#I will be more vigilant in the future but seriously WHAT

[daisynik7]

Gimme More

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: bodyguard au, no devils au, reader is thirty-years-old, Kishibe is fifty-ish, age gap, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), creampie, car sex, slight degradation (slut, whore)

Summary: Your father is the founder and CEO of one of the fastest growing tech companies in the city. As his prominence in society continues to skyrocket, he hires only the most elite people to look after his family. Kishibe started working for your father only a year ago, but already he’s his chauffeur, his bodyguard, his most trusted confidant, his right-hand man. What your father doesn’t know is that Kishibe happens to be your right-hand man as well.  

Author’s Notes: Thanks @demonwoman for the request for the y2k karaoke party! This one is inspired by "Gimme More" by Britney Spears. It’s been a minute since I wrote for Kishibe, so this was especially fun for me to write. It’s a short one, though I might expand on this in the future because the idea of bodyguard!Kishibe is making me go brrrr, LOL. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading! MDNI divider by @/cafekitsune.

You know better than to interrupt your father when his office door is shut. Closed means he’s in the middle of discussing important matters with his business partners or that he’s in an important phone call overseas. There are no other vehicles in the driveway besides your own, so you figure it’s the latter. You continue to pace the hallway, waiting for the moment until he’s finally free. A few more minutes pass, then you hear the distinct clickof the knob being unlocked and the door creaking open. You wait a couple of seconds before barging in. 

Your dad glances up from his desk, smiling at you as you make strides towards him. “Hi, princess. Going out tonight?”

It’s obvious, considering that you’re currently dressed in your skimpiest black dress, makeup done, high heels clacking against the tile floors. You press your cheek to his, giving him a fake smooch, not wanting to ruin your lipstick with a real one. “Yes. Just want to say goodnight before I leave. I won’t be back until late.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, scanning you up and down. “Aren’t you going to be cold dressed like that?”

You roll your eyes at him. Here it is, the lecture. “I’ll be fine.”

He sighs, organizing the papers on his desk into a neat stack. “Princess, you should really start thinking about settling down soon. I mean, you’re not getting any – ”

“Don’t say it,” you interrupt him, patience wearing thin.

He waves his hands, relenting. “I’m just saying. I’m worried about you.”

You take a deep breath, deciding whether or not to debate with him. There are a thousand different arguments you can hit him with, but you know that your efforts will prove futile in the end. So instead, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, murmuring, “Thank you for the concern. Like I said, I’ll be fine. I am fine. Don’t worry so much, okay?” 

You turn on your heel, ready to leave the house, and especially this conversation, pausing only when he demands, “Kishibe, go with her.”

You stop in your tracks, listening for Kishibe’s response. “Yes, sir,” he mutters.

Facing your father again, you scoff. “Seriously? I can’t even go out on my own anymore? Do I need to remind you that I’m thirty-fucking-years old?”

“And do I need to remind you of what happened two weeks ago?” You don’t because the memory is still fresh in your mind. The two of you were just leaving from lunch together when out of nowhere, a man grabbed you from behind, dragging you with him. It’s thanks to Kishibe, your father’s most vigilant and trusted bodyguard, that it didn’t escalate any further. 

You shake your head, understanding his concern, flashing a glance at Kishibe, who avoids your gaze by focusing on the floor. He accompanies you out the door, your father yelling, “Be careful!” before you’re out of his sight.

Kishibe follows you in silence until you’re outside on the driveway, stepping towards the car. He opens the backseat for you, waiting for you to step in. You ignore him, heading directly to the passenger seat, sliding in without his assistance. He lets out a faint grunt, shutting the door closed, walking to the driver’s side with an annoyed expression on his face. You can’t help but smirk to yourself, amused. 

This isn’t the first time your father has forced Kishibe on you. He’s only been employed a little over a year, but in his short tenure, he’s become your family’s highest-ranking bodyguard. When you began to do press alongside him, posing for magazine covers, interviews for online articles, all that jazz, Dad figured it’d be best to have him around in case you were recognized in public. And, of course, after the incident from two weeks ago, it’s to be expected that Kishibe be with you at all times. 

Little does your father know the dirty secret the two of you share. 

His hand rests lazily on the gear shift, driving the speed limit through the main street, heading towards the club downtown.  You don’t tell him an address or destination; he already knows exactly where to go. You wait until you’re well away from your gated neighborhood to make your move. It doesn’t matter; no one from the outside can see through the tinted windows. Still, it’s routine; it gives the both of you peace of mind, as if you’re doing your due diligence to hide this. Your hand grazes his, lifting it off the lever to guide it to your thigh, spreading yourself wider for him. His eyes stay focused on the road ahead, though you can see his jaw clench, nostrils flaring, his composure wavering. His fingers tease the inside of your plush skin, gradually making his way closer to your loins, throbbing with arousal. You slide the hem of your dress up, giving him more access to slip past the fabric to toy with your clit. 

You buckle in your seat, rubbing yourself deeper against him, moaning his name, loving the way he plays with you. “Almost there,” he mutters, driving faster now, a bit over the speed limit now. “Be patient for me.”

He pulls into the private lot two blocks from the club, the parking attendant flashing him a thumbs up as soon as he spots the familiar license plate. Down the row, where there are fewer cars, Kishibe backs into a spot away from any potential voyeurs. He reaches for the shift with his left hand, putting it in park, his right still working your clit, wet with your slick now. 

Finally, he leans in, kissing you sloppily on the lips, tongue lapping into your mouth greedily. He pulls his fingers away from you, mouth brushing your cheek until he’s hot on your ear, whispering, “Backseat. Now.”

You nod, already in a daze, carefully making your way to the back. He gives you a light slap on the ass, chuckling in that low, husky voice of his, following you. Once you’re both situated, you straddle his lap, your dress hoisted past your stomach, panties wet with your slick as you ride his thigh. “Is it good, princess?” he asks, watching you with a satisfied grin on his face. 

You grimace at him. “Don’t call me that.” Your dad calls you that, but you don’t say it out loud to not ruin the mood. 

“What should I call you then?” He presses his thumb to your clit, massaging it. “Slut? Whore?”

You throw you head back in pleasure, grinding against him, spurred on by the vulgar language. “Yes,” you whine, palming the erection bulging in his pants. 

“No wonder your daddy is always worried about you,” he huffs, rubbing slow circles on your sensitive bud. “Going around, slutting yourself out like this.” He kisses you passionately, unbuckling his belt. “Or are you only like this for me?”

“For you. Only for you,” you moan, swallowing his spit, frothy on your tongue. 

He shrugs his slacks down his legs, enough to free his cock, thick and girthy in his fist. “Does my pretty little slut want to get fucked now?”

You nod erratically, begging for it. “Please, Kishibe. Give it to me.” You lift up on your knees, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. Slowly, you sink down on him, stretching around him like a perfect fit. You’re familiar with him now, your body molded only to him, no one else. He lets you be in control; lets you take what you need from him. You ride him slowly, panties bunched to the side, his shaft brushing against the lace with every thrust. 

His forehead is pressed to yours, skin damp with sweat, windows beginning to fog up from your body heat. The car creaks on its tires as you bounce on his lap faster, your climax approaching quickly. In a daze, you murmur softly, “I’m coming,” coating him in your orgasm. 

“That’s my pretty girl,” he coos, kissing you sweetly. His grip is at your waist, ready to lift you off. 

You stay seated wrapping your arms around his neck, determined. “More, Kishibe. Give me more.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating with that deep, sexy gruff you love so much. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He increases his pace, tightening his hold on your hips, barreling his cock deep into your cunt, hitting that sweet spot over and over until he fills you up with his load, warm and creamy inside you. 

You snuggle into him, relaxing in his arms. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you ask, “Are you worried about me too?” 

He kisses the top of your head, understanding what you’re referencing. “No.”

“You don’t think I should starting looking for a partner?” You twirl his tie around your fingers aimlessly, hoping for a particular response, pretending to be nonchalant about it. While the two of you haven’t formally admitted it yet, there’s no denying it: You love each other.  

He doesn’t speak right away, choosing his words carefully. “Why would you need one if you have me to protect you?”

You smile, satisfied with his answer. “Is this a proposal, Kishibe?” you tease him.

He squeezes you tighter in his embrace. “It is if you want it to be. Though, your father might disapprove of it. At first.”

You snuggle into his chest, giggling. “We’ll break the news to him slowly, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re finally at the club, some of his creampie still inside you as you grind on him in the middle of the dancefloor, his expression stoic and serious while you beam at him.

[luffyvace]

HIIII hru !!! may i please ask for some feitan fluffs hcs 😩 i love this tiny man with all my soul

IM DOING GOOD!! YES YOU MAY!!! I ACTUALLY HAVE SUCH A DEEP ROOTED LOVE FOR HIM I DONT TALK ABOUT HIM OFTEN ENOUGH💥💥

(omg this reminds me i’m supposed to be doing the whole troupe and chuuya x male reader- i’m so all over the place but the point is another dabble of feitan hcs will be here in the future! 😋)

also ooc/fanon him since this is fluff :)

tw: death…and torture (i use “unalive” instead of d!e/k!ll)

alrighty so you said fluff headcanons and it’s highly likely you’ll get fluffy feitan if you’ve known each other for a long time (since meteor)

i’m going to dabble in reader that is both in and outside of the troupe because i can :)

so for reader that’s in the troupe first of all no pda

hardly any weakness was displayed besides sadness/anger or mourning (and some funny moments)

theres no need for cuddles during business

unless your like uvo and simply don’t care

then it annoys the crap out of him <3

it’s not like he doesn’t want your affection—just not in public

will cuddle you in private tho

y’all usually sit there in silence or read together

he can be a little spoon or big spoon it doesn’t bother him

he tries his best but he’s never let anyone else so close to him before

if you introduce something to him and he likes it he’ll do it back

because why would you do it to him if you wouldn’t want it done to you right?

im gonna assume you have either a apartment which you unalived the owner of or y’all live in meteor still

he’ll let you choose really he doesn’t care where you stay

he’d even unalive a high status person to steal their mansion if that’s what you want

your obviously strong and have some sort of nen if your in the troupe so he doesn’t bother worrying

although if your like kortopi he’ll stay vigilant for you

even though you can use nen to defend yourself as well

btw if your not a pda person the troupe is grateful

aint no body wanna see allat-

he doesn’t know how to cook or clean and since your both from meteor so i hope you learn or already know how

otherwise y’all eat what y’all can when y’all can

whether you steal a five star gourmet meal or just wait for the next opportunity like a vending machine

i don’t advise you ask for a pet by the way

he’ll tortu£ it and i’m not talking about strapping it down or anything

just purely scarring them 😭

if you be firm about him stopping he will

unless it’s a big scary dog or smth

then he’s more likely to take em under his wing and train them to be vicious

will scare people with said animal

for stay at home reader…. (most of these also apply for troupe reader<3)

i say stay at home bc with his portion of money you could buy anything you want

if you tell him what you want u can get it for free cuz he steals it

but

if you want to take a bath together it would take more than a god to convince him

seriously he sees no reason in it

once you do tho

at first he is on one end of the tub and your on the other

as time goes on he’ll let you lean back into his chest as he scrubs your hair

he lets you play in his hair

don’t tell ANYONE

he don’t like vulnerability so if you tell someone he won’t do it for like 2 weeks

you think he’s never gonna do it again until you crawl into his lap while he’s reading on the bed and ask really sweetly

he’s all yours after that

HIS HAIR IS SO FLUFFY!!

and yes he lets you play with it :)

you get to put it into all types of styles!!

especially since it’s a decent length!

not really interested in playing in your hair

he tries but the rubber band always ends up tangled in your hair

if you kiss him goodnight he will start to initiate it as well

thats one thing he will forever reciprocate

loves your humor

no matter the type

but he especially loves when you laugh at his dark jokes

youve seen him smile before 💖

warms your heart knowing no one else gets this side of him

not judgmental of your looks for obvious reasons

yall got bigger problems

dismisses anytime you degrade yourself

he be speaking facts

”the way your hair looks gonna unalive you?”

”your pimples will st^b you while sleeping?”

no? you goofy goober so why does it matter

don’t argue him on this

genuinely doesn’t like the idea of you being hurt

by him or someone else

dont expect anyone who does harm to you to see the tomorrow sun

even if you plead for them don’t waste your breath pleading you need to be saying goodbye

real loyal partner

as loyal to you as he is the troupe

you and the troupe are his forever commitments

no matter what he could never stop loving you

you guys practically never argue

hes not necessarily hotheaded but will say what’s on his mind and if someone disagrees he does it anyway

thing is he compensates with you💗

if he knows your nitpicking he ignores it but if it’s genuinely something you don’t like he won’t fight it

also he cleans up well if you don’t like to see blood/gore in your place after he’s done t•rturing someone

he respects and listens to your opinions and feelings

would love if your a sadistic person as well but he understands if your not

also if your not in the troupe he teaches you nen

only the troupe knows your together and where you stay for your safety

your safety is definitely on his priority list

truly cares about and loves you

enjoy!!!! i’ll prob come back and read my own hcs bc I LOVE HIM

thank you for this request i loved writing every letter of it♡

[drivingsideways]

The Matchmakers (2023)- Review

A funny, smart youth fusion sageuk? Rowoon- whom I swear to god I would not have been able to pick out of a lineup of idol actors 2 weeks ago-  making me CRY in the year of our Lord 2024???? You could knock me over with a feather right now. 

Writer Ha Soo-jin and PDs Hwang Seung-gi and Kim Soo-jin did not drop the ball even once over 16 episodes- a true feat in kdrama land. More than the actors, it was the impressive lock-step of the creative/production team that got me in this one. I'm trying to put into words the oddness of it after: apparently I can be persuaded to buy a product (heterosexual romance kdrama version) that I would usually avoid, as long as it crosses a threshold of custom-made-for-me features.  I know I've been had, but it's done with such sly charm and madcap energy that I'm not even the least bit angry about it. 

This isn't to say that the drama isn't thoughtful: it is, very much. In an era when falling birthrates and fascism are making governments across the world decide that women have probably had too much freedom and are actively enacting policies that violate women's fundamental rights over their personhood, The Matchmakers is a tongue-in-cheek response that's deadly serious about its fundamental idea: that women are individuals who will and should act to preserve the sanctity of that gift of life.  

