#wind: i am learning what it means to live for myself

[ppeasants]

blondeswap!Wind: I chose to fight. I chose to be a pirate. To be a soldier. A pawn hero. My world needed a savior. And when the goddesses didn't choose one, I ripped that destiny from their throat and became that hero. I gave up my childhood, my freedom, my life, to become a weapon of the people. But now that I'm in a world where I'm no longer the hero, in a world where there are other kids who can fight for their own freedom - and still have the chance at their own freedom, maybe I can have mine too. Maybe I can learn how to live for myself again.

blondeswap!Hunter: what the FUCK is a triforce??? I'm gonna kill Ganon

[medicinemane]

I'm very tired, I have to do everything around the house myself (as in, I keep having to turn the water off and on to the kitchen sink until I teach myself to install a new faucet, and negative cleaning gets done if I don't do it), and the money is in the hands of the third worst person in the whole family when it comes to money (the worst being my grandpa who is dead, and my grandma who blows all her money on overpriced jackets and other junk)

I'm very tired, I have to teach myself how to do everything, and I have almost literally no support in any way shape or form ever

I can't remember the last time anyone said they were proud of me... I don't actually know if anyone's ever used that word with me before. When I do something like get the trailer cleaned out or buy a house, frankly no one gives a fuck, except my grandma who gets mad

I haven't actually had a chance to see anyone that counts as a friend in like 15 years, and I mean even in high school everyone liked me but no one could be bothered to actually ever even talk outside school... so even back then it's not like I had anyone I was close with

I'm providing this version where I totally remove how I feel or how I view myself from the description and instead try to provide something close to an objective description of things

So if you wonder why I say what I say about myself, honestly I think it's pretty much all summed up here

[wagconts]

Senna's Legacy | Charles Leclerc

summary :: where you're Senna's daughter and carry on your father's legacy through your institute

word count :: 2.320 words.

The atmosphere in the paddock during the Brazilian GP was unmistakable. Maybe it was the tropical breeze, the green and yellow flags swaying in the wind, or the unmatched passion of Brazilian fans that always made history. For you, though, this weekend had an even deeper meaning.

As Ayrton Senna’s daughter, your name carried a weight you bore with both pride and responsibility. For years, you had been at the helm of the Ayrton Senna Racing Dreams Institute, a project dedicated to supporting children with dreams of becoming Formula 1 drivers by providing education, infrastructure, and opportunities in such a selective sport.

The Brazilian GP was always a golden opportunity to promote the institute’s work. This time, however, Formula 1 had organized a special visit to the project for some of the drivers. They would pay tribute to your father and see firsthand the impact the institute had on these kids’ lives.

It was Thursday morning, the perfect day for the visit since it aligned with the institute’s busy class schedule and fit the drivers’ agendas before the race weekend. You stood in front of the building, waiting anxiously for your guests. A large panel featuring Ayrton’s face and the phrase Dreams Start Here welcomed visitors. As the black cars began to arrive, you adjusted your blazer and took a deep breath.

The first to step out were Verstappen, Norris, and Hamilton, all enthusiastic and friendly. Leclerc followed shortly after. Dressed in his Ferrari gear and wearing sunglasses that accentuated his sharp features, he smiled as he saw you.

─ You must be the mastermind behind all of this ─ said Lewis, shaking your hand firmly but kindly. ─ It’s an honor to be here.

─ Thank you all for coming ─ you replied with a warm smile. ─ I’m sure the kids are even more excited than I am to meet you.

Charles chuckled, removing his sunglasses and hooking them onto his shirt.

─ Well, I hope I don’t disappoint.

As you guided them through the institute, you explained every detail, from the racing simulators to the classrooms where kids learned English, math, and engineering concepts. The drivers listened attentively, but Charles seemed particularly interested.

─ How many kids does the program support each year? ─ he asked, watching a group using the simulators.

─ Around 200 directly ─ you answered. ─ But with our partnerships, we reach thousands in underserved communities.

Charles nodded, clearly impressed.

─ That’s incredible. Your father would be so proud.

A lump formed in your throat. Hearing such words from someone who genuinely admired Ayrton always stirred deep emotions.

After the tour, the children had their moment with the drivers. Photos, autographs, and simulator challenges turned the day into pure joy, as if everyone had reverted to childhood. Yet, Charles seemed to stick close to you the entire time.

─ Can I ask you something personal? ─ he began as you both watched the kids play.

─ Of course ─ you said, curious.

─ What’s it like carrying Ayrton’s name? It must be amazing, but also overwhelming.

You smiled softly, taking a moment to gather your thoughts.

─ It’s a mix of both. The pride is immense, but so is the constant expectation. It feels like I always have to live up to his legacy. That’s why I pour so much of myself into this institute.

Charles nodded, his gaze locked onto yours.

─ Well, from what I’ve seen today, you’re doing just that. He would be immensely proud.

The sincerity in his eyes made you look away briefly, your cheeks flushing as a smile crept across your lips.

That afternoon, Formula 1 held a tribute to your father. A float shaped like Ayrton’s iconic helmet made its way around, and Vettel led a walk with the drivers along the circuit. Watching these heartfelt gestures left you in awe, proud of everything being done to honor him.

Later, a professional filming team arrived to record a special segment where each driver would give a speech about Ayrton. Since you had been invited to observe, you stayed close enough to hear every word.

Max Verstappen spoke of how Ayrton had inspired his generation. Lewis Hamilton, visibly moved, shared how watching Senna race had ignited his passion for the sport.

When it was Charles’s turn, your heartbeat quickened.

─ I grew up hearing stories about Ayrton Senna ─ he began, holding the microphone with confidence. ─ To me, he was more than just a driver. He was the embodiment of determination, courage, and passion. Today, I had the privilege of visiting the institute led by his daughter. What she’s doing is nothing short of continuing his legacy, but in a way that touches lives on an even greater scale.

He paused, his eyes scanning the crowd until they found yours.

─ Ayrton inspired generations to dream, and his daughter is ensuring those dreams have a chance to become reality. It’s an honor to be here and witness this.

The cameraman lowered his equipment as murmurs of praise for Charles’s speech filled the room. Your heart raced, overwhelmed by the mix of emotions his words evoked—not only for being a Senna but for the way Charles had mentioned you so personally.

On Sunday, the stands at Interlagos were packed. The Brazilian fans were electric, and the energy was contagious. Before the race, Charles found you in the paddock, where you stood with some of the institute’s kids.

─ Ready to cheer me on? ─ he asked the kids in broken Portuguese he had hastily learned from a translator.

─ Yes! ─ they shouted in unison, laughing as they hugged the driver.

He straightened and turned to you.

─ I hope I can live up to the hype today.

─ Good luck, Charles. We’ll be rooting for you.

Later, at the post-race celebration, you were chatting with other guests when you felt a light touch on your arm. You didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was—the familiar scent of Charles’s cologne gave him away.

─ Can we talk? ─ he asked, his smile slightly shy.

─ Of course! ─ you replied, following him to a quieter corner.

─ I just wanted to thank you for this weekend ─ he began. ─ Visiting the institute and meeting the kids gave me a new perspective on racing.

─ I’m glad you enjoyed it ─ you said sincerely.

Charles hesitated, running a hand through his hair, clearly nervous.

─ Actually, there’s something else I wanted to say. Or, rather, ask.

─ Go ahead ─ you encouraged him.

─ Would you let me take you out to dinner? Not now, of course. But after the season ends.

His question caught you off guard, but the smile that spread across your face was answer enough.

─ I’d love that ─ you replied.

Charles’s grin widened.

─ Great. I promise it’ll be special—you won’t regret it.

─ I’ll be looking forward to it, Charles ─ you said, meeting his eyes as your heart raced.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 16: The One About That Time I Shot an Arrow into the Air

“…It fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight.”

Archery has always been one of my fortes in life. I have absolutely no idea why, but I’m strangely quite good at it. My father, of course, attributes it to my ancestors; something passed down to me in my genes. So, I’m not sure that any arrow I shot into the air wouldn’t naturally find itself in the direction of its intended target. Today, that target would almost certainly be in the jugular of a Cerberus-like creature. Ah, yes, that mythical hellhound with three heads that guards the entrance to the Underworld. Not only does it dictate who can enter the realm of Hades, but also who can leave. And I’m not fond of creatures that would rather devour you alive than let you leave of your own freewill. Plus, could you imagine having three heads with three different personalities? Ugh, that would get confusing quickly. And, even worse, could you imagine all the in-fighting? I mean, an arrow to the throat – if it didn’t dismantle the beast – would almost certainly silence it. Luckily, we don’t have any three-headed dogs in this fandom…

Where am I going with this? Well – besides down a long and winding path that draws attention to the fact I enjoy poetry and archery – actually, I chose today’s poem for a specific purpose. If you haven’t figured it out from my previous cracks about the Kraken, I also like Greek mythology. In fact, learning about Greek mythology at around the age of 11 – yes, that defiant age where we’re no longer interested in Barbie (not that I was ever interested in Barbie) but we’re also not cool enough to be considered teenagers – was the first time I remember finding myself “thinking outside of the box.” And by that, I mean asking the question that I probably should not have said out loud: “If Zeus is a myth, does that mean God is fake, too?” That went down like a lead balloon (and, I hope, no one takes offense to reading that now; it is not meant with any disrespect). My mother was, of course, telephoned by the school and, when I returned home, she greeted me with (something along the lines of) a simple: “Did they answer your question? No? Then I suggest you find it for yourself.”

We all have our own truth, don’t we? Even in this fandom, we are each tasked with choosing our own path. Weeding out facts from speculation and speculation from rumor. Choosing what we want to believe over what is being pushed on us. Overcoming our willingness to follow blindly versus our refusal to be backed into corner. I suppose that’s why I’ve always liked Greek mythology (and, perhaps, storytelling in general) – because it helps us navigate life’s challenges by better understanding human nature. It’s also one of the reasons why my favorite story has always been the trials and tribulations of Eros and Psyche.

Ah-ha! See, I told you I had a purpose for bringing up those damn arrows!

Yes, Eros was the Greek equivalent of the Roman Cupid; that weird little dude who fired love arrows like a bouquet of flowers at a wedding. But Eros wasn’t some creepy little cherub in a cloth diaper; he was the devastatingly handsome God of Love. And he fell in love with the equally beautiful human Psyche. That part about her being human, however,managed to get Psyche some major side-eye from Eros’s mother, Aphrodite. In retaliation for humans worshiping Psyche’s beauty over her own, Aphrodite sent Eros down to earth to pierce Psyche with one of his love arrows so she would fall madly in love with a hideous monster (unfortunately for the Cerberus, it wasn’t them). But Eros defied his mother and, unbeknownst to Aphrodite, kept Psyche for himself hidden away in a castle. There, Psyche lived – mostly happily – with Eros visiting her every night. Eros promised Psyche she could live there indefinitely so long as she never looked upon his face (hence why he only visited her in darkness). But humans have this uncanny knack for being curious and, of course, Psyche peeked. Well, fuck! Haha, I won’t ruin the rest of the story for you except to say, yes, Eros was royally peeved at Psyche’s betrayal, fled their home, and sought refuge with his bitchy mother (because, of course, he did). Devastated, Psyche went clambering up to her pseudo-mother-in-law’s shrine to beg for forgiveness and Aphrodite, being a bit of a bitchy goddess, gave Psyche a series of impossible tasks to complete to prove her worthiness. Amazingly Psyche did in fact complete each of these four tasks but only because she managed to get a little help from some fantastical friends. Well, except for that final task for which Psyche was warned – don’t look in the fucking box. Damn humans.

Like all stories passed down from generation to generation, there are multiple versions of this myth, particularly when it comes to who helped Psyche complete her four tasks. Sometimes it’s one god(dess), other times it’s multiple; sometimes it’s earth’s creatures (the ants, the plants, and the flying things). But my favorite version is the one where Eros was the one pulling those invisible strings – or, at the very least, keeping an eye on Psyche from the shadows – because no matter how angry he was with her, Eros still loved Psyche and wanted to protect her.

Why do I bring this story up? Well, for starters, if you didn’t notice (because you were too focused on carriages and mirrors), Bridgerton Season 3 made quite a few parallels between Colin and Penelope and Eros and Psyche, even referring to the latter by name at the end of the fourth episode. The show also brushed on the importance of trust, the consequences of betrayal, and the idea that love can conquer all. Funny thing is I never thought Colin to be much of an Eros; he made a better Psyche, in my opinion. I mean, he was the one to peek into Penelope’s secret life!

But Colin’s real-life counterpart, Luke, makes a rather entertaining Eros.

On December 16, when Luke reposted to his Instagram stories a link to Nicola’s “Part 1” of her 2024 Year, the fandom went wild. And I’m not talking about just the Lukolas going insane with excitement; the Jakolas were having a field day, too – but not in a good way. The unease they’d almost certainly felt with those coordinated airplane and “Polin” posts from October returned with a vengeance when Luke resurfaced in support of Nicola – the woman for whom he consistently comes out hiding. I realized then that the one person who could simultaneously make the Lukolas’ hearts flutter and the Adjacents’ blood boil was Luke (i.e., our Eros could make Psyche rejoice while making Aphrodite lash out in anger).

If you really think about it, Luke has pulled us out of the black waters of the River Styx multiple times, making him the perfect Eros to our Psyche. Yes, our Psyche. The fandom is absolutely the Psyche of this story. After all, the fandom was the one who betrayed Luke with our collective reaction to Papsmear (but, in the fandom’s defense, that was a shitty fucking day). And, of course, that wench Aphrodite is collectively all the side story bullshit, from the Adjacent narratives to rag-mags sticking their ever-growing noses into places they don't belong.

As we finish out the year, I thought it would be fun to give Luke some credit where credit is due. In other words, I thought I’d highlight four times Luke “Eros-ed” (i.e., “rescued”) us from some mucky ass shit. This is not every moment Luke came out of hiding to do something wonderful; these are simply my top four moments where I believe Luke single-handedly resuscitated the fandom. You’re welcome to share your best Luke moments in the comments.

No. 1 - That Post-Papsmear Thing That Everyone Ignored:

Fuck, yes.

I am starting with the most overlooked event in the Lukola-verse – Luke’s post-Papsmear Cressida story. This is the taproot that keeps my faith in Lukola from falling over during a storm – Luke taking one for Team Lukola by promoting Season 3 using the scene from Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening. Yeah, yeah, Luke totally missed the target with that post but – again, in the fandom’s defense – everyone was still reeling from the sudden-but-not-so-sudden materialization of Antonia at the London premiere. In hindsight, though, you know you want to give him an “atta boy” for basically throwing shade at the Lutonia narrative while using a massive social media platform to do so. It was jaw-dropping, brilliant, and ballsy as fuck.

If you’re totally lost about how entertaining this Cressida story was, go read Entry 1 to be my blog. But, seriously, how have you not read it already?

No. 2 – Delivering the Cake:

Alright, fast forward three months (yes, three goddamn months!) to September 7 when Luke posted pictures from his stay at the Puente Romano resort.

No big deal, right?

Wrong!

