#I'm sorry it took me a while to get back

[kunikiiida-kuuun]

Random humble follower + Kunikida fan hereee.

Just saw ur recent post on how u felt more lonely/like a burden after deciding to hang out with people at a party - totally feel u. I wonder why that happens? And is there anything that can be done? Sigh maybe it's cuz ima a working adult forced to grow up lmaoo. I actually went to a gathering (on Friday the 13th lolz) and felt the same way. Hope ya know that us online friends are here for ya! U give us happiness with u and Kunikida/BSD contentttt

Also love how u visited BSD locations in Japan!!! Are u gonna post more?? (no pressure lol) If u are, looking forward to ur next posts about themm adkjfa;djfkdj.

Hello fellow Kunikida fan!! It's so nice of you to reach out!! :')

Personally I think it's my poor self esteem that makes me feel like everyone is just putting up with me because they have to and also I'm just...socially awkward in any situation. Doesn't help that I've adapted to being by myself for so long that I don't really know what to do when I'm actually around people lmaooo.

I'm sorry that you had to go through the gathering with that unpleasant feeling too. I'd give anything to quit being an adult any day and go back to simpler times lol. Maybe someday we'll learn to feel better about ourselves? :') I'm here to talk to you if you would like to as well!!

Your message helped me make it through the last two days without being too miserable... thank you!! 🥹 I didn't know someone was actually following that series of posts ajdlslfsjk I'm so touched 😭😭 I have two more posts planned in my drafts and I'm hoping to post one today!

Thank you again, anon!! I hope you find something that makes you smile today 😭💕

[fridgrave2-0]

hehe ghost-turbo haunting felix au

turbo is connected to the last piece of his code in the whole arcade - a trophy he gifted to felix in mid 80s as a symbol of him genuinely caring about their relationships on par with being the best racer. felix also gave him one of his medals and both kept their gifts next to other rewards, but when roadblasters and turbotime were unplugged, the medal was gone with everything else

now, after burning in cola-lava turbo is basically dead, but scraps of his code still were intertwined with the trophy (after all, it was his first winner's cup, but felix never knew about it), giving turbo an opportunity to exist as a shadow incapable of interacting with anything and anyone besides felix, who kept the trophy even after the roadblasters incident

also I went crazy in tags, feel free to check them out

[azu1as]

Hi, Tin! I love your writing and I have a prompt for you, if you are interested) what if Tang family is too afraid of Tang Bo leaving permanently and eloping with Cheong Myeong? So they initiate marriage negotiations with Mount Hua. It can be angst (CM is socially isolated and insecure about his position) or romantic comedy (awkward situations and protective Cheong Mun), up to you). Thank you in advance!

It was a well-established fact that the Dark Saint of the Tang Family was one of their generation's best.

So it came as no surprise when an influx of marriage proposals flooded their family's estate—because rumors started flying around that the Dark Saint was in search of a partner.

The Dark Saint held a reputation for being cold and ruthless. To cultivators and martial artists, he was someone they feared making into an enemy due to his sheer battle prowess and poisonous abilities. To normal civilians, he was a genius who wielded the Tang Family's techniques with cool precision and intent; to them, he was just another mysterious cultivator that they would only ever know of through gossip and stories.

However, in recent years, something shifted. His reputation among common folk was slowly altered. It started off with a supposed battle between him and the Plum Blossom Sword Saint which turned into a sudden and unexpected friendship.

Whereas in the past the Dark Saint would only go around Sichuan and closeby villages, he was now found going around different major cities and unknown ones.

He was often in the company of Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Sword Saint, who worked with him side-by-side to eradicate groups from the Demonic Cult and the occasional bandits and thieves.

For supposed Taoists, the two visited different establishments to drink alcohol and talk cheerily. It was during one of these moments that the first rumor began its spark.

"Ahhhh," The Plum Blossom Sword Saint groans in satisfaction. "That sure hits the spot!"

The Dark Saint chuckles as he tosses back his own drink. "If only I could enjoy everyday like this. Alcohol really is the best."

"What would your future wife think?" The Plum Blossom Sword Saint jokingly and dramatically shakes his head in disappointment. "To have a husband who loves alcohol more than his own wife...!"

The Dark Saint wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Trust me, I would make sure that my wife knows full-well just how much I love them."

The two of them share a silent, private conversation with just their eyes alone, that none of the other restaurant's customers could decipher, before they leave a generous tip and went on their way.

It snowballs from there.

All of a sudden gossip went around about the Dark Saint's interest in finding a wife. And so several people came to the same conclusion.

