#I'm going back to my fanfiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osamusriceballs · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober Day 13 <3

Bokuto x edging

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~1,6 k

Kinktober Masterlist II -> Next day

"You like that? Oh, I can feel you clench, you really like that."

A grin sports his lips as he dives into your pussy again, his tongue relentlessly licking along your folds and teasing your clit. His arms confidently grab your thighs and press you further down on his face, the sudden movement almost causing you to fall over as your hands nearly slip off the bed frame.

"Kou- slow down-" you whine, trying to sit up slightly, but his hands keep a firm grip on your legs and prevent you from moving away from his face. "Close already?" he rasps, attaching his lips on you again the second he finishes speaking. His tongue finds your entrance, ever so slightly pushing inside while his nose nudges your clit. The slurping sounds mix with his groans, your walls clenching every time he rubs against your clit a little harder. You know there is no stopping him once he has started eating you out- he could literally do it for hours, as he has proved to you in the past already. You feel the tension in your body, your high approaching way too fast under his thorough ministrations. He notices how you tense, his golden eyes observing you carefully when you clench repeatedly, and he slows his movements down, just enough for you to take a few steady breaths. "You taste so good, always so sweet for me."

Your hands clench around the wood, your body almost overwhelmed when he presses his tongue flatly on your core, it feels like a sweet torture to know that he won't make you cum just now, yet it still feels so good- but you can feel him slow down gradually until he's just sweetly kissing along your folds. His hand moves to your ass and squeezes the flesh before he slightly lifts you off him, his hot breath now only faintly meeting your clenching core.

You lift your body just enough for him to slide out from underneath you, and he wastes no time to turn your body towards him and to press his lips against yours. The salty taste of yourself meets your tongue, only spurring you on in kissing him even further and allowing him to explore your mouth. He groans, the kiss getting messier with every passing second, and his passion and lust are driving you crazy at this point. He slightly pulls back to look at you, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he leans down to kiss just below your ear. "You were close, right? I could feel it." The kisses turn into small bites, one of his hands now resting between your bare shoulder blades to hold you close. "Hmm, so close, Kou. Only you can make me feel so good." You grab his hair and let your head fall back while you enjoy the way he's kissing down to your chest, making sure to suck a small mark just belllow your collarbones. "I'll make you feel even better. Come here, baby."

Bokuto releases his grip around your body and grabs your hips to turn you around, which you willingly do. He presses your back against his bare front and keeps your legs spread with his hands, effectively exposing your cunt to the chilly air. You know exactly what he's planing to do, but you still find yourself arching your chest when he kneads your tits a few times, his thumbs brushing against your nipples ever so expertly, eliciting small moans from you, before his hands move down between your legs. His fingers quickly find your pussy, rubbing ever so softly along the folds and smearing the wetness along your folds. You gasp when two fingers slowly enter your hole, pumping at a steady and slow pace as he works them carefully into you. Your hips slightly buck into his hands, eager to have his palm rub against your clit and he immediately complies and presses his palm against you the second his fingers are buried knuckles deep inside of you. "That's it, baby, just take what you need," he proudly groans as he watches how his fingers disappear inside of your cunt, taking him so well.

He brings you close again with his steady pace, so deliciously close, yet still not enough. A needy whimper escapes your lips when he picks up his pace, his fingers curling gently inside of you to meet your sweet spot. He almost completely pulls his fingers out before he pushes them inside again, making sure you never feel empty when his fingers keep on fucking you. You feel the coil inside of you ready to snap, your body so, so ready to let go. Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth agape- but then he pulls them out for good this time.

"Not yet, baby." He brings his dirty hand up to your tit and squeezes it, smearing your arousal on your body. You're sensitive at this point, your pussy clenching repeatedly in need of more, in the need of your sweet release. "You're gonna cum on my cock tonight," he announces, his voice full of excitement as he has made his decision. "Please, Kou- fuck me then," you whine and wiggle your hips, and he kisses your shoulder one last time before he grabs your hips and presses your back down until your ass sticks out in the air.

You gasp for air when you feel the tip of his cock running along your slit, giving your clit, just enough friction to take your breath away whenever he rubs it a bit harder against you.

"Oh, baby, wanna put it in so bad, can I? Can I make you feel good?" He groans when he spreads your cheeks to look at your glistening cunt- almost like an invitation for him to keep going. "Do it, Kou, please put it in. Want your cock, need you so bad," your whole body is aching for him at this point, your pussy throbbing with need and making it impossible to think. A groan leaves his lips when he finally pushes his cock inside, slow and steady, but still determined and strong-willed. He always stretches you so well with his girth, the feeling so welcome and just what you need and you only manage to whine into the bed sheets as he keeps on filling you up. A groan leaves his lips when he bottoms out, and he stills for a few moments, his chest heaving heavily when he takes a few breaths. "Please, please, move-" you whine, feeling like you're going crazy with every second that he's making you wait any longer, and he finally does. His hips move hard against yours, moans leaving your lips at every particular deep thrust, but your body moves on autopilot, meeting each and every of his thrusts, which makes him dig his fingers deeper into your hips. You can't even speak at this point, your body getting closer to your high so fast after being edged for a few times already, yet you don't care, only encouraging him to move faster and deeper to get closer to your high.

His pace is punishing and fast at this point, the sound of skin clapping against skin filling the room, along with your moans and his groans. "Feels so good, feels so good-" you gasp, your body almost burning at this point, so close to stumbling over the edge.

"That's it, come with me, let go for me-" a desperation coats his voice that makes it impossible for you to stay sane any longer, and you find yourself cumming hard on his cock when he brings one hand to rub on your clit, giving you just enough pleasure to lose control. Your back arches further, allowing his cock to slide in even deeper while you moan his name, your walls clenching around him, making it almost impossible for him to move when your walls grip him like a vice.

"So good, baby, so good, keep cumming for me-" a groan gets stuck in his throat and he stops his movements when he's cumming too, your walls fluttering around him while he coats them white. He's calling your name, always so vocal when he's reaching his high, and fucks into you until he whines of overstimulation, but his hands never release their tight grip on your hips.

He slowly pulls out after a few moments, making sure to be soft and gentle, giving your ass a last squeeze before he lets himself fall to the bed dramatically. His hands make a grabby motion towards your body and you weakly comply and lay down on him with your head on his chest, basically feeling his strong and fast heartbeat under your hand. His arms wrap around you immediately, the warmth of his body so welcoming and cozy. "Was that okay?" he is quick to ask, while his arms soothingly rub your back.

"Always so good to me, Kou," you weakly whisper when manages to pull a blanket over the two of you, and he happily hums and presses a kiss to your head. "Wanna spoil you, baby. Wanna give you everything." He entangles his legs with yours, not leaving an inch of space between the two of you, yet still making sure you comfortably lay on top of him. "Get some rest, baby, I'll take care of you when you wake up." You tilt your head and look at him, his smile so bright that it rivals the sun. You weakly whisper something against his chest, and his smile widens when he understands and responds.

"I love you too, baby."

213 notes · View notes

ruershrimo · 6 months ago

Text

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 6: beginning

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be shy and scatterbrained, or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen, when in reality it’s just what I want to happen. But this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.”

You haven’t told her you love her too in years.'

'And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

---

You and Megumi set out to prevent an emergency involving Yuuji and a cursed object. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen. But at least everyone is fine in the end, even if it means you'll have to walk away from almost everything (or maybe it's the other way around).

You're going to be all on your own. Still, now it seems like this will hurt less now.

word count: ~8k; tws: none for now :)

17-6-2018

The two of you walk down the lane. It’s midnight. There’s a loitering silence in the air, no words exchanged between you and him, and it twists your heart in brief moments of hurt when you’re not trying to keep your mind occupied with other things. Your legs move subconsciously without you caring to think of them, the route to the hospital ingrained in your mind as if intrinsically there.