It was a big fucking deal because, for starters, Antonia creeped in and posted random pictures of herself at roughly the same time Luke posted his resort pictures. And, of course, Luke had to like Antonia’s Instagram post. To make matters worse (gasp!) Luke’s had palm trees in his pictures which were oh, so reminiscent (but, not really) of palm trees posted by Antonia the previous day to her Instagram stories. Oh my God! And, then the real kicker? Luke’s slide deck included him eating a picture of himself from the London premiere sans Nicola! The horror! I mean, what probably started out as a cute post by Luke turned into a full-on Lukola heart attack within 30 minutes or less!

But then Luke pulled out a defibrillator and revived the fandom. Almost immediately.

After presumably hearing the cries from the Lukola fandom that he’d cut Nicola from the London premiere image, Luke demonstrated through his Instagram stories that (a) he was eating part of a cake (he was even darling enough to put the cake emoji with a smiley face), and (b) that the cake never had Nicola’s image on it to begin with (meaning, he didn’t remove her from it). Thank you for that clarification, Luke. Seriously, the fandom appreciated it.

After they recovered from their near-death experience, the Lukolas finally took the time to look at the images Luke posted. A not-so-random chaise lounge; a random white shirt; a restaurant called El Pimpi (which is a word used for the people who delivered messages to a ship’s crew and passengers); Luke throwing up the peace sign with his now infamous digits in – what appeared to be – the reflection of a glass table; and a reference to cake. It was Lukola- and/or Polin-coded shit. And, to make it just a smidge better, there was no visible reference to Antonia anywhere.

And, yes, I will cut in here to acknowledge that Antonia would, on October 25, include a lone picture of a balcony which was identical to the one Luke posted in his – what I like to call – “clarification stories” from September 7. Do I care about Antonia’s balcony? Not in the least. Could she have been at the resort? Sure. In fact, I’ve always found the idea of Antonia being present quite comical since Luke made it fairly obvious he omitted something (ahem, someone) from his Instagram post and instead filled it with random shit that seemed Lukola- and/or Polin-coded. Plus, if you want me to be perfectly honest, “insinuation” posts from Antonia stopped doing it for me months ago.

Back to what I saying… We must give Luke a round of applause for placating an entire fandom with something as simple as a cake emoji. Bravo, bravo!

No. 3 – Shutting Down the Mean Girls:

We closed out September with Antonia riling up the fandom by posting Instagram story after Instagram story, none of which were worth a second glance from a Lukola except for the “phone screen” one (see “Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, ‘Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?’” for reference). Oh, wait, there is another story – just for my own amusement – on October 1, Antonia reshared a story where she was labeled “Aphroditi.” Rather convenient for my story today, isn't it? Any ways, the Lukolas were a bit high-strung by October 2 when Nicola announced via Instagram that she had been named as part of the Time 100. Luke liked the post – but apparently to the haters on X he didn’t do it motherfucking fast enough. These weird-ass people do actually exist – the ones that genuinely believe Instagram likes (and the speed thereof) equate to true love.

Any ways, Luke apparently decided he was having none of that bullshit and stepped in on October 3 with his Polin-themed “Mean Girls” story. It was a throwback to a conversation he and Nicola had had in, I believe, 2022 on, haha, X.

“On October 3rd, he asked me what day it was.”

“It’s October 3rd.”

Luke captioned the story, “Xx.”

Not only did the fandom rejoice that Luke had returned to post something after nearly a month away, but the post included a throwback to Nicola, and it came on the heels of Halley Brisker’s now legendary “Nicola lately” post. Yeah, the one with Luke in the background (seriously, convince me it was someone else). Luke’s story also seemed to be one hell of a clapback to a rabid pack animal on X who faulted Luke for not leaving a comment on Nicola’s Time 100 post.

“Xx.”

No. 4 – The Littlest Things:

I debated over choosing Luke’s People magazine interview for the fourth moment, but that interview – although it made the fandom incredibly happy – didn’t pull our heads out of our own asses. So, I decided instead to go with the little things Luke has done over the past few months, namely, joining in on the Like Wars but in his own oh, so subtle way.

Let’s start with Antonia’s September 21 post of – honestly, who the hell cares? She posted and we knew Luke’s obligatory like was coming. It just took 10 ½ hours for Luke to get to it and it was only given after Nicola posted to her Instagram stories pictures from a concert she had attended. Was the fandom a bit deflated Luke liked Antonia’s post? Of course! But it was also fun to see the like come hours after Luke had already been online and on the heels of Nicola popping up online.

On October 11, we had a similar event happen. Antonia posted to her grid and Luke seemingly ignored it for roughly five hours. But, while Luke was ignoring her post, Antonia was going hard at it with Instagram stories and TikTok videos (Nicola, for her part, seemed to be playing her own game on social media during this time). Luke finally liked Antonia’s post and Antonia went silent thereafter. Then, on October 12, Luke officially made it back from his October 4 “Brb” moment and posted “Somewhere in Mayfair” to his Instagram stories. Let the fandom rejoice!

But I’m not stopping there. Let’s not forget about Luke and Nicola’s coordinated “Polin” pictures on October 21 or that, while Antonia was “rolling pasta” on November 17, Luke made it a point to go back and like Nicola’s Dr. Who post from November 15. On December 6, when Luke coughed up a like to Antonia’s grid post, he also handed a like out to Nicola at the same time (and a few others). Do you see a pattern starting to form?

Honestly, I believe Luke is owed a standing ovation for the way he has taken control of his own narrative and managed to deflect from the so-called “importance” of these bullshit Instagram likes. Although Nicola has historically attempted to distract the fandom from Antonia, in my opinion, it was always Luke’s responsibility to diminish the importance of Antonia’s role in his story. And, for the past several months, he has been doing just that – in the quietest way possible.

I’ve decided Luke is a bit like a shadow. Inconspicuous – sometimes even completely invisible – but when the light hits just right, it’s impossible to ignore his immense presence.

When Luke posts, or when he coyly plays around with the Instagram likes – even when he likes Nicola’s posts – it somehow resonates differently with the fandom. Nicola could post her year-end stuff and the fandom would be, like, “Oh, that’s cool.” But, when Luke reshares her post to his stories? “Holy fuck, that’s awesome!” It's a "different energy on set." Somewhere in the middle of all the bullshit that goes on within the fandom, Luke found his own truth. The “Bad Guy” who was “on a break” during Hot Boy Summer somehow became our hero; the shadowy figure that pulls us out of the water and sets our heads back on straight. Over and over again. It's been so subtle, we've barely even noticed.

I’m going to end this entry with the Longfellow poem I quoted at the beginning, mainly because I like it, but also because it’s about something that cannot be easily seen once released into the world but, if found, can have an everlasting effect on us.

“I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight;

“I breathed a song into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for who has sight so keen and strong; that it can follow the flight of song?

“Long, long afterward, in an oak; I found the arrow, still unbroke; and the song, from beginning to end; I found again in the heart of a friend.”

P.S. In the story, Psyche is rescued by Eros (hurray!) and is made the Goddess of the Soul.

[buckets-and-trees]

Welcome Home, Pumpkin [spiced]

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 1.9k Summary: Bad ethics. Zero impulse control. This is what everyone says about him. What will it mean for you tonight?

Content/Warnings: dubious consent, soft!dark story, use of pet name "Pumpkin," explicit smut (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), orgasm denial, groping, light choking, bondage

Notes: This is the second of three in a set of short stories with Lloyd served three ways - soft, soft!dark, and dark. The three feature the same setting, overlapping themes, shared thoughts, and bits of dialogue. Spiced is the soft!dark version.

sugar pumpkin | smashed pumpkin

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You shut the door behind you and sigh, happy to be home after a long day - a long week, really. 

You slip your shoes off, hang your bag on the hook by the door, and turn on some music before making your way down the hall to your bedroom, ready to change from your professional clothes to something comfy to lounge in the rest of the evening. 

You jump when a deep, serious voice you aren’t expecting says, “Welcome home, Pumpkin.”

Your heart rockets into your throat, and you grip the doorframe. “Lloyd Hansen!”

He chuckles, rising from the spot he’d been perched on the edge of the bed. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

He makes a show of bowing slightly, “And yet, here I am.”

You hesitate in the doorway, studying the face of the man you are now so familiar with. The steel blue eyes, the sharp jawline, the ridiculous mustache you hoped to avoid indefinitely. 

He looks you up and down slowly, then sits back on the bed. “Did you think I would really be stuck in a Lithuanian prison?”

You narrow your eyes slightly and chew the inside of your cheek. His eyes study you as much as you’re studying him, and you don’t want to give anything away. 

“Aw, you did. That’s cute,” he says, voice dripping in saccharine sweetness. “You should’ve known I’d be able to work myself out of there in two or three days, at most.”

You shrug. “A girl can hope.”

“Only one night, by the way, since I know you won’t ask,” he says, clearly wanting to boast. 

“And that was six months ago,” you counter. “I finished the job and got the paycheck.”

“The job might be done, but we have unfinished business, Pumpkin. And it’s more fun surprising you like this when you thought you’d never see me again, isn’t it?” he simpers. 

He might have been biding his time to drop in on your life again, and you can sense he’s eager, a bit impatient, but you also sense he will play this out the way he wants now that the two of you are in the same room together again.

And you hate the way you’ve been drawn to this man since the day you two first crossed paths. He is dangerous and untrustworthy. You operate in the daylight and occasionally step into the shadows, but he lives in the dark, revels in it. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re keeping from me? Why you took the contract in Kaunas in the first place?” he asks, lifting his chin just a fraction. 

And oh that look does something to you - the delicious swoop in your stomach that made you weak in Eastern Europe and traitorously eager for him now. 

“No,” you finally answer. Slowly, you take measured steps toward him. 

“Fair enough. But I might get under your skin enough to change your tune, wind you up, have you singing all sorts of secrets for me.”

“How much time did you spend thinking up that line? The imagery, the alliteration? Impressive.”

“Not the only thing that’s impressive about me,” he responds without a second thought.

You scoff, but there is an impertinent flutter in your chest you try to tamp down. He talks - a lot - but from the brief time you were in each others’ orbit in Lithuania, you learned he could back up his bluster with brains and brawn. A dangerous player on the board.

“How much time did spend you think about my fingers deep in your pussy like they were in the closet in that day in Kaunas?”

His words hang in the air, a bold challenge that sends a shiver down your spine. Your mind immediately flashes back to the last day in Lithuania, when you had been alone, hiding in a closet and his fingers had boldly started to explore your body. You can almost feel the heat of his touch, his breath on your neck, and his hard body pressed against your back like they were that day. The memory floods your senses, the smell of wood and dust, the creaking of the floorboards as the hired goons patrolled up and down the hallway just on the other side of the door. And now, here he is, asking how much time she had spent thinking about it.

You couldn't deny to yourself the way your body responds to his words, his presence, craving that same intense pleasure again, but you can deny it to him. You have to.

“I didn’t want you then, and I don’t want you now,” you reply simply and walk over to your dresser, bypassing him on the bed. Methodically, you begin to take off your necklace, and then your watch, as if he’s not there.

“Want, need, crave…”

“Lloyd!” You gasp because those words are murmured directly in your ear, as Lloyd has moved with silent precision right behind you. 

“…those are all different things,” he says. He presses his hard body up against your back, pressing his pelvis up against your ass, knocking you roughly into the drawers, pinning you. “You may not want this, but need it? Crave it?”

“No,” you whimper when he grinds against you again. 

“Mmm, you made some pretty, soft sounds when we were hidden in the dark before. Wonder what sounds I can get you to make now that we’re not trying to be discreet.”

“We’re not trying to be anything,” you argue, squirming against him. 

“Anything with labels, no, definitely not,” he agrees. “But you’re itching for it, aren’t you, Pumpkin?” 

One of his large hands gropes your breast, and the other moves to your throat. He squeezes in both places, and you groan, a shiver ripping through you. 

He chuckles, “I see we like that.”

“No,” you whimper. 

“Boring!” he barks. 

In one swift motion, Lloyd hefts you up, flips you around and has you on the bed pinned beneath him, body pressing into yours. He growls into your mouth as he claims you in a filthy kiss. He props himself up slightly on one arm, and his other hand reaches to tear the front of your shirt open, rending the fabric in two. 

You look up at him, chest heaving, waiting with bated breath. 

He unbuttons the top of your pants and drags down the zipper, all the while looking in your eyes. 

“I find you wet, and I’m not stopping,” he insists, tone low, calculated. 

You could press your thighs together, try to squirm away from him, but he’s too strong, and you know what he’s going to find. You could even turn your head and look away, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

His fingers dip into your panties, and he goes straight for the cut of you, slick and wet for him, and slips a finger inside. 

“I knew it,” he whispers. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing in slow circles.

You moan, arching into his touch, unable to resist the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Such a sensitive little thing,” he murmurs, adding another finger and thrusting them inside you.

You wriggle and writhe beneath him, unable to control your body’s response to his touch. He watches with dark satisfaction as you lose yourself in the moment.

“Lloyd,” you moan his name, and he chuckles softly.

“You sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he coos, increasing the speed of his fingers inside you.

Your breath hitches as your orgasm approaches.

But then he pulls his thick fingers away, and a whine escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your body surges up, pelvis seeking his.

"You'll give me what I want," Lloyd purrs, his voice low and dangerous. He brings his slick fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. The sight makes you shiver involuntarily.

"Never," you breathe, but your voice lacks conviction.

Lloyd smirks, clearly not believing you. "We'll see about that."

He leans down, pressing his body against yours once more. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "I always get what I want. And right now, I want you."

Before you can respond, he captures your lips in another searing kiss. His hands roam your body, touching, teasing, igniting a fire within you that you've tried so hard to extinguish. You hate how easily he can affect you, how your body responds to his touch without your permission.

Lloyd's voice is a low rumble against your ear as he pins you to the bed. "You'll tell me everything I want to know."

You struggle to catch your breath, still reeling from the sudden loss of his touch. "I told you, I'm not giving you anything."

He smirks, trailing a finger down your cheek. "Oh, but you will. Your body's already betraying you. I think you’ll give me everything."

You think there’s a possibility he could end up being right, because while you didn’t think of him much after Lithuania, the truth is you did think of him. You thought of him on some of the nights alone in your bed when you had your best orgasms.

"What's the real reason you took that contract in Kaunas?" he demands.

You clench your jaw, refusing to answer. Lloyd's hand slides back to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Come on, Pumpkin. Make this easy on yourself."

Your breath catches as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around your throat. The pressure sends a thrill through you, desire boiling in your belly despite your best efforts to resist.

"I won't tell you anything," you manage to choke out, your voice strained.

Lloyd's eyes darken with a mix of frustration and arousal. "So stubborn," he murmurs. "But I did hope you’d choose the hard way."

He takes off his belt and binds it around your forearms. He yanks the clothing completely down and off your bottom half, and then he’s between your legs, cock out, and pushing his thick, blunt head against your entrance. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "Last chance to tell me what I want to know."

You turn your head, refusing to meet his gaze. "Go to hell," you spit out.

He chuckles darkly. "Oh, we're already there, Pumpkin."

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. You cry out, overwhelmed by the sudden fullness. Lloyd groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, you feel even better than I thought you would.”

You moan and push your bound forearms at his chest.

Lloyd growls, grabs your wrists, and pins them above your head in one of his giant hands.