At the start of the series, its main antagonist- Park Ji young in an arresting role and performance- says "If a Nation is a tree with deep roots, then those roots are its WOMEN." Of course, this is a delightful statement on many levels- starting with the sheer brazenness with which the joke that sends up one of the most acclaimed and beloved sageuks is made; it also situates the character in opposition with the morality of Confucian-era Joseon of the series where women were to be kinda, sorta seen and definitely not heard etc. and makes us instantly- in our post-feminist complacence- sympathetic to her. But wait: as the series unravels its many, many, many threads, we begin to see the sleight of hand. For this Strong Woman Character ™  is, after all, preaching an old and well-worn moral code: for the woman, The Family is Everything. Unless you’ve been under a rock for a few years, it might have come to your notice that this Idea ™ is being repackaged and tik-tokified up as neo-conservatism and fascism gains ground once more in our feral capitalist hellscape. The show is full of women who've had to or are making choices for the Family (survival, honour, future)- at the cost of their own happiness and identities because that is their Fate. Even Madam Park, widely acknowledged as the most brilliant mind in Joseon- is not exempt from this; taking- limited- control of a system designed to grind you down doesn’t mean freedom, only fear and eternal vigilance. For me, it was the perfect choice and characterization of the villain that set this show apart from the others of its genre- that told me that it had something to say after all.

That said, I don’t think The Matchmakers is particularly radical or subversive- here’s where the perfect commodification of kdrama and the show’s chosen genre blunts it-terrible things happen in families and to women in particular, yes, but we’re never allowed to contemplate those things too long; we’re being distracted by the next flourish in the shenanigans-filled plot. Heterosexual marriage is reconfigured but never seriously rejected; queer people exist but are not happy. Perhaps it takes a Jeong Seo Kyung (Little Women, 2022) or Lim Dae-hyung/ Jeon Go-woon (LTNS, 2024) to smash that particular barrier- but in its defense, The Matchmakers does what all love stories  set out to do and does it well- which is to reaffirm our belief in Love as the ultimate liberation; both the weapon and balm of our fragile lives. And it does, very firmly, plant its feet on the side of liberating the women who each find their courage to reassert their selves as the most necessary and valuable possession in a society which only sees value in their uteruses.

Tl; dr: watch it for its delightful women, its Wodehouse-ian shenanigans in regency romance/sageuk aesthetic, its quietly moving love story about letting love and life surprise you over and over again, and yeah, I guess you should also watch it for Rowoon being a “disgruntled pelican” as correctly described by @elderflowergin.

[behindthesemasks]

17

Chapter 16

Mel wants answers, but the one that comes changes everything...

TW: violence, guns, hitting, threats, someone has a gun aimed at them

During the ride back to the hotel, Case and Mel had changed their whole dynamic.    He found she wasn’t nearly the princess that he had believed her to be; and she found he wasn’t nearly as serious and dour as she’d thought him to be.  By the time that they pulled into the underground garage to park, they were laughing and cutting up like they’d been friends for years.  Case never lost sight of the fact that someone had just tried to kill everyone in the last SUV he had driven, and was ever vigilant now that their means of escape was greatly reduced.  

After assessing the area and deeming it safe, he let Mel out her side, casually draping an arm around her slim shoulders and pulling her in close like they were lovers.  Looking down at her, he gave her a grin and a wink as he started to lead her towards the doors into the hotel.  Her arm looped around his waist as she hip bumped him.  He had to give her credit, she picked up on non-verbal cues a lot better than most he’d had to guard over the years.   And the fact that she had shot Andreas, and had a bead on Donovan at the dig site, gave him a healthy respect for her skills and also the strength of character she possessed.

All the way up to the top floor, the two looked like a couple returning to their room for the night.  He considered walking that way in to see Erik and Cam, but decided that he didn’t feel like getting shot by Erik.  Lord knew that he was as twitchy as Klaus right now, since it was Andreas that they were trying to get information out of, and who was part of this whole plot to take out Alexander.

Once they had reached their floor, they went straight to the room that Erik, Cam, and Andreas were in.   Case noticed the way Mel visibly tensed as her hand landed on the doorknob; she had not been nearly as relaxed as she’d acted.  Damn, she was good.  They could use her on some of the missions they went on, that was if Ambrose wouldn’t lose his mind in the process.  Hell, might be more fun if he did.

Erik and Cam were over by one wall talking when Case and Mel walked in. Andreas’s eyes went wide seeing the petite female again.  It was clear he remembered their previous conversation and was in no hurry for a repeat.  Before Case could stop her, she was before the male again with her gun drawn and pointing firmly at his manhood.

“I just got back from what had to be the least enjoyable car ride I’ve ever had.  I am getting seriously tired of being fucking shot at Andreas.  SERIOUSLY. FUCKING. TIRED.  Now you are going to tell me who the fuck ordered this, and you’re going to do it now; because my patience ended somewhere between here and the dig site while I was in the back of that SUV.”  The distinctive click of the safety being turned off was heard and none of the other men moved.  They had to hand it to her, the woman knew how to make an entrance and a statement…all at the same time.

“They…they weren’t supposed to shoot at you.  You’re not even supposed to be here.  No one wants to piss off Ambrose, they’d be stupid to.”  Andreas was stuttering and stumbling over words in his haste to get them out.  He wasn’t so much afraid of dying; however, his cousin and Cam had been inflicting pain on him already, but nothing like she was about to.

“A name, Andreas.  NOW!”  He felt the gun move slightly, and another click sounded, which was the hammer being pulled back.  Now all that separated him from pain he’d wish he’d be dead from, was a twitch of her finger.  “I don’t think you’re getting how tired I am of games.”   The other men glanced at each other, they all had to remember not to piss her off in the future.

“Oglesby.  It was Oglesby.  He doesn’t want the relics coming out of that dig site.  Dear god, don’t kill me!  It was Oglesby.”  Tears started to form at the corners of his eyes.  

“WHO is Oglesby?”  She pressed the gun further against his groin.

“You LIE!”  Erik growled and his fist struck the side of Andreas’s face making a sickening thud and a crunch that may mean that Andreas’s jaw was broken.

Mel stepped back and looked at Erik, gun now at her side. “Who is Oglesby, Erik?”  

“Get out Mel.”  

“WHO. IS. HE?”  Her teeth were clenched, and she was not backing down.  She was done being pushed around.

In a flash, Erik had taken the weapon, and the barrel was up against her forehead.  “GET. OUT!  Cam…Case…get her the fuck out of here, and stay out too.  I will deal with this.”  

Mel stood frozen.  Tears of betrayal and anger stung at her eyes, but she couldn’t even force herself to move.  She felt male hands grab her shoulders; slowly and gently they began to pull her back. 

Erik’s face was a mask of rage as Case slowly guided Mel away from him.  Whatever that name meant, Erik might have just signed his own death warrant.  One twitch and Mel was too close for it to be anything but a kill shot.  She seemed in shock though, and he was afraid if he pulled her backwards any faster, she’d fall.  Thankfully as soon as they were far enough away, Cam stepped in between the gun and Mel, meaning he’d take a chest shot instead of  one to the head.

“I hope you know what you’re doing Erik.  Ambrose will hear about this,”  Cam said calmly as he kept himself between Mel and the gun till they were out of the room and the door closed.

Mel leaned up against the wall across the hallway, bent at the waist with her hands on her knees.  She was fighting panic.  One of the men she trusted most had just put the barrel of a gun, with the safety off, and hammer back, against her forehead.  The look he had in his eyes said he would have pulled the trigger too.  After a few deep breaths, she pulled her phone out and dialed Klaus.

As she listened to the soft ringing in her ear, she saw Case and Cam discussing something, and verifying they both had their weapons.  Klaus’s answer told her that he was irritated, but he should know she wouldn’t just call for anything.  “Klaus, Erik just had a gun to my head.  Who the fuck is Oglesby.”  A curt reply and he hung up.  She stared at the phone in disbelief.  She dialed him again but it went straight to voicemail.  Hanging up, she threw her phone against the opposite wall, then walked towards the suite.

Case and Cam had both pulled out their phones to call Nic and Ambrose when Mel’s crashed into the wall and shattered.  Phone calls were forgotten for the moment as they followed Mel.  They had to make sure she got into the suite okay.  After what had just happened, they weren’t sure she was going to stay in the hotel, and now she wasn’t armed anymore.  If something happened to her. they would both be dead, but at least their deaths would be quick. Erik was going to suffer first, and she might not even have to be dead first for it.

Melania walked through the doors to the suite after sliding her card, and the men stayed outside.  After being shot at in the SUV, and now having a gun to her head, they thought she might like some space.  They weren’t going to leave from outside that door though.  If Erik decided he wanted to make his point more clearly, they were going to stop him.  This whole trip had gone massively sideways in an instant.

While they were waiting, they repeatedly called Nic and Ambrose, even calling Klaus a few times. No one was answering.  They did get a hold of Alexander, Cade and Dez.  All was quiet at the hospital, Sasha had been moved to a private, posh room, and that’s where they were all held up as well.  As soon as it was dark and quiet, they’d slip out and be on their way back.  All three were shocked to hear what Erik had done, but none knew who Oglesby was, or why Erik would react like that.  

After they hung up, all three at the hospital were ready to head back to the hotel whether it was dark or not.  None of them doubted that Cam and Case had it well in hand back at the hotel, but if Erik had lost his mind, there could still be bloodshed.  They also wanted to beat Ambrose, Nic, and Klaus back to at least keep Erik alive long enough to find out what the fuck was going on.  It wasn’t like the man to go off half-cocked, and for him to have literally put a gun against Mel’s head, he had to have completely lost his mind.

Hours passed, more phone calls to Ambrose, Nic, and Klaus were made with no answer, and the interior of the suite remained eerily quiet.  Finally Case and Cam decided they were tired of waiting in the hall.  Knocking on the door first, Cam slid his copy of the master key for the floor through the locking mechanism and heard the soft click of the door unlocking.  Slowly pushing it open he called out for Mel.  Silence greeted him like an adversary.

Neither man liked the cold feel of stale air and the lack of sound that enveloped them like a thick blanket as they entered.  The feeling of dread grew in the pit of their stomachs. as if someone were adding stones one by one to the bottom of the well, as they searched all rooms to find them empty.  There was no sign of Mel or how she’d gotten out.  They were truly and royally fucked now.  They blew up the voicemail and text messages of Ambrose and Nic, this was not good.  Case called the guys at the hospital and found out that they were just getting ready to leave since the doctor had made the last check of the night on Sasha.  Word was passed on of what had happened, and they promised to be on the lookout for Mel as they headed back to the hotel.  

Finally Cam’s phone sounded the familiar chime of an incoming call.  Unfortunately the usually lively tune sounded as if a death dirge this time, and when he looked down he saw Ambrose’s number.  The weight in his stomach only seemed to grow when he hit the green button to answer, then put the man on speaker phone so they could both talk to him.  “Yeah boss, we got a problem…a big one.  Mel is missing.”  Cam replied to his boss’s first words. Case’s eyes closed at the pure rage that radiated out of the phone with Ambrose’s reply.  “Boss, Erik went off the rails when Mel got the name Oglesby out of Andreas as being who’s behind this.  He damn well put a fucking gun to her head and told her to get out of the room.  Boss, Cam had to step in between them because he didn’t lower the damn thing the whole time we were getting her out of the room.  Head shot boss, he would have taken a head shot.”  Case was alternating between pissed as hell and worried for the woman.  She was unarmed as far as he knew and missing with someone out there that was after their team.  If she had been kidnapped, she would be leveraged to get them to hand over at least Alexander.   

“FUCK!”  The word almost made Cam’s phone vibrate in his hand.  “Oglesby is who killed Erik and Klaus’s parents.  Get your asses out there and find her.” Ambrose’s voice vibrated through the small speaker on the phone, then got quieter. “If ANYTHING happens to my granddaughter because your brother couldn’t contain his fucking goddamned temper, I’m going to kill him my own damn self.”  Cam and Case looked at each other, shit had just gotten worse.  Ambrose’s voice came back loud again. “Find her.  That isn’t a nice request, that’s a goddamned order.  We’re on our way back.”

dividers/banners : @cafekitsune

[thatonebirdwrites]

Korrasami Weekly Prompts: Autumn

An Endless Autumn

Asami stood on the cliff that overlooked Yue Bay. The breeze from the ocean buffeted her lone form, scented with brine and the reminder of someone that Asami wondered if she'd see again.

She scuffed her boot into the dirt and knelt to pick up a leaf-adorned rock. Holding up the leaf, she twisted it back and forth. Red veins marked the golden tone of the fibers, and its edges crinkled with decay. She held it into the wind and released it to watch it flutter and soar up toward the clouds above.

Hefting the rock, she threw it as far as she could, and it was soon lost to the waves, the sound of its plunk lost to the beat of the ocean against the cliff.

"You know, you could throw it farther with a bit of airbending."

The familiar voice came from behind her.

Asami was used to it. She'd imagined her voice talking with her dozens of times in the last three years. "You know I'm a nonbender," she said, knowing she probably sounded crazy if anyone was around to witness.

"Well, yeah. I meant I could airbend it farther for you."

Asami sighed. "Sure, if you were here and not just in my head."

"And what makes you think I'm not here?"

Asami huffed. "You haven't been for three years!" She knelt and grabbed a fistful of dirt. The soil crumbled between her long, slender fingers. "And here I am, once again talking to you like you're here. I really am going crazy."

She stood and dribbled the soil over the cliff's edge. Bits of broken leaves fell with the soil toward the surf below.

"I don't think you're crazy. I think you're hurt and grieving."

Asami rolled her eyes. "Talking out loud to a voice in my head is crazy."

"Asami, come on. Just turn around and get down here, dammit."

That was the temptation wasn't it? Asami would come to this ledge weekly at the same day and time. She'd look over the bay toward Air Temple Island, and she'd hold conversations in her head with her, despite knowing it was continuous torture.

The ask to turn around would always happen, and she'd carefully climb down, keeping her back to the trees that hugged the slopes behind her. The ledge, more of a pillar that jutted out away from the mountain's slopes, overlooked the pathway to the mountain's peak, where the voice always seemed to emanate.

If she never looked, she'd never have to face the fact that she was slowly losing her mind.

Maybe she ought to head back, even though she'd barely begun her vigil. Staying here until the sunset was her usual fare, but something about how real the voice sounded today had her unnerved.

"I'm not falling for that," Asami said with a hint of anger. This was her vigil though. She couldn't let the voice tear her from it now. She scowled and sat down on the section of the ledge that faced the bay, her legs over the side. "Every single time you ask me that. And I know where that leads! No. So how about we get back to the usual?"

Her fingers dug into the soil and the fallen leaves that coated the ledge. The stone under it was granite, the hardness scraping against her fingernails.

"The... usual? What do you mean?"