At some point, you think your hand with its sweat and its grip is going to leave imprints like a marring on his skin, but it’s of your own selfishness that you choose to hold onto his wrist anyway.

There’s a million things you could say to him right now, things you’ll forcefully push to the very back of your throat, things you’ll keep under lock and key in a mangled mix of quiet anticipation and sombre anxieties. Right now you’re holding his wrist and that’s enough for you, to have him walking behind you if not beside, to be two people near each other— not together— in silence since any conversation is not an option; any conversation could lead to the last spark needed to be fanned into the flame for it to erupt bigger and brighter than ever before.

If you asked about Tsumiki right now, or why either of them never bothered to speak to you since 2016, it could break you apart, of that you’re sure. And even without words it threatens to do so to you like a chandelier of melting wax candles hanging above you being suspended precariously from the ceiling or light lightning soon to be thrown down mercilessly from the sky.

“The turning to Sendai Hospital is on the right.”

“I know the routes better,” you let out, and rather disappointingly it sounds brasher and more derogatory aloud instead of the unobtrusive tone you were aiming for— you hope it doesn’t hurt him but then wonder why you still even cared that much about how he felt about what you said or did anyway, “I got myself accustomed to taking the one on the left that leads you through. Quick shortcut and all.”

You’re not looking back, but the light pull of his hand from the hold of your wrist seems to suggest his slight reeling back in a small sense of surprise and an equal amount of shock, as if suddenly remembering the fact you were your own person, that you had your own autonomy as one, because somehow everyone thought you weren’t.

It’s strange to look back at how you were before: meek, timid. Too shy to speak up. Too innocent to be angered by anything. Always dreaming, mind bleary as if on a cloud in blurred skies, hiding behind the backs of others like a petrified forest critter.

And now you’re this— this person who frowns and disagrees and retorts at every little thing, and as much as you have to, as much as it was nearly inevitable the way you turned out, all you can think you share with the person you were when you first met Megumi and Tsumiki was your need to be useful— and even that has been exacerbated by how you’ve grown, how you’ve become this person you grew into. And a part of you— no, just you as a whole— doesn’t like yourself at all.

Your father was right. That little girl was hopeful, obedient, kind, caring— you don’t know why even then you were dissatisfied with the way you were, or why your dissatisfaction would matter because at that time you’d cared so little about everything besides caring for people and having fun with the pair of siblings that you were so rarely bothered by it, that it was still just a slight whisper from the back of your head that could be shushed or tuned out with library visits and nights in front of the TV and the glow of old cartoons. Your father was right and this is proved even more by the fact that the whole situation just infuriates you on the surface, and just makes you feel like an empty, hollow shell left behind when you reach deeper into yourself.

That little girl had potential, potential to be useful but kind, obedient and close to the people who raised her even if it meant abandoning her own ideals. But you’d been so devoted to them, you think, that she was killed and destroyed in the world she grew up in, and now there’s a space for her that’s left vacant due to the way she wasted away. You miss her, the girl you once were, you miss being her, how easy and lighthearted everything was and how all of you felt so content in every sense of the word. But you don’t want her back. Now that’s just what makes you miserable sometimes.

Self-reflection just made you feel revolted by yourself. You keep your eyes on the road.

“It’s here,” you state, pointing at the building in front of you.

Sendai General Hospital is an institution made out of bare concrete. Its walls are yellowed and close in on its wards like a prison, coloured using old paint that hasn’t been repainted over and is as pallid-looking as the skin of the people sitting on the beds it is inhabited by. Just being in it feels like a hit to the body and the brain and the senses, too. There are old-fashioned tiles on its floors, their pale beige hue muted yet the blinding shine on them harshly mopped clean. Inside it reeks of an imminent presence of sickness or death or illnesses and conditions never to be able to be defeated and sterile sanitisers. Looking at the latex-blue curtains in it feels like a blindfold unwantedly, forcefully pulled over both your vision and your ears.

“You and that Itadori seem close.”

“We are,” you say, then you add, not really knowing why, “He’s my best friend.” Maybe you’re trying to make him jealous, rile him up a bit. But even then you wouldn’t want him to be riled up, nor would you be satisfied if he were to keep silent. Maybe you just wanted to hurt him, to hurt him back or something, if only for something small, even if you’d already resolved not to do so.

You’ll make sure not to do that again, though.

Instead he does something else, takes another route instead. “Then it seems you visit his grandfather often.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod as the two of you enter the hospital, and you have to blink a few times as always in order to adjust yourself to the light and how it reflects off the detachedly clean floor. “My mother’s here, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry— is she alright?”

“She’s okay, I… think. She… she got sick a while back and stays here now,” you explain, “Let’s not talk about that…—I mean, I… don’t really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” It just makes people feel worse.

He doesn’t push further and you suppose that’s okay. Your chest hurts a bit, like phantom pain on a wound that’s still there. There’s not really a way to explain it but almost everything makes you feel that way these days. Everything makes you feel horrible to some degree. Maybe it’s being a girl, maybe it’s being a teenager, but it’s not quite either, you guess.

“He won’t be here for a while,” you say, “He’s either still in the room where his grandfather is or he’s buying flowers for him.”

“Then I’ll just contact them and let them know the whole situation first.”

Who’s ‘them’?

“Okay.” You turn your back on him, “—wait.”

“What?”

“Do you have any emergency contact or something? Like, a trusted adult who could help you with any of this? In case things go really bad?”

“...why would you need one?” he questions.

You roll your eyes, “Just give it to me, damn it… if there’s anything I have nowadays, it’s probably foresight for stuff like this. For emergencies.”

He gives you the number, albeit a bit begrudgingly. Why’d he have to be so pissy about anything and everything?

“Okay, thanks. I’m going to visit my mother now.”

The air and the colour from it seems distant as always, the ward she was basically imprisoned in smelling of the indistinguishable mix of sanitiser and sickness. There her body chains her to her bed, and there is little she can do besides rely on and weakly cling to the nurses who assist her, a frail shadow of what she once was.

“Hi, Mummy.”

She turns to you, and your chest constricts. Her hair, once much longer, the type that you dreamed to have as it billowed in the wind, the type that invited you caressively to bury yourself in and take in that heady scent of roses that emanated from it— that hair is now replaced with a cloth wrapped around her head. Radiation. Chemotherapy.

The wrinkles on her face make the difference between her now and her years ago all the more stark. Every visit you come back here, you’ve forced yourself to be acclimated to this new reality, one where she isn’t waiting at home no matter how tedious the fights get or how exhausting it was eating with someone who remained silent, someone who chose to continue suffering if it meant she could hurt and turn her daughter to guilt (as if that would change anything). At least she was there.

Cancer is a terminal illness, especially the type your mother is facing— regardless of how much chemotherapy she would struggle through and how much you didn’t want to acknowledge a truth so plain and conspicuously bare, she would be confined to this bed until her final days, her illness like gyves tying her limbs and forcing her earthbound; the bed a cage she could never be liberated from.

Sometimes she made it a point to you that she didn’t want to liberate herself from it anyway, and you’d never been so depressed yet irked by anything else. (You’d regret everything— not spending time with her, not appreciating her nearly enough— except for your decision to be involved in the Jujutsu world, if not as a sorcerer then as a doctor. That was, and is— your ultimatum. Your end all be all of this whole situation.”

“Hello. Where’s that Itadori boy?”

“Not here today, he’s still with his grandfather— maybe later.” You swing your bag over your shoulder, rummaging through it a while before pulling it out. “I’ve something for you, by the way.”