Then he proceeds to fuck you.

Slowly.

He gives you what you won’t admit you want.

Over and over again he gives it to you, until you’re boneless, voice hoarse, throat raw, limbs aching, babbling, but somehow still fighting against giving the one piece of information he’s seemingly desperate to have.

When dawn is about to break, dazed and delirious with pleasure, you wonder which of you will break first - or if neither of you will.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

all Welcome Home, Pumpkin stories

Aaaaah! So with the second one, what do you think? Was this anything like what you were expecting? Did you catch the repeated lines?

...and will you be ready for the third and darkest of the three?!

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[mcflymemes]

THE SUITE LIFE OF ZACK AND CODY PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the tv show (season 1), adjust as necessary

i can shove 12 gummy worms up my nose. you wanna see?

i was blunt... i was direct... and if i do say so myself, i was pretty darn mean.

is that a threat or a promise?

i learned something from you and you learned something from me.

i can't believe i might have to wear plaid.

teach me to be smart!

i mean, this is probably the most boring hotel in the history of boring hotels.

none of them even noticed me.

do you need some help with your bags?

i'm not that strange... except when i get really nervous i can't stop talking which is odd because i'm aware of it and you'd think i'd know better but for some strange reason...

what kind of superficial airhead thinks that's cool?

are you wearing lipstick?

i protest against them.

i got dragged off by a cop!

i guess i should say goodbye. or... you could invite me to your suite?

do you know how much they cost?

it's so much nicer than the mini-van we used to live in.

is there a hall of fame for this kind of stuff?

that's what trees look like before you cut them down.

what's that on your face?

thanks for the red sox tickets!

you tend to be un-smooth.

some of this candy is older than you.

somebody ordered the "i'm sorry for what i did last night" buffet.

get us into the wedding.

we may live in a palace, but we are not royalty.

what did you set on fire?

have you seen what you're wearing?

will you guys stop fighting?

we are not fighting. we are having a creative discussion.

stop agreeing. you're annoying me now.

i'll have you know, i flunked that math test purposely just to get away from you.

are you familiar with the gear shift?

you're making me nervous with all this technical talk.

why don't we just relax, turn on the radio? would you like AM or FM?

let's find out how rich i am!

you're gonna learn to drive?

have you heard the good news?

i love the rush of the road, the wind in my hair.

they shouldn't be too hard to find. we'll just look for the car that's going in reverse.

i suppose i have a slight tendency to be a bit critical.

have you seen my kids?

which goes first, the milk or the cereal?

it's a special night. don't make me slap you.

did you just flick flour into my face?

come back here and take this banana creme pie like a man!

how would you feel if people were spreading rumors about you?

we don't have a dungeon.

i recommend you go away!

this is not a joking matter.

there's no such thing as ghosts.

just 'cause i don't need it doesn't mean it's not mine.

don't take this the wrong way.

i made it with my own two hands.

i've hit rock bottom. and i don't like rock bottom. it's so... rock bottomy.

i have about twenty different ones. which one do you want?

i actually cooked for three hours.

do you ever find yourself feeling discouraged, unfulfilled, unappreciated?

try this hot dog!

[musingsofahistorymajor]

Okay I watched the Six Triple Eight movie and I've been sitting with it for the last couple of days just sorting my thoughts and reflecting on how I feel about it. So here are all of my thoughts. What I liked, loved, hated, disliked but begrudgingly accepted. All of it.

Overall I LOVED IT!! AAHHHH!!!! It was a great movie and the history was pretty damn on point and I'm still so thrilled to have this movie in existence!!!!!! WE HAVE A MOVIE ABOUT THE WACS!! ABOUT THE 6888!!! THAT THE PUBLIC IS WATCHING AND ENJOYING AND WANTING TO LEARN MORE!!!! THAT'S SO IMPORTANT TO ME!!! It was so amazing to see so many women on screen during a WWII/war movie. I cried many many times. I'm so happy you guys. So happy.

Were there mistakes? Absolutely. Did those mistakes piss me off? Of course. I always get pissed at historical mistakes and the WACs are my historical specialty. Heck I know the historical consultant personally. But I knew going in that this is a Tyler Perry movie on a Netflix budget so of course there were going to be mistakes and things that are embellished for entertainment purposes. I prepared myself for it. So yes, overall I'm very happy with the film.

But lets go deep into it shall we!

Putting in a read more because I am detailed and long winded lol

Let's start with what I feel like was the good.

First of all, and what I feel like is one of the MOST important things about this movie: We have a movie about WOMEN in WWII. About Women of COLOR in WWII. About the WOMEN'S ARMY CORPS itself. We have a movie where the WAC are at the forefront of a war movie instead of being blurry background images with no names faces or lines OR just nurses acting as a romantic plot device to lift a man's story before disappearing never to be heard from again. Now we have a full movie just about THEM. And I fucking love it!! I want MORE!!!! And this film is getting people interested in history and wanting to learn more about not only the WACs but the 6888 themselves which will lead to more interest in women's history and women's history during WWII which makes me so fucking happy I could SCREAM!!!!! That's so amazing and so important and if anyone wants some more resources to learn more hit me up! I'm happy to share things!

In terms of the plot/story I'm fairly pleased with it too. Knowing it's a lower budget Tyler Perry Netflix movie, I fully expected them to sensationalize, exaggerate and change a lot of the real history. And yes they did do this a few times but the meat of the story is accurate. A lot of the story was accurate. More accurate than I expected.

The processing of new WACs, the gas mask drill, the voyage over, the marching through the streets upon arrival in England, the state of the King Edward School, the process of sorting the mail, all of the extra steps they all took to locate the men, the church scene, the loss of several women, the scene of Adams saying "over my dead body", etc. were all TRUE. That happened!! And I loved how it was all shown. I really really do.

However, I don't like that they changed the reason Lena joined the WACs to go from fighting for her country to be a romantic/for a dude story. I'm so tired of amatanormativity jeezus christ. Why does everything have to have romance in it. I mean I get why they shoehorned that plot in there. It's for the public who expect and apparently need a romance plot or whatever. But yeah I didn't like that. Was it a good story? Sure I guess. If you don't know the truth and like romance plots. I mean, Lena and Hugh were already married when she decided to join the WACs.

I also don't like that they changed the story of the women who lost their lives. In fact this is the one plot point that infuriates me the most. The rest I could overlook and accept as film nonsense that was always gonna happen for dramatic effect. But this? What was the point. First of all it was 3 women who lost their lives. In a jeep accident. They were not blown up because they went off the prescribed course. They didn't even give them the names of the real women who died. Which were Dolores Browne, Mary Barlow, and Mary Barkston. The emotional impact was lovely and I may have cried a little watching it but that doesn't mean I'm not so mad that it was changed. At least that WAS included in the movie that women died. And the part about raising money for the caskets is true as well. Charity Adams wrote about it in her memoirs. They took up a collection to purchase caskets and sent 3 women who matched the deceased women's measurements to buy them. Then they gave them a Protestant (for 2 of them) and a Catholic (for 1 of them) ceremony. The 3 women are now buried in the Colleville-Sur-Mer Normandy American Cemetery. That was true. And I'm glad all of this was included because the regular movie watcher should know this happened even if the facts weren't quite right.

I loved the ending. A lot. I sobbed when they returned home and were saluted by the men who benefited from the work of the 6888th. I SOBBED when they started playing the real footage of the battalion and the interviews with the members. SOBBED. I was a fucking mess after that segment and I'm BEYOND glad that it was included. That was the most important part of the whole damn movie. This story is REAL and about REAL women and you should go learn about them!

I literally clapped and cheered during the marching segment. I'm such a nerd for proper WAC drill. That dress right dress and cover down was SO GOOD!! Anyone who's been at my mercy when trying to learn drill should know that it's not easy to do. But these ladies were SHARP and SNAPPY and BEAUTIFUL! Ugh I loved it! That's what I am my unit to look like one day! The marching itself was a little weird though. They were picking up their feet way too much. It's like they were stomping down the street when it should have been a smooth roll step. And some of the ladies didn't have the arm swing down either. But the eyes right and salute moment!?! Aaaaahhhh!!! I screamed!!! In a good way!!! That movement was so smooth!!! So good!! And it felt, emotionally, so good to watch this giant group of women march down the street. Ugh I loved that.

This one is unique to me but The Phantom!!! I may have waved at the Phantom like it's my friend lol. Shoutout to my friends who own that vehicle!! The Phantom is a star!! I've ridden in that vehicle many times!! And my other friends car is in the movie too!! So fun!!!

I like the montage of the work WACs did post graduation. That had the feeling of a WAC recruitment video and I enjoyed it a lot. That was cool AND ACCURATE!!!!!!!!

Kerry Washington and Milauna Jackson had great chemistry together and every time they were on screen together I was having a blast.

THE WAC BAND!! WAC BAND!! WAC MUSICIANS! THERE WERE WAC MUSICIANS!!! AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! If you know me at all you know how OBSESSED with the WAC musicians I am. And the dance music for the movie was provided by the black WACs and I loved that. So. Much. Was it accurate to have a full WAC band stationed in England? Fuck no. Not at all. The 404th WAC band never left the US. Do I care? Not at all. I was too excited to see those women playing to care. Sorry not sorry.

Okay now the bad. Hoo boy.

Obviously what I've already stated above about the factual errors. The incorrect facts regarding Lena, the women who died, the made up General Halt (you couldn't pick an actual general to use? why did you make one up?), the conclusion of the inspection and the "over my dead body" situation, etc.

The uniforms. Oh my god the uniforms. What the hell happened!? Now I will say, IT COULD HAVE BEEN WORSE!!! So much worse!! We've seen worse!! At least they were all wearing correct uniform pieces. Every uniform they wore was correct. I saw correct service uniforms, correct HBTs, correct officer uniforms, mostly correct M43s (where the fuck were their leggings?!). So thank god for that. The problem is that the uniforms were so sloppy!! Throughout the movie I kept shaking my head over the sloppy uniforms. Hats that are not on people's head properly. Shirt collars that are popped or crooked. Ill fitting jackets. Garrison caps ok wrong. Crushed Hobby Hats. Leggings not worn or worn backwards. The purses on the WRONG shoulder!

Horrifying. But this stuff wasn't the most egregious error of the film! This is the WORST thing in it. The upside down officers cap badge on Milauna was the WORST. That is unforgivable. How does that even happen!?! How did no one see it and go "oh wait we gotta fix that?" Especially when Kerry Washington was in the same scene wearing the same uniform! How! Does! This! Happen!?! Utterly ridiculous.

I will say that I did chuckle for a bit because I kept thinking about my experience with the shit repro uniforms we have as reenactors and how I've dealt with a lot of the problems the movie had. I don't fit in original pieces so I have to rely on repros. I've dealt with my collars bunching weirdly, my hobby hat getting bent/crushed and not getting back into shape properly. I laughed out loud at the whole "my titties won't fit in my shirt" moment because SAME GIRL!! Big breasted girls know that pain. They make my shirt look so weird sometimes. Did I like the way it was said? Fuck no. I hated Johnnie's character so much. Why did she phrase it like that. Felt way too modern. Even if I could relate to trying to fit my big boobs into my wool shirt. And when I first started reenacting I definitely wore insignia wrong once or twice and once I put my garrison cap on backwards and didn't realize it and no one told me it was backwards so whoops. So I can accept some of the sloppiness because I've been there.

But just because I can relate to this all doesn't make it acceptable for a film! This is not something that should have shitty looking uniforms like this!! You have the time and the money and the resources!! The uniforms should fit and be worn CORRECTLY!! There is no excuse for the mistakes made. None. Not when you have all the references and access to veterans of the 6888 and a freaking historical advisor that I KNOW would have told you THIS IS WRONG! And so much of it is so easily fixable! Pull that hat down so it's on your head. Roll the hair up more. Curl her hair. Twist the insignia so it's the other way. Get her a bigger jacket and her a smaller one. EASY TO FIX.

I like a lot of the hair but the ones that were wrong were SO wrong it was PAINFUL! Johnnie's straight hair made me scream. It looked horrible all the time. Why did so many of them have their hair down below their collars at the dance!?!!!!! WHY!?!?! Sure it's pretty, but IT'S BELOW YOUR COLLAR!!!! STOP!!! Why was that one white WAC in a BUN!?! Why!!!??

And the salutes!!! HORRIBLE!! Salutes aren't that hard!! Why did they all either salute like a Brit with the palm facing front or with the most crooked hand ever.

Also plot wise, what was the point of introducing us to the supporting characters of all they were going to do was be a prop for Lena. We should have been given more about them. They needed more plots, more story, more characterization, more depth. I wanted more from them.

Overall I really really enjoyed the movie and the things that I disliked are not enough for me to say this was a bad movie. It wasn't. I do highly encourage everyone who watched the movie to check out some of the following resources to learn more about these incredible women:

One Woman's Army by Charity Adams Earley

Women of the 6888th website

The United States Army in World War II: Special Studies: The Women’s Army Corps by Mattie E. Treadwell

LTC Charity Adams, Oral History, 1990

Anna Mae Robertson, The “Six Triple Eight” A interview with PFC Anna Mae Wilson and her daughter Janice Banyard on the history of the 6888th

This page of the Women of 6888th website

To Serve My Country, to Serve My Race by Brenda L. Moore

“African American Women and the Women’s Army Corps during World War II.” by Morgan Carlton

Oral Histories of African American women during wwii

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Four sighed, taking a sip of his beer as he looked at the embers glowing and crackling in Time’s fire pit. “I hate seeing people in pain and not being able to do anything about it.”

Sky glanced at his friend, wondering where that statement came from. Nobody said anything for a moment, and then Legend piped up.

“Yet you chose to work in a surgical-trauma ICU where everyone is in pain all the time,” he quipped with a little playful smirk to take the edge of the sarcasm.

Warriors snickered, leaning back in his chair, beer bottle held lazily between his fingers. Sky almost laughed at the sight of it, recalling that he and Hyrule had been refilling the bottle with water after their friend’s first drink. The army nurse hadn’t commented on the matter.

“Oh shut up,” Four laughed as well. “I know I set myself up for this. But I… I wanted to help. And I wanted to do nursing that made me feel like I was thinking through puzzles and able to focus on as few patients as possible so I could really get into taking care of things. And I like the thrill of it. But…”

He trailed off a moment, looking around at the group relaxing by the fire pit. Twilight paused briefly in the act of throwing another log on the fire, glancing at Four, before finishing the action, sending sparks showering into the air briefly. Time and Malon watched Four quietly, bundled together under a plaid blanket, Malon’s head on Time’s shoulder. Warriors perked up from his slumped position, head tilting towards the ICU nurse while Legend’s playful smile faded. Wild and Wind paused from eating their s’mores to give Four their attention while Hyrule sat up from where he’d been laying in a burrito of blankets on the grass.

Sky watched Four try to ask what he wanted, and as much as he wanted to prompt his friend he knew to wait.

“Does it ever get better?” Four finally asked. “The compassion fatigue. I’ve only been in nursing a short while and I can already feel it. Am… am I done?”

Sky bit his tongue, remembering when he’d asked Legend a similar question. But Sky had been through a war and had been flying sick, injured, and dying patients for years now. Four was still a fairly new nurse, wasn’t he?