"Playing coy now?" Asami laughed bitterly. "It's the vigil. You're supposed to ask me about my week. Or mock me for my stupidity. Asami Sato, the CEO of Future Industries, the philanthropist, community leader, who is in love with a ghost, desperate for what can never be. Here I am talking as if you're real. Keeping watch in hopes you'd return."

"Asami... I would never mock you. Do you seriously do this every week?"

Asami frowned, the urge to turn around even stronger, especially considering her voice was being strangely obtuse. She leaned back, her hands pressed into the dirt on either side of her, and looked at the clouds above. A hint of grey marked the edges of them, likely a storm brewing, and the cool wind had slowly increased in velocity.

The reds and golds of fallen leaves swirled like mini tornadoes on the breeze above her. An odd juxtaposition of her dark mood and desperate hope.

"I don't know why I like Autumn," Asami said, hoping if she changed the subject, the voice would go back to normal. "It's the season of melancholy. Where the world that was decays into the world that will be once winter ends. I suppose that's been my life, you know? Always trapped in autumn. In the decay of the world that was, but I never make it to winter, never to spring, never to the time of growth, where the world that will be springs forth."

The huff of what sounded almost like a polar bear dog echoed behind her.

"Wow, that's both beautiful and really sad. I guess I never really thought about Autumn like that. We don't really have it in the South, you know?" The crunch of rocks and leaves under boots drifted up from the path below. "So uh, how about you come down and you can tell me more about autumn?"

Asami's imagination was really in overdrive today, wasn't it? Was it because of Jinora's last phone call that they had a lead on where she might be?

Asami sighed. The ledge itself was narrow, barely enough for her to stand and sit, and the climb down to the path below fairly perilous, considering how the pillar jutted out over the surf at an odd angle. Part of the reason she'd chosen this spot was for the thrill of the climb, the fact that no one else could fit up here, and for the solitude it carried.

"Not falling for that either," she said, curtly. "The vigil is till sundown. You know that."

"What? That's it. I'm coming up there!"

Asami frowned. The voice had never threatened that in the past. "There's not enough room," she said.

"Then I'll just earthbend more ledge! Seriously, Asami, do you know how hard it was to find you? I tried calling, tried going to your office, and if it weren't for Jinora's tip, I wouldn't have found this place. So can you please listen and stop pretending I'm some damned voice in your head?"

Asami scrambled to her feet and before she could stop herself, she looked back for the first time in three years. The mountain's slope rose up behind her, the trees thick, but path at the base of the pillar held only footprints.

Of course, there was no one there.

"Dammit, dammit! I broke the rule." Asami grabbed a fistful of dirt and threw it at the path below. "Never look behind, never, ever look behind." She trembled at the sheer force of her grief, how it saturated her from her head to her toes. Tears stung her eyes, and the urge to throw herself off the narrow ledge haunted her yet again.

She'd never do it. Not if there was a sliver of hope of seeing her again, but today, the urge was far stronger than it'd ever been.

Asami dropped to the ground, pulled her legs up against her chest, her face in her knees, and shuddered.

The stone below groaned, the pillar trembled, but then it steadied. Quiet fell around her like the fallen leaves of autumn.

"Hey." The crackle of broken twigs sounded in front of her. "Hey, I really am here." Her words broke into a sob. "Please, Asami, look at me."

Hands grasped Asami's arms and gently pulled them away from her face.

Startled, she lifted her head, only to freeze in shock.

The pillar's narrow top was much wider from the earthbending, and there, kneeling in front of her, was someone Asami had feared she'd never see in person again.

Short chestnut hair was shorn short around her ears, and her skin was a deep brown with copper undertones. Her blue eyes regarded Asami, her mouth pursed in worry. Her clothes weren't blue at all but a green tanktop and pants, her boots the desert variety Asami had seen at Misty Palms Oasis back during the days when she thought maybe the world had hope. That maybe she could have a happy ending.

"No. No, I'm hallucinating..." Asami's shoulders shook. Tears blurred her vision. "You're not real."

Korra's fingers brushed away her tears. "I'm real. I'm just sorry it took me so long. You deserve so much better..." Korra's voice broke into a sob. "But I'm here now, okay? You don't have to do this vigil anymore."

Asami rocked forward and wrapped her arms around Korra for the first time in three years. And her arms collided with a real person. Korra's scent of ocean and soil flooded her nostrils, her body warm, her muscles solid under her soft skin. Sobs ripped through Asami's chest, and she held on tighter, afraid that if she let go, Korra would vanish again.

Korra's arms encircled her. She stroked Asami's hair and pressed her lips to the side of Asami's cheek. "It's okay. I'm here now. And I'm not leaving again, okay?"

The wind blew autumn leaves past their embrace and out toward the ocean. Asami's chest heaved, and she buried her face in Korra's hair. Maybe this year she'd finally escape her endless autumn and step into a new season, one of potential and hope instead of grief and melancholy.

With Korra's arms around her, that hope felt more real than it had ever been in her entire life.

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 289.brb x oc

a/n: TEEHEE (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: none uwu

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

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-

Rooster sat in the dimly lit briefing room, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table as he anxiously awaited the new information from HQ.

The feeling of unease that had plagued him since the discovery of the manipulated mission reports had not diminished. If anything, it had grown stronger, fueled by his determination to get to the bottom of the situation.

The rest of the team had returned to their quarters to prepare for the upcoming mission, but Rooster had chosen to stay up. His instincts told him that there was more to uncover, and he couldn't shake the feeling that time was of the essence.

The minutes ticked by slowly as Rooster's mind raced. He knew that the success of the mission hinged on the accuracy of the information they had, and he couldn't afford to wait idly. The team's safety and the achievement of their objectives were at stake.

Finally, the communication panel in the room blinked to life, and a senior officer from HQ appeared on the screen. Rooster's heart raced as he focused on the incoming transmission.

“Lt.Bradshaw, we appreciate your vigilance and the diligence of your team. We've conducted a thorough investigation into the manipulated mission reports, and we can confirm that they were altered by a group of individuals with unauthorized access to the data.”

Rooster nodded, his jaw set. "Do we know who was behind this, sir?"

“We've identified the individuals responsible, and they have been apprehended and are currently facing disciplinary actions. Their motivations appear to have been driven by personal interests and not by any external threat or enemy influence. We take breaches of trust within our organization very seriously.”

Rooster's relief was palpable, but he couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of frustration. “Do we know how this happened,sir?"

"The breach of trust within our organization is a matter we take with the utmost seriousness, Lieutenant. It is essential for us to understand how this breach occurred, and we have conducted a comprehensive internal review."

Well that as fast.

“Oh, that’s very quick,sir.”

The senior officer continued, "We've identified the security vulnerabilities that allowed this breach to occur and have taken immediate steps to address them. Our priority is to ensure that such incidents do not happen again in the future."

“And do we know who was responsible,sir?"

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that,Lt.”

Rooster’s eyebrows twitched slightly but he inhaled with a small frown,”Ah,I see.”

Rooster couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration at not being informed of the identities of those responsible for the breach. He understood the need for discretion, but the lack of transparency left him with lingering questions.

The senior officer's expression remained stern but professional. "Rest assured, Lieutenant, the individuals responsible for the breach have been dealt with according to our organization's protocols. Their actions put the mission and the safety of your team at risk, and we take that very seriously."

Rooster nodded, still having a hard time swallowing that information down. "I appreciate the swift action taken to address this breach, sir. Our team is ready to proceed with the mission, now that we have reliable data."

"We have every confidence in your team's ability to carry out the mission successfully, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir. We won't let this incident affect the mission."

The senior officer nodded in approval. "That's the spirit, Lieutenant. Your unwavering dedication is  commendable. We'll be closely monitoring the progress of the mission from HQ." he smiles, “Now I understand why Cyclone said you were perfect for this mission, you are doing good,son.”

Rooster couldn't help but appreciate the senior officer's words, even as he still harbored questions about the breach. “Thank you,sir. I really appreciate that.”

“You are welcome, Lt.” and the call was done.

Rooster remained seated on the chair and frowned, chewing his lower lip while tapping his finger on the desk. He should probably go to sleep now, but he was still..frustrated with everything going on.

His frustration lingered long after the video call with the senior officer had ended. He couldn't help but feel that there were aspects of the breach and its consequences that had been kept from him. The lack of transparency gnawed at him, but he knew that pressing the matter further could be counterproductive.

Rooster knew he needed rest to be at his best for the mission, but the turmoil in his mind made sleep elusive. He ran a hand through his hair, wrestling with his thoughts. His eyes then dropped to the call icon and he wondered…could he…call Bea?

It was morning in Cali right now..hm, maybe he should text her first.

It had been a challenging day, and the lingering frustration from the breach of trust had left him feeling disconnected. He needed the reassurance of her voice, the comfort of her presence, even if it was just through a video call.

With that decision made, Rooster retrieved his phone and selected Beatrice's contact from his list. His fingers moved deftly over the screen as he composed a message:

Roos (21:46)

Hey, baby. It's late, but I can't sleep. Can we talk?

Her response was immediate

Bea (21:48)

Of course, Roos :). I'm always here for you. Can you want to video call?

Roos (21:50)

Yes, please. I could use some of your magic right now.

Bea (21:52)

My magic?

Rooster couldn't help but smile at Beatrice's response. 

Roos(21:54)

Yes, your magic.

Bea (21:55)

Okay,give me a few minutes to get my laptop.

Rooster leaned back in his chair, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as he anticipated the video call with Beatrice. Body immediately relaxes.

Bea (22:00)

I'm all set up now. Are you ready for the call, Roos?

Roos (22:02)

Ready when you are, baby.

Rooster initiated the video call, and within moments, Beatrice's face appeared on the screen. Her warm smile and familiar features immediately eased Rooster's tension. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and her long Metallica shirt slipped down one of her shoulders.

"Hey, Roos," Beatrice greeted, her voice filled with affection. "How's everything going on your end? I wasn’t expecting another call so soon."

Rooster couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. "Hey, Bea. I just needed to see your face and hear your voice. It's been a frustrating day."

Beatrice's expression softened, her eyes filled with concern. “Tell me what's been bothering you."

Rooster laughs humorlessly, rubbing his forehead with the tips of his fingers, “You sure? it’s not a short one.”

And Beatrice,bless her heart, just propped her chin on her knee and smiles at him, “The kids are fed and the dogs are walked. I was going to paint but then…talking to you is always my favorite choice.”

Rooster smiles back, his heart already feeling lighter just by that smile. Taking a deep breath, he began to recount the events of his day.

"It's just been one of those days, Bea," Rooster started, his eyes locked on the screen, as if looking into her eyes. "The mission reports were all over the place, and I had this gut feeling that something was off. I reached out to the team, and they confirmed it. The data was manipulated, and we had to conduct an internal investigation to identify the culprits."

Beatrice listened attentively, her gaze unwavering. She chews her lower lip out of anxiousness. "I'm sorry to hear that, Roos. It must have been frustrating.”

Rooster nodded, still rubbing his forehead  "It was, and it's not just frustrating; it's dangerous. The success of the mission relies on accurate information. It's just...disheartening to think that someone within our ranks would compromise the mission like that."

“I’m sorry babe.”

“Yeah..well…it’s not in my hands now, you know?”

“And it bothers you.”

He smiles softly, shaking his head, “It does.” he crosses his arms,making sure to keep his voice quiet “I don’t like to be in the dark,as you well know gorgeous.”

Beatrice nodded empathetically, her expression filled with understanding but she couldn’t help but ask him “Are you guys safe?’

He leaned in closer to the screen, as if trying to bridge the physical distance between them. "We're taking every precaution, Bea," he assured her. "The internal investigation has identified those responsible, and they're facing disciplinary actions. Security measures have been tightened to prevent such breaches in the future."

Beatrice let out a small sigh of relief, her shoulders visibly relaxing but her mouth was still twisted. "I'm glad to hear that, Roos. I can't help but worry about you and the team. You're all family to me." she pauses, “What…happens now then? Is the mission still going? Are you coming back?”

He took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts before responding. "The mission is still a go," Rooster replied. "With the manipulated data sorted out, we're proceeding as planned. We wanna see this mission through, and we've trained for this scenario. We're taking every precaution to ensure our safety."

Beatrice's eyes remained locked onto his, her expression a mixture of pride and worry. “Well…I trust you guys. You are the best at what you do.’ she smiles “How is um…the Mark situation going?”

"He's still around, and he's been quite persistent, with…stuff…." Rooster admitted, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "But we've got a handle on things now.I can’t Mark's actions may have caused some disruptions, there’s no proof of that."

“hm.”

“What?”

Beatrice shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. "I know you can handle it, Roos, I know you all can but…it does leave a strange taste in your mouth, that info doesn’t it?”

Rooster's expression grew contemplative as he considered Beatrice's words. There was a lingering unease about the situation with Mark, and her observation had struck a chord.

"You're right, Bea," Rooster replied, his voice tinged with concern. "It's unsettling. Mark's actions have been strange, and it's hard not to question his motives. I trust the guys, but the uncertainty in the air is...unpleasant."

Beatrice gives him an empathetic little side smile. "I can imagine, Roos. I wish there was more I could do from here."

He smiles more, absolutely melting for this woman.

"Just knowing that you're there waiting for me when I return is all the support I need," he told her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Your love and understanding mean the world to me."

Beatrice returned his smile, her eyes shining with affection as her cheeks turn a light red. "I'll always be here for you, Roos. No matter what. You're my hero, after all."

He tilts his head briefly, his ears perking up,”Hero?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s…new.” he liked it, “You never called me that.” dear God he liked it a lot.

Bea shrugs again, fixing her fallen sleeve while her eyes remained on him “I just felt it was fitting Roos. After all you are…just great like that–are you blushing?”

He rubs his eyebrow with his thumb "Maybe a little," he admitted, a roguish twinkle in his eyes. "But only because you have a way of making me feel like a hero when I talk to you. It's just another reason why I can't wait to come back to you."

Beatrice's heart swelled with warmth at his words. She was quiet for a few seconds before saying "I miss you, Roos," she admitted, her tone soft and filled with longing. "I don’t…say it often because I know you can’t come back home yet but–”

His smile softened, and his eyes held a gentle warmth as he replied, "I miss you too, Bea. Every moment I'm not with you and the kids feels like an eternity. But we'll get through this, and I promise to make up for the time we're apart when I'm back." he says, “Sounds good?”

Beatrice nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “S-Sounds great.”  she wipes her eyes “Also…I didn’t know you could uhhh call me so late? On your end.”