“Oh! These,” she exclaims, and she smiles faintly, bits of colour rushing back to her face like watercolour dots on moistened paper. “I used to make them for you, sometimes. They used to be your favourite when you were really little.”

“I know,” you explain, “That’s why I made them. I don’t like them anymore, but… I can’t remember your favourite food or if I ever asked, and I know you don’t like the food they give you here as much as… I don’t know. Your own cooking, I guess.”

“It’s not my favourite,” she states, matter-of-factly, bluntly, “But thank you for the effort. My favourite will always be my own mother’s cooking.”

Silence.

“Now that I look back at everything, there are so many things I regret. Things I should have done but never did out of fear; things I should not have done and never apologised for out of pride. I’d like it if you could be different. Your grandmother went out the same way. At least, even if you had the same illnesses as we did, which I hope the genes for which have been curbed by your father’s— at least you would not leave the world with regret,” she looks down at her hands, staring down at them solemnly like a shadow, an excluded figure. “But it was a good life.”

“...then maybe you can tell me more. While you— while we still have time. What was your childhood like? What was your mother like?” It feels strange, imposturous, maybe— to be referring to someone basically a stranger as “grandmother”, to name someone so far away from you so intimate, even if the only generation between you, tying the two of you together, was your mother’s. If you had a daughter it would be the same for her, most likely. There’s a part of you that would find honour in becoming your mother once you’d grown, but there’s a part of you that would think being such would accost you horribly, for all time.

She sighs, “I’ll tell you later. There would be so much to say, like compressing all my words into one tiny paper. The stories have weight in them the same way letters and words in handwriting can be firm and large. But if I were to start,” she begins, “I’ll say that I was born as the daughter of two very powerful sorcerers. Now, I know how much this would sound like some nonsense spouted by your mother, but I think you should listen anyway.

“My parents loved each other a lot, but my mother had come from an obscure clan whose name I can’t remember, but who had high hopes in them having a child with a powerful cursed technique as their last resort, since, if I recall correctly, there had been a crisis within the clan for it to keep surviving.

“I still remember when they found out I had no cursed technique and how terrified they were. In me I had a bit more than the relatively normal amount of cursed energy most people have, and so I was expected to have techniques as powerful as they did. They loved me and treated me preciously, like a fragile object, so long as I was quiet and demure— and I guess to some extent I still was and still am today. They wondered what they could do to run from the clan, as if they didn’t have enough power when they were supposed to protect me despite my father’s bullheaded industry and my mother’s patience-formed strength. They lacked grit to grapple against them, and only in this did they lack it, I think; only against my mother’s family did they not have the ability to resolve things whether peacefully or violently. And eventually they just gave up and thought they would just… surrender me over when I entered my adolescent years. I was their daughter. I… suppose they didn’t love me enough. I know it sounds awful— thinking that they should have always protected me, through and through—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“—when it could have been the clan itself that would have been mostly to blame.”

“But they were still supposed to protect you! They were your parents—”

“Why else do you think I am the way I am? I may be a shy and scatterbrained or a horrible woman with a muddled sense of morality or what I think should and should not happen when in reality it’s just what I want to happen, but this is why I’m so resolute, and so stubborn. This is why I love you so fiercely. All mothers are like that to some degree, even if my own would never let me bear witness to it.” You haven’t told her you love her too in years.

“But then when I was an adult I met your father, who was a bit like a country bumpkin, but a formidable sorcerer and a kind, honest person, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with the person he was both inside and out. And for the next few years we struggled to have a child until I found out I was pregnant with you,” she continues, “Even though by that time I was well into my late thirties, we were overjoyed and decided to keep you.”

Suddenly you wish there had been more time before things were ruined. Time for you to know her better, the beginning of your existence. You would have begged her for old photos, stories, mementos of her and your father.

“And now the clan’s faded into obscurity, finally. The younger members left and the older ones passed away peacefully. Happy story, right?”

“...yeah.” It all ended well, but you don’t know if you can say the same for your mother’s. At least, you hope, when she goes away, it can be swift and peaceful like the way her relatives did.

Then suddenly there’s a buzz in your pocket. An inconvenient one, out of the blue.

“You should go get that first,” she says.

“...okay.”

You lift it up to your face and feel like crushing the damn thing. Old number. Stupid number. Number you haven’t called in months because you’d given up on that bastard— oh. The two of you were working together now.

You turn away from your mother, creeping to the edge of the room. “What’s wrong?”

“I just talked to him, but I think it would be easier if you came back and was there with him too since you know him better than I do. And he… doesn’t seem like the brightest. He may think that it’s not important enough to hand over unless you ask him to or something.”

You muffle your voice with your hand and whisper, “Hey, you shut up, you know nothing about him. He’s way smarter than people give him credit for. But I’m— I’m with my mother right now. Wait for a second. Just ask him to wait for me first; he wouldn’t need any of my help for all of this yet. Make a friend or get a life or something.”

“...fine. But you’ll have to join us later. He’s bound to ask about you.”

“Then just tell him I’m with my mother!” you snap, still whispering.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wh— you little— oh, don’t you hang up now—”

Weird thing is, he probably wasn’t even being so infuriating on purpose. And you wouldn’t have burst out at someone for being that way anyway. It was only because it was him, specifically.

You’d sworn to put that past you.

Your immaturity strikes once again.

“If you have to go now,” your mother says, “You should. Just come back again next time. I can tell you the rest. Thank you again for the food, [Name].” She doesn’t call you ‘darling’ anymore, doesn’t she? Just your name.

“Okay. Sorry.”

You swing the bag back over your shoulder, wearing it this time instead of taking it off, easing your way out of the room.

“It’s okay,” she assures you, “Goodbye. I love you.”

“...I love you, too,” you say, but it’ll mingle with all the other sounds in the hospital, and it’ll be drowned out like a ship in the middle of nowhere, your voice soft and thoroughly soused by the cacophony of bleak noises like telephone rings and beeps from electrocardiographs outside of her deafeningly quiet hospital room.

“Hi, Yuuji,” you greet them in the dimly lit waiting area, “...and Megumi. Sorry to keep the two of you guys waiting for so long.”

“Oh, hey; it’s okay!” he goes, although in his voice it seems that there’s been some of his usual energy seeping away from him. “Didn’t know the two of you knew each other until just now or that you were a part of some magic curse society. Are you guys childhood friends who met because of all that cursed stuff or something?”

“Something like that,” Megumi explains.

“It’s a long story,” you say, not exactly denying him nor conceding his words anyway. Once again, there’s a trace of anger despite your promise to be untethered to your puerility like this. “Anyway, are you okay, Yuuji? How’s your grandfather?”

He pauses. “Oh, about that… he just passed away.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Yuuji…” you hold the fabric of his jacket (sometimes it still feels wrong to try and hold his hand— it just makes your heart ache again like a scab being clawed at) and pull him into a brief caress, patting his back as gently as you can manage.

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he smiles as you pull yourself away, “Grandpa wouldn’t want me to be crying right now anyway. So don’t worry.”

“Okay, I won’t. But if you’re sad, just know you can always talk to me.”

He laughs, softer than the boisterous manner he usually does so in, “Yeah, I know.”

Megumi clears his throat, pointedly trying to make a sound, “Anyway. Itadori Yuuji—”

“Just call him Itadori. You don’t have to be so uptight.”

“Nah, [Name], I’m fine—”

Megumi sighs. “Anyway, we need you to give the cursed object now.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” you start, “So, Yuuji, do you have the thing that Megumi would have explained to you? The cursed object? We need it for everyone to be safe, and all.”

“Yeah! Hold on, let me get it. I told you I didn’t have it already, but here’s the box,” he says, tossing it over to Megumi.

