs and toast,” the youngest, James, whined as he sat at the table, scowling at the plate of food.

“Well then get up earlier to make your own breakfast next time,” Y/N sighed, turning away from the table to load their lunch boxes into their backpacks.  “Hurry up and eat, the bus will be here soon.”

“But I haven’t brushed my teeth yet!” James said incredulously.  Y/N looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and he quickly started eating.  “I’ll eat fast and go do it,” he said quickly to appease her.

She shook her head as she started cleaning the kitchen, the girls continuing to fight as another set of footsteps echoed down the stairs.  “Good morning my spawn,” Bucky called out to the kids as he swept through the kitchen.

“Morning Dad!” they all chimed in unison, before going back to their previous fighting.

He rounded the island and hesitantly walked up to Y/N, who barely glanced at him as she held out a lunch box and his usual breakfast in a bag to him, his regular coffee in a canister sitting on the island.  “Thanks,” he said quietly, taking them from her.  She didn’t say anything, continuing to clean the island of the crumbs and mess from breakfast.  “Uh, I’ll be back close to six today,” he said, trying to strike up a conversation.  “Got a big presentation that might take a while.  I’ll text you if anything changes.”

“Okay, good luck,” Y/N responded, still not looking at him.  

Bucky sighed quietly, then reached a hand out to touch her arm.  Y/N stopped, slowly looking up at him.  They stared at each other for a moment, their children’s voices interrupting the tense atmosphere as Bucky gave her a small smile.  He didn’t say anything further and leaned down to kiss her cheek lightly before pulling away.  “Alright, I’m out,” he announced, walking over to the kids, kissing each of them on top of their heads quickly before heading for the door to the garage.  “Love you!”

“Love you!” they all said back.  

Bucky glanced at Y/N one more time.  She didn’t look back at him, so he left.  On the drive to work he pondered over their relationship for what felt like the millionth time.  The first few years had been perfect.  They were each other’s ride or die, always in each other’s corner as ultimate support through the finishing school-early marriage-settling down in their jobs phase.  Then Y/N got pregnant with their first, and as excited as they were, it changed the dynamics quickly.  She had to cut back hours at work, which she wasn’t happy about since she loved her job, but did it with a smile to support their growing family.  

Then came the second child, then the third.  And they made the difficult decision for her to quit her job and be a stay at home parent.  Bucky was extremely appreciative of Y/N and all she had done for him and the kids through those years.  She was a great mother, and he helped as much as he could when he was home, but having the financial load put on his shoulders was a lot of pressure, and he had worked hard at his job over the years to get to where he was at now to provide them a comfortable living.  At some point along the way they’d gotten into a routine, and life was a little boring for a while.  Bucky expected this, after years of new beginnings and survival.  But what he didn’t expect was how the boredom and monotony would distance them from each other.  Once all the kids entered the adolescent years, suddenly it felt like they were strangers sleeping in the same bed.

Their sex life came to a screeching halt with how busy they were, the kids’ schedules getting jam packed with activities and events and Bucky’s job requiring more hours with the responsibilities he took on being a lead on his team.  Y/N was withdrawing, he could see and feel it.  But he didn’t know how to fix it.  He had tried scheduling dates more often, taking on more things at home to lighten her load, initiating sex even when he was exhausted.  But she had rebuffed his efforts, getting frustrated with him rather than engaging.  He was contemplating marriage counseling, but didn’t know how to bring it up to her, instead doing some research into their insurance options and the marriage counselors available in their area.

The worst part about it all was how much he missed her, and yet she was right there.  How could you miss someone when they’re literally still in your life within arm’s reach?  He shook his head, fighting off the rush of emotions as he pulled in to work.  He couldn’t stress over it now.  This presentation, if successful, could give him a big bonus that he was hoping to use to give Y/N a redo on their honeymoon for their anniversary, since they’d been a couple of poor college kids when they got married.  Maybe some time away for the two of them would rekindle some romance.  Nineteen years was a long time to be with someone, almost twenty with their anniversary coming up in a few months.  He wasn’t willing to give up.  But was she?

“Hey punk,” Steve greeted him.  

“‘Morning, jerk,” Bucky smirked at him, giving him a quick hug.  “Are we all ready?”

“I think so,” Steve said, glancing at the materials for the presentation on the table in front of them.  “I’ve been triple checking everything.  We should be ready to go.”  He looked at Bucky for a second before a small frown darkened his features.  “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, frowning back at him.  “Why?”

“Nothing, you just look…tired,” Steve observed, his eyes narrowing.  He looked around for any prying ears then leaned in closer.  “You and Y/N still having a hard time?”

Bucky sighed and looked away from his knowing gaze.  “Yeah,” he said quietly.  “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, Steve.  Let’s just focus on this, then we can talk about my marriage problems.”

“Who has marriage problems?” Peter asked.

“Jesus!  Parker, how do you just pop up out of nowhere?” Steve griped.

“I don’t,” Peter frowned.  “You just didn’t hear me come in.”

“Quit being snoopy,” Bucky chastised him.  “And it’s none of your business.”

Peter shrugged and walked around the table, looking over everything.  Steve looked back at Bucky and gave him a small, reassuring smile, then clapped his shoulder.  “It’ll be alright,” he said quietly, before turning back to the table and focusing on the presentation with Peter.

Bucky inhaled deeply, trying to relax.  It would be alright.  They’d figure it out and come back together…somehow.

[cantfightmoonlight]

"I was more referring to how she takes pleasure in gossip. But, she certainly stole the show, didn't she?" The corner of her lips tilted up into a soft and amused smile at the thought. "Fair enough," was all she said in regards to Todd though, in her own personal opinion, she felt that Rohan and Todd both had a tendency to carry a grudge. Not that she couldn't relate. She just would have acted differently if she had been in shoes is all.