Rooster smiled warmly at Beatrice's question, leaning forward just a bit. "I made a special request for extended communication hours due to the mission's circumstances. They granted it, but only during specific time slots. This call wasn’t planned but–."

"Oh,oh I’m not complaining! It’s just….well…That means a lot to me, Roos," she said, her voice filled with a softness that filled his heart. "I know how busy and challenging your mission is, and yet you still make the effort to reach out to me. It is…so sweet.”

“Oh,you mean the world to me, Bea," he said, his voice filled with warmth as he props his head on his hand. "And I'll always make the effort to connect with you, no matter the distance. Or time."

Beatrice's eyes shimmered with emotion once again, and she offered him a grateful smile. "I know you're doing what you do for a greater purpose, Roos, and I'm so proud of you. Just promise me you'll stay safe and come back to us in one piece."

"I promise, Bea," Rooster replied immediately . "I'll do everything in my power to ensure I return safely to you and the kids. We have a lot to look forward to when I'm back, and I don't plan on missing any of it."

“I know Roos.” she smiles, “...but you should sleep, your eyes are twitching, which means you are exhausted.”

Rooster couldn't help but chuckle at Beatrice's observation. She had always been perceptive, even from miles away. "You're right, Bea," he admitted, his eyes showing signs of weariness and his mouth parting in a yawn "It's been a long day. But I just had to see your face before I turned in. It gives me the strength to keep going."

" You'll get through this, and you’ll be okay."

He smiled, grateful for her more and more every day. "I can't wait to see your face in person again, gorgeous. All of you."

Beatrice nodded, her head tilting as she smiles wide. "We'll be here, Roos, counting the days until you're back."

Rooster's eyes held a promise as he leaned in closer to the screen. "I love you, Bea. More than words can express.  Talk to you soon?”

Tears glistened in Beatrice's eyes as she whispered, "I love you too, Roos. Talk to you soon,handsome."

With a final exchange of affectionate words, the video call came to an end, and Rooster felt much lighter than he was hours before.

[zelda-without-a-licence-plate]

I. CANT BELIEVE. I FORGOT TO POST DARUNIAS FINISHED REDESIGN ON HERE. I DONT SEE IT ON THE BLOG ALREADY SO I MUST HAVE FORGOTTEN...... AUGH....

ANYWAYS sob here is Darunia's official redesign for the OOT rewrite full notes and thought process below the cut:

All my goron designs involve giving them less cartoonish and caricature-like features and proportions, so of course that was the first thing I tackled here. I made him very square-and-solid looking. I wanted him to have an appearance that read both as very dignified and also very personable. One should be able to tell at a glance that he is someone who commands a great deal of respect and is worthy of that respect, while also being approachable and trustworthy. Simultaneously larger than life and down to earth. His expression is stern, but with an undertone of warmth. In the original game, Darunia seemed to me like a character who wasn't really meant to be taken seriously, but for our version we want to give the opposite impression. When Darunia speaks, you will listen. I intend for him to be a character that commands respect both from the other characters around him and from the audience as well.

Aside from that, his defining characteristics remain, especially his beard and hair which are what make his silhouette most easily distinguishable. Rather than changing very much I mostly just added more, like his accessories, clothes and tattoos. Many people in the past have pointed out that the gorons, in oot especially, have many elements that appear to be based off various cultures from across the African continent, but again, especially in oot, that was done rather insensitively. So I also decided to look to the west African region in particular for some inspiration for my Darunia redesign. I ended up using mostly references from Ghana after searching through a few different sources, and the traditional clothing there influenced how I dressed Darunia, like with the brightly coloured and patterned cloth of his waist-wrap thing and his sandals-- which from now on I have decided to draw all gorons wearing sandals. The cloth Darunia wears is not fully patterned like those from Ghana since I played around with a few different patterns before settling on this, but in the future I may try drawing something more 1-1.

His tattoos are also based off the Adinkra symbols. Researching the Adinkra symbols was very exciting and interesting for me, and there were many that were perfectly suited for the things I had planned. I didn't want to just copy them directly, so I made slightly altered versions of some of the symbols with their original meanings. My hope is that anyone familiar with the Adinkra symbols would easily recognize them as the source, and be able to tell which fantasy versions are derived from which real ones, with or without the meaning listed alongside it. The ones I referenced for Darunia specifically were the Dwennimmen, meaning humility and strength, the Akoben meaning vigilance and wariness-- which is depicted on his necklace-- the Nkonsonkonson meaning unity, or brotherhood, and the Aya meaning endurance and resourcefulness. The anvil symbol, the one representing Temna/creation/ingenuity, is one I invented imitating the existing symbols' style. I chose these for their meanings, which I feel represent Darunia's character well, and seem like the kinds of things he would value and choose for himself to wear.

The red tattoo sleeve framing the goron ruby is meant to represent streams of lava flowing down the mountainside. This one single element gave me more grief than any other part of the redesign, I went though so many drafts of just that one tattoo and it was what caused this redesign to take so long! Though now that I have emerged victorious from the bloodstained battlefield (clip studio paint), I am very pleased with the final result!

Also, you may notice that the ring on his left thumb looks remarkably like the game's power bracelet. That's because it is the power bracelet! If you'd like, you can wait until we reach that part of the fic to learn what the deal is there, or if you're feeling impatient and don't mind some light spoilers, you can read Darunia's character profile for our rewrite here on world anvil, which is one of the few I've actually completed lol

[cheolsfae]

now im curious w yeosang n wooyoung friendship 🤔 can i request again? thanks!!

Yeah, ask as many times as you want! ✨️ But you got me debating on if I should make an ateez masterlist! 😭 I didn't think of doing one earlier! 😔

*Disclaimer: solely for fun! Please do not take this seriously. For entertainment purposes only!*

Past: the tower, 9 of pentacles

I think recently they got into a fight! One of the two had a feeling that something sneaky was going on and the other one found out. Whatever it was, it threw the other for a loop. Like holy hell, it threw them off. Like this whole thing came out of the blue. Like what?

Present: the magician, queen of wands

I feel like they're trying to repair it. They really want to. I think one of them wants to get back to that closeness they once had. Someone's trust was completely taken advantage of for 1 second. Really sucks. They are walking on eggshells with one another! I really hate this whole situation! 😭

Future: 4 of pentacles, 2 of pentacles

Someone is very possessive of their energy. They are debating whether or not to allow this big thing to slide or not. Well, maybe "slide" isn't the best word for it. Maybe forgive is better. They are debating forgiving the other and trusting them again. I mean, eventually, they will release this whole thing but ugh, they want to stay stuck for a bit for some reason 😭

Bottom of the deck: the star (reversed)

At this point in time, one of them feels kind of hopeless with this whole thing. I mean, the friendship will get back on track. It's not like it's going to end over this, but I think for now, one of them is going to be more vigilant of the moves the other is making. At least, for a bit.

*Oracle deck was also used!

[she-is-ovarit]

Experiencing generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) to me is consistent, meta harshness towards myself the second I manage to open my mouth to speak paired with panic when I realize I have to. It is an internal battle of attempting to hit every vocal note correctly and communicating a sentence perfectly while having nothing short of discomfort and judgement for my own voice. And once a sentence is delivered, internally cringing and recoiling at how it came out, while anticipating the reaction of the listener and sitting with the paranoia that I came off the wrong way. It is reliving this moment like groundhog day long after the interaction is over.

It's experiencing a slight difference in my body or physiology and being flooded with worst-case-scenario ideas and laying awake all night imagining the cancer. It's visiting the ER or a general practitioner multiple times a year to obtain relief from a medical professional reassuring me that nothing's wrong. It's further spinning out when they tell me that it's good that I came and they need to do further, more invasive procedures to determine a treatment. It's terror and division between desperately wanting to protect my own life and not wanting to take the steps I may have to take to do so, marching towards a presumed death while closing my eyes.

It's suddenly and very abruptly experiencing a nagging dread about a sound my car made three days ago, how it briefly seemed to slip taking that corner. It's imagery of suddenly losing control of my vehicle and colliding directly into someone else, both of our lives being taken in a second or someone ending up horribly disfigured. So perhaps I should not drive anywhere until I get it checked out by a mechanic again, and oh my god my finances.

It's the frequent feeling of "bad excitement" in my chest, of feeling my heart beat, of thought patterns that drift into paranoia and being unable to discern the difference between reality and true danger or genuine failure. It's both emotional eating and compulsive working out, migraines during stressful conversations and an inability to obtain rest. It's brain fog, hyper-vigilance, insomnia, and intrusive thoughts. It's nothing short of absolute distress in relationships about one thing or another. It's having so many thoughts about the passage of time, a clock ticking away towards my parents eventually passing, and simultaneously a supernatural or intuitive feeling that if I get behind the wheel to drive the two hours to visit them in an old vehicle with bad tires I won't make the journey.

It's feeling like this, most of the time, yet it's also having moments of occasional, serene clarity and realness. Sudden, random strokes of confidence and finding myself present as opposed to living in the future. Deeply belly laughing with a friend and the rare, natural reaction immediately made note of. Speaking assertively and fluently during a work meeting and thinking, "Wow, that came across well". Feeling relaxed during a drive or walking down a forest path and falling in love with the color green. Listening to another person and really hearing what they're saying and entangling with them on a neurological level. Seriously and intently trying to hold onto those experiences for as long as possible and permanently impressing them into my mind so that maybe those precious moments will come back to me and want to stay a little longer.

[esta-elavaris]

Dieu Et Mon Droit [4,106 words]

A more recent original short horror story! This one is from 2021 - the premise being "what if a zombie apocalypse happened in the Tudor period??"

“Dieu Et Mon Droit” = “God and My Right”, adopted as the royal motto of England by Henry V. The zombie apocalypse thing should be a hint that I’m not making any great claims of historical accuracy. Damnit Jim, I’m a writer, not a historian. Enjoy, don’t examine it too seriously. 

1533

The year was 1533, and King Henry VIII had just crowned his former mistress as Queen of England. It was no small scandal and, had the times been normal, the people would have been abuzz with outrage and fury. But as it was, they were more concerned with the dead that now roamed the earth. 

In the very beginning, before they’d had a chance to take a real measure of the stories that drifted from the areas fast falling to this new horror, they’d treated it like any other plague that was wont to befall them. Even if there were none still living who remembered the last outbreak of the black death, the sweating sickness was still fresh in the minds of most, and they readied themselves for another wave of something similar. They took their tonics, they prayed, and they gave a wide berth to anybody who showed even the slightest signs of illness. It would pass.

But it did not pass, and the tales became more widespread, and easier to believe. So they did what any godly person living would do in times of chaos - tried to find order in it - reason. Cause. And then the coronation seemed all the more relevant. To some, at least - the taverns packed with no shortage of voices seeking to weigh in and make sense of the senseless. 

“Joseph’s boy works in the palace kitchens - there’s talk there. He said the last word from Rome blamed the Boleyn woman for this. It’s God showing his displeasure.”

“And then Rome fell. So how did they displease God?” 

“I’m just sayin’ what I’ve heard, is all.”

“And I’m just sayin’ what you’ve heard is twaddle.” 

“The King will leave the city soon, mark my words. He’ll go to some fortress, somewhere less populated,” a third added.

“Who’s to say he hasn’t already? Cloaked and hooded - disguised, so nobody might know he has forsaken us, as he has the north.”

“He’d’ve taken the Boleyn woman with him. She’s still there, the future King is still in her belly, so King Henry will be, too. Staying perfectly visible, so as not to raise a panic. They know full well that if they leave, the city will succumb to panic faster than they do to this sickness...and then outrage towards him, when it passes.”

“Should it pass.” 

“...Should it pass.” 

“He’s King by divine right. Who gives half a shit about outrage when they have God on their side? He’ll run, and he’ll say it’s his duty to run. That God told him to. Just like he told him to forsake poor Queen Katherine.” 

“The King will not risk the roads, fool. Not even with all of his men. The Duke of Norfolk was overcome on them only this week past. Now he’s out there somewhere, dining on peasants.”

“Some things never change, eh?”

The laughter this comment garnered was sparse, and too troubled to be genuine. 

“Any of their lot further north than Cambridge has been told not to bother. More likely to fall on the roads than reach the safety of the palace. If the inflicted don’t get ‘em, the bandits will. Won’t be long before they’re driven from the roads entirely, they’ll be doing what they can to stock up before then. Those who do reach the gates are checked top to tail before they’re let near anybody other than a guard.” 

“I bet that’s a real hardship when the ladies of the court come calling.”

The chuckles this garnered were a bit more lively. Until another voice cut through them to speak.

“They killed one. Last week. Some jumped up, paranoid guard. Saw a scrape the lady took falling from her horse - decided it was best not to risk it.”

“...Did they punish him?”

“No. ‘Course not. They say the King commended him for his vigilance.” 

Any cheer that they’d managed to muster in the face of what they knew was well on the way, soon fizzled out. The laughter died.

“There’ll be more hoping to be commended in the same way. Get into the King’s good books for when it really comes down to it. It won’t get any better.”

“They’ve closed all of the roads leading in from the north. Maybe it’ll be contained,” the one who said this was younger, barely a boy of twelve.

Few had the heart to disabuse him of his hope. Except for the old man in the corner.

“They can close all the roads they like, they won’t be able to stop everybody. Not once this really takes root. Make no mistake, it’ll creep down from the north, and then it’ll hit London...and once it does, we’re in trouble.”

1534

Hampton Court Palace was not built to be a structure that could withstand a siege. The only truly useful feature was the moat, and even that failed to extend beyond the frontmost section of the palace. There were too many doors, too many windows, too many weak spots. It had been a minor concern before things started to turn southward, but it became a real problem once the death turned in that direction, too. They could board up the exterior windows and gates, place guards at every weak spot, but they could not turn a palace meant for fun and folly into a fortress built for long-term survival. Not truly. 

The peace of mind once offered by the fact that even the most raving of lunatics would be put off by the punishments in store for those threatening the safety of the king held no comfort now. These days, anybody seeking to enter the palace was faced with a choice - the tenuous chance of refuge, tempered only by the chance of being caught, weighed against the near certainty of being eaten alive if they remained outside of the walls. The nobles cooped up inside could feign horror and disgust towards those who decided they liked the odds of that particular gamble, and that outrage was the source of many a conversation to be sure, but in the safe confines of their own minds, even they knew the truth. The desperation tinged logic that would spur the desire to test any potential weaknesses of the palace’s exterior. To anybody on the outside, it was easy to imagine the inside was a paradise. 