He retrieves the box. It’s ancient and wooden, the craftsmanship behind it elite and adroit, and the paper on it has the words for a buddhist sutra written on it like an inscription. You’ve heard of it before, the kind of curse it was meant to seal, but it definitely couldn’t be—

He opens the box.

Holy shit.

“Where is it?”

“It’s empty…” Megumi panics, “Wait— hold on!”

Things are bad— as in, they couldn’t get any worse— not only was the school doomed by the loss of its cursed object, the cursed object was Sukuna Ryomen’s finger itself.

You blame your inadequacy, your inability to have stopped everything sooner— if not for that nobody would have gotten hurt. If not for that there wouldn’t even be a risk of anything happening anyway. You should’ve tried harder to sense it, and you should’ve focused more on it to keep the student body safe and sound.

It was your fault. No one else was to blame but your useless self, and even if that were wrong, you’d still have the most to be blamed for.

Megumi has a hand on Yuuji’s shoulder, keeping the other boy from moving, his breathing erratic and his eyes wide in frantic shock.

“...well, they were saying, ‘let’s open it up to see what’s inside it tonight’,” Yuuji clarifies, standing a few centimetres away from the door, “Why? Is that bad?”

Sasaki and Iguchi?

The air in the hospital feels particularly chilly tonight, gooseflesh terrorising your skin all over, and for all the kinds of reasons that would cause anything like such.

“It’s way worse than bad,” Megumi declared, fear and grim so thick in his voice they were tangible enough to be cut through with a knife. “Your friends are going to die.”

“We’ve got to go,” you rush, “Now! Quick!”

It passes by like a blur, as if you’re in that moment and out of it simultaneously. Your mind has been bombarded with and pressed so thoroughly onto the moment, like tissue on a wet surface, that it seems it’s being blanked out, while your legs continue to run despite your mind nearly forgetting, at this point, why you’re running— as if your legs moving so frantically to help them was something intrinsic, something you didn’t need your mind for.

Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger. Sasaki and Iguchi are in danger.

You didn’t know them all too well, really— just through Yuuji, and Yuuji himself wasn’t as close to the two of them, being their junior and all. And although a part of you was doing this just because you could, like the way you did when you first discovered your cursed technique, you knew that another was doing this for Yuuji. If in any way they were hurt or could not survive, he would blame himself to no end. He possessed such a kindness within him, so much that it hit the depths of your soul sometimes; shattered your heart so gently a million times over or heated it in the kindly way mothers heated pans on stoves despite the heat of it being greater than that of blue flame. If anything happened to them, no matter how much or how little he knew of them, he wouldn’t be able to live after that.

The two of them are near the barrier separating the school from the street before you (you struggle with catching up to them— one’s a star athlete and another has been training for much longer than you, you’re sure), the gates tall and enveloped in darkness. You didn’t think much of school except for when it came to your grades and being with Yuuji, thinking of these gates— the ones that you and Yuuji use when you’re running super late— in particular as just a shortcut entrance you paid little attention to, just something treated with indifference as you passed through them whenever you were late. Yet now they echoed denial, refusal, and slim chances— it was unlikely that they’d be alright, especially since this cursed object in particular was the finger of Sukuna Ryomen.

“Is that the building?” Megumi questions, “Where are they?”

“Fourth floor— guh!” Yuuji seems to come to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming into what seems to be an invisible wall. A veil.

“Yuuji!”

“I’ll handle this,” Megumi declares, hopping onto the metal wires, more directed to Yuuji than you. So even he can tell how selfless Yuuji is, even after only having just met him.

“I may not know those two that well, but—” Yuuji starts, “But they’re friends! I have to help!”

“You’re staying here,” Megumi commands, “[Name], if you could— get your father or any sorcerers you know to come here and help.”

He climbs over the gate.

He’s going away from you again. Slipping away from your grasp. And now, all you can do is watch. There’s nothing else— nothing else you can do, at all. If you went inside now, you wouldn’t be able to help except— what?— tend to their injuries? Manipulate your own cells into weapons? The former wasn’t possible with how much you’d strained yourself from running so quickly earlier, and the latter was too dangerous: you hadn’t even started with the basics of that yet, on your father’s obstinate insistence that even if he’d let you play doctor he wouldn’t let you manipulate any of the cells in your body into any kind of usable weapon. Any simple wrong move could make things turn south in the most drastically terrifying of ways. If you went in there, you’d just die, and there’d be more casualties, more trouble, more problems caused by you and you alone.

You can’t even call your father, either. That would always be your last resort— because even if you fought, you still needed him to rest. You didn’t want him overexerting himself by using his cursed technique at all.

(You were selfish. You didn’t want to lose your father. You didn’t want to have to visit not one but two parents lying sick and tired and grey in matching hospital beds.)

“Yuuji?” you start, turning to him. “You’re…deathly quiet. Are you okay?”

His lips quiver slightly, a faint whimpering noise coming out of him. Is he crying?

“Yuuji, look at me. Are you okay?” you ask, as gently and softly as you can right now, despite your ragged, unsteady, unathletic-addled breaths. You place a hand on his shoulder, slowly rubbing up and down from his shoulder and crook of his neck to his back. “It’s okay. …Megumi’s a good and… capable, strong person and jujutsu sorcerer. He’ll be okay, and they’ll be okay too. Just… just put your trust in him, okay?”

“I’m sorry, [Name], but I’ve got to go,” he tells you, “You stay here, and call for help or something. I’m sorry, but I’ve just really got to do it!”

He hugs you, quickly, deftly. And then he crosses the gate, leaving you all alone like Megumi did. You wish he’d hug you longer, that you could take care of him for a little longer— it was your last way to be useful now.

Still, there’s someone you could call, now that you remember him.

The emergency contact.

You snatch your phone out, resolute.

“Hello! Gojo Satoru speaking,” the voice on the other line says.

You’ve heard it plenty before by accident.

When Gojo and Megumi are back, Yuuji’s in the form of a figure slung over Gojo’s shoulders like he’s been reply entrenched into slumber, his body seemingly limp and his torso completely bare. There’s barely an ounce of movement in him, except for slow exhales and inhales you can see on his chest. Sasaki and Iguchi are both nearly the same, the former covered in bruises and in a deep, panicked haze, and the latter as asleep as Yuuji seemed to be while harbouring injuries he may never recover from.

The only non-roughed up one here is Gojo, it seems; Megumi has a stream of blood running from the top of his head in rivulets, staining his sweaty, scraped forehead.

“Wh— you two, what happened? Why are they all asleep? What happened to Yuuji? Are they okay? What—”

“Calm down, kid,” Gojo says, “They’ll be fine. I mean, there’s a 100% chance that your friend can be executed, but…”

“Executed?” you almost scream, “What the hell happened? You said things would be okay!”

“Uh-uh, again, calm down. I mean, we don’t even know when they’re gonna make him kick the bucket! He ate Sukuna’s finger, by the way.” He holds his arms up in faux surrender.

“Gojo you ignorant slut! Don’t you fucking dare tell me to ‘calm down!’ He ate Sukuna’s finger? Why weren’t you able to stop anything? What’s going to happen to him now? You know what— give him to me!”

“You know, it’s not like I’m scared of being hunted down by your father if you use your cursed technique— I mean, I’m leagues stronger than him— but the stuff was too strong. It’s not like you’ll be able to get rid of the finger in your little boyfriend.”

“He’s not her boyfriend!” Megumi interjects.

“Thank you, Megumi!” Your face is going hot like a campfire fanned by the wind.

“Oh?” Gojo adds, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Anyway, we’re going to get him to a place where we can cover everything with talismans to surround him.”