"You want to be frank? Let's be frank. Aaliyah did make decisions in my absence and I take responsibility for ever single one, whether I would have done the same or not, just as I take responsibility for how I voted in that room. But, there is a difference between taking responsibility for my own choices and letting it pass, which as I've pointed out to you over and over again at this point, I didn't let the decision to ban you simply pass. As much as you'd like to believe I did, that decision would have still been in affect if it wasn't for me. You considered joining the pack with Jonah. Do you honestly believe you would have been able to if I hadn't pushed to have the ban re-evaluated?" She asked with a curve of her brow, only to let out a scoff as he continued on. "Listen here, Rohan Persaud-Rivas, you can stand there and resent me for the way I voted all you'd like, but don't you dare belittle what happens behind that room. A solitary advisor? The entire Council voted for you to be banned before I agreed. I was out number. Your fate was already decided, declaring war between species had already been threatened and I have no jurisdiction in that room over any witch. So, as I told you before and I'll say it again- while I am sorry I hurt you, I am not sorry for choosing not to pick a fight with the Supreme and put a target on the clan's back for a fate I knew I wouldn't be able to change in that instant regardless. I decided to find another way. I managed to have your fate overturned and prevented a potential target on the clan's back. And I'd do it again as much as that might not be what you want to hear."

"I'm not excusing myself. I'm simply pointing out that, when I step into the Council Room, I am no different than anyone else there. I'm not a Mayor in that room. I am the Clan Leader and, as I've already said, I continue to lead, because I gave this town and the Clan my word and if didn't, the people I care about would be worse of. When my turn as Mayor is up though, I hope you all are happy when Damien Blake or JC or who ever else decides to take on this thankless job in my stead."

"Yes. I made a choice, but so did you. You broke the accords. You put us all in the position to have to decide your fate and I made a decision you didn't like. Me questioning whether or not I can trust you has nothing to do with you having been or being upset about the choice I made and everything to do with how you chose to ignore me and avoid me rather than having the balls to have a god damn conversation about it. If you had done something that pissed me off, I would have come and talked to you, immediately, because I care about you and you're important to me. I would have wanted to hear your side. So, yes. I don't know if I can trust you, because the second I did something you didn't like, you cut all contact. If you were or are mad about my stance on the matter now, I understand. But, you didn't give me a chance to explain. You didn't even tell me that you were upset until months later. So, how do I know that it won't happen again? How do I know that you won't start avoiding me out of the blue and leave me to have to wonder if I did something to offend you or if I'm being paranoid and you're simply busy?"

"I nearly died, Rohan, and I'm tired. I don't have the energy to try to decipher anyone's feelings nor do I expect anyone to decipher mine. So, I'm telling you how I feel which is that I don't know if I should trust you. Not that I don't trust you. But, that I feel like I might regret it down the line, if I continue to. You think my feelings are ridiculous? Fine. So be it. But, it's how I feel. Either we can talk through it and go on being friends or we can call it here. But, I'm not getting in your car if you chose the latter. It's really that simple."

"Well, Dilan has other ways of getting her point across. Someone getting shoved off a stage is about as Christmas-y in Lunar Cove as snow or gingerbread," Rohan replied with a soft sigh. He shook his head back and forth. "I know he didn't possess me on-purpose, but...his behavior while doing so was less than becoming. Besides, he's tied very strongly to one of the worst nights of my life. Again, not his fault, but it's best we don't try to co-mingle. It's not a one-sided sentiment either, for what it's worth. I understand he's very frustrated that he gets injured when I do." Rohan gave a weak shrug. "I wish him well. I just don't think we need to hang."

Rohan raised an eyebrow. "I mean...yeah? Nico didn't agree with JC's decision. And sure, I'll give you that him leaving put JC in the position to make one. That happened. But I'll also be frank, Meena. Would you have stood behind whatever hypothetical decision Aaliyah may have made in your absence? It would be understandable. United front. But if Aaliyah had voted to ban me, would you have let it pass?" He shook his head. "I also don't begrudge Nico for prioritizing Jasmine. I would prioritize Jonah. But, like...look, if a solitary advisor is enough to make a ripple through the policy of every faction of the town, then I don't know what to say about that."

Rohan knit his brow. "You're the mayor. You're the leader of the vampires. You have your say. Excuse yourself it that's what you want to do. And if you don't want to be either of those things anymore, then stop being them. In any case, Poppy and I aren't friends anymore. So, believe me, no one got a pass. You know what? Maybe Ben did, but he's practically my in-law. And we didn't really know each other at the time."

A hand came up to rub at his temple, but actual irritation now crept into Rohan's voice. "No. No. We're not doing that. You don't get to 'look what you made me do' me. You made a choice, Meena. You can't trust me? Why? Because I was upset by something you did to me? That's ridiculous. Completely. So you know what? Why don't we just call it here in that case? I'm sorry. I can't...like, be half-friends, aware you don't trust me. I just don't think it's going to work. For both our sakes. I'll still give you the ride if you want it, but that's probably not a good idea, is it?"

[oceanista08]

[1] Better ✧. ┊    cha haein x fem!reader

Cha Haein wasn't the type to get distracted during training.

Footwork, breathing, precision—every movement was calculated, controlled.

But today, she was off.

"Alright, take a break," you said, stepping back with an easy grin, barely winded from sparring. "I don't wanna be responsible if 'The Dancer' suddenly gets sloppy.

Haein exhaled, lowering her wooden sword. "I’m not sloppy."

You tilted your head, giving her a look. "You hesitated twice."

She had.

Which was ridiculous. She never hesitated.

But how was she supposed to focus when her mind was still stuck on what you had said earlier?

The casual, offhanded way you had mentioned it.

"I've been busy lately. My boyfriend's been asking to meet more, so I don’t have much free time.'

It had taken everything in her to keep her expression neutral, to not let the words hit harder than they should have.

Because why should she care?

You were her friend. Maybe. She got jealous.

And the more you talked about him, the worse it got.

You always spoke with a small smile, but your words never matched.

"He's been stressed, so I don't mind if he forgets things sometimes."

"He's usually not like this, I think he's just tired."

"I mean, he's not ignoring me—he just gets busy."

Excuses. So many excuses.

Haein had seen couples before. She wasn't blind. She knew what love was supposed to look like.

And this wasn't it.

She could see it in the way your shoulders tensed when his name came up. In the way you always gave more than you received.

She had thought about saying something—had wanted to—but what right did she have?

So instead, she forced herself to stay silent.

Forced herself to tighten her grip on her sword and focus on training, even though she hated every second of it.

Because deep down, she already knew.

She wasn't just upset because your boyfriend didn't treat you well.

She was upset because she knew she could treat you better.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Cha Haein had never been much for socializing.

