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weepingpines.bsky.social
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@weepingpines.bsky.social
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🔞 | jjk and passing fancies | she/her

tell me about your music and your recipes and your favorite historical facts

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeepingPines/profile
tumblr: https://damn-that-shit-was-dope.tumblr.com/
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weepingpines.bsky.social
what song pls
November 24, 2025 at 10:10 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
last #WIP for Whoever Hears before I move that fic to the back burner to focus on some other projects. it'll be a while before I get back to it, so here's a full scene:

#stsg #jjk #satosugu
What follows is a complete scene from Whoever Hears This Melody, walking through a bit of backstory to set the scene for Suguru's current mindset: Suguru had been a painfully honest child, and so for obvious reasons he’d also been a very lonely one. He’d unsettled people. No one liked the kid in the corner, warning earnestly of monsters and staring too long at shadows. He’d unsettled people, but he hadn’t known, and so he hadn’t realized that when people thought of monsters they very often thought of him. They’d stayed well away. Friendships never formed, and neighbors never lingered, but that hadn’t been so bad. Suguru had been too little to understand that he was being shunned, and he’d not realized it was strange for a child to be so often all alone. Suguru was good at being alone. He’d been an imaginative kid, curious and prone to daydreams, and there hadn’t been cause to learn the words for loneliness when he’d been so busy running about, barefoot and starry-eyed, clutching at snails and rocks and whatever else had caught his interest as he’d explored beneath the endless sky. Nor had there been cause to concern himself with the dark looks and jagged words that dogged him—for all their gentleness, his parents had been fierce when it came to defending their boy. They’d been wonderful playmates, his parents. They couldn’t see the things Suguru saw—couldn’t see the monsters in the rice paddies, or the creatures he’d scratch out in black crayon—but they loved him, and so they’d done the best they could for their strange, honest son. Suguru’s father had taught him not to fear those lurking creatures. He’d told him bedtime stories—marvelous, sweeping tales—about beasts and demons and the brave heroes who fought them, and in the morning they’d romp about and fight monsters of their very own. They’d wave sticks and shout wildly and splash about in the garden pond, laughing and laughing, and Suguru would know that he was safe. He was safe because his father was watching over him, and his father was strong. And his mother— His mother had always been on his side. Suguru had been five years old when first he’d exorcised a curse. It had been a mucky thing, pulled from the river, and Suguru had obeyed some animal instinct and swallowed it right down. He’d come home ashen. Trembling. It hadn’t felt at all like he’d thought it might, fighting a real monster. He hadn’t felt strong like his father, or brave like the heroes in the stories. He’d just felt small. His mother had found him curled up in the bathroom. He’d tried to tell her what had happened. Tried to show her. But when the curse appeared suddenly at his side, responding to his instinctive summons and surprising him into a fit of hiccupping tears, she hadn’t been able to see. She’d believed him anyway. She’d held him close as he shook, and she’d rubbed his back as he sicked up black water. She’d cleaned him up, after, and wiped away his tears. She’d kissed his forehead and called him sweet pea. Then she’d made him cocoa in his favorite purple mug, aglow with painted fireflies, and she’d told him he’d been brave, and that she was very proud. And she hadn’t let on that she’d been terrified. She hadn’t let on that she’d seen how the bathmat grew suddenly sodden, soaking up mud from nowhere. She hadn’t let on that she’d seen how it shifted beneath an invisible weight. She hadn’t let on that she’d believed Suguru then like she’d never been able to before, and that she’d been terrified out of her mind for her strange, honest son. She’d just tucked him into bed and sang about the stars. About bright, faraway things. And that had been enough. They had been enough. It could have been a happy childhood had things stayed just like that. But people feared what they did not understand, and people did not understand Suguru. Eventually exclusion hadn’t been sufficient for the quiet boy with the watchful eyes, and when Suguru was old enough to start grade school he began to realize that he was different, and that he was unwelcome. His classmates had been nasty, his teachers suspicious, his neighbors very cold—and Suguru, caught up among them, began to realize that he was the reason for the dark looks, the jagged words. He began to realize that he was hated. And so Suguru began to lie.
November 24, 2025 at 5:12 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
October 30, 2025 at 8:55 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
I swear I’m making progress on my WIPs, and here’s a snippet from chapter 3 of Whoever Hears This Melody to prove it. In other news, I think I have a plot??