They’re going to execute him at Jujutsu High after.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You sure?” Gojo asks, “Your father isn’t going to like you travelling so far away without telling him.”

Megumi shifts, a little sombre. “[Name], you don’t have to.”

“...I’m doing this for Yuuji, not for you.”

“You okay?” Gojo asks while the three of you are back in the hospital. (You hate this building so much.) Iguchi’s been transferred to a ward, Sasaki having woken up and insisting on staying with him. “I’ve got kikufuku if you want some. You must be really tired since it’s so late, huh?”

The whole situation is so incredulous you’re unsure of whether you want to burst out laughing or dismember someone.

“...nothing. Wait, let me see Yuuji again.”

Everyone is asleep, it seems— all except for you and Gojo. Yuuji’s been knocked out, and Megumi’s stuck in the world of his dreams.

You can’t sleep. There’s just nothing to put your mind at rest.

At least if there’s one thing you can do it’s this.

Gojo picks him up by the sides of his torso (now temporarily clothed with a spare white shirt) like a child with a heavy book. “Woah— he’s pretty heavy for a fifteen year old kid.”

You lay Yuuji face-up on the line of hospital chairs. There are thin scarlet marks right under his eyes— Sukuna’s eyelids, you’ve been told.

You should’ve done more to protect him.

Slowly, reticently, you kneel by the side of the chairs. You press your fingertips onto that pair of thin tiny lines.

Nothing happens. You can’t picture his cells being able to grow back. It’s as if there’s been a slit on his face and its outline has been replaced with brand-new skin. His cells don’t budge.

“Why don’t you help Megumi? I bet he’s got plenty of healable injuries.”

“…I don’t think I’ll be able to help much. I could faint if I try helping him now. It’s better to leave it to Dr Ieiri or something.”

“Pft,” he scoffs, “Shoko? She’s definitely not going to heal all of him. It’ll just be a waste of her time. You can just help him with the tiny scrapes and bruises first. And I’ll even tell her that you did it. She’s really fond of you, you know.”

You give him a shy, modest smile. “Thanks, then.”

It’s time to get to work.

Megumi’s skin is smooth like a baby’s just like the last time you felt it, though the frown on his face, ever-present, is bound to cause wrinkles there in less than a few decades’ time. You place your hands on him, bruised and bloody, watching in your mind and directing his cells as they work.

Once the smaller injuries have been dealt with, you stop. “I can’t really work on the one on his head, since then you’d get another fainted person to carry around, but he should be fine with some bandages and patching-up there, because I’ve already kind of catalysed the start of that area’s healing process a little. Other than that, he should be completely fine. I’ll give it, say… two weeks or so for it to get better completely.”

“Good work!” he smiles, the outline of his cheeks visible on his blindfold.

“By the way, Mr Gojo…”

“You know, I appreciate the respect you’re giving me now, but just Gojo is fine.”

“Okay, Gojo. Do you think Yuuji will be okay?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure. And I’m going to ask them to suspend his sentence. I’ll just see whether he wants that or not once he wakes up.”

“That’s the thing. I’m not sure if he even will.”

Gojo laughs. “Don’t worry. He was really strong, and able to switch between being possessed by Sukuna and being himself at will. We haven't seen that kind of talent in a millennia! I’m sure they’ll listen to me, anyway.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. Thank goodness. “If you need any type of payment, um… teleport to my house whenever you get inconvenient little cuts like bruises and stuff. I can help.”

“Nah, reverse cursed technique’s got me covered.”

“Oh, wait— I forgot about that— um… I can…”

“Just leave it to me! No payment required,” he exclaims, holding both thumbs up. “And for the record, the one who wanted to save Yuuji was actually Megumi.”

You wouldn’t have imagined that would happen. Megumi— pragmatic, serious, unkind when he needs to be (no matter how kind of a person he actually is— no, was— at heart), different from Tsumiki in so many ways. There was no way he would have been the one vouching for Yuuji, someone he’d only just met, to be spared.

“Really?” you ask, “I… wouldn’t have thought he was the one who would do it. I thought, maybe, you were just… really kind tonight or something…”

“Well, maybe it was because he saw how much you cared about Itadori and did it for you, or maybe he had met Itadori, liked him, and just wanted to save a good person,” Gojo suspects, “But if there’s one thing for sure it’s that your old friend saved your new one.”

“...oh.”

You’ll have to bring it up with him next time— maybe, if he’s still there tomorrow…

“I know you’re mad at him, but a lot has happened,” Gojo states, voice lower, softer like a schoolteacher’s, “Still, I won’t tell you that you have to give him a chance or any of that. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to thank him or anything. I’m sure he did it out of his own volition without expecting anything from you. He knew he probably didn’t deserve to if it were you.”

You pause. “No, it’s just… I’ll talk to him again the next time I see him. Alone, most likely. And I can figure something out. I think that would be the best way to go around things. Thank you, Gojo.”

18-6-2018

The aftershocks are still there, although you’ve come out unscathed.

Last night was a mingled mess, a blur. You’d tried your best to help Iguchi by the time Yuuji was placed in the room of talismans and you could come back to the hospital and visit, but in the end he still needed better help than that. His injuries were too large of scale for how you were at that moment, already tired after healing some of the numbers done on Megumi.

(You were useless. You couldn’t help anyone. You couldn’t prevent Yuuji from being hit with such soul-striking guilt., couldn’t help Sasaki from being traumatised, couldn’t help Iguchi enough for him to be back at school soon—)

Sasaki’s injuries were limited to bruises and scrapes, but though you could help her physically, there was nothing you could do to assist her emotionally.

You stayed with them for a few hours in the ICU and then one of the hospital wards (a floor under your mother’s), your father calling you once the sun had risen.

“Gojo Satoru told me about everything that happened.”

“Yeah. I know you’ll scold me, but… not now. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” You hang up.

For all you spoke of wanting to be useful, the night when your powers were needed the most was when you were at your most useless— you couldn’t help them, you couldn’t help attack the cursed spirits, and the only thing you could do was call for an adult’s help like a little, scared and helpless girl.

You needed to train, and train harder than you had been doing for the past few years.

There’s a knock on the door, a dot-dot-dot-dot-dot. dot dot. It’s Yuuji, you know it is. How ever could you not?

Timidly, movements quiet like the room itself, you pull the door knob, seeing him there, relatively unscathed. You sigh in relief, a moment’s respite before you return to the panic you had been living in before since you deserve the respite less than other people do— no, you don’t deserve such a break at all, you’re absolutely sure of that, not after what you pulled, how horribly and utterly useless you were, you’ll remind yourself of that again and again and again— the heart-piercing guilt and the worry and the constant need to care for the people around you, almost like a mother, maybe, but you don’t like that thought as much as you think you should. Maybe if your own mother knew, she’d disagree— maybe she’d tell you that you should be a mother, maybe she’d ignore that you were also a child at certain times— the most convenient ones, probably. When she thinks it good that you, a child, were someone’s caretaker because women should take pride in and appreciate that, she would encourage you to be one; when she thinks it bad that as a caretaker and a so-called ‘adult’ you can have your own autonomy, agency and opinions, then maybe she’d remind you that in her eyes you knew nothing of the world. But maybe, just maybe, there was also a chance that she wouldn’t be like that in any way.

But you wouldn’t put it past her.

“Yuuji, are you okay?” There are questions about to spill out of you, tears about to fall like gushing rivers, but you’re just happy he’s alive at this point.

“Yeah.” His voice is soft. Your chest twinges; it hurts like an awful, intransigent little bruise. “Hi, [Name].” It feels so unignorable, the way it’s filled with such sorrow and worry that it weighs his usually loud and boisterous voice down.