The crowded banquet hall, the clinking of glasses, the stifling chatter—it all made her nervous. She had planned to leave early like she always did until she saw him.

And at that moment, her plans changed.

You were standing near the bar, neatly dressed, your usual confidence overshadowed by the presence of the man beside you.

Him.

Haein's fingers curled around the stem of her untouched wine glass as she watched him drape an arm around your waist, speaking over you as if you were just there to decorate his evening. The way he barely glanced at you when you spoke, how he only touched you when others were watching, how his attention wandered the moment someone more important entered the room—

It made her stomach clench in a way she didn't like.

She knew you deserved better.

And she knew she could do better.

You had been her friend for years - someone who understood her quiet nature, someone who never forced her into conversations she didn't want to have, someone who always knew when she needed space and when she needed someone by her side.

But here you were.

Accepting someone who didn't even see you.

The thought made her act before she could think twice.

Her heels clicked lightly on the marble floor as she approached, her usual quiet confidence making people move away without her having to say a word. She didn't hesitate as she approached you, not looking at him.

Just you.

"Dance with me."

Your head suddenly lifted, eyes widening a little. "Haein?"

She tilted her head slightly, lips curving into the faintest of smiles. "You look sad, I want to cheer you up."

You blink, and for the first time tonight, she sees something flash across your face—hesitation, disappointment, something deeper.

Your so-called boyfriend doesn’t even notice her presence, too busy talking to someone else.

Haein steps closer, her voice lower, softer.

"You don't have to pretend with me."

A breath escapes your lips—something between a giggle and a sigh. "You don't even like dancing."

"I don't want to," she admits. "But I'll do it for you."

That makes you pause.

And then, slowly, you place your hand in hers.

Warm, familiar.

The moment your fingers clasp hers, she swears she feels something happen.

She eases you onto the dance floor, her grip firm but careful, as if she's afraid you might slip. The moment you settle into the rhythm, the warmth of your body close to hers, she knows she's done the right thing.

Because this — holding you in her arms, watching you smile without forcing it, feeling the way you move naturally against her — it feels right.

"Why did you do that?" you ask, your voice smaller now, more vulnerable.

Haein exhales softly, her gaze steady. "Because someone should."

You blink at her, your eyes searching hers. And in that moment, she knows you understand.

Because he always understood her.

She doesn't need to explain.

It goes without saying how much it hurts to see you with someone who doesn't see you the way she does.

Needless to say, she wanted to be the one holding you like this—not just tonight, but forever.

The song slowed down, and so did you, the distance between you becoming impossibly small.

Your fingers tightened around hers.

And then, barely more than a whisper—

"You should have asked me sooner."

Haein held her breath.

And she swore, in that moment, that she would never be late again.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

And then your lover notices.

The music continues, but Haein can feel the weight of an angry gaze burning her back.

She ignores it.

Until she doesn’t have to anymore.

"Oh, isn't this cute?"

Your body tenses slightly, but Haein doesn’t let go. Instead, she turns around—just enough to meet his gaze.

He looks uncomfortable. Defensive. Like someone whose pride has been wounded.

Good.

You sigh, backing away slightly. "I don't want to do this here."

But Haein's patience is running out.

"She's busy," Haein says, her tone even but firm.

Your so-call-boyfriend scoffs. "Oh, so you're speaking for them now?" He laughs. "I know. You've always been strangely protective, haven't you?"

Haein didn't react. Not taking the bait. She just tilted her head, her hand still resting lightly on your waist.

"I protect people who deserve it," she said smoothly. "Not people who treat their partners like accessories."

His expression darkened. "You don’t know anything about our relationship."

"I know enough," Haein said, her voice calm—so calm it was almost insulting. "I know they deserve better."

His jaw clenched. "And you think that's you?"

Haein smiled, slow and careful. "I know that's me."

You sighed softly beside her, and she didn’t have to look to know you were trying not to laugh.

He scoffed, but there was something uncomfortable about his posture—like he knew he'd already lost.

He was angry and reached for your hand. "Come with me-"

But then his actions were quickly interrupted by Haein. She glared at him, exuding a dangerous aura. "Don’t touch her."

He pulled his hand back and trembled under Haein's gaze.

Haein tilted her head toward the exit. "I think you've stayed too long."

His eyes glanced between the two of you, but in the end, he just stuck out his tongue and turned away. "You'll regret it soon."

As soon as he left, you sighed, running your hand over your face.

"That's…something."

Haeinn hummed, "Are you sad?"

You looked up at her, a slow smile spreading across your lips.

"No," you said, your voice warm. "It was kinda hot, actually."

Hae-In blinked. Then she smiled.

"Good."

She held out her hand again. "Another dance?"

This time you took it without hesitation, your fingers wrapping around hers as if they had always been there.

New blog yayyyyy (/≧▽≦)/

Solo leveling chars x reader ( except Jinwoo - Jinwoo posts in @leonastarry )

[penfz]

A Hard Lesson

SukunaXFemReader (Modern AU)

Summary: The Itadori's are faced with a heartbreaking question from Aika, and it's up to them to answer in the best and most truthful way possible.

A/N: Please always remember, you're good enough <3

Sukuna X FemReader Masterlist

Yuji stood there, Aika’s question catching her off guard. She was already in tears as she asked her question, a situation that she had created in her mind to be true. Cause it had to be true, right? Cause why else would things be the way they are?

“Yuji-“ Sukuna called as he headed to his brother’s room. He needed to know what the 2 brats wanted for dinner. But Aika’s cries made him pause at the doorway. Did Yuji make her cry? That’s kind of unlike him. “Suku- nii.” Yuji began to tear up. “I don’t know what to do.”

… wtf. Sukuna didn’t even know what was happening, why Aika was crying and why Yuji was about to cry himself.

He placed a hand on Yuji’s head, signaling that everything will be ok. And then picked up Aika, consoling the child as he did Yuji when they were younger.

“So?” Sukuna pressed. He didn’t need to say that one of them better explain why the fcuk they were crying. “Um, Aika had a question.” Yuji mentioned, a sadness seeping through his voice. “And I didn’t know how to answer.” His voice ended in a whisper. “What question?” Sukuna continued, now looking at Aika. But the poor girl didn’t want to answer, wiping her tears as she didn’t want to upset Sukuna.