What paradise consisted of had become a fairly short list, anyway. Food, safety, seeing the sun rise another day. And so new measures were brought in. Countless times each day, one of the King’s men would announce loudly, for all to hear, that sneaking into the palace - being in the palace without permission - was now treason. Helping somebody sneak into the palace was now treason. Being aware that somebody had snuck in and failing to report it, was now treason. And treason meant being hanged, drawn, and quartered. However thin their resources were now stretched, they would always find the ones required to dole out such punishment. After all, rope and a sharp blade were hardly in short supply. Not in the way that food, safety, and the guarantee of seeing the sun rise another day were. 

The fact that they’d managed to go this long without any major incidents, and (miraculously) no infections did nothing to bolster the King’s mood as it did for the people of his court. 

“The King grows restless, and the Queen despairs for it. Had she given birth to a son, things may have been different, but as it is…” Lady Alice paused as somebody passed just too closely, and only continued once they were out of earshot “She fears there may be some who align themselves with Rome’s way of thinking. That God sent this to show his disapproval for her. The lack of an heir is just driving the point home.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Edith shook her head “Princess Elizabeth is strong, and healthy, and boisterous, and, and-”

“And a girl.”

“A girl who is proof that she can have healthy children. A boy will follow. One who will inspire our King to look to the future, to lead us out of this mess.” 

Lady Alice watched her friend for a good few moments. Lady Edith was older than her by a decade at least - shouldn’t that have meant that she’d be less idealistic? Able to discern hope from folly when it came across her path? If her years alone didn’t do so, surely the fact that her husband had not made it to the palace, and had not been heard of since, would have. Or maybe that was why she clung to hope. To reason, to order. She was a good, Christian woman with not so much as a smudge against her name. Such a thing was rare in this court. It stood to reason that she thought she was due a good turn because of that. But reason had no place anywhere in these times. 

Alice sighed and twisted her hands in her dirty skirts. Most women only had two dresses now - one for the cold, one for the warm. The days of the latest fashions and changing for banquets, or indeed, banquets at all. Not only because of the situation with the food, but because of the noise. It drew the dead. It could not be risked. So did light, or any signs of life it seemed. Most discarded dresses had been put to use as window coverings at night, leaving the palace more suited to housing ghosts than people. 

“One of the Queen’s ladies traded her jewels for an apple yesterday,” she missed the day when gossip was a bit less grim. 

“The Queen’s jewels?” Lady Edith frowned.

They said the Queen’s quarters were like a tomb, nowadays. Silent and solemn.

“No, of course not, she’d be thrown from the palace. Her own jewels - including a necklace that had been in her family since the days of King Henry II.”

“Fool.”

“They’re worth nothing now.”

“Not her, whoever she traded with. What are they going to do, eat the diamonds?”

“Maybe they’ll trade them, when the King leads us out of this mess,” she said the words drily, and they were the most she dared say, lest anybody overhear them and name it slander. 

Lady Edith’s lips set into a thin line. 

“Since we’re no longer permitted into the gardens, they’ve turned them into crop fields,” because farming was so much quieter than walking “Things will be better after the first harvest. We’ll be back to two meals every day. Perhaps even three, some of the time.”

Leaning against the wall behind her, Alice bit down on the inside of her cheek. How many meals was the King skipping? It was a dangerous thing to think, and a perilous thing to voice, so she would not. She already knew the answer, anyway. And she knew the reasoning behind it that would be presented if anybody posed the question and kept their head long enough to hear the answer. The King was the one they must look to for hope. To lead them out of this. For that, he needed his strength. And if Queen Anne was to produce a little Prince, she would need to stay healthy too. There was logic behind it, logic she might even understand on the good days. Good days just happened to be in short supply. 

However they tried to entertain or distract themselves, however much they prayed, however much strength they poured into keeping their spirits up, it was always a trial. The days were growing hotter, and with noise being the risk that it was, the windows remained shut. Soon, with all of the bodies around them, every room became a stuffy, humid sort of hell that seemed to have the sole aim of driving them mad. It was like one long never-ending confinement, with no babe to look forward to at the end of it - the make it all worth it. There was a sick sort of humour to be found in the fact that in the winter they’d huddled around the fires and pined for these days. 

Taking a deep, steeling breath in (and finding only air that felt like it had already been used many times over), Lady Alice struggled against the urge to start driving her head into the wall. If only because then the gossip would cease to be about the controversial diamond trade, and about her waning sanity. Then they would petition for her to be the next one fed to the dead clamouring at the gates. 

One of the King’s guards thudded his staff dully against the floor, and spoke in a loud voice that even he seemed to be weary of.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, you are reminded that unauthorised entry into the palace gates is now high treason. Aiding another in treason, or indeed turning a blind eye to treason, is now punishable…”

The urge to drive her head into the stone behind her became all the more tempting.

1535

The Queen’s chambers were silent, save only for the crackle of the fire and the soft padding of her slippers as she paced back and forth over and over. Her ladies had long since stopped observing this habit of hers, for fear of getting dizzy. Round and round her chambers she would pace, occasionally muttering to herself, sometimes going so far as to scoff or sigh angrily in response to said mutterings, as if they hadn’t come from her own lips. Even the guard in the corner, ever-present given the state of the world outside, looked like he’d rather be anywhere but, and this posting was an easy one. It was better than defending the weak spots against the dead and the desperate. 

In the beginning, her efforts to keep everybody distracted had been valiant - although some might say deluded. It was the duty of the Queen, she’d explained loftily many a time to such people while rubbing her rounded belly, to keep the people distracted in trying times - the King looked after the people as a collective, and the Queen cared for their spirits. There had been parlour games, singing and dancing, recreations of dramatic scenes from the newest plays, anything to keep their minds off of the many loved ones too far away from London to reach refuge in time. If little changed inside the walls, they could all pretend that nothing had changed outside of them, either. But such a charade could only continue for so long. By the time the Princess Elizabeth was christened in the palace’s chapel, the games were already a thing of the past. Now they were barely even a memory. 

At the time they’d felt painful, even as they’d taken part in them. The very thing they were supposed to be forgetting at the very forefront of their minds as they made their silly costumes and danced their ridiculous dances. But the only thing worse than distraction, it seemed, was no distraction. And worse even still than the lack of any distraction, was the muttering.

The Lady Alice was the newest of the Queen’s ladies, replacing Lady Joan who had come down with a fever a week prior, and had not been seen since. Nobody asked what had become of her, but nobody needed to. The lack of any bite marks rarely served as a good defense anymore. Whatever measures were taken - banishment or blade - the end result was the same, anyway. Best not to dwell on it. All they could do was move on, and resolutely hide any symptoms of even the mildest of maladies. Even the Queen, when morning sickness struck, was prone to bouts of “casually” announcing to anybody that would hear that it was perfectly natural, in her condition, and that it was nothing sinister. But she was the one person in the room who needn’t make such assurances...so long as she remained with child, and therefore invaluable. 

“The failure of the crops...the death of Katherine’s bastard...they blame me, always me - only me,” the Queen shook her head, spinning on her heel and beginning her pacing anew in the opposite direction “How could any woman be expected to produce a prince under such conditions? Such vitriolic rumour? How?”

Nobody in the room dared meet her eye, lest they be pressed upon to supply an answer. Unfair as it may have been, the resentment was growing. Not just from the skeleton court that remained towards the Queen, but from everybody towards anybody. High pressure and close quarters did not breed love and contentment. Nor did lack of food. That particular problem was one all but the King and Queen had to contend with. 

The King’s rations never changed, as he needed his strength to lead the people as God intended, and the Queen’s did not lessen either, for she needed her own strength for the babe in her belly. But with each one she lost, that argument grew weaker and weaker. Soon there were plenty who wondered why everybody must suffer hunger pangs for the sake of so many children that never saw the light of day. Nobody voiced it, but everybody thought it. And the Queen knew it. So when she did eat, she ate in private, so that others mightn’t see her portions and be tempted to compare them to their own. But it was becoming more and more common for her appetite to forsake her entirely, and for whatever she was given to go to her ladies. As fate would have it, she was then resented for that, too - for being unable to eat for the sake of the future heir. 

Of course, had her previous pregnancies not ended in such tragedy, she would’ve then been blamed for the extra mouths to feed. There was no winning these days. For anybody. It took a prolonged moment of silence for those in the room to notice that the Queen had fallen silent, looking carefully around the room with a scrutinous gaze. 

“Where’s Jane?” 

If their gazes had all been fixed resolutely to their own laps before, now they were all but nailed there.

“Where is Jane Seymour?” The Queen demanded again.

They all knew the answer just as much as they knew Queen Anne knew it, too. And then they realised that perhaps there was one victor to be found in all of this, after all. 

1536

The gardens, turned crop fields, turned barren dirt patches, now held a structure for the first time in over a year. A scaffold. The scaffold was a tiny one, raised little more than two feet from the on which it was built. The world had fallen far, but not far enough for Queens to be executed in the dirt. Before nightfall, it would be dismantled again, the wood too valuable for the fires they would no doubt need come winter. If they were lucky, or perhaps unlucky, enough to see winter. Of course, they’d need to wait until the blood that soaked it ran dry. 

For now, the servants that remained were more concerned with the orders of the King - both in terms of seeing out those orders, and suppressing their horror at them. There wasn’t a soul still living in the palace who wasn’t keenly aware of the guard’s progress through the halls, the large ornate wooden box held as far away from his person as possible in outstretched hands. Judging by the reactions he garnered, he wasn’t the only one who was acutely aware of what the box held. Any and every soul he passed on his way to the King’s private chambers did a double take, gasped, and threw themselves back against the walls in an effort to get as far away from the guard’s cargo as possible, most crossing themselves and murmuring prayers as they did so.

The guard did his best to ignore it. What he held required his utmost attention, lest he drop it and see what a real horrified reaction consisted of. His journey was a balancing act - moving carefully enough that he wouldn’t drop his cargo, but not so slowly as to allow blood to start seeping out of the box. His superiors had assured him such a thing would not happen, but he didn’t want to risk it all the same. One of the King’s men stood outside the door waiting for him, and made an admirable effort not to even look at what he held as he rounded the corner. Instead he simply opened the door and led the way inside.

No silence fell over the King’s rooms the way it had over the hallways as he’d walked through them, but that was mainly because they were already silent before the door had even opened. The guard was almost surprised to see the King was not alone, so quiet were the rooms. The Lady Jane Seymour, soon to be Queen Jane, sat by one side, pale and drawn, and the Duke of Suffolk sat at the other, more grim even than the king himself nowadays. 

“It’s done?” 

“The executioner was not practised, your majesty, but it was done quickly and without incident,” any man able to swing an axe or sword had been moved to their defenses long ago “The Queen-”

The King’s eyes flashed. Lady Jane’s eyes flitted to the box, and then quickly back to her lap. 

“That is, er, Lady Anne - died well.”

“I hear there was some commotion in the rooms she was being held in this morning,” the King ignored the previous statement.

“One of her ladies, Lady Alice...she’d been bitten. We can’t say when, but sometime before she was taken to Lady Anne to keep her company in her final hours. Reports are now emerging of her habit of sneaking out to get fresh air. She disguised her symptoms as nerves and grief. We didn’t know until the guards arrived to take Lady Anne to the block, and found her fending off the, er...former Lady Alice.”

“But she survived?”

“Until we executed her, your Majesty.” 

“And the Lady Alice?”

“Dealt with.” 

“Find all those who knew of these secret walks, and interrogate them on why they saw fit to say nothing until now.”

After giving the order, the King approached the guard holding the box. At his gesture, a space was cleared at the large table in the centre of the room, and the box was laid atop it. Once he was unburdened of it, the guard took several steps back as though fearful of being asked to hold it once again. Nobody in the room paid him any mind. 

The King stood before the box, fingertips pausing at the latch. The Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, stood and moved to join him, morbid curiosity written plain across the furrow in his brow. Such curiosity, though, was nowhere to be found in the Lady Jane, who pressed her lips together and looked towards one of the covered windows as though it still afforded some sort of view. Her knuckles were white where her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap, a bible wedged between them.

Hesitation leaving him, or perhaps just keenly aware that he’d been caught hesitating to begin with, the King unlatched the box and lifted its lid in one swift motion, an unbothered, haughty frown forcing its way onto his features. The mask fell for but a moment once the box was opened, his face paling and his eyes widening for a moment. For all of the gore and the horror that most had seen over the last three years, the King had probably seen the least. While none who attended the beheading even flinched at the stroke of the sword, it was still a big ask to expect the King to look upon the severed head of his former wife with not even a flinch. 

Brandon, whose insistant presence at the defences was legendary among the men,  sighed tiredly at the sight, and then gave a slight nod as though in approval that the matter was done. Unlike the King, his face did not pale. Jane closed her eyes and muttered a prayer.

“She was fair,” Brandon commented, when nobody else in the room spoke.

The King, who was shaken from his shock at the words, took another step forward and traced a few fingertips across the face of the former Queen as though checking it for dust.

“Jane is fairer,” the King replied.

And then the head opened its eyes, and sank its teeth into his hand. 

[morgana96]

Rewriting the Lancer Quests

(Warning: Spoilers for Lancer Quests, but with heavy canon divergence)

A while back, I wrote a critique of FFXIV’s Lancer Quests, where I talked about how they’re tragically bad compared to other job/class quests. I’ve thought a lot about how I would write the story differently given the chance. And while it took forever to put it all together, I'm finally satisfied with this rough outline I came up with for a potential Lancer Quests rework!

This rewrite is what I’ve adopted for my Warrior of Light’s canon, and while the main characters are mostly the same, I’ve also included some who weren’t in the original storyline - including original characters created specifically for this new narrative.

It’s nowhere close to a fully polished script/draft, and anything here could change if I come up with something better. But I'd love to write this out as a full story someday, as well as other stories featuring my WoL!

Lancer Quest Rewrite Outline

Level 1

The quest remains mostly the same up until WoL returns from the canon first trial (killing 3 ladybugs, 3 squirrels, and 3 funguars out in the Black Shroud).

When reporting back to Ywain, a Wildwood Elezen in Wood Wailer uniform interrupts. This individual, named Gauvain, insists that pest control is hardly a difficult task, even for a two-bit adventurer. He goes on a rant about how the guild shouldn’t be reduced to recruiting unqualified outsiders to their ranks.

Ywain is quick to denounce this behavior, harshly reminding Gauvain that the Guild’s founder, Mistalle, developed their current techniques by learning from other nations and groups. He advises the disrespectful Wailer that if he’s so against “outsiders”, perhaps he should find a fighting class more aligned with his ignorance.