“I thought that—” you start, lips trembling, “I thought there was a chance I couldn’t lose you. The only thing I could do was—” you sniffle, “Hope that they could delay it or something.”

“Yeah. I’ll explain it later,” he says, his voice sincere.

You squeeze the wrist of his sleeve. “Don’t do things like that ever again,” you plead, “Promise me that at least.”

“I promise.”

“And keep your promises.”

“I will.”

“...want to come inside?”

He walks inside, and you step back to make way for him.

“Sorry I came so late,” he says to you and Sasaki, who shakes her head in reassurance. “Hello, Sasaki,” he greets, “Is Iguchi okay?”

They speak for a while— you don’t feel like it’s much of your right to join their conversation, since you did nearly nothing at all when they were most in danger, so you leave them be for a while. It would be better not to bother them right now, anyway. They’ve both been traumatised until it reached beneath their bones within the past twenty-four hours.

When you leave the hospital, Sasaki tells you that she’s going to stay. You tell her to take care, squeezing her hand one final time.

You let her, patting her on the back. You’ll call them later— she’d given you her contact— just to check on the two of them.

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask Yuuji.

“Oh, Fushiguro? I’m not too sure, but that Gojo guy said he’ll be there soon.”

“Where, though?”

Sheepishly, in peak Yuuji fashion, he scratches the back of his neck. “Actually, another reason why I came here was also because… I mean, I know you and him weren’t close, but I’m going to the place where they’ll keep Grandpa’s ashes, and I think… you know, you could come with me. I… I don’t think I’d be able to do it really well alone, even though he had definitely made it clear he seriously didn’t want me moping around after his death and all. Gojo and Megumi will probably be there, but I thought it would be better if you were there because I know you better than those two, and you’re my friend. So… could you come with me? I know that he never really showed it, but I think he had always liked you a lot. Like, he was happy we were friends and stuff.”

“...mhm. I’ll always be happy about that,” you tell him, before pulling him into a hug. The guy must need one right now. You’ve never hugged him before. Your heart hurts.

The air is hot and humid with the breath of summer, bundles of mosquitoes bound to be breeding new ones these next few weeks. Up in the sky is the sun, bold and bright, glaring down harshly at the two of you.

“Before he passed away, Grandpa actually said something. He… kind of cursed me, if I’m being honest,” Yuuji starts. “He said I was a strong kid, so I should help people. And I’m going to do that. So that was why when Gojo asked if I wanted to be executed immediately or just eat all the fingers before dying, I chose the second option. I… I think I want to help people that way.”

‘You’ve already helped people enough. You helped me,’ you almost tell him.

You frown, because that’s the only thing you can do right now. You search for words to say the same way you do looking for dog books in libraries chock-full with those of other genres. “I’m… disappointed, I— I know I should be grateful, grateful that you’re still going to be alive and all, but… you’re still going to be in danger, and you’re still going to be executed one day. I mean, again, I know I should be happy you’re going to have more time alive and that I can still see you, but what if things don’t go as planned? What if you lose control of yourself once you reach, like, the fifth finger or something?”

You’re selfish like that. In a way, you’re just the way your mother is. You should’ve always known— you were her beloved daughter after all, and the people you know would be loved the same way she did you since the day she knew of your existence, and maybe even before that.

“Don’t worry,” he grins, wide as always. Even in an over-enveloping darkness he still manages to be the light. “I’ll be just fine. I’m a strong kid, after all. And we’ll always be friends!”

Gojo asks if he and Yuuji can talk in private for a while. You wonder if this was how your mother felt as she had to give the person she loved most away (but you will have to go away, one day), because you can briefly tell what Gojo is going to ask. You wonder if she felt this twice.

Yuuji can’t stay with you forever. In the same way you can’t remain by your mother and father’s sides for all eternity.

This won’t be the last time you’re here, you think. For a place of death, it’s quite a bit beautiful how there’s such large masses of grass and plants surrounding it.

Megumi nearly walks past you, his eyes on the old photographs of the deceased all around him.

“Megumi.”

He turns around.

“I just wanted to thank you for wanting to save my friend, even if you may not have wanted to do it for me, specifically… um… I didn’t expect that you’d still be here. Are your injuries okay?”

“I’m okay,” he answers you. “And also, I…” he hesitates, the first time he’s talked to you for something actually related to the two of you in a long time— nearly two years if you’re counting correctly, but the thoughts in your head are a bit too jumbled to count at the moment. “I didn’t really do it for you, though. It… it was for Tsumiki.”

“Oh.”

“Wait! I’m sorry, that didn’t… come out right. But I should also apologise for something else. You wouldn’t have been thrown into this world anyway if not for my own demon dogs years ago.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault. And I would have wanted to be in it anyway. There’s not many who can heal other people and all, so I just thought… even if I can’t do as much yet, since I don’t have reversed cursed technique and the drawbacks that come from mine are really bad, I can still help people sometimes if they’re dealing with relatively minor injuries. I can, um… make things easier for people. I can be useful like that. I’d keep to it anyway, because I’m stubborn, but… yeah. It wasn’t your fault, really.”

“Okay. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m happy to know that Tsumiki is okay.”

Silence again for a while. The air turns a little more sombre, and a lot more awkward.

“She is. And Itadori seems… like a good person. I think it’s good, that… you were able to find a friend like that.”

“It was. He’s a really, really good guy.”

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

“I do. He’s a really good friend. If there’s something I’ll always know I know that, at least.”

“I can see that. It doesn’t seem like he loves you back in the same way, though.”

“...wow. Way to be blunt, Megumi. And yes, I do know that, too.”

“Let’s just… change the subject.”

“You’re the one who introduced it in the first place.”

“Okay. How… how are you?”

“I’m good. Wait, I think you should… go back to them. Maybe they’ll need you there right about now. He’s probably going to have to go to Jujutsu High, right?”

He pauses. “Yeah. I’m sorry, [Name].”

“No, no. That’s okay. I expected it. It’s just that I’ll miss him a lot,” you tell him, “He took care of me, kind of. You know I’ve always been a bit of an awkward or shy person, but he still approached me since I was new and we ended up hitting off as friends, kind of. We did a lot of stuff together.”

Sounds pretty familiar, huh.

“If you want I can make sure he’s safe for you.”

“...you should be able to do that regardless of whether it’s my wish for you to do so or not…” you state, “But that would help, I guess. And I’m sorry for my attitude towards you for the past few hours or so. Thank you again.”

“...I’m sorry I never spoke to you for so long, by the way,” he says abruptly. ‘By the way’? Classic Megumi…

“I could tell you were. It’s… it’s okay. The two of you kind of have a habit of doing that.”

All your rage, your loneliness, your feelings of abandonment— and this is all you can do. This is all you can say. You can only just let it go, in the end.

“I’ll explain it all one day.”

“You don’t have to if it’s hard.”

He stays. “No, I will. I promise. And I promise I’ll start to talk to you again, as well. I was just… scared of a few things, maybe.”

“That’s okay.”

The two of you aren’t quite friends again yet, but it’ll happen soon. Maybe. And even if it doesn’t, you’re finally able to say, with an open, honest heart, that that doesn’t matter as much anymore.

“I guess this is goodbye again, then.”

“Not really.”

“Oh, right— promise to keep in touch, okay? My patience is running thin with you,” you chuckle at that last part, attempting to joke and make things lighter again.

“Promise.”

“I’m going to go home now, by the way. Please tell Yuuji that I wish him the best and I’ll visit when I have my own money to visit Tokyo and all.”

“I will.”

“And help me say goodbye to him for me,” you add, “Hope that’s not too much for you to do. Sorry for the trouble. It’s just that I’d actually just about cry if I had to do it in real time right in front of him. Be good to him and be good friends, okay? Keep that promise, at the very least. That’s the one thing that I wish for the most.”