“Aika.” Sukuna pressed once more. He wasn’t going to repeat his question, something Yuji already knew and Aika was starting to learn.

With one more sniffle, she asked the question that had broke the younger Itadori’s heart.

“Suki, does my dad not like me?” “Why are you asking that?” Sukuna’s expression turning flat, it wasn’t a question he wanted to answer. Cause screw him! LOL “Cause everyone else in my class has a dad, but not me.” “Did someone in class say that your dad doesn’t like you?” Sukuna questioned. And when Aika didn’t answer and simply looked down to the floor, he mentally promised her that whoever their parents were, will not be having a child anymore.

Which isn’t a nice thing to say, so he didn’t say it outloud Lol

“Don’t listen to them.” Was the poorest advice Sukuna could honestly say. But what else was he allowed to say? He barely knew the situation with you and your ex, only that he chose to not be in the picture anymore. And you were were fine with that. “Suku-nii.” Yuji whispered, as if reprimanding him. Yuji? The younger brother, reprimanding him? Ha!

Sukuna simply grimaced at Yuji. He understood that the advice he gave was simply terrible, especially for someone Aika’s age. But he didn’t want to overstep boundaries for Aika wasn’t his child, he didn’t want to overstep and make you upset.

But to Sukuna, there was something he wanted to say on the matter.

“It’s not that he doesn’t like you.” Sukuna started, catching Yuji by surprise when he continued. Aika simply sat there. “He just doesn’t deserve you.” “Deserve me?” Aika questioned. She didn’t really understand. Maybe he meant like how her mom would ask her if she deserved icecream after not finishing her homework. “Yeah.” Sukuna answered, how does he explain it in terms Aika would understand? “If you’re not good, then do you think you deserve rewards for it?” “No.” Aika answered, tears about to slip through. But she won’t cry in front of Sukuna, she refuses too! But she already did… “If your dad chooses not to see you, is that nice?” Sukuna continued. “No.” Aika sniffled, she was so close to crying again. “Then do you think your dad who chooses not to see you, deserves you?” “No.” Aika let her tears fall.

Aika was so confused in wanting to be a good daughter by loving both parents. But truthfully, because she didn’t see her dad, doesn’t truly know him, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to love him. Was she supposed to give him the same love she gives Sukuna? Cause Gojo said it was ok to write her homework that one time on Father’s Day about Sukuna. He treated her nicely, helped her with her homework when Yuji or you couldn’t. Fed her all her favourite things and took her to her favourite places, all with Yuji by her side. Sukuna deserved her love, deserved her. Was she supposed to love her dad like how she loves Sukuna?

Maybe she should ask you or Gojo about that.

And truthfully. Sukuna loved Aika just as much as he loved Yuji, just as much as he would love his own child.

And perhaps the love that Aika kept for her dad, perhaps Sukuna deserved it more than her dad.

“Mommy!” Aika suddenly screamed, her tears getting harder as she screamed for you.

Yuji and Sukuna jumped, this was so unexpected. The Itadori brothers thought that Sukuna’s little speech was good, surprisingly.

And it was good. Aika was only now confused on who deserved her love, on who deserved her. She needed to ask you, to Aika you had all the answers, you’re her mom after all.

But where were you during this little crisis?

Stuck outside the front door waiting for one of the brothers to answer the door, that’s where.

It didn’t even dawn on any of them that you’re probably close by until Yuji’s phone started ringing.

“Hello?” Yuji answered carefully, Aika was still crying. “Hey Yuji, I’m outside… is Aika crying?” You questioned as you could hear her in the background.

Yuji froze for a moment, would you be mad knowing your daughter was crying?

“Yeah…” Yuji answered slowly. “I’ll come open the door.”

And with that, Yuji quickly exited the room, leaving Sukuna with a crying Aika.

“Hey…” Yuji said carefully, opening the door. He wasn’t sure how you would react to news of your daughter crying. “Hi Yuji.” You answered… pretty cheerfully too. Wtf? Did she not just hear her daughter crying? “So where’s Aika?” “With Suku- nii upstairs in my room.” Yuji admitted. “I’m sorry Y/N-“ “For what?” You asked confused? “Did you make Aika cry?” “No, but-“ “And I doubt Sukuna did too.” You answered with a small smile. “It’s fine Yuji, just tell me what happened.”

So Yuji began to explain how Aika’s sudden question had stumped him, and how Sukuna tried his very best to comfort her. But in the end, his words didn’t seem to affect her.

“Is that all?” You questioned, that gentle smile never leaving your face. “Yeah.” Yuji answered, he was relieved he wasn’t in trouble. But he still felt bad for Aika crying. “And between me and you.” You said just before heading upstairs to Yuji’s room, making Yuji look up at you. “Aika’s father is a real piece of work. The reason she doesn’t see him is actually his own fault, he chose that. So Sukuna’s right when he said that he doesn’t deserve Aika.”

With that, Yuji’s big smile returned to his face, realizing you agreed with his big brother.

You gently knocked on Yuji’s door, even though it was wide open. Sukuna and Aika immediately made eye contact with you, causing Aika to crawl out of Sukuna’s grasp to get to you.

You scooped Aika into your arms, and into a big hug. Her tears were now dry, but her eyes red and puffy. And there sat Sukuna, still on Yuji’s bed, taking in the scene before him.

“Aww my sweet pea, you were crying.” You cooed at your daughter, Aika burying her face into your neck and shoulder. “Did Suki make you feel better though?”

And you felt a gentle nod against your neck, making you smile.

“He did? Suki is always so good to you darling, isn’t he.” You continued, a gentle smile on your face as you hugged Aika. Sukuna couldn’t help the way his heart beat in his chest, and his cheeks turn pink. Wtf, why do you always make him feel this way?! All cause you acknowledged his actions towards your daughter.

“You know, there’s someone downstairs who also probably feels sad, cause you were sad.” You mentioned, causing Aika to lift her head. “Yuji is also sad, because you were sad. Why don’t you go make him feel better like how Suki did.”

Instantly, Aika was wiggling her way out of your arms, holding back her tears once again. As she made it her goal to make sure Yuji was ok. And off she was running down the stairs.

“Don’t run brat!” Sukuna yelled.

And there Aika was, now walking down the stairs cause she got yelled at.