He supposed it didn’t matter. Everyone’s exposure and experience was different. Four very clearly was uneasy about this.

Warriors spoke up first, sitting up. “It comes and goes, buddy.”

“Sometimes you just have to stop and remember they’re people,” Legend added. “We… you know, when everyone’s worst day is your workday you have to shut it off. It’s not…”

“We have to protect ourselves,” Sky picked up for his dear friend. “We suffer when they suffer. But if you let it get to you then you can’t focus on helping them. You’re not a bad person for doing that. For…”

Well. Were they bad people for feeling nothing when their patients were in pain?

Honestly, Sky knew there wasn’t a single person in this group who felt absolutely nothing. They just redirected what they felt into something else. Dark jokes to make a bad situation funny, frustration to turn strong emotions into rambling with coworkers… they all felt it somehow.

But it did make it hard to remember who they were taking care of sometimes.

Sky was grateful he just flew his helicopter. He wasn’t sure he could tolerate much more exposure than that, honestly.

“I don’t know if it ever gets better,” Warriors finally said. “It’s kind of just something you learn to live with.”

“I’ve seen nurses who have all the compassion in the world,” Twilight noted. “But I also have no idea how they do it, honestly.”

“Oh, you mean like you, Mr Biggest Bleeding Heart in the Room?” Legend remarked. “I bet you’re everyone’s favorite CNA over there. I don’t know how the hell you deal with sick kids day in and out.”

“It’s a lot easier when you’re the tech walking in and out of the room instead of the nurse responsible for that kid’s life,” Twilight argued mildly. “I mean, I do get attached and I want to take care of all of them, but I’m also so spread out it makes encounters shorter. So like… I don’t know, not as much burnout I guess. Except for the chronic kids.”

“Well, techs make a hell of a difference,” Four noted. “I’d be so screwed without you guys.”

“Back to the point,” Twilight frowned, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m sure even the kindest nurses have moments when they just can’t let themselves get hurt anymore. You’re not a jerk for being worn out from constantly watching people suffer.”

“What’s important, love, is getting out and having moments like this,” Malon piped up. “You boys all tend to self isolate when you’re not working, and all that does is make work your entire life. Take time for yourself but go out in the world too. We’re all here for each other. That’s why we had this tonight.”

Four sighed a little, glancing down at the fire. Sky elbowed him teasingly, smiling. “Hey. You can’t be any worse than Legend.”

The travel nurse perked up, face flushing and eyes wide with irritation as Warriors wheezed. “HEY!”

Everyone started to laugh while Legend rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. But Sky knew it was just theatrics; after all, he and Legend had talked about this very thing a few weeks ago.

Healthcare broke people. They all knew that. But a little crack here and there could be supported, one person holding the other up. Sky wasn’t sure how long any of them could last in any one area, but he knew they’d try to make it work.

[just-jordie-things]

[part fifteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.8k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part fifteen] : “The Whole Truth”

___

She’d been in this room before, more times than she could count on both hands, but standing here now, (y/n) suddenly is overwhelmed with the anxiety that she’s invaded a very private space.  Despite the fact that she was asked to come in, despite the fact that she’s there with one of her oldest friends- if she could still consider him that- when she’s standing before him, she’s overcome with the urge to find an excuse to leave.

Her fingers curl around the paper bag that’s still in her hands, the parting gift she’d gotten for him, and she comes back to earth for long enough to extend it to him.

“I got you mochi,” She says softly.  Satoru takes the bag to inspect its contents.  “From that place you like that’s always way too busy”

Still holding the bag open, Sartoru’s eyes slide upwards, peering over the top of his sunglasses questioningly, already feeling a motive behind the random gift.

“So busy you had to wait overnight?” He questions, and (y/n) frowns.

“I picked them up this morning,” She says, the previously level tone she’d kept her voice at dropping, just enough to let him know that his comment irritated her.  “So they’d be fresh”

Satoru nods, before rolling the top of the paper bag shut and setting it on his desk.  (y/n) doesn’t say a word as he lets out a huff, his peace clearly disturbed by her already, before he leans back against his door and crosses his arms.

“What’s this all about then?” He asks, in an uncharacteristically bored tone.  “Is it an apology..?” He shakes his head as though he couldn’t fathom the idea.  “Because I don’t need an explanation, I’ve heard enough-”

“Satoru, I don’t want to-”

“Fight?” He finishes her thought with a scoff, a bitter laugh escaping him before he looks over her again, her nervous stance, her tired features.  His annoyance quickly burns into something uglier.  “I mean, was it worth it?”

(y/n) blinks in surprise, and hearing the same question that Suguru had asked her just a few weeks ago has her blood running cold.  What a bitter feeling of deja vu.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” She says quietly, ducking her head so that she didn’t have to look at him while she spoke.  “And… and I don’t expect you to forgive me.  I know I wouldn’t,”

That has Satoru’s muscles relaxing, and he doesn’t cut her off this time when she speaks.  He lets curiosity get the best of him as he hears her out.

“But I… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t even try to tell you how sorry I am before…” She trails off, her teeth gnawing on her bottom lip to keep her from saying too much.

Her throat feels like someone had just poured lighter fluid down it and dropped a match.

Satoru leans off the door then, his head cocked and his eyebrow arched as he tries to fill in the blanks she’d left.

“Before what?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes nervously meet his but it’s fleeting before she turns away again, this time fixing her gaze on a single photo taped to his wall.  It displayed all four of them, having a picnic during their first year.  

For a brief moment, she’s transported to the memory, remembering the way Shoko had giggled as she held out the camera, her face barely in the shot but the peace sign she held her fingers in front and center.  Satoru has his arm slung around Suguru’s neck, pulling him into view as they both grin wide.  He has his other arm wrapped around (y/n’s) middle, forcing her to be in the photo as well.  She remembered trying to scramble away before Shoko could snap the shot, and how tight but not uncomfortable Satoru’s hold on her had been.  She remembers squealing as she tried prying his arm off her, but in the picture, it looks like she’s grinning happily, clutching his arm almost lovingly.  It looks like she not only gives into his hold, but embraces it.

It brings a sad smile to her face now, and she wonders if she had embraced it, no matter how hard she tried to tell everyone she didn’t.  

“(y/n),” Satoru steps forward, jarring her thoughts as she whips her attention back to him.  “Before what?” He repeats his question.

Her lips part, an excuse writing itself on her tongue, but she can’t bring herself to say it.  In the grand scheme of things, one more lie meant nothing.  Satoru already thought so little of her that it wouldn’t matter how much more damage she could create.

But she just couldn’t do it.

“I’m…” Her voice fails her, and she clears her throat before trying again.  “I’m leaving”

Her voice still cracks when she says it, but she tries to maintain eye contact so that he knows she meant it.  This wasn’t another act of deceit, which he believed it to be as the words first processed in his mind, but the longer he stares at her and sees that her expression is unwavering, the more he realizes she had meant it.

He would have preferred another lie.

“No you aren’t” He says in disbelief, hoping, praying she’d finally fucking learned how to lie and he could call her bluff.

(y/n) nods her head in a small motion.

“Yes, I am,” She says softly.  “I just wanted to try to make things right before I-”

“No- no, you’re fucking explaining yourself this time,” Satoru cuts her off, his arms falling from their defensive stance over his chest.  “You don’t get to just- fuck- are you quitting? Is this about Suguru?”

That seemed to catch her attention, as her face fell as she shook her head adamantly.

“No,” The word comes out solid, and it’s the loudest she’s spoken since she’d come into his room, even though she still hasn’t reached a normal speaking volume.  “It’s not about him, at least, not entirely.  It certainly hasn’t helped-”

“Then why? Why do you have to go?” He asks, his words coming out in such a rush they almost slur together.  “Where are you going? What is this about?”

“I…” She wants to explain herself, but there’s nothing for her to say.  “Satoru, I can’t…”

It’s quiet for a moment, while he hopes she could just find the words to tell him, to help him understand why she’d been pulling away so much, why it had brought her to the point of leaving entirely.  He waits, impatiently so, while his eyes search hers desperately for some kind of reasoning.

After a minute, it dawns on him that she won’t explain it to him.  Even now, she won’t tell him the full truth.  He wants to hate her for giving him scraps of clues of what’s been going on in her world, he wants to tell her off, tell her to leave just as she’d told him.

But just as she can’t tell him the whole truth in fear of hurting him, he can’t tell her to leave in fear of hurting her.  It was a vicious cycle they had been putting themselves through.

A thought comes creeping up in his head, and he doesn’t want to speak it into existence, but he does anyway.  If she really was leaving, he might as well try to uncover the truth.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” He asks, quietly, afraid that it was the truth.  “The Zen’ins?”

(y/n) fights the urge to show any expression of emotion, but it’s not enough.  Satoru is quicker, and catches the flicker of recognition in her eyes.  He’d guessed correctly.

“What is it then?” He asks dejectedly.  “They’re moving you into their weird fucking compound of a house? Are they arranging your marriage? You’re just going to skip along and follow their old, backwards lifestyle? Do you really want that?”

He gets carried away rather quickly, the reality of the situation hitting him the longer he thinks about what her life would become if she really did go down that path.

(y/n’s) breathing is rapidly increasing, and she realizes that no matter what she’d done, if she’d continued with the lie or admitted the truth, Satoru was always going to be hurt.  Tears prick her eyes as she tries to come up with a solution that would put him at ease, at least until she flees first thing in the morning.

When she doesn’t say anything, Satoru takes quick steps forward to close the remaining space between them.  (y/n) has to tilt her head up to look at him properly, her eyes wide at the sudden action.

This was the part where he told her everything he’d said in her nightmare, she thinks as she stares up at him.  This is all your fault.  This is what you deserve.

He’d meant to tell her that this was her mistake to make, that he wouldn’t stop her if she went through with it, even if he found it ridiculously foolish.  But then he got a good look at her, at the way she was holding back her tears, even in her physical exhaustion, she fought the will to cry.

And Satoru softened.

He pauses before her, and everything around them pauses for a moment as he kept watch of those eyes he’d been staring at for years.  He’d seen every flicker of emotion one could in them.  He’d seen the way they brightened when she smiled, how they crinkled when she laughed, how she looked when she was surprised, or angry, and he’d seen them sad before, too.

But he’d never seen them helpless.

And although everything she’d been saying had been in an effort to push him away, there was something swimming in those irises that was trying to communicate something else entirely.  She was lost.

With a sigh, Satoru pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Not caring that they got tangled in his hair.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He huffs, and (y/n) blinks in surprise at the affectionate nickname.  “What’s going on?

She blinks again, but she keeps her lips sealed shut.  Even if she tried to speak, she’d be a sputtering mess.

“You know…” He speaks carefully, making sure to pick just the right words.  “You know that you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to, right?” The question comes out in a whisper, as though there were prying ears to hide from.  “And if you need help-”

“It’s not like that”

Just as she suspected, her voice comes out in a strained whimper.  Satoru frowns.

“You’re crying,” He states the obvious.  “And you’re telling me that you’re leaving but you’re still not telling me why”

“Because I can’t,” (y/n) speaks again, and this time is no better.  “I just can’t, okay? I’m sorry-”

“Well you’re going to have to,” He says decidedly, his hands wrapping around her shoulders.  “Because something isn’t adding up, and I can’t just let you go when you’re like this,”

Against her will, a tear slips down her cheek as she looks up at him.  She shudders as she takes a deep breath.

“Please, (y/n/n),” He says softly, “Who’s done this to you? Who’s hurt you?”

Another shudder rattles through her as she tries to breathe normally, and she curses him internally when a warm hand touches her cheek, wiping away the stray tear and bringing her an undeserved amount of comfort.

“I… I can’t,” She mumbles, closing her eyes as she draws her face away from him, before she steps away from him altogether.  “I can’t bring you into it” She finishes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru shakes his head, filling the distance she’d tried to put between them.

“Well it’s too late for that, so you may as well tell me anyways,” He says, trying to sound comforting, and he has no idea just how much she longed to be comforted by him.  

She drops her head so that she couldn’t be tempted by him again.

“(y/n),” He tries to bring her to look at him again, but she won’t.  Hesitantly, he reaches his hands out to her, his fingers grazing over her knuckles.  “I won’t know rest until I know you do,” He admits.  “So I’m begging you, okay?”

She sniffles, and closes her eyes tighter while his fingers carefully wrap around hers.

“I can’t hurt you anymore” Her voice still shakes, and Satoru doesn’t know how much more of this his heart could take.

His resentment towards her these last few weeks had been washed away so easily by his overwhelming need to protect her, and he’s never felt so strongly about doing so until this moment.

This wasn’t how he’d seen her cry before.  This wasn’t how she’d behaved when Haibara Yu had passed.  This wasn’t how she’d behaved in her desperate rage to push him away.  This wasn’t her.  He knew deep down something was terribly wrong, and he didn’t care what it was, he just wanted to make it go away.  He just wanted her to be herself again, to be okay, to be happy.

“You won’t,” He murmurs, still unsure if it was a lie.  “You won’t,” He repeats himself with fervor.  “There’s nothing you could tell me that would hurt me, sweetheart, okay? So just… just tell me what he’s done, and I’ll fix it”

(y/n) looks up at him then, realizing now that Shoko must have filled in the gaps of her lies between them, and that Satoru truly does believe she’s gotten into trouble with a suitor of some sort from the Zen’in Clan.  Any thought of lying through her teeth escapes her mind, as she looks at him now, all she can find in his eyes is pure honesty.

He’s serious, and it’s almost tangible before her.  She fears that he really would do anything to put her at ease, and she fears that she would do the same for him.

She fears that she’s in this situation because she’d tried to do the same for him.

She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t understand the feeling, but she chases it, in hopes that it would guide her to do right by him.

“I’m not seeing someone from the Zen’in Clan”

It’s the clearest she’s spoken in a few minutes, but Satoru hesitates as though he still had to make out what she’d said.  (y/n) doesn’t blame him.  She’s just as surprised by herself as he is.

“You’re not?” He mumbles in disbelief, his brows drawing together in a confused knot.

“I’m not,” She whispers back.  “I… I never was” She adds with a small shrug of her shoulder.

Satoru blinks a few times, his eyes flickering between hers, just to be sure that she was once again telling the truth.  He doesn’t find an ounce of insincerity on her, but it still doesn’t bring him much comfort.

Suddenly, his hands are squeezing around hers, and he’s bringing them to his chest, holding them close as though the action alone could convince her to stay.  (y/n) almost stumbles from the action, but catches her footing before she could fall into him.

“Then why are you leaving?” He asks the nagging question on his mind.

Her tears threaten to spill over her lashes, and her hesitation tells him she still isn’t ready to give him the full truth.  She tries to think about Megumi, about Tsumiki, and everything she was going to do to ensure their safety.

“There must be a reason if you’re going to put yourself through this much trouble,” He voices his thoughts while (y/n) tries to blink her tears away.  “What is it, sweetheart? You have to tell me”

“Sa-toru,” She chokes on his name, her eyes falling shut as a last ditch effort to keep all of her tears from falling.  She tries to pull her hands out of his, but he keeps them in a firm grasp, and she doesn’t have the will to snatch them back.  “I just can’t- please, please forgive me,”

She hiccups, and closes her eyes tighter, even though she can feel wetness racing down her cheeks.