“Bye, Megumi.” You turn back in the direction opposite of his.

“Wait—!”

His hand is on your wrist. Now you’re in front of him, like yesterday, and he’s holding your wrist, albeit a bit gentler than the way he used to pull it a whole eight years ago.

His eyes are cast away from you, slightly avoidantly and in a way that’s a bit abashed. “I’ll miss you, [Name].”

“It won’t even feel like I’m not there,” you say. Though his grip is slightly tight, he loosens it as soon as you try to slide it up, as if he’d let you be free of it if you want him to.

You squeeze his hand instead, turning to face him. It feels warm. It feels like there’s blood coursing through you, the sensation more tender and tangible than it’s ever been.

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, [Name]. I’ll… I’ll call.”

“Thank you.”

Now you’re the one slipping away from his grasp. You move your hand away and walk back. The door slides open.

2010. Springs, summers, autumns, winters. Hands on wrists, a back faced to your eyes, wide with innocence. Warmth and laughter and happiness and love. Days coloured with vibrant hues and time spent with dog books and in libraries. Frowns were greeted with smiles. Hesitance was non-existent. You didn’t feel a need to compensate for your uselessness. You were a child. You didn’t feel useless at all. You just felt this: a constant leaping in your heart, the corners of your mouth twisting up into a juvenile grin, braiding someone’s beautiful brown hair and tying it with a pretty cherry hair tie.

You want to cry as you walk back home.

You’re pretty sure you do.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

70 notes · View notes

rawliverandgoronspice · 1 month ago

Text

Gantober #4 - Seafoam

(Wind Waker, Ganondorf & Beedle, non-graphic violence)

Tearing himself off a broken seal, Ganondorf discovers his homeland disfigured by an endless sea —and a stranger calling it home willing to help.

(Full disclosure: I'm flying off the seat of me poorly remembering my decade-old Wind Waker walkthrough and details gleaned back on vague research I did over a year ago, so I do apologize for any dubiously canon choices made here)

---

Ganondorf had waged wars larger than the sky. He had crushed skulls under his boot as an afterthought. He had basked in roaring infernos, found comfort in the musk of old blood. Even his own torment, either while sealed beyond reality or when his body had twisted to unnatural shapes from his restless abuse of Power, he had grown to rely upon as something expected —and therefore, under his control.

But there he stood, stranded on a mere constellation of sand in the middle of the night, staring on and on at the black sea surrounding him from all sides.

And nothing seemed to stomp his rising horror.

Salt. He didn’t mind salt, usually. Here, it was dizzying. A wound in the earth. A wound where Hyrule —his Hyrule— used to be. Water had swallowed all of it. In the darkest depths of the sea, there lied his castle, his hard-earned victories, the villages he sacked and those erected in their place by the monsters serving him. He may have broken the seal forced upon him, but his entire life slumbered down the abyss. For how long did he drift, outside of time and space? There was nothing left but salt. Angry froth surrounding him from all sides. The Goddesses did not care for what they once called holy. What was there even to yearn for anymore, beyond wreckage and mud?

The infernos had all drowned. Even he was now drenched and cold; his ageless bones incapable of resisting neither the waves or the rain.

He did not notice the boat that beached nearby until it was too late, and it took its sailor two attempts to finally catch his attention.

“All good sir?”

Ganondorf tore his eyes from the shore. The man who screamed at him from the deck was a stickbug of a hylian, with a horrendous bowl cut and a drooping pink nose. His sunkissed, freckled skin shivered under the tremors of a coming storm, but still: he smiled, with concern. “Not to assume nothin’, but it’s a sad old place to be shipwrecked if you ask me!”

Hands on hips, face open, eager to help. Obviously clueless as to who he was.

Nobody had stared at Ganondorf that way in hundreds of years.

He considered killing the straggler and taking his embarkation for himself. Faster, easier. But of all the many skills the gerudo king had perfected during his unnaturally long life, sailing had never even crossed his mind as something worth his attention. And the thought of trying to keep this poorly wielded rotting wood afloat in a storm, hands coarse with ropes he couldn’t make sense of above miles upon miles of this terrible salt water that wanted him back in the dark... A sharp pang of hatred seared down his throat. The Goddesses must be finding his predicament oh so hilarious.

The stranger, named Beedle, made what room he could for him on his bark; but said bark was tiny, and Ganondorf could only fit against the wall of the inner cabin, stuck between crates of food and heaps of arrows. A ceiling lamp swung above his head followed by a swarm of eager moths, threatening to set his forehead on fire. The hylian’s sunny disposition dimmed somewhat after Ganondorf’s pointed silence and lack of outward thanks for all this effort, but he still refused to let it die entirely and carried the conversation for them both.

“Hoping my humble abode can be a welcome shelter for the time being, my good sir.” Good sir. Ganondorf bit his tongue not to emote. “Please don’t be shy around my wares as well! If something catches your eye, I’m sure we can agree to somethin’ or another!” The hylian’s eye nicked at his jewelry, barely attempting to be subtle. “It’s rare to see folks as fancy as you in these parts. It’s the pirates, you see. I suppose it’s them who gave you trouble?”

Ganondorf evaded the too-intense gaze of the merchant. Of course, in this sparse flooded world, information would be as precious as rupees. He elected to be as greedy as he could in this particular department.

“I simply… got lost,” he muttered.

His voice was rough, ancient, looming. He didn’t sound like the way he remembered. The small hylian tensed and nodded, with a frown deep enough to suggest he was growing less worried about his guest and more about himself. Thunder crashed outside. A large wave rolled under the planks at their feet; the boat croaked, almost organically. Ganondorf shivered.

“Welp. Happens to the best of us I guess!” The owner scratched his bare stomach, his best efforts at joy dipping into nervousness. “Where are you going then? I can drop you off to any place that’s on my usual route!”

Ganondorf clenched his jaw. He had no good answer to this question. He didn’t know anything about this strange new world. Didn’t recognize anything. Where were they, right now? Above which landmark he could still perfectly recall in his mind, lively and luscious, sprawling under the indulgent sun of Hyrule?

“I… I don’t…”

He caught himself, this disgusting vulnerability in that shredded voice, before it could spill out fully. Anger smothered him instead; then something more painful, akin to the jagged cuts of weapons somehow lodged even deeper than flesh. He thought of gutting the pleasant man, right here and now. Take him apart limb from limb among all these goods and produce Ganondorf had never seen before. But the storm raged outside —and to be stuck there, in this claustrophobic cabin, waiting to be toppled over and drowned once again…

“Y-You know what?” Beedle proposed, hands joined, helpful in a way that neared pity. “I can take you to Windfall Island! It’s the biggest port around, and I’m sure you’ll find someone there who can help you out. You seem a little…” He swallowed. “A little... out of it, sir.”

His skin crawled. That idiot would strand him on an island full of hylians, chipper and knowledgeable and unbearably alive.

“No,” Ganondorf grunted. “Take me… Take me somewhere quiet, and near. Someplace with solid land.”

The hylian cocked his head.

“I’m not quite sure about that plan, sir. There’s a Fortress close-by, sir, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The waters are full of pirates. It’s not safe here! They’d capture you in a heartbeat, and oh!” The poor little man deflated, rubbing his bare arms, as if to ward off his own imagination. “They’d have ways to make you spill where the rest of your fancy gold is hidden, sir!”

Ganondorf couldn’t help his snickering. His right hand burned quietly under the full length of his sleeves. “A fortress, you say?”

“Horrible place! Dreadful place! They’ve stolen from me before, the vultures!”

“Take me there.”