You laughed.

“I heard what you said to her.” You confirmed to Sukuna’s dread. Of course Yuji most likely told you when you were let in. You’re probably going to tease him about being a softie. As if you don’t already know. “It’s whatever. Brat was crying about some deadbeat.” Sukuna answered back, that gruff tone reappearing. “Yeah he is a deadbeat.” You laughed. “She has you and Yuji though.”

Sukuna could no longer hear it, the sadness in your voice whenever you spoke about Aika not having a relationship with her father. It was like it never existed. Instead your tone, your words, they were grateful. They were kind. They were loving.

“Be nice if she had a sibling though.” You casually mentioned, a smirk on your face as you eyed Sukuna.

Sukuna almost choked on air.

“Don’t fcukin’ temp me brat.” Sukuna answered back, walking out of Yuji’s room. You closely following behind, laughing out loud.

Cause how would he know, how serious you were about that.

Extra:

“You don’t deserve to cry Yuyu cause I was crying.” A small but serious tone said.

You and Sukuna only looked at each other before peeking around the corner to the living room. There was Yuji gently smiling at Aika, who stood before him, holding his hand in such a serious way.

Wtf is going on…? And why did she say it that way?

“I’m sorry Yuyu, for making you cry. But you don’t deserve to cry.” Aika continued.

Yuuji was trying not to laugh, Aika was getting her words wrong. And figured out that Aika was probably copying Sukuna’s kind words.

“Don’t worry Aika, I’m ok.” Yuuji grinned. “Want to watch that new movie you asked about? I found it streaming.”

“Yeah!” Aika was excited.

You laughed at the change of Aika’s mood and words.

“Almost seems like she was mocking you Suki.” You teased, to which Sukuna groaned. He swears, this family doesn’t take him seriously!

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 20: Confession

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 2.6k

Masterpost Previous chapter

Benedict and Sophie laid bare in each other’s arms and lost track of time, dozing in and out of consciousness, saying nothing more about the impossible situation they found themselves in. They both just wanted to savor these moments of mingled skin and breath and limbs; Sophie because she was certain it would all come to a crashing end soon, and Benedict because he was steeling himself with the courage needed for his next course of action. 

When the noises of lunch preparation could be heard in the kitchen down the hall, they finally rose and dressed, helping each other with all of their layers and buttons. Benedict found himself unable to look away as Sophie sat at her small mirror brushing and pinning her hair back into place, her delicate fingers twisting through her short tresses and exposing her slender neck. Something about the sight made it hard to breathe and he realized that this strange feeling overtook him only when he looked at Sophie. In quiet moments when she was resting or going about her own business, it was as if he grew deaf and blind to the rest of the world and could see only her. Every detail was sharp: the lock of hair that hung loose by her ear, the tendon in her neck that flexed when she moved her shoulder just so, the curve of her lip as she concentrated. She entranced him. She made him want to paint her, over and over again, so that he could capture these details that felt so precious to him and revisit them when they were not together.

He was resolved. He knew what he had to do. Sharing a final tender kiss, he stepped warily out of her room, scanning the hall for any other servants. Then he moved briskly through the lower level and straight out the back door before anyone could see him and grow curious.

He didn’t need anyone’s blessing to pursue Sophie, but he wanted it. He loved his family; his mother, his elder brother, and didn’t want the complications of his choice to be perceived as an act of rebellion or resentment against them. It wasn’t. It was simply what his heart was telling him to do and he felt powerless to resist it.

He knew to start with his mother. She had always been a remarkably good listener. And truly, for all her annoying matchmaking ways, she was more qualified to give advice on matters of the heart than anyone he knew. Anthony was already suspicious and upset with him, and so bullheaded that he would undoubtedly muck everything up as he had done so repeatedly before: with Daphne’s season, with the Royal Academy.... No, Benedict would notify Anthony once he and Sophie had decided how they could - how they wanted - to be together. He respected Anthony as Viscount and head of the family, but he would not let his brother hold sway over such an intimate and crucial part of his life. But his mother was bound to be more understanding and perhaps even helpful.

Cutting through the garden, he entered the house again through a side door and straightened himself in a hall mirror. Making his way to the drawing room he found his entire family gathered for the afternoon, save for Colin and Anthony which was no doubt for the best.  Francesca was at the piano, engrossed in playing a beautifully complicated tune, Hyacinth and Eloise sat scowling at each other over the chess board, and Gregory was spinning little Edmund around in his arms while Kate and his mother sat watching from a sofa, laughing. After warning Gregory not to encourage their nephew to sprout wings and fly away, he leaned to his mother and asked if she wanted to join him for some air. The way her eyes grew sharp he knew she saw through his innocent request, but she smiled and nodded her way politely out of the room, took his arm and let him lead her outside.

“Benedict,” she smiled nervously as they sat in the chairs tucked against the house’s wisteria-covered back wall. “What is it dear?”

He suddenly found himself feeling both childish and guilty. He was running to his mother for help, but was also about to induct her into the difficulty of his situation. Where should he even begin?

He swallowed and said, “I wanted to ask about Miss Beckett.” Violet’s brow knitted with surprise. “How is she getting along at the house?”

Rather than answer him, she looked at him intensely and asked her own question. “Who is she, Benedict?”

“What do you mean?” he balked.

“She is not who she says she is, of that I’m certain.”

Benedict shook his head, trying to decipher her meaning. “She worked for the Cavenders. They mistreated her and she left. I found her on the road.”

Violet blanched. “Did he…Oh dear. Was she…”

“She wasn’t,” Benedict said grimly. “But not for lack of trying I’d venture.”

“The poor thing. How lucky for her that you were there.” 

Benedict didn’t want to be thought of as a hero. He hadn’t done anything. Sophie had extracted herself from the Cavenders and all he had done was offer her a short ride to the village which turned out to be its own unique disaster, requiring Sophie to turn around and care for him. Remembering that night, the wild adventure of it all and the sweet days that had followed, he couldn’t suppress a smile. Hoping his mother hadn’t noticed, he reverted back to her question.

“Why do you say she’s not who she seems?”

“She is far too educated to be a housemaid. Her mother’s employers may have allowed her to share in some of their lessons but all of them? I doubt it. Benedict, the girl speaks French!”

“She does?”