The reason why the Dark Saint is travelling around more than usual is because he's looking for a prospective wife.

Clearly, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint was there to provide moral support. How truly admirable and strong their brotherhood must be!

On the other hand, the head of the Tang Family was fully aware of their Dark Saint's single-minded interest in Mount Hua's Chung Myung.

Seeing all the stacks of letters that ranged from proposing strategic alliances and general marriage offers brought the current head of the Tang Family to a very different conclusion.

Tang Bo was trying to slowly draw himself away from their family by leaving their estate. He might be on the hunt, jumping from village to village, trying to create a dowry befitting for the hand of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint and scouting out all the best locations to settle down in.

It really wouldn't be too surprising of an idea if one day a letter turns up from the man with an intent of permanently moving to Mount Hua or some backwater village.

The Tang Family head shakes the thought of losing one of their best and genius members to one of the Ten Great Sects. If he wanted to maintain their family's reputation, he'll need to strike the first move.

And so he begins to pen a decisive letter to the Sect Leader of Mount Hua.

%%%

Chung Mun's hands tremble as reads the letter sent to him by the Tang Family.

'Who did they think they were?' He would have bit out if he had any less self-restraint. The paper crumples in his grip and he receives a questioning glance from Chung Myung who was sprawled eating mooncakes on the opposite side of his desk.

"What's got you so worked up?" The subject of the letter askswithout a care.

Chung Mun takes a deep breath. "The Tang Family wishes for you to transfer into their estate."

He refuses to say out loud the marriage proposal that came along with this request. His Chung Myung was too young! The man might be a sixty years old, but that round face, cheeks carelessly bulging with mooncakes with crumbs littered on his chin, screamed too young for marriage!

"Oh." Chung Myung nods in understanding.

Chung Mun is glad that Chung Myung agrees that this was nonsensical. To think, they thought that Chung Myung would even leave Mount Hua for—

"After the war is over, Tang Bo and I were planning to be roommates and travel the world a bit."

—?????

"Roommates?" Chung Mun's voices comes out slightly strangled.

"Yup. It's going to be great."

"No."

"'No'?"

Chung Mun tries to run through his previous conversations with Tang Bo. He knew that the man was capable of being underhanded, but he was also well-aware that Tang Bo respected him enough to not blind-side him with something like this. Especially since it concerned Chung Myung.

...

...Oh no.

"Fuck." Chung Mun says, full of feeling as he recalls Tang Bo off-handedly asking permission to live together with Chung Myung in the future.

"...Sect Leader?"

Chung Mun had thought that was a joke! He thought Tang Bo wasn't being serious! They were talking with alcohol in their systems!

The alarmed look that crosses Chung Myung's face informed Chung Mun that the way he felt his blood drain from his face was a visible, physical reaction.

"He asked for your hand in marriage." Chung Mun says faintly. "I said yes."

Chung Myung blinked at him. "Yeah? He told me?"

Okay. Tang Bo, to his credit, hasn't been leaving Chung Myung in the dark at least.

If Chung Myung knows and isn't reacting violently that means that he isn't completely against this. Even if Chung Mun was, he had to reorganize his priorties.

And his number one would be to make sure Chung Myung was happy.

((And to make sure that the Tang Family doesn't think they can step on Chung Mun and pull his little brother away.))

"I'll have to recheck the sect's budget and my own savings to make sure we have enough for the wedding preparations..." Chung Mun mutters as he begins drafting a response to the Tang Family with what he thought were better marriage agreement conditions.

But then, a flash of dread causes Chung Mun to pause writing and leave a dark ink blot on the paper. He suspected, but he really wishes that he was wrong—!

"Huh?" Chung Myung gives Chung Mun a confused look. "We already got married though?"

[vaggieslefteye]

do you accept requests for striker screencaps? particularly progression in his mental state? i love this hypocrite cowboy and his nastiness

He's progressively getting more and more unhinged and I am HERE for it like yesss girl be deranged after failing the one thing you're good at too many times and having your vitriolic worldview consistently challenged <3

[ruershrimo]

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!)

[ruvviks]

The Dobrynin family is a corpo family through and through, rooted in Arasaka and Orbital Air going back by several generations; though their powerful position within the corporate world ends with the children of Nadya and Matvey Dobrynin. With Vitali and Daniil fired from Arasaka and Kang Tao respectively— the former indirectly getting his parents fired, too— and Roksana having refused to set foot within a megacorporation from the start, the family begins crumbling apart at the very seams when clashing interests lead to grudges, betrayal, and pointless acts of revenge. ↳ read the unrevised fic here if you're interested!