Humiliated by this reprimand, Gauvain angrily skulks off, muttering complaints and swears under his breath.

Ywain apologizes to WoL, promising to report Gauvain’s behavior to his superiors. He explains that a lancer learns best from experience, and that in time, WoL will steadily hone their abilities with strategy, technique, and understanding of courage.

He encourages WoL to continue practicing, and that he is looking forward to their promising future as a lancer.

Level 5

The quest is the same as canon until WoL returns from the collapsed pillars outside of Spirithold.

WoL’s conversation with Jillian (the guild’s receptionist) is cut short when another guild member enters in a panic. When asked what’s wrong, the frightened man reveals that there’s a corpse floating in the water right near Westshore Pier. A horrified Jillian rushes to inform Ywain, while WoL quickly heads outside to the scene.

When WoL arrives at the pier, the body has already been pulled from the water. It doesn’t take long to recognize the deceased as Gauvain, the Wood Wailer who had previously belittled them.

Ywain, along with Wood Wailer Captain Swethyna Brookstone, arrive at the pier not long after. The corpse’s extensive injuries make it clear to Swethyna that this was likely not an accident. Ywain also notes that there are several deep wounds likely made by a lance, and that the assailant is likely far from a novice.

Ywain apologizes to the WoL, claiming that the seriousness of the situation might end up delaying their training. However, WoL offers to help in piecing together what happened. While Ywain is initially reluctant to put such pressure on a recruit, he can quickly tell that the WoL is determined, and agrees to their offer of assistance.

Swethyna states that she will take care of the body’s removal and autopsy - she suggests that the others return to the guild and stay vigilant, as there’s now an assumed killer on the loose. Unbeknownst to any of them, a figure is watching the pier from a distance. He says nothing, but seems amused by the sight before him, and sneaks off as the shaken crowd of onlookers starts to disperse.

Back inside the guild, Ywain congratulates WoL for their success at Spirithold, and also thanks them for their willingness to balance their training with the impending investigation.

He admits that he and the deceased weren’t exactly on good terms; Gauvain had previously vied to become guildmaster and felt “cheated” out of it when Swethyna offered the role to Ywain instead. He was regularly belligerent towards not only him, but other lancer recruits he deemed “unfit” for the lance.

Regardless of his personal issues with Gauvain, Ywain insists it’s his duty to find his murderer, especially when the motive remains a complete mystery. He prioritizes focusing on WoL's training for now, and promises to update them as soon as there are any developments.

Level 10

Ywain greets WoL, saying he can tell they’ve been working hard at their training. He also reports that they’ve already begun investigating the murder of Gauvain.

Based on current findings, Gauvain was likely tortured and killed elsewhere before being thrown into Whispering Gorge. He was a first class sergeant in the Third Spears - a branch of the Wailers deployed in the Central Shroud - which makes it especially strange that he was found in water connecting to the East Shroud. Ywain theorizes that this could be an indicator of malicious intent; the killer could’ve wanted the corpse to be found by the lancer’s guild, perhaps due to some sort of grudge.

Ywain insists that they’ll need to piece together Gauvain’s final hours in order to get the answers they seek, so he asks WoL to meet him at Bentbranch Meadows in the Central Shroud, where he will provide them with further instructions.

Once at Bentbranch, Ywain explains that he intends to find potential persons of interest - those who may have known Gauvain or simply seen him before the murder. He asks WoL to cover the Bentbranch area while he surveys the Jadeite Flood, and recommends they meet up at the Bannock when they’re finished.

WoL questions three different individuals, and quickly learns that Gauvain has an extremely infamous reputation.

One woman at Bentbranch Meadows - a Duskwight Elezen - hardly knew the deceased. But she does recall an instance where he spoke derogatorily to her due to her race. She claims it doesn’t surprise her that someone finally grew tired of the man’s ego and prejudice.

At Galvanth’s Spire, a Miqo’te Wailer who served under Gauvain claims that the man was rude, condescending, and hypocritical. Many under his command greatly disliked him, with the only exception being a man named Thibault, an equally condescending second class sergeant who would regularly join Gauvain on patrols.

A fisher at the Mirror Planks admits that while out in the woods gathering grubs to use as bait, he’d witnessed Gauvain taking bribes from poachers. He wasn’t noticed but didn’t report the incident out of fear of retaliation. He also reveals that there was another Wailer present with Gauvain at that time; he didn’t recognize the other man, but notes that he was another Wildwood Elezen with slicked back brown hair.

At the Bannock, WoL approaches Ywain as he talks with the Third Spear Chief Sergeant. After informing him of what they’ve learned, Ywain reports that he’s heard much the same through his inquiries, and he is disgusted that Gauvain would abuse his power in such a way.

The Chief Sergeant, based on WoL’s description, theorizes that the other Elezen the fisher described was Thibault, adding that complaints about him and Gauvain were becoming more frequent in recent months. She had started filing a report to have the two suspended for their behavior, but is even more unsettled to hear these new bribery allegations.

Ywain theorizes that these misdeeds could be connected to Gauvain's murder. He also states that Thibault is definitely a potential suspect; if he was involved in the bribery scheme, he might have killed Gauvain in order to increase his own ill-gotten profits.

The Chief Sergeant informs them that Thibault left for a patrol near the Naked Rock in Greentear bells ago, and assures that the Third Spears will give their full cooperation in the ongoing investigation. Ywain asks WoL to locate Thibault and have him report back to the Bannock, adding that it’s best they not reveal the details of why to him just yet. The guild master also advises them to stay vigilant, as the area is a known raptor nesting ground.

When WoL arrives at Naked Rock, they discover a deceased Thibault, and must fight off a pack of anole raptors looking to make a meal out of the corpse.

It doesn’t take WoL long to realize that Thibault wasn’t the victim of a raptor attack; his injuries are nearly identical to those suffered by Gauvain. But as they process this turn of events, they are suddenly interrupted by the voice of a stranger, who callously mocks Thibault’s fate.

WoL comes face to face with another lancer - a Duskwight man with white hair, dark skin, and vibrant pink eyes. With little reluctance, the man reveals he is the one who slaughtered Thibault, acting disappointed because he’d hoped to watch the raptors chew on Thibault for a while longer. But now that WoL has caught him in the act, he insists they’ll just have to be the raptors’ next course.

The man charges, seeming intent to attack. WoL does not flinch, taking a defensive stance and maintaining eye contact. However, the tip of the lance stops just short of WoL’s face, and the assailant retreats with an amused smirk.

The impressed stranger - Foulques - claims WoL seems different from the Lancer Guild’s usual whelps. He suggests that they should forsake the Guild and allow him to become their personal mentor instead, arguing that their skills would be fully realized under him.

When WoL refuses, Foulques calls it a waste, claiming they will inevitably find only disappointment and betrayal with the guild. He decides he will simply have to show them - and all other lancers - the consequences of crossing him, and quickly vanishes.

When WoL returns to the Bannock, Ywain is shocked as they tell him what they encountered. He apologizes for unknowingly sending them into imminent danger, but is proud of how they maintained their composure in the face of such a dangerous adversary.

Since he’ll need to inform the Third Spears of the murder and the body’s location, Ywain advises WoL to return to Gridania ahead of him, where they can discuss these new developments.

Back at the guild, Ywain says that Thibault’s body has been recovered, though he’s frustrated that any answers the man held have now died with him. He states that while this Foulques seems to be their culprit, his statements to WoL indicate that his spree is unfortunately far from over. Furthermore, he remains convinced that Gauvain and Thibault were not random victims, as the vitriol, disdain, and violence towards the deceased are hallmarks of a personal vendetta.

For now, Ywain decides he will try to find any information on their suspect that he can. Until then, he encourages WoL to continue honing their skills, especially since Foulques is still out there and his future plans/targets remain unknown.

Level 15

Ywain informs WoL of several updates regarding their investigation.

After gaining more testimony from Central Shroud residents, the Third Spears have confirmed the legitimacy of the accusations against Gauvain and Thibault. Along with accepting bribes from poachers and bandits, the two were also extorting money from vulnerable civilians. The news has become the talk of Gridania, and the Wailers are now working overtime to investigate similar corruption within their ranks.

Ywain also reveals that he’s discovered some surprising information on Foulques. According to guild records, the murderous lancer was actually once a member, but was convicted and imprisoned for stealing money from the guild’s personal coffers. He was previously thought to have been killed during the Seventh Umbral Calamity, as the chaos and destruction resulted in several casualties at the prison where he was being held.

While Foulques motives remain a mystery, Ywain remains convinced that Gauvain and Thibault must be connected to a bigger picture. He insists that their best option currently is to locate and question more of the pair’s associates; these individuals are not only potential partners in their crimes, but also potential targets on Foulques’ hit list.

Since the Third Spears are already underway with their internal investigation, Ywain says he’s been asked to begin the same process with the East Shroud’s Fourth Spears. He asks WoL to assist him and sets their meeting place at Josselin’s Spire.

Upon their arrival, Ywain advises WoL to be discreet with their questioning. Direct accusations of wrongdoing might cause their targets to panic, shut down, or retaliate, so they should start with the more casual topic of familiarity with the victims. He also suggests that WoL look for any unusual reactions and responses, as this could be a sign of someone trying to hide information.

Two of the Wailers WoL speaks to are calm and forthcoming. The first barely knew the victims’ names until news of the corruption came to light, while the second was familiar with them many years ago, but was extremely put off by their conceited personalities even back then.

However, a third wailer that WoL approaches - a Hyuran man - quickly raises several red flags. He becomes strangely nervous and defensive when simply asked if he ever knew Gauvain and Thibault, berates WoL for “harassing” him, and gives the unprompted opinion that the ongoing internal investigations are a waste of time and resources. This Wailer ends up leaving in a huff, stating he has a training exercise to lead.

When WoL tells Ywain of this strange behavior, he agrees that this man might be someone to keep an eye on. Since the man stormed off without identifying himself, they seek out a superior officer - the Fourth Spear Chief Sergeant - to help with identification.

Based on WoL’s account, the Lieutenant deduces that the suspicious individual is likely a third class Sergeant named Ashton. According to the Lieutenant, he was close friends with the victims during their guild training days.

When news of the murders broke, many of the Fourth Spears had expected Ashton would need time to grieve. But instead, the Sergeant seemed agitated by anyone offering their condolences, and he’d become unusually anxious and jumpy in the field, as though he thought something - or someone - was watching him.

Just as Ywain and WoL plan to question Ashton further when he returns, panicked pleas for help suddenly ring out from the forest. WoL, along with Ywain and the Lieutenant rush in the direction of the cries, only to find three Wailer privates, heavily injured but alive.

One of the recruits explains that while they were conducting their training exercise, a lancer they didn't know emerged from the woods and attacked them. She recalls that they were easily beaten despite their best efforts, and that Ashton, instead of defending them, was terrified and ran away screaming for his life, after which their assailant abandoned them to pursue the sergeant.

WoL and Ywain quickly realize this assailant must be Foulques. The Lieutenant states that he'll get medical help for the injured privates, encouraging Ywain and WoL to give chase before Ashton ends up like his former friends.

Using the private’s story and footprints left behind, WoL and Ywain track their targets back to the Central Shroud. They eventually find the two at Lifemend Stump behind the East Vein waterfall, where Foulques stands menacingly over an injured and frightened Ashton.

Ashton addresses Foulques by name, begging the rogue lancer for his life. He insists that “what happened” wasn’t his idea and that he was pressured to go along with it. But Foulques isn’t swayed in the slightest by this, claiming that his cowardice only makes him even more pathetic in his eyes.

Upon noticing their uninvited guests, Foulques shows great disdain for Ywain, despite Ywain having never met him before. He claims he’s not surprised that the guild master would waste time rescuing a “sniveling coward” and claims it's a disgrace that he would have WoL’s talent dedicated to such a task.

Foulques discloses that a pack of man-eating wolves have recently been using Lifemend Stump as their den, hence why he chased a wounded Ashton to this spot. The sergeant’s blood has drawn their attention, and both WoL and Ywain proceed to fight off the wolves in order to keep him from being killed (this would be a modified version of the canon level 15 instance).

Foulques, while annoyed that Ashton still lives, admits that he’s impressed by the display. He once again laments how WoL’s talents are wasted by the “Coward’s Guild”, and even offers them a place at his side if they finish off Ashton for him. Ywain, frustrated by Foulques’ reckless violence and insults towards the guild, demands that he surrender and explain himself.

Foulques shocks Ywain and WoL by revealing that he, Gauvain, Thibault, and Ashton were all co-conspirators in the guild robbery. Eventually, Foulques felt guilty for what they’d done and tried to convince the others to confess with him. But the others turned on him, successfully taking advantage of prejudice against Duskwights to pin the entire crime on him.

The rogue lancer concludes with a declaration that he won’t stop until his former “friends” and the rest of the Lancer’s Guild are destroyed, before swiftly fleeing the scene of the attempted murder.

Despite being clearly disturbed by what they’ve just learned, Ywain maintains his composure, expressing his gratitude for WoL’s help. He plans to bring Ashton in and turn him over to the proper authorities, and asks WoL to wait for him at the guild so that they can debrief these recent events.

Back at the Lancer’s Guild, Ywain confirms that Ashton has been arrested and is currently being interrogated. While it might take some time to confirm the legitimacy of Foulques’ story, his gut feeling is that it’s the truth, especially considering Ashton’s earlier pleas for mercy.

Ywain assures WoL that he will let them know of any updates, intending to show them a new technique (Piercing Talon) in the meantime.

Level 20

A solemn Ywain takes longer than usual to notice WoL’s presence. He states that he’s glad they’ve arrived, as Swethyna was looking to speak to them. He goes to fetch her, though he's clearly still distracted by his own thoughts.

Swethyna personally thanks WoL for helping to bring the recent crimes to light. She admits that it infuriates her that this corruption occurred under her watch, but that as captain of the Wailers, she must accept full responsibility for these failures, and vows to make amends to those affected.

She announces that Ashton has not only confessed to his involvement in the guild robbery, but also identified the true mastermind behind the plot - a high-ranking Wailer Lieutenant named Nicodeme. The imprisoned sergeant also admitted to helping Gauvain and Thibault in more recent crimes, which were also masterminded by Nicodeme.

She’s already contacted Nicodeme for a “strategy meeting" at the Guild/Wailing Barracks with the intention to confront him. As the two driving forces behind the investigation, she would greatly appreciate if WoL and Ywain would join her for it.

Ywain initially fails to respond, but eventually snaps out of it, apologizing and excusing himself to get some fresh air. A concerned Swethyna asks WoL to go after Ywain, stating that since the last time they were in the guild, the guild master has become increasingly depressed and distracted.