“I caught her reading a French book in Eloise’s room. And I think I heard her curse at Hyacinth in Latin.” 

Surprised as he might be, Benedict couldn’t help but chuckle. If anyone needed the demons exorcised out of her with Latin curses, it was Hyacinth. He was glad he had chosen to speak to his mother. She had the same sense as he did that there was something off about Sophie, something more to her than just being a simple housemaid. 

“She might be a nobleman’s daughter who has been cast off for some reason,” Violet theorized, “or she might be illegitimate.”

The pieces were starting to fall together now in Benedict’s mind. He knew she was illegitimate, but precisely who her parents were was something he had never pushed Sophie to explain. If she was the daughter of an aristocrat, it would explain so much about her behavior. 

“One would think her father would have settled enough funds on her so that she didn’t have to work as a housemaid,” he posited.

“Some men completely ignore their bastards,” Violet’s face wrinkled with distaste. “It’s nothing short of scandalous. Outrageously dishonorable.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both imagining what Sophie’s heartbreaking origin story could be. It made Benedict realize how much he didn’t know about her and how much he wanted to know. If they could be together, he would have the time to ask. But he didn’t need to know every detail of her life to know how she made him feel. 

“Mother,” he said abruptly. 

“Yes?” her blue eyes were intrigued.

He took a deep breath, “When you met Father-”

“It happened in an instant,” she said softly, somehow knowing what he’d meant to ask.

“So you knew that he was the one?”

She smiled, and her eyes took on a faraway, misty look. “Oh, I wouldn’t have admitted it,” she said. “At least not right away. I fancied myself a practical sort. I’d always scoffed at the notion of love at first sight.” She paused for a moment and Benedict knew she was no longer in the garden with him, but at some long-ago ball, meeting his father for the first time. Finally, just when he thought she’d completely forgotten the conversation, she looked back up and said, “But I knew.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she turned to blink them away.

Benedict felt a lump in his throat and he looked down, not wanting her to see how the memory of his parents’ love affected him too. Would anyone cry for him more than a decade after he died? It was a humbling thing to be in the presence of true love, and he wanted it for himself, jealously. His parents had found love and had the good sense to recognize and cherish it. Few people were so fortunate.

“There was something about his voice that was so soothing, so warm,” Violet continued. “When he spoke, you felt like you were the only person in the room.”

“I remember,” Benedict said with a warm, nostalgic smile. “It was quite a feat, to be able to do that with eight children.”

“Seven,” his mother swallowed convulsively, her voice brisk. “He never knew Hyacinth.”

Benedict chastised himself silently. He should have remembered. He didn’t want to force his mother to revisit her pain. Perhaps it was why they rarely spoke about his father and the loss they had endured. He reached out and grasped her hand atop the small table between them. It seemed the only right thing to do. Violet squeezed his hand back but kept her eyes on the ground.

After a pause, she released his hand, wiped the last tears from her eyes and straightened. She turned to him with a look that he knew could see right through him. “Did you ask me about your father because you are planning to wed?”

Benedict’s heart started to race. Of course she could intuit what he was up to. If he was being honest with himself, it was probably why he had decided to speak with her before Anthony, because she would already know half of everything he was going to say. 

He took a deep breath. “What happens,” he asked, surprised at how readily the words tumbled forth, “when one is attracted to someone unsuitable?”

“Someone unsuitable,” she repeated, holding his gaze.

Benedict nodded painfully. “Someone…” He paused. “Someone a person like me would be discouraged from marrying.”

“Someone perhaps who is not of our social class?” 

Benedict nodded again. She knew. Of course she knew who he was talking about.

“I see,” she chewed on her lower lip for a moment before continuing. “I would have to say that I love you very much.” Her eyes locked intently on his. “But I must caution you to consider what you are doing. Love is, of course, the most important element in any union, but outside influences can put a strain on a marriage. And if you marry someone of say” - she took a breath - “the servant class, then you will find yourself the subject of a great deal of gossip and no small amount of ostracism. And that will be difficult for one such as you to bear.”

“One such as me?” he asked, bristling at her choice of words.

“You and your brothers lead charmed lives.” Her eyes ran over the garden as if the size of their property was proof enough. “Our family is well respected and you have had every door opened to you by virtue of our reputation and our resources. That would no longer be the case for you if you married outside of custom.” She frowned.

Benedict’s cravat suddenly felt too tight. “I could live with that,” he said through gritted teeth. He had seen the vicious ebb and flow of gossip and scandals year after year, season after season. It had always annoyed him how his privileged peers put so much stock into knowing each other’s business and judging each other fiercely for any perceived misstep. It had caused his siblings agony in the marriage mart which was precisely why he had never earnestly sought to participate in it. 

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “And would the rest of the family be made to suffer for associating with me?” He wanted to marry Sophie, more than anything. But he had to know every ramification of that choice. If his marriage would stain the reputation of the family deep enough that it would make it harder for his siblings to find good matches, he would need to proceed carefully.

Violet’s eyes softened. “We have weathered scandal before and always landed upright. That would not be your concern, dearest, if you are truly in love.” She gave him a small smile, then her voice lowered. “But it would be hard on your wife as well. Perhaps hardest on her. She would not be accepted. The ton can be cruel.”

“I know,” Benedict scoffed. He already felt disgusted imagining the ways someone like Lady Featherington would treat Sophie if they knew where she came from. It would be more than he could bear to witness and something he would never subject her to. His mind began to form a picture of a future with Sophie, a future somewhere away from the vipers of the ton, somewhere green. 

“I suppose we would have to live somewhere else,” he stared off, musing to himself.

“I wouldn’t banish you for marrying someone you love,” Violet’s voice cracked and he turned back to find fresh tears in her eyes. “But if you choose it, perhaps that would be for the best, yes.” 

The weight of their conversation suddenly sank into Benedict’s chest. If he married Sophie he would have to leave his family. Not just in the standard way of setting up his own house, but truly distancing himself from the lifestyle and people that were all he had ever known. They would need to live far away, out in the countryside or maybe in another country entirely. They would not attend the social seasons in London or the events of society. They could visit with the family in their private homes but would have to be careful about that as well. He would leave his mother, Anthony, Eloise, all of them, in a much more significant way than he had ever imagined. 