“I just have to protect you, I can protect all of you, but you have- you have to let me-” She’s cut off by another hiccup, and when she opens her eyes again all of the tears she’d tried to hold back are streaming down her face.  “I know it’s not fair, but it’s the only way I can keep you safe”

Satoru’s eyes blink wide in surprise, his brain desperately trying to connect the dots, trying to figure out who she’s talking about, who she’s protecting, and from what?

He doesn’t rush to ask her these questions, instead he shushes her gently, and brings her over to his bed so she could take a seat.  She wants to fight him, but she doesn’t.

“Alright,” He hums, releasing one of her hands so he could catch her tears against his finger, flicking them away before they could stain her cheeks.  “Alright sweetheart, let’s start slow, alright?”

She shakes her head, unwilling to drag him down with her.  Satoru tries again anyway.

“There’s nothing you could do to jeopardize my safety, okay?” He tells her, wishing she’d look up at him.  When she doesn’t, he hooks his finger under her chin and gently lifts her head so she could see he meant it.  “Okay?” He asks again.

(y/n) lets out a shaky breath, and her eyes fall from his, landing on his throat.  She takes a few more breaths before finding her voice again.

“You’ve been hurt by my mistakes before,” She whispers.

He’s certain he couldn’t have heard her right, but he doesn’t try to speak over her.

Her eyes don’t move as she continues.

“I just can’t hurt you again,” She sighs.  “I’ve done it too much and… and it hurts me too” She admits the last part in a voice that barely reached a whisper, but he hears her clear as day.

“I understand,” He hums.  “But you have to understand that I can’t ignore this anymore, (y/n).  Whatever this is, it’s killing you.  And I can’t just let that happen”

“I had a chance to kill Fushiguro Toji,”

Her voice is raw, sore from her crying, strained from her whispering, but she forces herself to speak anyways.

“The day we were sent after Riko Amanai,” (y/n) continues, still staring at the spot on his throat where he’d shown her Toji’s blade had cut clean through.  “When we parted ways that day, I ran into him,”

Satoru hung onto her every word, wondering where she could possibly be going with this, and why she hadn’t told him sooner.  Although so far, the truth didn’t seem too harmful, there was a nagging pull on his heart that led him to believe somewhere, sometime, things had gone completely wrong.

“Just by accident,” (y/n) continued, shrugging her shoulders in thought.  “Or maybe it was fate, I don’t know what led me to him that day, but…”

Finally, her eyes flickered up to his, and she swallowed the remaining lump in her throat before speaking again.

“I overheard a conversation he was having, on the phone,”

Satoru nods, understanding the story so far, while he waits patiently for her to continue.

“He mentioned… he mentioned children,” (y/n) said through a shaky exhale of breath.  “And I just… I just had to follow him, I had to learn more, I don’t know why, but it just nagged at me, and I…”

She turns her head, her eyes landing on that photo on the wall again as she thinks back to that day.  The way she felt in the beginning of this all, desperately searching for Megumi and Tsumiki like their lives, her life, depended on it.  And now, because of her, they did.

Satoru watched her as she stared at the photo for a long moment, trying to collect her thoughts.  He was on the edge of his seat, but he didn’t say anything to rush her into explaining further.

He looked down at the hand that still sat in his, limp and clammy from her nerves.  He squeezed it gently before running the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand.

(y/n) looked back at him right away, almost jolted by the small gesture, but Satoru kept his focus on the small motion of comfort.

“He had children,” She whispers out the truth like it was a damning piece of information.  “Two children.  Young.  A girl, and a boy”

When Satoru finally meets her gaze again, she’s no longer crying, but she’s still giving him that hopeless look, as though she’d done something terrible that she couldn’t take back.

“That’s where you were when you disappeared that weekend?” He finally spoke after listening to her so intently.  (y/n) chewed on her lip as she slowly nodded her head.

“I followed him but I… I lost him..” Her eyes trailed back down to his throat, and now he understood what she’d been staring at.

She’d been watching the place on his throat where Toji had stabbed him that day.  Oh, he realizes, all too slowly, she blamed herself.  As soon as he puts the pieces together, he squeezes her hand again, as though requesting her attention again.

“That wasn’t your fault”

“I could have-”

“That wasn’t your fault”

“But I was there”

“(y/n),” Satoru’s voice is firm now, and she snaps her mouth shut.  “You couldn’t have known,” He tells her, sure of every word he spoke.  “There was nothing that you could have done differently to prevent it.  There was nothing I could have done differently to prevent it,”

She sighs, her eyes falling to her lap as that dreaded feeling of uselessness washed over her.

“And need I remind you, I’m fine?” He adds, pulling her hand upwards, gently laying it at the base of his throat while keeping his palm over her hand.  “Just a little mark,” He whispers while (y/n’s) eyes linger on the spot.

This must be his most vulnerable spot, she thinks, after what happened, no matter what he says, he must have some trauma from the incident.  And yet, he lowers his infinity, and lets her rest her trembling fingers there.

Her eyes meet his unsurely.

“I need you to believe me when I say it’s not your fault”

“Okay,” She whispers back.  “Then I need you to believe me when I tell you I have to go”

Satoru shakes his head, his fingers curling around hers again, dropping her hand from his throat and against his leg.

“I can’t do that, sweetheart” He sighs.

“Why?” She whispers back, her eyes flickering between his, trying to figure out why it was he cared so much about this.  “I’m… I’m going to do a terrible thing tomorrow”

Satoru raises a curious brow.

“Is that so?”

She nods back at him, frowning.

“It will be unforgivable,” She whispers.  “But I don’t have a choice,” Her voice cracks again, but this time it’s just the reality of her situation crushing down on her.  “I can’t lose them”

“Lose who, sweetheart?” Satoru asks, his brows furrowing now, as he was missing a vital piece of information she hadn’t shared yet.

“I found them,” She whispered, almost gravely.  “I found Fushiguro Toji’s children”

The confession processes slowly, and then all at once, and (y/n) watches as he begins to put all the pieces together in real time.

Those children weren’t just poor abandoned things left to live their days out in some broken, unjust system society deemed charitable.  No, they weren’t your average non-curse users.  They were property.  Valuable property.  

They were Zen’in property.  And it was only a matter of time before the clan would come to collect them.

“I see,” Satoru hums.  “So you…”

“I’ve been sneaking off campus for eight months to take care of them” (y/n) whispers.

Every time he caught her in an odd lie, every time she’d go missing as soon as classes were out, the tutoring, the dodging of plans, it all came flooding back to him now, in a completely different light.

“Oh…” He mumbles, leaning back slightly as he was still processing it all.

“Yeah,” (y/n) sighs, hanging her head.  “They’ve sent a notice that they’ll be collecting the boy, Megumi.  His cursed technique has begun to manifest… just like Zen’ins to care when there’s enough power involved”

“What is it?” Satoru mumbles, his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.

“Ten shadows” (y/n) answers, also refusing to look at him.

Fuck.

Satoru runs his free hand over his face, trying to come up with a solution and fast, because he didn’t know how much time they had to keep him from the Zen’in’s greedy clutches.

“I’m to bring him to them tomorrow,” (y/n) says.  “They don’t have an interest in the girl, she was born a non-curse user.  And the two can’t bear to be split apart so…” She trails off, nervously looking Satoru’s way.  “So I’m going tomorrow to… make my case”

“Make your case?”

Satoru repeats the words back to her in disbelief, because he knows just as well as she does that the Zen’in Clan don’t just hear people out.  They’ll take what’s theirs by whatever means necessary, and if she went to them tomorrow then-

Fuck.

It hits him then as he looks back at her, her glossed over eyes and frowning lips, he knows exactly why she’d come to tell him goodbye.

“No, you’re not-”

“I have to”

“(y/n) that’s a death sentence” Satoru stands up from the bed now, her hand falling from his as he stands before her.  Her expression doesn’t falter, not once.

“I’m not losing them” She tells him, clearly, and he knows she means it, but he can’t possibly accept this.

“And that cost is your life?” He raises his voice, although he tries not to yell, he can’t help it as it all sinks into his veins, the situation she’s in.  

Why couldn’t she have come to him sooner?

He begins to pace in front of her.  (y/n) remains calmly sat before him, letting him process however he needed to.  As much as it had hurt, she’d made her peace with it all.  It’s simply what she had to do.

“It doesn’t matter how much you train yourself to death, (y/n), if you walk in there tomorrow with any malicious intent, they’ll strike you down.  They’re an entire clan, (y/n), do you understand that?”

“I do” She whispers with a small nod of her head.

He shakes his head at her, his hands on his hips as he huffs and moves about the room sporadically.

“No, you can’t possibly understand it, because you wouldn’t just be sitting here right now-!”

“Satoru,” She calls his name softly, and while her voice is much smaller than his, he quiets immediately.  “I do understand,” She tells him with another nod.  “I love them,”

His features fall, softening as he sees her small smile begin to break through a painfully hurt exterior.

“I do.  I love them so much.  And I won’t let anything hurt them for the rest of their lives,” She tells him while he’s still frozen in front of her.  “So I have to go.  I have everything prepared, I’ve left them as much money as I can, a few cursed tools I’ve given them and hidden in their house that I’ve imbued with my cursed energy to protect them even if I…” She trails off, not wanting to admit the dark fate that would be in store for her come tomorrow.  “But now that you know, can you promise me something?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, still stuck in front of her, hearing her horrid confession play on repeat in his head.  She was really planning on this? She really was going to go through with this?

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye out for them?” She asks, and no matter how much she tries to keep her breaths even, he can hear the shakiness in the exhale she lets out.  “You don’t have to watch their every move but… just make sure they’re safe, here and there?”

Her brows draw together as she stares at him with utter hope.  She knows that she doesn’t deserve a favor from him, after everything she’s put him through, but if she had to, she’d beg him to make sure her kids were safe when she’s gone.

The room is silent for a few beats, before slowly, Satoru kneels himself to the ground before her, bringing himself to her eye level.  (y/n) stares at him steadily, and he’s close enough that she longs to reach out, to hold him by his jaw and make him swear he’d do her one last favor.

“You’re not doing this,” He tells her, quietly.  “I can’t let you”

“I have to”

“You don’t”

“I don’t have another choice,” She’s quicker with her words, more decided, unwavering in her choice.  “The Zen’ins, they sent men to the house this morning, to intimidate me, or scope out the area, I don’t know.  But they aren’t just going to back down now.  They’re going to take Megumi whether I try to stop them or not”

“We’ll think of something else” Satoru says surely.

“There’s no time,” (y/n) whispers back.  “Tomorrow I’ll put as strong of a curtain over their house as I possibly can and then I’ll go face Zen’in Naobito myself,” She tells him her plan in hopes that he would accept this was her final decision. “So I… I need you to promise me you’ll check in on them”

Satoru’s eyes don’t leave hers as she says this, and he can see that she means every last word.  He’d never pegged (y/n) as someone to have the stomach for cold blooded murder, but he can see now that something had changed, and the love she had for these children would drive her to do anything to protect them.

“You’ll die” He whispers back, knowing that she’s well aware.

(y/n) musters up the courage to give him a small smile, although it still carries the weight of her sadness, it is genuine.  She only hopes to bring him some semblance of comfort in knowing that this was her decision and hers alone, and that she’d found solace in it.

“Promise me,” Is all she replies with, followed by an even softer, “Please”

Was mochi supposed to make up for all of this? Satoru wonders as his eyes flicker between hers.  

While he’s sitting here fighting the urge to completely break down in front of her, she was trying to convince him that she was okay with this plan, that throwing herself into the wolf’s den in the name of love was her only choice.  He wants to tell her she’s completely deluded, that he’d chain her down and keep her here if he had to in order to keep her from making the sacrificing play.  And a part of him knows that he would really do it.

Satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath and tries to run through every possibility on how this could end.  He doesn’t like what he comes up with.

“Satoru,” (y/n) calls softly, and when he looks up at her again, her hand is hesitating over his shoulder.  It takes her a minute before she lays it there, and she lets out a deep sigh before speaking again.  “I’m sorry,”

Her eyes follow the trail of a single tear slipping down his cheek, and she has to remind herself why she has to do this.

“If by some miracle I live, I’ll send you a postcard” She means to jest, but her voice is too soft, and the way her eyebrows sink as her eyes meet his again tells him she barely believes her own words.

Her hand falls from his shoulder as she stands from the bed, and Satoru’s quick to get up to his feet too, stopping her before she could leave.

“Stay,” He says before he can think of something better to say.  “Don’t go yet, stay, please, let’s think of a better plan, together, okay?”

He’s rushing through his words again, desperate to keep her here long enough that he alone could solve all of it for her.

(y/n) opens her mouth, no doubt to protest, but Satoru cuts her off before she could even start.

“Let me help you,” He pleads, stepping closer to her, leaving little to no space between them.  Her eyes noticeably widen at this, but she remains silent.  “You didn’t have my help before, I could get you out of this, we can come up with a way to keep the kids and you safe, okay?”

She’s frowning at him, but she doesn’t walk away from him either, so Satoru thinks he has a chance at making her cave.

“Please?” His hands grab onto hers, the action harsher than it had been before, desperate, even.  “Please, (y/n), I just can’t accept this.  You can’t do this… not without at least talking about it first, okay?”

(y/n) ducks her head and slowly begins to pull her hands out of his, although she longed to stand there with him holding them for the rest of time, as he’d always reminded her that she would never find comfort in another person the way she felt it with him.  She knows that if she stays any longer, then she’ll never leave.

And it was the right thing to walk away, right?

Satoru lets her pull her hands back to her stomach where she could wring them together as some form of control over her nerves.  He doesn’t mind that she tries to pull away from him, because he’s quicker.

When she feels the warmth of two palms resting on either side of her face, lifting her head so she’d look at him properly, (y/n) knows right away that she wouldn’t be walking away anytime soon.

Satoru’s hands are warm, smooth, and no matter where they are on her they still bring her that same blanket of comfort.  They’re so delicately firm, cupped around her face to keep her looking at him.  They’re so solidly gentle that she couldn’t break away from them if she wanted to.

She already knows her answer as soon as he speaks, although she can’t quite explain how she folds so easily, she decides to blame it on her overwhelming physical and mental exhaustion.

“Stay”

___

taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru​ @kamikokii​ @nerdiel-has-no-braincells​ @googlesheetshoe​ @vzleria​ @hilzup @cole-silas @iam-mia9 @stxrrielle @ezrahour @whatamidoing89​ @idioseasworld​ @yuuuumii​ @l0diluvs​ @miffysoo​ @chibiizzy​

xoxo ~ jordie

[quitealotofsodapop]

One of the firsr times MK actually sees Luzhen acting serious and maturely is during the New Years fiasco. When Wukong got captured by the Spider Queen, Luzhen has wanted to go to him immediately but Wukong had mad him swear to make sure MK and his friends are safe first so he ended up with the team that went to the Celestial Realm, this ended up being a benefit because that means they had someone familiar with he place.