#wip #jjk #satosugu
Yaga briefs Satoru and Suguru on their joint mission. Conversation is swiftly derailed: “Do you even know how to buy train tickets?” “No, that’s what you’re for. Anyway, I can just teleport.” “You can’t even make it out of Tokyo.” “Can so.” Satoru stuck his nose in the air. “I managed Chiba in one jump, you know. Feel free to congratulate me whenever.” “Chiba is only fifty kilometers from here,” said Suguru, goading him even though that was actually very impressive, and he hadn’t known Satoru had managed something so far, and he expected lots of details once they were off on their own. He made a mental note to pick up a few celebratory packs of Digimon cards, too, or maybe some daifuku from that place with the fish tanks in the walls. “Yakushima is twenty times that distance. Not to mention you’re not traveling alone.” The look Satoru shot him was all glittering mischief and barely concealed pride. Suguru blinked at him. “No. Really? You cracked it?” “They all survived!” Satoru crowed, his smile blooming wide and triumphant. “And they were only like, a tiny bit smushed! I was gonna start practicing with mammals next, but Shoko’s being very possessive about her lab rats—” “What are you talking about?” Yaga said, cutting him off. “Are you talking about teleporting? With other living things?” He began to look mildly panicked. “What have you been practicing with?” Satoru grinned. “First years.” “He’s using beetles,” Suguru said, before Yaga went apoplectic. “Because the carapace survives even if the beetle doesn’t, and it helps him analyze what went wrong.” “And what went right,” Satoru said, nodding. They’d brainstormed the perfect test subjects over a ferociously competitive game of H-O-R-S-E, some weeks ago. “Survivorship bias, or whatever.”
October 17, 2025 at 6:15 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
the words aren’t flowing and that akaza backstory was brutal. coping with lots of baking and an hour straight of iris by the goo goo dolls
September 14, 2025 at 10:12 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
hashtag geto suguru needs a hug #wipwednesday
Suguru is sitting on a bench outside a bakery, putting off swallowing a curse: There had been a pile of messages waiting for him when he’d finished exorcising the curse, and already his inbox was full again. A little smile tugged at his lips, reading through them—but he hesitated when he raised his thumbs to the keypad. He could be overly conscious of himself in stupid ways, and texting was among the worst of them. Seeing his own thoughts written out and immortalized made him far too critical of what he was saying, had him reading and re-reading, had him doubting his phrasing and wondering if Satoru would see too much—too much of his aching heart, too much of his murky belly. By the time he vetted a response well enough to press send, Satoru would already have sent another barrage of texts and left Suguru far behind. Much better to call. To hear Satoru’s bell-bright voice distorted through the phone in that way that made it deeper. To hear his exclamations and interested little um-hums as they chatted about everything and nothing. To hear the crackle of laughter and know that even from a distance, Suguru had made him smile. Satoru answered on the second ring. “Suguru!” he crowed, so loudly that Suguru could shut his eyes and pretend Satoru was sat right there beside him, could pretend the warmth of the bakery at his back came instead from an arm thrown about his shoulders. “Perfect timing.”
September 10, 2025 at 2:51 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
don’t mind me and my battery of old-women OCs #wipwednesday #jjk #satosugu
Suguru sighed. "Cursed energy. That's what you’re seeing, when you look at me. And especially—" he gestured at Satoru, who was happily poking at one of the ginkgo trees, "—when you look at him. It's a bastardized form of spiritual energy. One that’s made up of all the negative emotions of humanity." Obaasan hummed, her expression veiled behind a cloud of smoke. "And all that cursed energy congeals into—" "—cursed spirits, yes. Which sorcerers exorcise." They fell into silence. Suguru twirled his unlit cigarette between his fingers, and the old bat puffed and puffed on her pipe. At the sudden sound of Satoru’s bright laughter, they looked over in unison and watched his feet disappear as he swung himself up into the foliage. A single leaf drifted down in his wake. It landed in the sake left out among the roots. Obaasan blew out a cloud of smoke. "I find that arrogant." Suguru squinted at her, but said nothing. She had a flair for the dramatic that suited her shitty personality in the worst sort of way, and he knew it was futile to try and interrupt her carefully-placed pause for effect. Sure enough: "Spirits are the progeny of the gods," she went on. "Of the old ones. And yet humans claim responsibility for such acts of creation? Please. You’ve always had a big head, little viper, but you’ve never been stupid." "Non-sorcerers are responsible,” Suguru snapped. “Jujutsu society has endured for thousands of years. You think they haven't determined the exact source of their only reason for existence?" “Bah.” Obaasan clacked her teeth around the end of her pipe. “Well, what’s the counterpart?” “What do you mean?” “You say cursed energy comes from negativity. So, what manifests when the spiritual energy comes from positive emotions? From joy, and curiosity? From wonder?” She looked at him over the tops of her bifocals. “From love?” Suguru thought about it. "Nothing," he said. "It doesn't create anything." She waved a gnarled hand. "It must. With the spirits there is always a balance." "Sorcerers keep the balance.” The old bat laughed her smoke-addled laugh. "And where do sorcerers come from, I wonder?"