“Only you will be able to make this decision,” Violet continued, bringing Benedict’s thoughts back to the present, “and I’m afraid it won’t be an easy one.”

Benedict nodded, feeling a sadness rise within him for causing her pain, for pulling away from her and everyone else. But a voice was also whispering inside his soul, quiet but insistent, telling him to trust. That Sophie was worth it. She was the one.

His mother sighed, looking tired and wistful. “I wish your father were here,” she said.

“You don’t say that very often,” he said quietly.

“I always wish your father were here.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Always.”

And then somehow it became clear. As he watched his mother’s face in the bright light of the garden, finally realizing - no, finally understanding - the depth of his parents’ love for one another, it all became clear. 

The voice in his soul spoke with resounding clarity, saying the word aloud for the first time. Love. He loved Sophie. That was all that should have mattered.

He’d thought he’d loved the woman from the masquerade. He’d thought he’d wanted to marry her. But he understood now that it had been nothing but a dream, a fleeting fantasy of a woman he barely knew.

But Sophie was…

Sophie was Sophie. And she was everything he needed.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away @benophievisuals

[peoplesrazor]

The often stated goal of people in the crit community is for Lily to lose her platform. This would result not only in her facing some consequences for her behavior, but will also make it harder for her to prey on and influence vulnerable people. While it's certainly reasonable for those personally victimized by Lily to want to see some legal consequences as well, those goals aren't going to be reached by discussing her on social media, with a few exceptions.

For instance, using social media to present and archive evidence and as a way to make others aware. If a victim is actively in the community and close to people in it, it wouldn't be unusual for them to post updates on whatever is happening on the legal front. Maybe just to vent now and then. Legal action is always long and frustrating and very often expensive. Venting about that, at least, would be reasonable.

There would be little reason for the rest of us to continue talking about Lily, I'd imagine.

People may bring up something now and then. You'll see the occasional post that says something like: Remember when Lily Orchard compared a Jewish woman to a disease and got to keep her youtube channel? That shit was wild, huh? They'll be comparisons between her and other people who are being discussed. Sometimes more accurately, sometimes not.

I know there is a pervasive idea in Lily's base and in those critical of the crit community that we're all obsessed with her and using her for content as a way to make money or get clout. That we'd actually be secretly upset if she never made another video or blog post.

I'm pretty confident in saying, for most of us, that's not true. I don't think people outside of this understand how frustrating it can actually be. In my case, at least, there are any number of videos or post that I could comment on, that have factual errors that can easily be corrected, but I don't because they don't matter as far as that ultimate goal. I will sometimes, if I feel it might be interesting to discuss, especially since it was my original goal for my blog to discuss media criticism. Usually, it's not worth it though.

Because even when I do make a post with the express purpose of calling out Lily's racism, ablism, sexism, her victimizing people, or to show a pattern of behavior, my reward is being called a transphobe, a misogynist or having my motivations for doing so questioned. I can't tell you how lovely it feels to make what I think is a well documented and easily provable argument and have it dismissed because I chose to use one of her media takes as my starting point. You think I want to do this? That I enjoy that?

I'm not sure those of us without a "real world" connection to Lily would even be able to move the goal post past de-platforming. Like how? That's the only spot that goal post can be. There's this big immovable wall just past that with the words "no admittance through social media" scrawled on it.

We can't get to the other side of that from here.

So, yeah, I see most of us moving on. @spacefrog1984 will post more frog gifs. @thetepes will discuss tea and post more cultural food videos. @agramuglia will cover other media and media critics, which he is already doing. Sai may close @purpledemonlilyposting or she may use it to argue with people like you on here.

Me? I'll make more youtube recommendations, discuss indoctrination tactics and debunk things like pseudoscience. Mostly, I'll likely go back to vanilla media discourse and talking about bad media takes that don't involve Lily, which is what I started the blog to do originally. Maybe I'll do some more in depth analysis of The Owl House.

What are you going to be doing, Starry? Still, posting about Sai and everyone whose ever had an exchange with her all day?

Does a channel termination mean everyone can move on? Or does it just mean the goalpost gets moved?

[tellwolves]

she doesn't like football. she never could understand why the country had made it so synonymous with thanksgiving. greta didn't seem too interested in it, either. a few years ago, they would've done something with each other to entertain themselves.

nowadays, she's not so sure greta wants anything to do with her.

"psst. junebug."

she looks over her shoulder. uncle finn's dressed up like he's leaving—his scarf, his gloves, his nice brown coat. so soon? a sharp, longing pang shoots through her chest. every time he leaves, every time she leaves him, she feels that they haven't spent an adequate amount of time together. "are you leaving?"

he shakes his head, muttering, "oh, no, no, no. i'm not."

that makes her feel better. but, the question remains. "why are you dressed up like you are?"

he inches closer, and puts his arm over her shoulders. he pulls her close, and she instinctively curls into his side. she doesn't feel embarrassed. it's just them, no one will tell her eleven's too old for that.

"i was thinking me and you could blow this popsicle stand." he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the living room, towards dad and grandpa complaining about the ref.

she nods. "yeah. i'd like that."

she puts on her shoes, then her scarf and gloves and her woolen jacket. she lets him situate the toboggan on her head, careful to not snag her ears with his rings when he slips it over them.

right hand on the doorknob, his finger goes to his lips. she mirrors the gesture. it feels like a breakout. it's nice to have fun little secrets with someone again.

they walk into the woods. with the trees surrounding them, the sounds of a newborn night, the silence that only comes with snow, it feels like a whole different time. that's why she likes them so much. everything modern melts away. they could've walked into a portal and not known it. she looks for a robin. maybe the secret garden is near.

they stop, and finn says he's going to build them a fire. she didn't know he could do that, but doesn't tell him so. she picks up three sticks that look good enough for kindling. finn's thank you, darling, you're a natural woodsy owl makes her feel warmer than any fire ever could. after a couple minutes, there's a fire in front of them. her uncle finn could do anything.

"you ever think about what the cavemen thought when they did that for the first time?" finn asks, brushing snow off a log he'd dragged over for them to sit on.

she sits down beside him, smiling, a giggle bubbling up her throat. she hadn't. "i bet they went crazy."

they huddle together, her underneath his arm. she closes her eyes. she can smell his cologne, and her house, and, faintly, his apartment. lavender and orange. she finds herself staring at the fire more than talking with him. she supposes that's just as well: he's not being very talkative, either.

it's nice to just be held.

he gives her a tiny shake. "i'm going to teach you something."

she looks up, but doesn't move. "yeah?"