He and MK ended up pairing up to get the Furnace, but they both ended up trapped inside. While they were there, Luzhen had a lot of memories and regrets from long ago pop up, being in the same device that was once used to torture and nearly kill his older brother. The Furnace that took Wukong away from him. And MK notices this during his own self-deprication episode.

MK, feeling bad for himself: This is all my fault, why did I ever think I could ever do this!? I can't ever live up to the Monkey King!

Luzhen, quietly and turned away from MK: Yeah, I know the feeling, kid.

MK, realizing for the first time he wasn't ghe only one trapped: Huh? Luzhen!?

Luzhen: Yeah. I'm stuck here too, kid.

MK: Oh great, not am i useless. but I got the Monkey King's brother trapped there too!

Luzhen: Kid, it's not like that. I'm in here... because I jumped in on my own. Same as you.

MK: You... jumped in on your own? Why!?

Luzhen: Aw, c'mon kid, you know the story don't you? How did Dage get his Eyes of Truth?

MK: The gods put him here, in an effort to burn the immortality elixir out of him... right? Only instead of killing him he got gold vision.

Luzhen, nodding: For nearly fifty celestial days and night my brother anguished in here, burning alive from the heat of a primordial flame... all because I made a mistake that he took the fall for.

MK, suddenly realizing: Oh...

Luzhen, quietly, eyes dtill fixated on the corner wall: Wukong... I owe hin so much. He's my older brother, he always took care of me... protected me. I knew he was special, even moreso than me, and I swore I would repay him his kindness and care one day by making sure everyone knew thay. I hadn't meant to hurt anyone but... Wukong was so shy and timid back then, still is in some ways. So when he learned the truth about how much of an insult the position of Biwamen actually was and was going to just... let it go... I snapped.

MK: Are you saying you're the one who... caused the Havoc?

Luzhen: No. I caused the events that led to the Havoc. I'm the one who threatened the dragon gods and removed my brother's name from the Book of the Dead, I'm the one to let all the horses loose and then declared for all to hear that Wukong was the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Everything that happened after... *Luzhen shakes his head as he starts to get emotional* I owed my brother everything, but my stupid, reckless actions were what led to his downfall.

MK, worried about the implications: Luzhen... why did you jump in here?

Luzhen: ...I-I don't know... *huffs in hysterical amusement* I guess... I guess wanted to. No... I needed to know. What he went through in here, to try to get an idea of what I did to my brother. See what it was like for myself. The stories say that he survived because he his himself in this corner right here. *points to the side he was facing, where a very old imprint of scratch marks lay, as though something had been clawing at the walls* It's marked by the wind trigram and had less of the fire. That it was his cleverness that let him succeed... but I know my brother.

*Luzhen runs an hand along some of the faded scratches*

Luzhen: Wukong wanted to make sure he could come home... the only reason he survived was because he was determined to make it home to us... to me.

Luzhen may not have known it at the time but hearing his own thoughts on the Furnace and how Wukong had survived had inadvertently given MK the push he needed to find a way to get them both out. After all, if Wukong had survived being in here for that long to get back to his family, the least they could do was escape the damned thing and save him in return! Both MK and Luzhen have a silent pact not to bring up what happened in the Furnace or the conversation they had up, What Happened in the Furnace, Stayed in the Furnace.

YEE

Luzhen is such an interesting character to unpack in this au simply due to his role as the "dodged culprit" in the Havoc in Heaven. And he's never forgiven himself for it.

He's suffered the ultimate pain of being the younger brother who Wukong would do anything for. Nearly losing him.

A lot of MK's feelings of unworthiness are mirrored in Luzhen, who's lived his entire life as a mere shadow to his brother, not even believed to be a real person by many.

His big bro's successor is a good kid. Not like him. He shouldn't have to worry about this junk,

Though I love the idea that they spent the time in the Furnace hashing out emotional issue they have, and both agree that "Furnace-stays in the Furnace"

[genericpuff]

Big steps are scary, but not moving forward is scarier u.u

So I've been sitting on this post for a little while now, I had planned to post it a few days ago but then I crashed for a nap and woke up to the news of LO ending so wound up using that as another excuse LOL

The last few months have been, to put it lightly, brutal. It's not that anything has happened, it's more like nothing is happening - the usual slow season in tattooing has been especially long, with especially less clients coming through the door, so while it's given me loads of free time to prepare for my conventions and work on other projects, it also means I'm not making as much as I'd usually make. And what I usually make is typically what supports everything I do here.

This has basically been me for the last half a year:

(riding it out, just riiiding it out, whoof)

I'm very fortunate to have a job that satisfies my dream of making a living off art, controlling my own schedule, and making money doing it to boot - but the caveat to it all is that it's a luxury service that relies on the economy around me doing well, and the economy around me right now is very much NOT doing well. I'm also very fortunate that my savings are capable of supporting me, but that's all they are, savings - if I'm not making anything, they'll burn up eventually. I'm not sure how physically capable I would be of going back into retail / food service, and it's honestly just not something I want to do after coming this far as a tattoo artist.

I've also learned how valuable and necessary collaboration is during projects like these. Not just to supplement the quality of the work itself, but to supplement the working experience as a whole. Working with an assistant has been an eye-opening experience in that regard.

When I set out to make this account, it was for the purpose of LO shitposting, edits, essays, and nothing much more than that. I wanted to keep it separate for the sake of my mental health and for the sake of my separate audiences, because when I started here, it just... wasn't a popular opinion in the slightest to have opinions about LO and comics like it outside of the positive norm. I had a lot of fear for a long time built up in my head over it, but as time has gone on, I've fortunately had mostly positive experiences and even when they aren't positive... I've proven to myself that I'm capable of moving forward through it all with my head held high and that these scary experiences aren't as scary as they tend to seem in my head. That's really just the funny thing about fear over any sort of 'risky' endeavor.

That said, I've also branched out a lot more from this blog's original purpose. I've talked about the process of making webcomics, Webtoons as a platform, offered alternatives to creators seeking refuge from the more corporate platforms, given out writing and art advice, discussed topics concerning Greek myth, shared my own original works, and basically just naturally progressed into talking about and doing other things because LO will end eventually and I don't want to restrict myself to talking about the same comic forever LOL

This is a crossroads that I've been at for a few months now. And I know nothing will change unless I take a step forward. It might wind up not being in the right direction in the end, but it's forward, and that's all that really matters to me, because staying in the same place forever isn't good for anyone.

So, I guess I'm gonna stop yapping and just show y'all what I've been working on! I brought this up in a Twitch stream the other day and people in the chat were all very supportive and optimistic, so I'm hoping those of you who follow me here will be too ╭( ･ㅂ･)و (and if not, well, you can kick my ass in my inbox later LOL)

I've applied for my genericpuff account on Twitch to become an Affiliate channel and am just waiting on the approval process. Assuming everything goes through well enough, y'all will be able to subscribe to my channel or support it with bits. If I do get approved I'll be doing a rehaul of the channel design and offering some fun lil' goodies for the chat, and I'll be trying to stream at least twice a week.

So please go follow my Twitch account if you haven't yet! It's the best way to get early sneak peeks of Rekindled, as I'm usually working on new episodes, but we're usually also chatting about LO, webtoons related stuff, and other fun topics ٩(｡•ω•｡)و

But now for the biggest new addition - I've started a Patreon account specifically for my genericpuff stuff ! Normally I would redirect anyone who asked to my main Patreon, but it's not as active nowadays simply due to my original projects being on hiatus. And it's not exactly the best space to share any bonus goodies related to my genericpuff account.

That said, I want to make it clear that I will still be putting limitations on what I offer on this page. Anything related to early access sneak peeks will still be free for all. This will be a glorified tip jar first and foremost, most of what I will be offering as bonus goodies and incentives will be stuff like time lapses of pages, art tutorials, original character designs, critique requests, early access adoptables, deleted scenes, etc.

Basically it'll be stuff that I'm already making (or want to make) but will be exclusive to patrons that won't be tied exclusively to the reading experience of Rekindled. The comic will always be free to read, not just because of the legal stipulations of it being a fan project, but because I want it to be.

Alternatively, if you want to access the stuff I have planned for my original work that I will be posting as early access to my Patreon once it rolls out, you can support that Patreon here!

From the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much for supporting what I do here, in all of its niche craziness. Building this little community over the past year has been life-changing, and I don't say that lightly. I've worked very hard to maintain what I'm doing here, and I'm going to continue doing so - it's a privilege to write and draw for you all week after week, and I appreciate any and all support you can give so I can keep managing what I do.

And if you can't, that's okay! The best way you can support my work is to read it, share it, and engage with it! Remember that reblogs will always be more beneficial than likes, and please don't ever be afraid to pop in to our streams or into our Discord to say hello! It would be a joy to have you ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

Thank you all so much. This has been a big barrier to overcome on a mental level, my anxiety is through the ROOF right now, but I'm so grateful and glad I have such a wonderful circle of readers, community members, and friends who have offered their reassurance through this slow season and process of seeking support. Whether or not this is a step in the right direction, it's at least forward <3 And whatever comes of it, we'll see. But I'll be riding it out all the same ~

[bokettochild]

Demon In A Bottle

Took me bloody well forever, but I'm off work now, so here we go!

Febuwhump: Day 1 - Helplessness

Word Count: 5,395

Summary: In the wake of a battle with a demon, one that's abilities allow it to dredge up old miseries, Sky must hunt down their straying captain to try and stop him drowning said old miseries in whiskey.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Alcoholism and Substance Abuse

notes: quite frankly, the theme of this fic is in no ways lighthearted, but while the title jumped out at me from the story, I find it also makes me laugh. I can’t help thinking of the tweetle-beetle-bottle-puddle-paddle-battle-muddle from Fox in Socks and I don’t know if I hate myself for it or am just glad I can giggle about something related to this story! 

  If there’s one thing heroes are supposed to be able to do, it’s save people. By definition, a hero is someone who helps others, but in meeting the rest of their chain of heroes, Sky has since learned that the title of hero means something else too. 

  The Hero is a man or child clad in green who appears when Hyrule is in danger to fight away monsters and evil and restore peace to the kingdom. The fashion in which they do so differs of course, as he’s slowly learning, but the fact remains that a hero still has a duty to his people and his country, and while it’s not always something thrust upon them, each one of his brothers bears that burden. Some of them let it drag them down, the weight of the world on their shoulders an inescapable duty, others shoulder it as a life purpose, a defining role, something that they’ve built their whole being around, and others, like Wind, regard it as a natural course of action. 

  It’s strange, learning that the title is so commonly used, that so many men and boys have borne it since it was given to him what feels like ages ago. In a way, it’s nice knowing that there are others, that there are people like him who understand things, yet in the same breath, they’re all so different, and with such varying experiences that really, in the long run, they’re as different as night and day sometimes. 

  As if to prove it, Legend’s blatant lack of trust in knights clashes with the fact that so many of them bear the honor of knighthood with pride. Warriors is a polished, well-spoken soldier, trained in the ways of combat, and Twilight is a ranch hand hailing from the country village of Ordon, brash in many ways that clash with the captain. Time is quiet, distant at times, and Wind is warm, welcoming and an ever-present ray of sunshine at their sides. Where Hyrule is unpolished and unassuming, the majority of their group stand out in a crowd. Wild can cook. Truly, there is such variety among their number that it’s a wonder they can all be classified by the same singular word: a hero. 

  But just because the title is there, doesn’t always mean it always feels like it fits. 

  Sure, Legend’s whole being is built around his life as a hero. They're not sure how long he’s been doing it, but they don’t call the young man “veteran” for nothing. It’s clear he owns his title without shame, living out each day in the effort of following the destiny given to him. Sure, Wild has taken to heart the burden bestowed on him, striving to be the best he can be and own the title. Sure, Wind accepts it like it’s just another truth about himself, just the same as his golden hair and ocean blue eyes. Yes, the old man seems to characterize what any child might think of when asked to describe a hero. But Sky is not Legend or Wind or Wild or Time or any of the other heroes. They are of the same spirit, and some of them apparently share blood (why had Twilight and Time told no one?) but they are each their own separate selves, each with his own life and person, and unlike them, Sky feels the weight of their shared title acutely. 

  It was his duty to save Zelda. The weight of the future was on his shoulders. His duty was protecting the people of Hylia and restoring peace and safety to the surface. His whole world expanded in one day from a smattering of islands high above the clouds to a whole huge land full of people and animals and duty. 

  Duty. What a heavy word. 

  It follows him. Even with the sword now silent, Fi having gone to rest with the assurance that he has accomplished what he must and no longer requires her aid and guidance (even though he does, he still does, please, Fi, some advice would be great from time to time) his mission isn’t over. No, because now that he’s defeated the god of evil, now that Zelda is safe, now that Impa is dead, he is the one Hylian out of all of them who knows enough about the surface to guide the other in surviving there. Yet, in the same breath, he’s still the youngster who barely graduated Academy, never mind being properly knighted. He’s still young enough that the elders sometimes doubt him, but experienced enough that they know not to treat him like a child. He’s ‘too young’ to understand the Knights of Skyloft, but has seen more of the world than they ever have. 

  It’s strange, being caught in such an imbalance. People expect so much and yet so little of him. They want him to know what’s happening but doubt that he does. They ask for advice but question anything he gives them.  

  It’s exhausting. He knows Zelda used to tease him before, but the nickname “sleepy-head” never felt so accurate. 

  At least with the chain though, he doesn’t need to worry about it. Call him selfish, but there’s a certain kind of relief that comes from allowing someone else to take the lead, knowing that everyone else understands the world around him better and knows what to do. He doesn’t need to babysit them around new species or warn them about dangerous conditions or fauna. He doesn’t need to even be on guard, instead free to drift along at the center of the group, knowing that Twilight’s sharp ears and Legend’s acute sense of danger will provide ample warning if anything does come upon them. 

  He’s free to sleep for the first time in what feels like forever, without someone busting through his tent in a panic because they heard keese for the first time or realized that rain existed. In fact, he’s allowed to even sleep in sometimes, no plans or defenses or responsibilities waiting for him when he wakes up, just simple easy to follow orders of get up, get ready, walk, fight, and make camp. 

  Call him crazy, this adventure has been almost a vacation if it wasn’t for the fact that Twilight almost died on them a month ago! Or then again, there’s been a lot that happened since then, but even with that in mind, at least he’s not the sole one responsible for the safety, care and guidance of his fellow heroes. More often than not, actually, they’re the ones looking out for him. Honestly, he doesn’t know how he’ll thank Legend for teaching him about the poisons on the surface, or Wild for letting him peek at the champion’s slate to read what he can about monster types, weaknesses and whatnot. The other heroes have this and that to add, of course, but those two have been the most helpful, seeking him out in order to show him things first hand when they can, so that while Wild and Hyrule often go to muck about, he and Legend find their free time typically spent with the veteran teaching him everything he knows about the surface world, survival, and even matters beyond that; matters beyond being a hero and more about just being. It's nice learning things for the sake of learning, not for the sake of staying alive, and Legend talks with a similar cadence and manner to Fi when he’s caught up in expounding on this point or that, uninterrupted because Sky very much appreciates both the effort and the guidance. 