Beedle’s eyes and mouth drew the shape of three perfect circles.

“Sir!” He squealed, red with offense. “No amount of rupee in the world could convince me to go there! I’ll never risk my wares, my very life…”

“Where I come from, merchants know to take risks when it matters,” Ganondorf said. And that much was true. Gerudo merchants had saved his kingdom countless times over before he was old enough to wield a sword himself. Not all of them returned home alive.

“And why on earth would it matter to me?!” Beedle crossed his arms, outraged. “They’ll shot my poor boat on sight! So whatever you could offer me in exchange…”

“You’re assuming I will let you refuse.”

Silence, if not for the roar of the sea.

The hylian’s eyes were large and misty, his knees threatening to give. “Sir…” He wailed, crumbling on himself, even tinier than before. “I rescued you.”

“And I am not ungrateful,” Ganondorf smiled. “Yet.”

The merchant sniffled and muttered under his breath the entire way, but it didn’t take much more than a few hours for Ganondorf to see the silhouette of a large structure overtaking the stormy horizon. Beedle tried not to cry as he slalomed through the coves and razor-sharp stones, knowing himself watched, both by his guest and the pirates outside surely well aware of their presence. Ganondorf considered telling him they would be safe from cannon fire no matter what, but decided to keep his magical prowess undisclosed for as long as he could. He simply didn’t know enough about the rules of this new world to fashion a reputation for himself yet. Dreadful outcasts with a penchant for knives and thievery, however? A consequence-less trying ground.

An anchor, in so many ways.

They weren’t prevented from boarding the pier, but were awaited right outside. The vicious wind swashed buckets of sea water over a collection of armed silhouettes, staring at the humble bark with open distrust and slight bafflement. Ganondorf eyed over each of them. About twenty, that he could see. All of them with pointy ears, safe for the two gorons in the back. Brown hair, blonde hair, white hair.

All of them men.

Ganondorf refused to give room to the childish hope within withering into something cold and empty, and advanced towards the line. Beedle made a whimpering sound behind him.

“That’s close enough I’d say.”

A man cut through the pirates and stepped forth. The bulky kind, bald-headed and scarred, with one golden tooth sharpened far past what most would think reasonable. He towered over his crew, but barely reached Ganondorf’s shoulder. He nodded towards the cowering merchant behind his back.

“Must have given that lad his weight in rupees to convince him to sail here. We have history, don’t we Beedle?”

The crew laughed, and the poor hylian was but half a breath from sobbing openly.

“I hear you’re the terror of the sea,” Ganondorf noted.

The man puffed his chest. “Aye we are. So what made you think it was a good idea to come check for yourself? Want to donate to the cause?” Every pirate openly eyed at the large jewels adorning his fine robes. Gerudo craftsmanship had always stirred outsiders’ imagination, even back when cultural context hadn’t been completely lost to the waves.

Ganondorf crossed his arms. “I suppose it depends on the cause.”

The pirate chief laughed, a bit too loud to be believable as effortless contempt. His stance was ever-slightly defensive. Ganondorf was being seized up, and correctly identified as a threat.

“Our cause?! Get richer than the lost kingdom through other people’s honest work! I didn’t think it would need clarification!” Another step closer, one that felt like bravado. The man held up an open palm that missed half a finger. “So how are you willing to contribute?”

Ganondorf didn’t bother moving. He stared deep into the washed-out green eyes of the pathetically wet hylian in front of him. Small threats. Threats of no ambition. This was all the Goddesses could handle, and not a single thing worse: mediocre hylians, content with their lackluster lot, fearlessly cruel in the pettiest of ways.

He shook his head, giving the surroundings a good look instead of paying the captain undeserved attention. Crows cackled above their head, and bigger birds seems to nest in the cliffs. Hard to navigate, tall and angry, strong against the storm, unpleasant to be around.

Suitable.

“I quite enjoy this island,” Ganondorf declared at last. “As for you, terror of the sea… You can all stay here and serve my cause, or you can take your leave right away.”

Some man in the back thought it was a joke and laughed; but the humor died down soon enough. Exclamations bubbled through the assembled crew like a fit of bad coughs, growing in intensity. Beedle hid his face in his hands, terrified, and muttered a prayer.

“What did you say?!” The captain belched out. “Are you out of your mind—who the hell do you think you are?!”

A younger version of himself would have used the opportunity to brag, just to feel the kick of his own resolve; a promise muttered back to himself. But Ganondorf was far past reassurance now.

“Or you can all watch each other die if you prefer,” Ganondorf added, with the familiar coldness that preceded his worst slaughters.

That was too much for the poor merchant. Abandoning all reason, the little hylian skedaddled back to his boat with a high pitch sound of distress. Smart move. The pirates were all focused on the actual danger, and Ganondorf would have disliked letting a survivor bear witness to the worst of what he could do. Now was not the time. And, after all, he had no reason to be ungrateful and needlessly destructive. Not everything had to end up in blood, he supposed. Violence was a lesson he’d have to unlearn soon if we was to re-adapt to this new, brutal reality.

But as of now…

“We’ll knock some sense back into you, old man!” the man spat out—old man? Ganondorf wasn’t sure he appreciated being perceived as frail and weary; those feelings were supposed to be private. But the captain didn’t seem to realize his overstep and unsheathed a crude saber to his face. “Everyone with me!”

They all attacked at once, swords drawn and eager.

Ganondorf grinned. Twin blades slotted into his waiting hands.

That simple joy, of all joys dead and gone, the Goddesses had yet to take from him.

The slaughter was over before it started. The pirates were even worse off than he feared. None of them would have survived the wars he had waged centuries prior. In this barren world of salt and greedy water, plunderers were weak and arrogant, and lonely travelers trusted so easily. The deluge didn’t even select the worthiest to carry on this accursed future.

Leaning from the highest balcony he could find, Ganondorf stared at a much quieter sea. Dawn brushed over the crests of wave in pinks and golds and green. Seagulls, crows and even angrier birds screamed their delight in the fierce offshore wind. Far in the distance, he could distinguish the shape of Beedle’s bark, fast escaping the trail of blood left behind. Ganondorf was taken by a vague need to acknowledge what this man had done for him, this thankless mercy drenched in unfair retribution. Do something just, perhaps. Sort the stolen goods and restore what once belonged to him. Make his effort worth something... but already, so soon, the little dot tipped over the foam and disappeared from view entirely.

The waves covered its tracks, and Ganondorf was alone.

He closed his eyes, allowing the sun to trick him into unguarded longing. But that couldn’t last. He couldn’t afford rest. He couldn’t afford peace. This was how the Goddesses had lured everyone else into accepting this; the smallness of letting oneself drift; an existence happily unmoored. That wasteland. That living wound they all called home.

Ganondorf turned away from the horizon, the sun, the wind, runaway boats with small cargo and far greater fears. The Triforce of Power scorched his blood-splattered hand. Ganondorf focused on the pain until it devoured everything else; and then, only then, could he start to think with regained dignity about the arduous path to triumph.

#gantober #ganondorf #beedle #ww ganondorf #wind waker #fanfiction #my writing #I have barely reread this!!! but I had fun #grumpy old sorcerer shaking his fist going “back in my dayyyy we waged REAL wars not like those lazy ambitionless sea dwellers!!!”#sure grandpa let's get you to bed now <3 #this one might also end up on Ao3 but I'm not sure if I put it on a separate fic or in a Gantober compilation #anyway! wind wakeyy #yo-ho-ho pirates and shit #(side note but: ganondorf being lowkey afraid of the ocean/fixating on drowning is a bit of a weakness of mine!! so ye)#(I do like making bad things even worse for him u_u I admit to this sin)

19 notes · View notes