"you know mozart, don't you?"

"yeah. duh. you play him all the time."

his smile can be heard in his voice. "my apologies, young lady." then, continuing: "there's a song in the record i play all the time."

she sniffles, chilled, and sits up. "requiem, right?"

"just the one. you're a smart cookie, crocodile. well, one of the songs, or rather, one of the parts, it's called lacrimosa."

lacrimosa. it's a pretty word. she likes it. she repeats it a few times to herself.

"it's latin for 'weeping'. crying. the state of being tearful."

she loved to hear uncle finn talk. he sounded so—educated. sounded like new york city. she wanted to be like him.

"this song and others like it are sung in the instance of someone dying. morbidly enough," finn reaches and fixes her scarf, tucks some hair back into the toboggan, preening her like a proud bird would his chick, "mozart died before he could finish composing it."

she shivers. she's not sure if it's the chill or the thought of a famous man writing about death, only to die with his work incomplete. she stays her silence, slightly bobbing her head to will finn on.

he leans in a little closer, drops his voice to an even quieter whisper. "do you want to know how it goes?"

her mouth opens, closes. she nods. he sings it through, his voice a little haunting in the stillness, especially since he's singing about death and crying and sorrow. he teaches her what each line means, translating it into english.

she sings it. they both do. over and over again in their small, quiet, wobbly voices, careful not to disturb any creatures that might be around. by the end of it, she knew it by heart. dona eis requiem. dona eis requiem

"we ought to start heading back." he stands, and she mourns the moment coming to an end. she doesn't want it to end. "they'll be wondering where we are."

there's a pause as he puts out the fire. "i want to stay here forever. in the forest. with you. i never want to go back to the city again."

her eyes grow wide. uncle finn, not living in the city? no, impossible. that's not right. that's a square peg in a round hole.

his smile seems a little sad. "i know i couldn't." he opens his arm, the same one she's been under, inviting her to walk underneath it as they head back. she feels reassured, but still wonders if finn had meant to say that out loud. if that had slipped out on accident, and she was never supposed to know about it.

they follow their tracks home. turns out, they weren't far from home, at all. so much for the illusion.

"there you two are," mom says as they reenter the warm kitchen, their cheeks red from the cold. one fist goes onto her hip. her smile is toothless, but entirely geniune. mom must be thinking that they're two peas in a pod. "saved you some pumpkin pie. there's two pieces in there with your names on it. some cool whip, too."

"thanks a bunch, old woman," finn says, teasing her with his nickname for her. mom feigns severity, looking like the school secretary, and goes back into the living room.

as she's leaving, finn says to june: "c'mon. i'll let you have this piece. it's bigger."

when he's certain mom's gone, finn winks. she, more clumsily, winks back. their secret. they won't tell anybody where they were.

[caeslxys]

I’ve mentioned this elsewhere but it feels relevant again in light of the most recent episode. Something that’s really fascinating to me about Orym’s grief in comparison to the rest of the hells’ grief is that his is the youngest/most fresh and because of that tends to be the most volatile when it is triggered (aside from FCG, who was two and obviously The Most volatile when triggered.)

As in: prior to the attack on Zephrah, Orym was leading a normal, happy, casual life! with family who loved him and still do! Grief was something that was inflicted upon him via Ludinus’ machinations, whereas with characters like Imogen or Ashton, grief has been the background tapestry of their entire lives. And I think that shows in how the rest of them are largely able to, if not see past completely (Imogen/Laudna/Chetney) then at least temper/direct their vitriol or grief (Ashton/Fearne/Chetney again) to where it is most effective. (There is a glaring reason, for example, that Imogen scolded Orym for the way he reacted to Liliana and not Ashton. Because Ashton’s anger was directed in a way that was ultimately protective of Imogen—most effective—and Orym’s was founded solely in his personal grief.)

He wants Imogen to have her mom and he wants Lilliana to be salvageable for Imogen because he loves Imogen. But his love for the people in his present actively and consistently tend to conflict with the love he has for the people in his past. They are in a constant battle and Orym—he cannot fathom losing either of them.

(Or, to that point, recognize that allowing empathy to take root in him for the enemy isn't losing one of them.)

It is deeply poignant, then, that Orym’s grief is symbolized by both a sword and shield. It is something he wields as a blade when he feels his philosophy being threatened by certain conversational threads (as he believes it is one of the only things he has left of Will and Derrig, and is therefore desperately clinging onto with both bloody hands even if it makes him, occasionally, a hypocrite), but also something he can use in defense of the people he presently loves—if that provocative, blade-grief side of him does not push them—or himself—away first.

(it won’t—he is as loved by the hells as he loves them. he just needs to—as laudna so beautifully said—say and hear it more often.)

[spaciebabie]

shoutout 2 this person in my class who i can tell wants 2 talk 2 me really bad but instead of doing that whenever she has the chance she'll talk 2 whoever else is around and ignore me entirely unless im mentioned by name

[bellamyblakru]

i will never understand how some people can actively shit on something they know someone loves and finds joy in right in front of them. how can you hate something that makes someone else happy in this absolutely fucked world in front of them.

its the passive aggression for no reason i will never ever understand or do to others. if you have a passion, fucking LIVE it. if nothing else, passion gets us through every shitty day, and i will always support it.

have passion in spite of those who hate.

[alchemiclee]

been looking in tags for a few days now to see if anyone else found the whole high cloud quintet and related story to be a bit.....poorly written, nonsensical, contradictory, full of plot holes and loose ends, etc. apparently i'm not the only one. (and i'm not even talking about shipping stuff, because any time I saw someone mad about bad writing, someone always replies to be homophobic and laugh about failed ships. weirdos.) it could have been so good but was thrown into the garbage for the most part (IF you noticed all the plot holes and contradiction. if not, then it's a fine enough story tbh. I expect most people to see it on surface level and not read all the little hidden lore bits and try to piece it together like my autistic brain did. which is ok! enjoy it if you liked it and ignore me 😆)

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[moe-broey]

Man..

[eeunwoo]

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[florida3exclamationpoints]

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