  For all Legend has to share with him though, the vet isn’t exactly someone he can turn to when it comes to problems with people. Honestly, sometimes it feels like he returns the kindness shown to him by the younger hero by covering Legend’s ass when it comes to social interactions, at least among their group. The vet’s left a terrible first impression on most of them, and since it seems everyone else is equally bad as he is when it comes to communication, there’s still many in their group under the impression that their vet is a total asshole. 

  So yeah, Legend is not the best person to ask for help when it comes to people issues. Time either. Time and he aren’t close by any exaggeration of the word, and while the older man is willing to offer advice here and there, Sky’s not certain he feels comfortable seeking it out. Typically speaking, he’s found that Warriors is the best person to ask about these sorts of things, being as he is a man and not a child and possesses the social skill necessary to address this sort of thing, only.... 

  Only, it’s terribly hard to ask someone for advice on how to handle their own stupidity. 

  He is not blind. Okay, well, maybe, and to some things, but missing Time and Twilight’s relationship is likely more a matter of him not being close enough to either to really put much stock in their interactions. Their leader’s fondness for one of their number wasn’t too shocking considering how attached he himself has become to all of them in such a short time. He'd just assumed that Time moved slower and had begun to warm up to them one at a time, starting with the rancher and moving on to the sailor. He'd thought they’d all follow in time, not that Time just ultimately had favorites. 

  Despite missing that though, he’s not entirely incompetent. He sees his brothers, and much as they might have all assumed he was simply the tired, quiet one, just because he doesn’t speak up doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. No, he sees what happens in camp. He sees Legend’s tentative bids for connection, Wild’s withdrawn attitude that hides behind the smile and the laughter. He sees Wind’s worry and Time’s stress. He knows Twilight is wrung out and confused after his secret was exposed and the rest of them have had to accept the fact that their silent, furry companion was, in fact, one of their brothers.  

  He knows that there’s a breach of trust there, or at least a perceived one. Those who didn’t regard the beast as a threat have often sought the company of their wolf companion in order to express troubles or thoughts that they didn’t wish to share with anyone else, including the rancher himself. Not knowing, they’d told him things, thinking he was just an animal and incapable of sharing them, told him things they didn’t want Twilight to know, things they thought or felt. Now, knowing that Twilight is privy to so many of their secrets, it’s perhaps natural that their barriers have been thrown up, their brothers guarded and wary of what he’ll do with the forbidden knowledge he possesses. 

   He knows it hurts the man, but he understands. He’d never shared his own feelings with their wolf companion, but if Crimson were to one day take hylian form, he’s sure he’d be at least the slightest bit worried about it, maybe even betrayed. Not knowing a dear companion could speak if they so wanted, could be like yourself, would be hurtful. To know they didn’t trust you when you poured out your heart to them... 

  Yes, he understands. 

  Unfortunately, that also means that Twilight is, very much, also not in the category of people who he can come to about things that are worrying him. Sadly, it seems none of them are. He’d never dream of asking the younger ones; Wind is a child and should not be burdened with such things, Hyrule is still struggling to make his own connections, Wild may or may not understand and most definitely has enough on his plate already, Legend is Legend, and he’s never been very close with Four. 

  Which leaves Warriors, who is, again, the course of his frustration. 

  Because, unfortunately, despite being a hero, and despite killing an actual god, Sky finds himself helpless to face a mere vice, a common demon that seems to have taken hold of one of his brothers. 

  It started simple. A night after a tough battle, one where he couldn’t sleep and had wandered downstairs from the inn-room he’d shared with a few of the others, a room where Wind was being kept awake for the sake of his earlier concussion from a battle. Stress was high across the whole group, and he’d needed the space so it was natural that he’d wandered downstairs, hoping to sneak outside and catch some fresh air like he used to on Skyloft. 

  Like on Skyloft, the awful visions that woke him up that night were also cause for his slipping from bed. 

  His intention had been to step out, to catch the breeze on his face and maybe watch the stars for a bit. Legend often says that the stars hold comfort and assurance, and while he doesn’t know nearly as much about them, or the stories and figures the vet can pick out from the heavens, he does know that cloudless nights remind him of home, and bright lights twinkling above had quickly become the only familiar thing between every place he’s gone. 

   Maybe that’s why Legend likes them so much; they’re an unchanging constant no matter where you go. 

  At any rate, he’d needed the space. He hadn’t expected to find any of the others up as well though, much less the captain. In the end, he never made it outside, instead sitting up and talking with the other. 

  He’d thought little of the nearly empty bottle of whiskey at the man’s side, too busy with his own thoughts and worries. 

  He’d thought nothing of it either when, after a terrible battle that nearly saw the loss of the traveler and ended with a passed-out Legend and a very bloody Four, he’d found the captain up stewing quietly over ill thought-out plans and reckless behaviors. The off-handed “I need a drink” had been something to just smile and shake his head at. 

  But then he’d begun to catch on. Rough battles, difficult nights, sleeplessness from worry, from pain and in his own case; from visions. It had resulted in many a night spent up in each other’s company. More worrying still was the constant presence of a little silver flask, held tight in fainty trembling hands as dulled blue eyes would linger over their younger ones. 

  He’d thought it strange, but it was Wind’s worried “has the captain been drinking again?” that really caught him by the ears and shook him. He’d thought it a passive thing, hadn’t paid it much attention because there was no true way to know what was in that little flask (Legend has one too, but it’s got some kind of sweet, spicey juice in it). The sailor asking about it though had changed that. It had revealed that, no, it wasn’t simply a passing thing and was very much a longstanding issue. It was not at all what he was hoping to find out. More so, the youngest can’t even say anything about it, because the captain knowing that his former charge is aware of the vice apparently would have some very, very bad results. 

  So, Wind can’t say anything without potentially making it worse. None of the others know or have seen it enough to realize the weight of the issue, and he’s left the only one who not only knows and witnesses it but has nothing he can do about it. 

  Long nights, dark eyes and pain, so, so much pain in the captain’s face and voice have left him stumbling. The quiet admission of how their elegant captain’s own stepfather was a miserable drunk isn’t any help either, although that conversation had rather quickly turned from him trying to bring up the issue and into the both of them commiserating on the lack of decent father figures in the world. 

  From there. It just... keeps happening. 

  He’s watching, trying to say something and so, so easily letting pretty words and prettier eyes distract him into talking about something else. Quite frankly, it would be terrifying if it wasn’t so impressive how the captain manages to dodge his every quiet attempt by redirecting him onto something else, turning the matter around or simply accepting his concern with a smile and an easy, gentle, so very believable dismissal. Yet, he sees the results. He sees the stress and the tension. He sees the misery that before had hidden so prettily behind a polished mask, but which now spills from time to time into a slippery mess before him, catching him in its mire and leaving him floundering, breathless, and scared. 

  He’s the hero, the one meant to save those around him from trouble, but he’s failing a battle with a bottle that’s he’s not even touching. 

  Watching the result of that failure, the downward spiral, it hurts. It hurts more than blades or arrows or even poison. In a way, it is a sort of poison; a slow working thing that, while he never touched it, has infected not only his own life but those around them. 

 As chaos sows itself across the kingdom, poison spreads within their own number. The attention of their brothers, and indeed, most of his own, is fixed on the protection of their home, on defeating the newly risen foe, on ending things so that their lives can return in some small manner to a semblance of normalcy. And somehow, he lets his worries fall to the background, let’s his mind turn to the struggles spawning up around him with the others, with himself, with things that are ever so much more prominent than a little silver flask. Even the yelling match that sprung up between the vet and druken captain hadn’t refocused him, his attention more fixed on other things in the aftermath; Legend’s behavior, his own aggression when shouting at the captain to just cease and desist with beating the dead horse before he’d marched off after the vet.  

  Fighting and travel have kept him busy since, but failure is as sure a trigger as anything, or so he’s learned. Even now, he watches as the others retreat to lick their wounds, to hide away in their inn rooms, silent and mournful, blood still staining their clothes. He’s sore himself, tired, weary, too worn from the events of things over the last couple of months to actually want more than to lay down himself and sleep, but he doesn’t. 

  No, because when the rest of them go to hide at the inn, the captain goes off alone, a cold, dangerous, dark look in that drawn and tired face, and worry gnawing at the skyloftian’s own heart will not allow for him to even entertain thoughts of sleep, not when he’s learned to know what that look means. He lingers only as long as he must to ensure all the rest are settled, safe and stable, before darting back out onto the streets. 

  Watching is hard. Seeking is harder. 

There’s an awful sort of feeling that comes over him at the realization that the nearest bar is mostly the new location of his straying brother but finding it in the dark is nearly as difficult as dragging himself towards it, knowing full well what he’ll find inside. He does though, he does because he has to and because it’s the right thing to do. He does it because it’s what a hero would do.  

Heroes save people when they’re drawn into danger, and the devil in the bottle is slowly urging his beloved brother and friend in. A steady hiss or whisper or however it’s call manifests for the captain, and one that, if he doesn’t make it in time, he won’t be able to stop from taking hold. 

He can whisper a begrudging thanks to the heavens that Warriors is a gentle drunk most of the time. 

- 

The bar-room's floor is shockingly clean when he enters, considering it’s a farming town they’ve stopped to stay in at Time’s suggestion. Faint, dusty footprints from one or two people scuff in and out, but he can see where thick ash and dirt have clumped and marched across the floor, and following the trail is the easiest thing he’s done today after fighting a far larger, far more terrifying demon. 

In his mind, Sky steels himself; if he can fight Demise and come out alive, he can face up to the captain about this most worrisome coping technique. The key is simply not to let Warriors distract him with something else, so at the first mention of anything that’s not the man’s own issues, he needs to start to redirect. 

Hylia above, why couldn’t those cursed goddesses have granted him even just the smallest piece of Wisdom? Charging in is the easiest part, getting through the battle with a silver-tongued soldier is the thing it seems he can’t do properly. 

Glass taps on polished wood, a heavy and familiar sigh following. Trailing his eyes towards the back corner of the room, he can easily make out the bloody and worn form of his brother, slumped against a small table and already with a hand ploughing through his ash dusted hair. Warriors looks like hell. Dark bruises beneath darker eyes, face drawn and still stained with the remains of their defeat. The usually proud appearance has been crippled, uniform torn and filthy, and blood still spattered over armor, leather, and skin. The man doesn’t so much as spare him a glace as Sky settles across from him at the table, keeping the barrier between them for both their sakes. 

“Hey.” 

A long, drawn-out sigh sounds off the wood of the worn bar table. 

Sky waits. Pressing any of his brothers is counterproductive. Sitting quietly, taking in the situation, is the best approach, letting them determine whether or not they’re ready to speak yet. He won’t push either, he just sits and rests his arms on the table, glancing the empty glass and the blessed lack of a matching bottle.  

“What d’you want, Sky?” Still not even a flick of dull eyes up towards him. “Shouldn’t you be with the rest?” 

He shrugs, stiff, as though he’s not being eaten up a bit with guilt at leaving them. The other adults can keep an eye on things though, and Wind was already doing a marvelous job of talking them out of their heads. It’s up to him to handle the captain though, as the sailor may or not have even been allowed inside the bar. The kid shouldn’t be here anyway, for the captain’s sake and his own.  

“I didn’t feel right about letting you go off alone.” 

“The kids need you right now.” 

“They need you too,” he challenges, leaning a bit closer and trying to catch the turned away eyes of the other. “And I think you’d do yourself some good to be around them.” 

A twitch of the fine-featured face before him is his only answer as sooty fingers toy with the empty glass between them. It’s lifted briefly, before the other man seems to check himself and realize it’s empty. 

 Sky needs to prevent it getting refilled. Hopefully, he can drag the captain’s ass out of here and back to their brothers before then. The key is just getting through to him, and though it feels like ages since he’d looked at the other man and found only unreadable smiles and perfection, there’s still a barrier that stops him really understanding what the captain might be thinking. Goddesses above, how is it that even Legend is easier to read than this man? 

“Wars, you’re worrying me.” He tries. Slowly, softly enough that no other patrons in the place will hear him, but it seems the captain doesn’t hear it either. 

No, the man just taps his glass against the table-top, distracted, and sigh so heavy he seems to shudder. “Go back, chosen.” 

“No, captain.” 

In battle, maybe blue eyes hold the flames of the goddesses themselves, but in the dim light of the bar, there’s only a dullness and flickering darkness that makes him want to shift and draw away. He doesn’t though, doesn’t dare. Instead, he sits under that stare for the brief second it's spared, and then the soldier is shutting his eyes with yet another heavy sigh. “Rest, you need it.” 

“I can’t.” You’re here, he wants to add. You’re out here and you’re worrying me, and I can’t sleep easy until I know we’re all safe. 

Fine features twitch, shifting into a frown that would be very terrifying indeed if Sky hadn’t gotten used to all the harsh looks of his team over the last while. Time’s dark looks and Warriors’ disapproval aren’t nearly as weighty all things considered, and he carefully doesn’t respond when the other looks up at him again, brows drawn low and tightly together, jaw twitching slightly. “Sky-” 

“Link,” he returns, sharp to match the look he shoots at the other. Their given name slips strangely off his tongue and earns a twitch of the brows in answer. “No. I’m not letting you sit alone a stew.” 

“Even if I want to?” The glass taps loudly against the table, a sharp contrast to their low voices. “Does that matter at all?” 

Okay, that’s just a bomb-burr waiting for him to walk too close. “Link, please,” and the use of their shared name seems to have fingers closing tighter over the mouth of the whiskey glass, “we both know what will happen if I leave.”  

His words are proved by the lack of verbal answer, instead the tapping of the glass back onto the table as dark eyes meet his. They’re blank again, impossible to read past that closed off, stern expression. It's not one he’s used to facing much these days, but he’s seen it turned on the younger ones plenty of times. 

“I leave,” he presses, “and you’ll drink.” 

There’s the faintest tightening again around the glass still clutched in sooty hands. “It could be worse.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, nodding slowly, “it could. I could keep ignoring it and you’ll keep getting worse.” He steels his own jaw, folding his hands if only for something to do with them before he meets the stare now fixed, heavy and harsh, on his face. “When we all met, you hardly touched the stuff save maybe after a bad battle, and I mean a really bad one.” The same as Time here and there. The same as any man likely might. A really bad day is fair enough excuse for one drink, but Warriors used to stop at one, and now he doesn’t. “Now it seems every time our backs are turned...” he motions to the glass, watches as blue eyes dart down to follow his gaze. 

The captain’s hands aren’t shaking like they normally do. They’re perfectly still as he clutches hold of the empty cup.  

He doesn’t like it. The tremor is normal, it is a sure sign of ease. He knows the after effects of their last battle, the magic in it, the illusions cast around them of the worst they’ve seen, worst they’d imagined, used as a distraction shook all of them, but seeing the man still so tightly wound, still so caught up in his head that his body is still responding as though he’s in immediate danger, it doesn’t sit well with him. 

“Come back to the inn,” he begs. “We all-” 

The sudden shriek of the chair as the soldier stands might be what cuts him off, the cold look in closed off eyes definitely is though. “I don’t know what that demon showed you, chosen, but know this: you can fight gods and you can win, but some of us have fought men and believe it or not, there’s something quite different and more terrible about that.” It’s the clipped soldier’s voice that speaks to him, resounding enough in the bar that everyone else present has fallen silent and tense, looking up from their own conversations to stare. “So go back to the inn, get over what you saw, and let me do the same here so we can face the demon again in the morning.” 