WoL finds Ywain at the dock of Westshore Pier, and he asks for their forgiveness for his current state. He admits to them that Foulques’ story has left him feeling an immense sense of shame and guilt, despite the fact that the situation occurred prior to him having any authority in the guild.

Ywain tells WoL that before becoming guildmaster, he was a highly accomplished Wood Wailer along with Landenel Peaumasquier, his dear friend. Landenel was regularly judged unfairly because his father was a known criminal, and one day, that pressure and ridicule led his friend to make a crucial mistake in the field. Not wanting to see his friend unfairly penalized for a momentary lapse of judgement, Ywain took the blame for the entire incident, and was dishonorably discharged from the Wailers as a result. It was Swethyna who learned of his innocence and promptly righted the situation, offering him an apology on the Wailers' behalf and the position of guild master.

While the decision nearly cost him everything, Ywain insists he never regretted standing up for his friend, and that he can’t imagine the intense pain and hurt Foulques must have felt when his “friends” betrayed him.

When Ywain asks WoL their opinion, they agree that while Foulques’ actions are reckless and dangerous, his anger and resentment are understandable. Ywain agrees with this sentiment; while he can’t condone the murders and Foulques’ endangerment of innocents, the guild was also at fault for all this; their desire for an easy and swift resolution failed not only Foulques, but the co-conspirators’ future victims as well. Regaining his conviction, the guild master is determined to not only stop Foulques’ spree, but also hold those who set the man down his destructive path accountable.

WoL and Ywain head back inside soon after, and both agree to Swethyna's request to join the confrontation. Swethyna, glad to see Ywain’s self-assurance restored, thanks them as the time for the meeting draws near.

Nicodeme arrives at the Barracks, finding Swethyna, Ywain, WoL, and several Wailers waiting for him. The lieutenant questions why someone like WoL is present, insisting that confidential Wailer intel should not be shared in the presence of "civilians".

Swethyna shocks him by quickly revealing the true reason behind the meeting, listing out the serious crimes he's been accused of and demanding an explanation from him.

Nicodeme adamantly denies any involvement in the robbery or any other crime, claiming that Ashton is falsely naming him in an effort to save himself from harsher consequences. However, in his haste to dismiss the accusations, he accidentally mentions the exact amount of gil stolen in the Guild robbery - a fact that was never publicly disclosed.

A frantic Nicodeme starts to show his true nature. He takes out his lance, throwing insults and threatening violence in a desperate effort to escape his collapsing house of cards. The other present Wailers initially reach for their weapons in response. But Swethyna requests that they back down, instead asking WoL to handle the situation. Ywain encourages WoL to take up the challenge, which they do.

At first, Nicodeme scoffs at this, mocking Swethyna and Ywain for being so overconfident in "an amateur". However, WoL successfully bests him in battle. (This would be an instanced conflict, replacing the two canon instances that occur at level 20).

A flabbergasted Nicodeme can't comprehend how he could lose to a novice. Swethyna, however, claims this outcome was inevitable; she insists that WoL embodies the true values that Mistalle founded the Lancer's Guild on - courage, adaptability, and open-mindedness - and calls Nicodeme out as a fraud, a coward, and a common criminal.

The disgraced lieutenant is arrested for plotting, committing, and covering up the past robbery, as well as for his more recent crimes. Ywain expresses how proud he is of WoL's victory and takes some solace in the fact that the co-conspirators can now do no more harm.

However, this victory is short lived, as an injured young lancer recruit rushes in, terrified and bringing bad news. The recruit claims that she'd been with Jillian - the receptionist - on an errand at the Adder's Nest. But on their way back, they were suddenly attacked by none other than Foulques, who abducted Jillian by threatening to kill the recruit if she didn't come quietly.

Ywain is clearly distressed by this turn of events, but rationalizes that panicking will do no one any good. He notes that Jillian was likely taken as collateral, meaning that there’s a good chance she’s still alive. He plans to organize a search effort, imploring WoL to keep their eyes and ears open for any sign of the two.

Level 25

Ywain informs WoL that the search for Jillian has unfortunately seen little success. However, a written missive - supposedly from Foulques - was found outside the guild just under a bell ago. Swethyna will join them shortly to share its contents.

Upon her arrival, Swethyna confirms that the missive lists Foulques demands. Unless they meet him out in the North Shroud's Alder Springs the following day and hand Nicodeme over to him, the vengeful lancer threatens to take Jillian's life. He also swears to subsequently continue to slaughter more lancers at random until those demands are met.

While she holds no sympathy for Nicodeme, Swethyna insists that allowing Foulques to be his judge, jury, and executioner would violate the former lieutenant's right to due process, something she can’t set a precedent for breaking. She also adds that even if they give Foulques what he wants, the man’s own words indicate that his hatred for the guild will not be so easily quelled, and he might kill Jillian and others out of hatred for the guild regardless.

Ywain previously suspected this would be Foulques’ next move, and reveals he’s come up with a plan to deal with this exact situation. He asks WoL to bring him several items from across various parts of the Black Shroud: black bat wings from the East Shroud, kedtrap leaves from the South Shroud, and balloon bomb ash from the North Shroud. He claims these items are integral to his plan, and that gathering them will also be a test of WoL’s progress with their lance work.

WoL must defeat several black bats, kedtraps, and balloons in order to progress (all are spawned at the locations marked by Ywain on WoL’s map). Upon their return, Ywain praises them for their swift work.

Ywain reveals that the items WoL retrieved are ingredients to concoct an alchemical potion - one which will allow him to temporarily take on the appearance of someone else. He then announces his plan to impersonate Nicodeme and trade himself in the exchange for Jillian.

Swethyna, shocked by this dangerous plan, adamantly expresses her disapproval; she warns that Foulques may lash out in retaliation, and that it’s far too risky for Ywain to confront him alone. But Ywain insists that as current guild master, he must take responsibility for what Foulques has become and save Jillian, even if it puts him at risk.

WoL proposes a compromise by offering to “deliver” the disguised Ywain to Foulques; this way, if the situation escalates, they will at least have numbers in their favor.

Swethyna backs WoL’s suggestion, insisting that she can also have a backup team waiting at Fallground Float. Though initially reluctant to put anyone else in danger, Ywain accepts these terms.

Ywain plans to have an alchemist concoct the potion within the day. He thanks them for being willing to risk their own safety to help Jillian, before telling WoL they'd both best prepare for the upcoming battle.

Level 30

With the hostage exchange swiftly approaching, Ywain states the transformative potion is ready and that they will rendezvous with Swethyna at Fallground Float before putting their plan into action. Before departing, he compliments WoL as one of the best lancers he’s ever trained, and that no matter what awaits them, he will follow their example and face Foulques and the guild’s past mistakes with courage.

Just as she promised, Swethyna has assembled a back-up team, and encourages Ywain and WoL to contact her by linkpearl should the exchange morph into a physical confrontation. As Ywain prepares to take the transforming potion, he tells WoL to let him know when they are ready to head out.

As WoL reaches the exchange spot with “Nicodeme”, Foulques arrives soon after with a restrained Jillian. She attempts to apologize to WoL for getting them into this situation, but is cut short by Foulques, who orders her to remain quiet.

Foulques seems rather satisfied that WoL is the one to bring him “Nicodeme”. Once again, he tries to encourage them join him instead,

However, Foulques becomes suspicious of “Nicodeme”; the rogue lancer claims that the disgraced lieutenant's prideful and arrogant nature would never allow him to be quiet in the face of his doom. He raises his weapon, fully suspecting that he's been set up.

With their plan compromised, Ywain has no choice but to reveal himself the potion antidote he brought along, much to Jillian’s shock and Foulques’ fury.

Ywain attempts to talk Foulques down from his anger, reminding him Jillian has nothing to do with what happened. He informs the rogue lancer that all those involved in the robbery and coverup have been identified and arrested, and that they all will be stripped of their titles and imprisoned for their numerous crimes.

Foulques claims this isn’t good enough, and that he wants to personally watch the life leave their eyes for what they did. He insists that if they won’t give them what he wants, he will simply take out the three of them a a final message to the guild to stay out of the way of his revenge.

An final instance similar to the original takes place, except Ywain is present and assists in subduing Foulques. (At one point, Ywain continues to fight Foulques 1v1, while WoL must free Jillian from her restraints before a fatal attack on her can be completed, after which she will run off to get help. WoL will then rejoin Ywain against Foulques until the fight’s conclusion).

As the instance ends and Foulques seems to be reaching his limit, Jillian returns, having managed to reach Fallground Float to get help. She is joined by Swethyna and her backup team.

Foulques insists WoL and Ywain finish him off, but Ywain refuses, insisting that more death won’t solve this problem.

Ywain proceeds to apologize to Foulques for the injustice and mistreatment he faced years ago. He claims that the guild failed not only him, but all of Gridania and the other victims of the co-conspirators, and that the prejudice he was subjected to betrayed the very ideals the guild was founded on.

Ywain also states that while he can’t change what happened, he - as current guild master - takes full responsibility to right the wrongs of his predecessors. He insists that Foulques, as one of the victims of those wrongs, deserves to see that justice come to fruition.

Foulques seems genuinely taken aback by Ywain’s declaration, but his only response is a curt (yet also sad) laugh. He claims to regret nothing, and that he has no intention of returning to a dank cell. But he does admits that perhaps WoL and Ywain are perhaps not the cowards he’d assumed they were.

Foulques intentionally steps backwards over the cliff (unlike the canon original, where he falls in panic/by accident). WoL and Ywain rush to try and stop him, but by the time they reach the edge, he’s already disappeared into the misty chasm below.

As the Wailers secure the scene, Jillian thanks WoL for saving her life. Ywain also thanks them, insisting they’ve clearly mastered the art of lance work. But while he’s glad that Jillian is safe, he regrets that he was unable to get through to Foulques in the end.

However, Swethyna notes that while she can’t be sure, it’s possible that Foulques might have survived the fall. Her team have yet to locate a body, and while she must hold him accountable for the murders, she hopes that Foulques - wherever he is - will take Ywain’s words to heart and let go of his hatred for his own sake.

Ywain informs WoL that he will accompany Jillian to the healers to have her checked over for injuries. He encourages WoL to take their time in meeting with him back at the guild, as they are doubtlessly tired from the fight and shouldn’t overexert themselves.

Back at the guild, Ywain once again expresses his gratitude to WoL, and admits that he’s not sure he can teach them much more. He claims that while WoL was technically his student, he learned just as much from them, including how courage to admit to past failures is just as important as courage in battle.