September 3, 2025 at 12:37 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
cheeky little high school reunion. could be under better circumstances, but whatever #wip #satosugu
We’re in a room with Shoko, Yaga, and Suguru. Satoru is unconscious in Suguru’s lap. Entering the conversation: “We can’t prove any of this was calculated,” he continued. “Satoru was the only sorcerer capable of facing that curse.” “They sent him out alone, against my express orders,” Shoko began hotly, but Yaga waved her off. “I’m not defending them. I agree this was meant to cause his death. I’m saying we can’t prove it, which means the higher-ups can’t be held accountable by the clans.” “Not like the Zen’in would give a shit anyway,” Shoko muttered. Suguru’s lip curled. “I can think of a way to hold them accountable.” “So help me,” Yaga said, pointing a thick finger at him, “I will break your goddamn nose if you kill one more person.” Suguru had his nose broken before. It wasn’t so bad. “Believe it or not, the council does serve a purpose,” Yaga went on, rubbing his temples. “It was formed in the aftermath of Ryomen Sukuna’s reign of terror. The whole point was to regulate sorcerers of exceptional, generational strength so such destruction would never happen again. We know Satoru is trustworthy, but what if someone of his caliber was inclined toward great acts of evil?” He gave Suguru a pointed look. “Like wiping out the majority of humanity, for example.” Suguru scowled. “If I’m not allowed to kill indiscriminately, neither are they.” Yaga squinted at him. “I liked you better before.”
August 27, 2025 at 2:44 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
a snippet of Suguru in the village for #wipwednesday #stsg
The world went suddenly quiet. Those babbling voices, high with acrid fear, were extinguished like a flame before a gale—a quick snuff, and they were cast all in darkness. Something went dark in Suguru, too. He didn’t hear the sound of the bodies dropping behind him. Didn’t hear the screams as they rose up through the village. Didn’t hear how they echoed, and swelled—a great cry offered to a god who might have been merciful, if only he’d been listening. Suguru wasn’t listening. All he could hear was his breath. It came wet and smothering through air made humid by the spray of blood, by the atmospheric pressure of his own cursed energy. In and out, he breathed. It whistled, rattled. He thought maybe he was drowning. He thought maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. At least then he’d find some rest. He left a matchbox curse with the children. It was a sweet thing, as curses went. It cast clever shadows. He’d spent lazy afternoons splayed out beneath its dappled shade, coaxing it into fantastic shapes at Satoru’s behest. It would always remind him of Satoru, now. Perhaps that was why he’d summoned it to help the girls feel safe. By the time he stepped outside to witness what he’d wrought, the screaming had faded. The buzzing had faded, too. All it left in its wake was a vague sense of peace, so total and unfamiliar he thought maybe he had drowned, after all. He recalled his curses. The world had gone slow and syrupy, and they too came to him unhurried. They came to him sated, and engorged. They came to him trailing bits of meat and hair. One of them, the yuki-onna, was clutching a small mirror, taken from a home in the village. It was meant for a child, Suguru thought. Pink, and covered in little yellow flowers. He turned to the side and vomited. Monkeys, he thought, again and again, like the repetition was the same as conviction. There was still a twist of sour bile in his throat, in his empty stomach. He hadn’t eaten in—hours. Days. He didn’t know. That must be why he was shaking. Monkeys, he thought, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth, dragging his hands through his hair. Some came loose in his fingers, brittle and dull. That didn’t rattle him like it once had. He’d become accustomed to all the ways he could fall apart. Monkeys, he thought, when he returned to the little girls, when he stepped over the bodies of the elders. The faint hum of applause had long faded, but as Suguru broke open the cage he thought he’d finally done something worth praising. He hoped so. Because there was no going back now.
August 20, 2025 at 1:13 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
if yall have cats I recommend making them a ball pit of coffee filters
August 19, 2025 at 3:07 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
new #wip for #wipwednesday

suguru has defected. he’s doing alright. satoru isn’t.
August 13, 2025 at 2:12 PM
weepingpines.bsky.social
finally have a wip for #wipwednesday #stsg
August 6, 2025 at 4:37 PM