“Wars-” 

The other turns, heading back to the bar and no doubt with full intent to refill the glass he holds. 

Sky darts after him. “Please, Link! This isn’t good for you!” 

“Well, it isn’t exactly hurting you now, is it?” Is the sharp answer as barkeep approaches the two of them, wary. 

 For a moment, Sky debates between telling the barkeep to not serve his brother and telling the captain to just walk away. Caught betwixt, he misses the opportunity for both, too distracted, too unfocused, to slow, and when his brother motions for the bottle in the hands of the barkeep, it’s only then that he gets his wits about him enough to catch hold of the thing himself. 

The barkeep darts away, no doubt eager to avoid the mess as snapping eyes fix on storm cloud blue as Sky’s voice rumbles low like thunder between them. “You doing this hurts everyone that loves you. We can’t stand to just sit back and watch anymore.” 

“Well no one asked you to watch,” the captain bites, “or care.” 

“But we do,” he answers back, trying desperately to catch those eyes again, “we chose to be your brothers, and thus we chose to stad beside you.” 

“Then don’t blame me when your choices get you hurt.” The hand he’s set on the bottle is knocked away as, once more, Warriors turns his back on him and heads back to his table.  

He’s not sure if he should chase or walk away or give up. He’s left standing for a moment before darting after, again, unable to stop the other as a finger of amber is poured and knocked back without so much as a flinch. Well, not a flinch from Warriors, he finds himself recoiling just the slightest bit as he watches. 

 He tries again, this time not daring to push further by touching the forbidden poison, but instead trying to break through and get the other to just look at him. “Link, please, you’re killing yourself like this.” 

Dark eyes are empty, lifeless, as they turn upwards to look at him, like visions of the sealing grounds were once, thousands of years ago; barren and ruined by battle and death. “Good.” 

And then it’s gone, another glass knocked back and Sky left standing, only able to watch. 

What else is there to be said? What argument is left to beg, to plead, to convince? He’s the hero, he’s good with his hands, his blade, his strength. He sees foes and he crushes them. He sees allies and he aids them. But when an ally embraces the foe, what then? What’s left for him to do? What course of action is there left save to beg? And when even that fails there is nothing. 

Nothing but watching, unable to go back without fulfilling his mission and unwilling to let his brother be left alone in the weakened state the quickly emptying bottle will leave him in. All he can do is watch as golden poison flows, as sooty, bloodied, burned hands lift and toss back, as glass clacks against the tabletop again only to be refilled once more. There's nothing else he can do or say. There may be other arguments, but they’re lost to him, buried instead under that horrible stare and the cracked and shattered soul that had glinted through on that single, devastating ‘good’. 

It’s not the first defeat he’s faced today, but between the two, this is the one that leaves him truly helpless in it’s wake. 

[fangirlingnuisance]

"Goodbyes are bittersweet. But it's not the end, I'll see your face again."

- Walking In The Wind, One Direction

I never thought I would be 25 and writing about someone from One Direction's passing. The way I imagined it in my head, I'd be in a home with my teenage kids and they'd be the ones to tell me about it. Never in my wildest dreams would I think I'd get the news from my brother who just came home from his graveyard shift, waking me up at 8 in the morning, delivering the news that One Direction will never be complete again.

I admit, this has been a rollercoaster of emotions. I'm not even sure if it had completely sunken in. Having someone you grew up loving and who was vital to your formative years -- grow up to be someone you dislike, his passing has come with a wave of confusing emotions. It's been some time since I supported Liam the way I liked the career of the other boys. When his ex-fiancée Maya shared her traumatic experiences with him, I felt myself growing farther from him. This then made me question why in the wake of his death, my heart was broken into pieces.

That thought was answered through my tears and constant scrolling through social media in search of comfort and reassurance that I wasn't the only one feeling this way. Then I came across this tweet:

It all became so clear to me. I am grieving for the teenager who stayed up late, cried, laughed, cheered, screamed, and did everything because of One Direction. I grieve for that little girl in me who clung to them when I was going through some of the darkest days of my life. I am grieving the boy I grew up watching, the one I first loved in 1D. I was grieving the version of him I remember, not the version I barely knew. Call it parasocial, it is. But it's awfully difficult to detach when he was part of something that played such a big role in the way I am, the friends I have today, and the journey I had to go through to get where I am.

The ache I feel when people I used to constantly watch/listen to resurface and talk about him. It was like I was transported back to a time when everything felt easier in life but this one -- this is one of the most tragic ways to relive that feeling. Photos of him and the boys I lived through, lyrics of them plastered on different social media pages, the voice I used to hear when I wanted something comforting; they all have different meanings now.

I was silently rooting for him to get the proper help. I wanted him to realize his mistakes, learn from them, make amends, reap what he sewed, and go get better. He just needed a little more time.

But it's too late now. Wow, I can't even believe that this is real. Heavy is the weight of the news that came today and I still can't seem to really wrap my head around it. I find myself staring at the wall or at my phone screen, trying to make sense of it all. I don't even know why I decided to write this and post it here. I think maybe because this place was one of those places I frequented during those times, or maybe I wanted somewhere where I felt I could freely express this. I don't know. I just know I wanted to pay tribute to the boy I once knew, the boy I grew up with.

I am heartbroken, Liam. You will be missed, especially by those who loved you. I pray for your family, your parents, and your son. May they find light in such a dark time. 🤍🪽

Liam James Payne 1993-2024

[dark-corner-cunning]

Hello! hope it’s okay to ask, but does the Horned One play any part in your practice? if so, how do They appear? if you’re not at liberty to share though, totally understand!

Greetings, Seeker! Thank you for reaching out and sharing your question—I'm truly honored to connect with you. This is my first “ask me anything,” and I must admit, I’m brimming with excitement to dive in. Now, to your question—let me keep my answer focused, so I don’t wander too far into the winding woods of my thoughts. 

To me, the Horned One embodies the essence of traditional witchcraft, steeped in the old ways and the wild mysteries of the land. To offer you deeper insight, I’d like to share a passage from my personal journal—a reflection I wrote about the Horned One’s presence and what it means to walk the path alongside this ancient guide. I hope it provides some clarity and resonance for your journey. Afterward, I’ll add a few of my own musings to expand on those thoughts.

“In the depths of the ancient woods, where shadows dance and secrets whisper, there resides a being of primordial power, that I call the Dark One. His name is not a spoken word, but a haunting melody of the wind, the creak of bones, and the rustle of leaves in the night. A creature of the liminal, he walks the boundary between worlds, neither wholly of this realm nor entirely of another.

He appears to me as a man, yet not quite human. Sometimes, he takes the form of a hybrid, a creature of darkness with antlers that seem to reach toward the heavens. His form is shrouded in shadows, his features indistinct, a void that swallows light. He speaks not with words, but through the emotions he evokes, a silent language that resonates deep within.

There is an electric charge to him, a raw power that stirs the very air. It is like feeling the approach of a storm, the anticipation of an upheaval that will shake the world. He calls to me, a siren song that echoes in the darkest recesses of my soul. I cannot deny him, for his presence is as inevitable as the tides.

He desires neither worship nor submission. Instead, he seeks to initiate me into my own divinity, to awaken the power that lies dormant within. He encourages me to think freely, seek knowledge, embrace my power, and rebel against the constraints of society. He feeds on offerings, but they are not acts of servitude; they are expressions of my free will and pleasure.

He whispers of the boundless power within me—a force vast and untamed, too often ignored or buried beneath fear. He promises the gift of illumination through the embrace of shadow, guiding me into the hidden depths of my soul. With him, I am called to step beyond the familiar, to face my fears and weave the kind of magick others dare not touch. His words echo like an incantation in my heart: "How will you know your true strength if you never dare to try?"

With his presence as my guide, I am learning the ancient art of walking through darkness, drawing upon the primal forces that pulse through the unseen realms. Through his teachings, I shape my craft with courage and become a living vessel of the divine, unafraid to wield the power that has always been mine.”

For my own craft and practice, the Horned One reveals Himself in darker shades, cloaked in shadow and mystery, far from the familiar image of the Lord of the Green-Horned God. He is the master psychopomp, the keeper of the threshold, the liberator of souls, the initiator of mysteries, and the dark rider of the untamed night. My connection to Him differs from how many approach their deities. I work with Him not as a separate entity but as a force woven into the fabric of my own being. Whatever essence He is made of, I believe it dwells within me—two strands of divine energy moving together across different planes of existence. 

I am His altar, His temple. When I work on myself, when I weave my magick—especially in ritual, spirit work, and the liminal realms—He works through me, and in doing so, I honor Him. He has shown me my own power, teaching me that I need not rely on anything outside of myself. I am enough. 

That said, there are moments when I consciously seek His guidance, particularly in journeying, meditation, and pathworking. In these spaces, He may appear as a spirit teacher, offering insights, lessons, and instructions for ritual or personal growth. It is during these times that I see Him as He has revealed Himself to me—dark, wild, and wise, as I described in my journal. 

For those seeking deeper connections or inspiration, I recommend these works that have influenced my relationship with Him: 

- “The Candle and the Crossroads” by Orion Foxwood—Chapter 9 delves into the Dark Rider from an Appalachian conjure perspective. 

- “Traditional Witchcraft: A Cornish Book of Ways” and *The Devil’s Dozen* by Gemma Gary—offering a more traditional devotee’s lens. 

In closing, I’ll say this: there is no single “right” way to work with the Horned God. Trust your instincts and follow the path that resonates with your spirit. He will meet you there, in your own way, and together, you will create something powerful.  I hope this answers your question and please feel free to reach out if you have any more questions or thoughts. Many blessings, and may your cunning shape the threads of fate to your will. 🌙🖤

[destiny-in-the-universe]

So.

I may have just binged Xiaolin Showdown- I’m not quite at the finish line yet, but I am screaming. First of all - the main four embody their elements so well!

Between Clay’s down to earth attitude, but at the same time - being a strong, hard-to-take-down opponent. As a dragon of earth, I was definitely in awe the entire time. I enjoy his character so much, and the Texan sayings he says? Count me in!

Kimiko? Her fiery attitude matches being the dragon of fire so well. She has a free-spirited energy, and can’t easily be tamed even by the wildest of evils. She has an immeasurable, headstrong way of directly taking things on. She’s grown more as a character, but because these characters are likely no older than 13 - they still have a lot more to learn.

Raimundo. Dragon of Wind. He’s the most unpredictable of all of them sometimes - he has an energy which cannot be tamed, and won’t be held down by anything (even if it almost became his door fall). Though in the end, he came back around- deciding he couldn’t abandon his friends…

And then there’s Omi. The Dragon of Water. With his strength, athleticism, and optimistic personality make him perfect for his element- his cheerful but bold attitude are a wonderful mix and I cannot wait to see more from him and the rest of the cast! Though I only got to episode 25, and I’m purring like an idiot- Omi’s characteristics are mirrored as if it were water. He almost seems to go with the flow, but in the end - like a tsunami - he will always protect the ones he cares about.

But now- I get to talk about what I was itching to focus on grrr.

Our villains…

Jack Spicer is certainly the kind of villain who serves as comic relief, but even then- he’s a genuine good fodder to the four monks that stand against him. At times, we’ll see him team up with them for a shady cause, and I find this almost charming. While he isn’t the most terrifying of villains, and he simply functions as the filler for the monks to handle, I’ve grown quite fond of his character!

but ho boy, then we have Wuya and can I just say- she might not have a physical form but even then - she makes for a great opponent. The episodes in which she gained physical form were done so well, and I found myself being drawn in more and more. Her cunning and trickery make her a hard enemy to beat- and I am curious to see where else this series takes us.

BUT there’s another character that has me frothing at the mouth: Chase Young.

Previously on the side of good, Chase Young turned evil on the promise of power and youth- he has his army of Fallen Warriors to guard him, and well, if the fact he’s immensely powerful. Not to mention, he’s incredibly strong and has been around for, say, a while (?). He’s already caught my interest and I can’t wait to see more of him… also his interest in Omi from episode 25 “The Evil Within” has my metaphorical tail wagging because holy- I’m already seeing the vision: Chase attempting to sway Omi onto the side of evil…

Also, the Fallen Warriors being cats while Chase Young has slitted golden eyes (and yes, I know that secretly the mf is reptilian-) is extremely ironic and I live for it- nonhuman Chase for the win because, well, that is what he is! I can’t wait to continue seeing more of his character-

Of course, this is hardly helping my case at all…

Xiaolin Showdown and Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja would be such an interesting crossover- like, I do have a couple ideas cooking in my mind but at the same time… I need to develop this a little more! And if it happens to be influenced by the whole First Ninja and Chase Young dynamic, no it isn’t - whatever do you mean /lh

My tail is wagging

More to come soon! Because mrrr- I am ever so slightly hyperfixated…

[donnerpartyofone]

I love my stepmother dearly and she has helped me through a lot, my life would be totally different without her, however: Every time someone uses the term "bridezilla" I remember when I got engaged, and she strangely launched into this derisive thing about how I'm gonna be a BRIDE and that means I'm going to be a totally irrational emotionally violent bitch, and I'm going to be crying all the time and pushing people around and making demands and it's gonna be soooooo funny that I'm such an insane cunt because I'm a BRIDE. I've never behaved that way in my entire adult life and I didn't understand why she thought it was so inevitable, and I was also bothered that she was kind of laughing in my face about this idea that I was going to make a huge asshole out of myself on account of getting married. And then the irony was that I was not at all set up to do all that even if I wanted to, my best friends live nowhere near me and they don't even know each other very well, it's not like I had sorority sisters or cousins or like anyone to be my squad or whatever. So aside from the usual bit of financial assistance (for which I am very very grateful) I more or less did the entire wedding all by myself, and I had to keep it together until it was completely over to make sure it was easy and pleasurable for everyone else. Actually I made an effort to involve my stepmother just as a personal gesture by getting her to come to the shop that was resizing my dress so she could learn to wind up my train into...into you know, the ass thing, I forget what you call it, so it's neatly in a shape and out of the way after the ceremony. I thought she would be good for this because she's like a fancy, formal, old money kind of lady, but even though she talked to the seamstress and we made a demo video for her and everything she just couldn't be bothered to learn to do it or even admit that she didn't get it. So at my wedding reception I was basically walking around with this like huge chaotic wad of fabric stuffed up my ass, and eventually it all came apart and I was trampling all over it and I could hear it tearing, and my only consolation was that everybody knows I'm such a sad wet mess of a person (which is possibly why my stepmother thought it was cool to flub this without even apologizing or anything) that this probably seemed totally expected and normal to them, even though it actually wasn't my fault for once. But anyway even a really small personal wedding like we had is super stressful to put together, and unless you're like a psycho exhibitionist who is literally on the Bridezilla TV show, the hilariously histrionic bride is a pretty misogynistic concept that totally undermines how exhausting and pressurized it is to design and oversee a heavily photographed event that has to be perfect because everyone will remember it, on top of just the business of undergoing a major life change in and of itself. If a woman does happen to get stressed out and snap while she's trying to tackle that shit, it's not really necessary to make a laughing stock out of her for fulfilling the stereotype of being a crazy bitch.