Ywain insists he will not allow the guild to return to disregarding its shortcomings, as doing so will only delay the necessary steps to make amends. He concludes with his hopes to create a guild that even Foulques could be proud of. Lastly, he agrees to teach WoL one more technique (Lance Charge) and encourages WoL to remember to visit once they move on.

~~~

And that's a wrap! Thanks so much for reading!

If you enjoyed my writing, please consider sharing and leaving feedback!

[astroshitter]

saturn return in the natal chart

Saturn's return: Saturn in the chart represents our karmic destiny.  The karma of everything we could barely change.

This difficulty teaches us patience, perseverance, and setting boundaries. Saturn is also associated with all kinds of difficulties and troubles, both physical and mental suffering. Saturn is a planet of seriousness, discipline, duty and responsibility. Its main purpose is good; To help us grow, think rationally, control our impulses, act wisely and set boundaries. Saturn is also linked to the limitations we put on ourselves due to the past where we felt bound under a conservative belief of the environment we grew up in, as a result, the lesson of Saturn in our chart indicates an area where it will be very difficult for us to let go, but we will have to do so. Saturn completes its orbit around the Sun approximately once every 29 years. saturn return lasts approximately from the age of 28 to the age of 31, what is a saturn return or a planet return? When the planet orbits the entire zodiacal wheel in the chart for that matter, and returns to the exact point where it is located in our personal chart.

If, for example, Saturn is in my chart at 6° of aries, then when Saturn in its transits returns to Aries after its orbit to the same degree as mine, 6° degree, I will be in Saturn's return.

Because Saturn is a social planet and the time Saturn stays in each sign reaches to about 3 years on average (because there are also Saturn retrogrades that cause the planet to stay longer in the sign, and therefore the return of Saturn lasts three years on average, because it passes several times over its position in the personal chart).

Think of the return of Saturn and Saturn in general, as the following analogy: You wake up in the morning to a day full of plans ahead of you, enter the shower room, the weather is cold. You turn on the water, wait for the water to heat up, a few minutes have passed and there is no sign of the water getting any warmer. You're in a hurry, you have an important job interview in an hour and a half, and there's no way you'll leave the house without a shower. You do something - go in to take a shower in the icy waters in the freezing weather of March. You suffer, you try to hurry and time seems to last forever, and despite everything as time passes and you sense the end of this ice shower, you give one last push.

After you finished, got dressed, and took care of yourself You realize that you suddenly feel quite fresh, woken up. The return of Saturn is the shower of icy water, it is the "punch" to the face, and Saturn itself is the disillusionment and vigilance that follows the return.

Saturn brings with it a moment of mental clarity, it wants you to ask yourself and decide what you want to be, who you want to be.

The Saturnian return brings the opportunity to put on a new skin, but it also allows you to choose what color and shape you want to design on top of your new layer of skin. For example, you will have to shed outdated versions of yourself and allow the place and space to develop in ways you may not have expected.

If, for example, you have a Saturn return in the 11th house, the question to ask yourself is, is there a plan, a goal that you really care about?  What are your passions? Focus on finding a group of like-minded people to share your desires and vision with. It's time to take the vision and put it into action, support the dream and execute.

You may find that you are truly driven by a new willingness to innovate and explore things outside of the boundaries you set for yourself earlier in life.

By aspiring to have a more understanding and open outlook, especially at times when there is involvement of working with others, or with groups of people and communities towards a common goal, your Saturn return can help place in spotlight the ideals of the new future you decide to build for yourself, character development and unique thinking - to feel that your new, improved self, the true self that you may have been afraid to fully present to the world in the past, because you felt that for some reason you were not allowed to be completely who you feel inside; be proud to bring it to the center and present it with confidence.

[lady-laureline]

I want to get to the bottom of neurodivergent burnout. I feel like there are a lot of people that have no context to take it seriously in, so they don't.

As with a lot of these posts, writing this is my way of ironing out my own understanding - take it with a grain of salt, I'm not a professional. I've tried to keep it general but as I'm speaking from a late-diagnosed audhd experience, it will lean in that direction.

Also, depending on how much you relate, this may warrant a mental health trigger warning? There's self-talk that isn't very kind.

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The precursor to burnout is survival mode: a state in which the body doesn't allow itself to fully enter a state of rest, as it is perceived to be "unsafe" by the nervous system. Neurodivergent symptoms aren't always a cause for stress in and of themselves, but people displaying them quickly learn that symptomatic behaviour rubs others the wrong way, even if they lack the intuition to see why.

☁️ People don't like the way I behave.

×

This is compounded by miscommunication.

Say a divergent child says something that sounds neutral to them, but rude to everyone else. They might get reprimanded for hurting someone's feelings, but they don't see how what they said was hurtful. Say this child's requests for an explanation are seen as insolence instead of curiosity.

The adults might come away thinking the child needs more discipline. The child might come away knowing they did something wrong, but unsure as to what that was or how to avoid it in the future.

☁️ I can't trust myself to say good things, even if my intentions are good. If I say a bad thing, it's my fault even if I don't know why it's bad.

×

The more these situations crop up, the more the emotional takeaway morphs into low self-esteem and constant vigilance (to catch mistakes before they happen). As the child grows older and responsibilities increase, they are also faced with a more nuanced picture of society that they're already lagging behind - demanding more nuanced masking, which is already a separate workload - on top of battling those good old sensory issues.

To those who don't know what the fuss is about: you know when you have a fever and your skin is super sensitive? If you separate the tingliness from the discomfort, and then apply that discomfort to the rest of your senses, you'll get a pretty good idea of what sensory overwhelm is like. We don't all experience this the same way (for example, I'm generally fine with food textures but really sensitive to noise) or with the same frequency, but it tends to be both unpleasant and consistent.

These additional energy drains inevitably lead to feeling the effects of hard work without anywhere near the same results of our peers. The easiest explanation, and the assumption most uninformed make, is one of personal shortcomings. Laziness. Selfishness. A "bad attitude".

☁️ No matter how hard I try, it is not enough. I haven't earned my pain. I haven't earned my rest.

×

It's a frustrating experience, and all those feelings need to go somewhere. We learn skills such as silent crying to hide our "overreactions"; we use our anxiety as a driving force for productivity. Many disabled people have the dissociative method down pat. And then there's the assertive emotions.

Displaying anger out of bounds of the neurotypical context is a whole other kettle of fish. When the nervous system is cortisol city, things will boil over eventually. Any witness is likely to be unaware of the extent of the stressors that led up to this outburst, so it can seem to happen out of the blue. Plus, if the inciting incident appears insignificant to the onlooker, they'll probably think it's all a bit childish.

Say what you will about neurospicy social skills but we have a killer radar for cringe. Raise your hand if you smush down irritation on the regular. Better yet, raise your hand if you "never get angry".

☁️ My frustration is misplaced and out of proportion. If I show it, I lose the respect of people I care about.

×

Maybe we've been afraid to feel what we feel our whole lives, but there comes a point where something's got to give. We might even be making a conscious effort to get in touch with our emotions after years and years of ripping them down and sealing them away. It's a Pandora's box situation: once the seal is broken, there's no getting the horrors back inside.

That's usually the beginning of what is widely recognised as burnout. There is so much to sort through, life effectively gets put on hold, at least for those of us lucky enough not to crash and burn the moment we let go of the wheel.

Recovery isn't a matter of a little vacation time: it can take months or years, and it may not look like work but it very much is. The trauma runs deep and we have no choice but to get to the bottom of the trench if we don't want to be stuck in a permanent state of exhaustion. It can be isolating as there's not a lot of energy left for much else - overextend and your body will slap you back in line so fast your head will spin. And no, you do not get to choose what overextending yourself entails.

To anyone actually going through this, try not to keep yourself in check, at least when you're alone. Your psyche does not want to pretend anymore. Pretending has repercussions now.

×

It may come as a surprise that a lot of people don't take kindly to healing. A person in burnout recovery is (by necessity) less accessible, more self-centered, taking up more space and drawing new boundaries. Unmasking may reveal a person your friends don't understand like the contorted version of yourself they got to know. Furthermore - change, when seen as a threat, can cause people to lash out.

☁️ Healing is a punishable offense. It hurts those around me. They don't want me as I am, but they don't want me to change, either.

One of the things I've had difficulty accepting is that there are good, caring people in my life that don't deserve an explanation of what I'm going through. They might have a space in their hearts for the person they think that I am, but the capacity to truly get to know me isn't there, at least yet.

Once I'd been burned enough times, I made a decision to settle for nothing less than sincere interest as a prerequisite for any attempt to make myself understood. From there, it wasn't not far to the bittersweet realisation that the only person's permission I need to grow is my own.

×

I'm not sure how to wrap this up, which might mean future edits (there are always more edits), but the thought is complete enough to post.

I suppose there is no end to becoming one's own person, and even though the line between recovery and living can be blurry a lot of the time, existing with purpose is a decision each of us has to make.

I'm sending a telepathic hug to anyone who needs one right now. Take care of yourselves.

×××

The self-talk of some weird kid:

"People don't like the way I behave. I can't trust myself to say good things, even if my intentions are good. If I say a bad thing, it's my fault even if I don't know why it's bad. No matter how hard I try, it is not enough. I haven't earned my pain. I haven't earned my rest. My frustration is misplaced and out of proportion. If I show it, I lose the respect of people I care about. Healing is a punishable offense. It hurts those around me. They don't want me as I am, but they don't want me to change, either."

(I've included this depressing subconscious narrative because I think it's important to show how little unresolved rejections add up over time. One can put on a dazzling performance to meet social demands while believing all of that, and we desperately need community support that is informed and equipped to help them pick up the pieces once the show falls apart.)

[pesterloglog]

Jake English, Jane Crocker

Act 6, page 4188

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 6:05

GT: Jane!

GT: Forgive my botherations. I know this is meant to be a spanking ripsnorter of a day for you and all.

GT: But do you happen to know where the devilfucking dickens mr strider might be?

GG: Oh, that's fine!

GG: I had been meaning to message you sooner actually, but I suppose in all the hubbub today, it plumb slipped my mind.

GG: Which is a shocking fact on its lonesome, considering what I have to tell you!

GT: Egad...

GT: *Loosens collar a bit.*

GG: As for this Strider business, hrmmm. He's an elusive guy Jake. You know that.

GG: I talked to him yesterday. That's as much help as I can be!

GT: Shoot.

GT: I really need to ask him something but hes got his blasted auto responder turned on.

GG: Hoo hoo.

GG: I love that thing. :B

GT: He wouldnt be pleased to hear you say that.

GG: What do you need with him?

GG: Does this have to do with your crazy pen pal project?

GT: It most certainly does and time is of the essence!

GT: Today is the day i have to finish it and send it. Not a day later!

GT: So you see why i am feeling really friggin discombobulated at the moment.

GG: Sorry, J. :(

GG: This would be the birthday present... for your grandmother?

GT: No!

GT: It is for your grandfather simply to be *relayed* to him by my grandmother. A joint gift to him from she and i.

GG: Her and me.

GT: What? Who and you now?

GG: "A joint gift from her and me." Grammar, Jake!

GT: Oh for frigs flipping sake jane this is no time for your prudish pedantry! Leave your bookish malarkey in a dusty old library somewhere. I have an adventure to get on with!

GG: So if I have this straight, the big thing hogging up your plate today is not this marvelous new game which I have invited you to play with me, but finishing a robotic rabbit to give to my dead poppop?

GT: Bingo. *double pistols and a wink*

GG: You are a very strange and silly boy.

GT: Please jane we have addressed this.

GT: I am sending the gift back in time to when they are both alive and about our age.

GT: Or...

GT: Something like that. Something funny is going on here that i have not fully grappled yet but dag nab it if im not gonna see it through.

GG: Well,

GG: Godspeed, then! I do hope you can pull it off.

GT: Are you being fresh with me now?

GG: No!!

GT: Look jane i know youve never believed me and you think everything i say is some big cockamamie goofoff but i think today of all days is when you should start taking some things more seriously.

GT: Especially since i have always had your back. I have always believed in you!

GG: Hey! I have believed in you too.

GG: However, believing somebody isn't the same thing as believing IN somebody.

GG: But that much said...

GG: I think that maybe I am getting ready to believe some of the wild stories I've heard?

GG: Or, if not believe outright, reserve judgment on, at least.

GT: Is that so!

GG: I don't know!

GG: I'm still not sure what to think. But what I wanted to tell you this morning was...

GG: I had a really wild dream last night.

GG: And you were in it.

GT: Oh my. *glasses fog up. fumbles for kerchief.*

GG: Sh! Not like that.

GG: It was so real! I think we were in the game, even though we haven't started playing yet.

GG: I don't know what to make of it. Whether it was a vision of the future, or somewhere that exists now, or if it was just a really lucid dream due to excitement.

GT: What was i doing there?

GG: Um...

GG: Not a heck of a lot!

GG: I really want to tell you all about it, but it will take some time to explain, and we both have things to attend to.

GG: You with your time traveling rabbitwork, and I, my vigilant window gazing!

GT: Too true.

GT: Let us reconvene later and sort out all this shit at a leisurely pace.

GG: Yes, ok, good luck Jake!

GT: Okay you too jane! Bye!

golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG]

[toournextadventure]

hi how’s your day going?

let us about birb trama and her And the suicidal feelings inside and Quote from a series ( people run from this line between life and death , you seem stand at it and wait for a strong wind and sway you one way or the other , you careless with your life probably because your mother told you you are a waste of space and this planet and the problem is you believed her ) i think this is describe birb somehow after what she’s been through she is waiting for something to make a choice but wednesday and the other trying to give her a reason to survive, a few years with therapy and some life experience and nikkie wake up and she’s finally got her life back she will be fine

-🐳

Okay, I'll put a trigger warning right here (and in tags) and I'm gonna put it under a cut just so no one accidentally reads my thoughts when they weren't prepared/weren't wanting to! (seriously, if you're not 100% confident you'll be fine reading it, please don't. No risks, yeah?)

No, that quote is absolutely what Birb is like (I won't go into detail in the actual story because it's a lot for a lot of people and I don't want to risk triggering anyone). More of that ideation because, no she won't ever do anything about it, not on her own, but if it just so happens to happen? If the world just so happens to push her one way or the other? Well, she certainly won't complain.

It's not that she doesn't love her friends and found family, because she loves them so dearly. But so much has been taken from her, and so much has gone wrong, and sometimes you just... stop being careful. She stops looking both ways before crossing the street, or keeping vigilant when going for a walk. It's not necessarily something she's aiming for, but if it happens then she wouldn't be upset.

But that's where her support system and (future) therapy comes in. She can start watching the street, or checking her surroundings, or being careful with her hobbies. Sure, the recklessness sticks around, but at least it's not dangerous or with ill intent

[lireensilence]

“You’re under arrest!”

It was following these words that the cursed life I lived truly began.

It became this way under the jurisdiction of a boy – Yes, a boy, who shouted these words at me from atop a white horse. I looked up at him, but in place of the looming officer I should have found at such height, it was a fellow who'd looked only around thirteen years of age – he couldn’t have been much older than me.

He was blond, his hair thick and waving onto his cheek, upon which sat an insolent grin that made the rest of him entirely unbearable. He was dressed head to toe in white and gold, colors which only the most arrogant of men could dare to wear in public – But on the breast of his coat was embroidered the crest of the Holy Guard.

A boy as young as him, as cheeky as him, as lighthearted as him, was by all fact an officer of the most esteemed guards this side of the country had to offer-  and he was here for my arrest.

A joke – I thought, as I took running – This is a joke!

But I was well aware by that point, that I was God’s most favorite thing to laugh at.

.

My name, Alexandre De Graham, was read from the boy’s roster as if it were a mere chore he’d completed. I knew that I was one of many; my crime of petty theft was not worth the Guard’s time, but served well to provide training to the youngest of the troupe. The boy who pinned me to the wall took it quite seriously in that regard, and fought my every move with such vigilance- but my role as a training dummy became clear when he smiled again.

“There,” he’d said. “Are we done now?”

His playful tone scraped against every nerve along my back.

“Aren’t you going to arrest me?”

“Oh, but such paperwork.” Drawling this, he pulled his arm back and stepped away. My feet became ridden with a powerful urge to run again, but feeling that it would only delay the inevitable, I strove to take comfort in his lackadaisy.

“So what, then? You’re letting me go?”

“Well. I can’t do that. But I’ll tell you this– If you return what you stole, I’ll let you off with a warning!”

-- A warning? 

I couldn’t help but to scoff at it. Once again, ‘the inevitable’ whispered its vows overhead – But I considered the coins in my pocket, and their matches within any other’s pocket. My name was on a list, that much was true. But if they allowed that list into the hands of a boy such as this, then perhaps the money I had could buy at least a number of months uninterrupted. In that time, I figured, I could imagine a better way to deal with such a nuisance.

I drew out the coins and offered them to him– But likening further to the ache in my back, he shook his head and pointed in the direction we'd come from.

“Go back. Apologize.”

This was the future of the Holy Guard..!

.

Predictably, when the old woman was made aware of the situation, she was quick to fawn over his kindness, his radiance; I felt my skin burning from the grin behind me.

As I was readied to leave, though, the woman took my arm, and her smile, a vague shape casting between the both of us, became directly pointed toward me. “You’ve grown quite a bit for one day, young man,” She said. “You’ll have to eat to catch up, won’t you?” - When she said this, she pushed a coin back into my hand, and nodded to us both. “Have a lovely evening, boys.”

When she turned, she took the arm of a man, and tapped her path out with a cane. Figures,  I thought– But the boy grabbed my shoulder to turn me around, and held two more coins up to me.

“She’s right, you know~ You have a lot of eating to do!”

Laughing, he pushed those into my hand, too.

.

He'd said goodbye not very long after that, and climbed back onto his horse. I, attempting to let this strange afternoon roll off my shoulders, tried to turn my thoughts to how to best make use of the gifts. Just as I’d begun to sort it out, I heard the horse’s feet come to a halt, and the boy called to me once more.

“My name is Andrel Baker,” He said, and I looked at him. His smile, for the moment, was no longer cheeky and grating, but looked an odd sort of.. sincere.  In that moment, I recalled how few boys my age I actually spoke with, all while running about in the thick of it– I wondered how many he spoke with, from the hallows of that awful house. 

But then his face twisted, spitting at me with that same boyish amusement. 

“I’ll see you again soon, won’t I~?”

With that, he rode off. 

I took my winnings to the nearest pub, and asked for a small chicken pie.