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @roseeway, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

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@kanos, @swordcoasts, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @strafethesesinners

[bootlegdvdmenu]

love the way you draw Kel! he looks so adorable with Them Big Ol' Eyes

thank you hehe!!!! He's like a cartoon character to me.

I like drawing him .05 seconds away from a full blown panic attack at all times, lol.

i imagine the glasses make up most of the Big Ol' aspect though.

[deoidesign]

Hello! I just discovered your blog and I immediately became captivated by your webcomic, but I'm unsure where to read all of it. I know it's on Webtoons, but I can see it hasn't been updated for a while, and you still post about it.

Are your physical novels just prints of the webcomic? Are they a continuation? Is the story complete? Thanks in advance!

Hi there!

Glad you found me and are enjoying my comic!

It's only on webtoons, and the story is not complete yet! We're 2/3 of the way through right now. It's currently on hiatus, and it's scheduled to come back in about 2 months!

I'll explain why it's been so long if you're curious, but also for my followers who might also be wondering about it under the cut. Sorry, it's pretty much just me complaining haha

I took a month off I took 2 months to get the books printed I took a month to prepare my next comic and I took 2 months to write the rest of the series (I knew the character arcs I wanted, but not the time periods or mysteries!!!) I've been working on actual episodes since then

I had to take some time off because of some pretty extreme burnout due to the sheer amount of work it was to draw over 800 pages and write 6 complete stories in a year and a half... I was getting sick almost weekly due to the overwork, it was really really bad honestly. I was having to work 60+ hours every week just to keep up...

The nature of the comic itself is also difficult... Each of the arcs is a complete, self contained story which can be read (ideally) without context, and my arcs need to be about 10-13 episodes each... And since I have an exact number of episodes to work with, it's even harder.

It takes a ton of planning and a ton of refinement, and working week to week with no breaks I was forced to put out second or even first drafts, so I just wasn't happy with the work I was doing... And to do that for the rest of the series? I wouldn't be proud of the work I did.

Plus... To be entirely honest, webtoon has treated me quite badly IN MY OPINION... They deprioritized me before I launched (I had to beg for more promotion, I'm not exaggerating), they outright denied me the opportunity to even ask for a raise, I don't make any money on fast pass and they pay me less than my partner makes working at trader joes. My first editor left me completely hanging, my second editor (who I loved) was fired... And they told me I wouldn't get a third season before my first season even finished. So it was just repeatedly completely demoralizing.

I'm sorry it has taken so long, it'll have been 10 months by the time I come back. But I realized... I won't get promotion either way. I won't get more episodes either way. I won't get more money either way. So to finish everything, to make it feel good, to make it something I'm proud of, I chose to take longer to make it better.

I am fully aware I will lose a significant amount of my readership for this and it might genuinely affect my career moving forward. But it's what I had to do! So I'm sticking to my guns on it, and I'm confident long term it'll be worth it. It never could have been this good if I didn't take this much time.

[soranker]

Hiiii not sure if anyone's asked this yet but any advice on how to improve on art & anatomy? I use to draw a lot wayyyy back in high school but then stopped because of life getting in the way but now I really wanted to get back into art but realized my art isn't as good as it use to be & I never really cared too much about studying anatomy so all my anatomy/proportions are really wack & I'd like to get better at it. Hope you're having a good day!!! 💞💞💞

HI!!! i dont have any formal training in anatomy nor have i really done any studies, so unfortunately i think i can only offer general advice, but hopefully you can still find it helpful! here's what i'd recommend based on my own experience...

focus on proportions BEFORE anatomy! nailing down the size/length of each body part in relation to each other will give you a good foundation before getting into the specifics of anatomy, since you can practice this with simple shapes (circles, boxes, tubes, etc.). then practice anatomy/build on top of that, rather than trying to figure them out in parallel

practice from real life observation/references (ex. figure drawing)! even if you want to draw stylized, it'll be much more helpful in the long run if you study from real life. you'll be a lot more informed in how body parts actually connect to each other or how they move. observe observe observe! take pics of yourself/watch how your body moves--you can be your own most accessible resource, and a mirror and camera can be your best friends

find a way to keep yourself motivated to practice anatomy! everyone says that you only get better with practice and time... and it's true! but i can understand that sometimes it's hard to motivate yourself. if you ask me, draw your favorite characters :) it's literally all i do HAHA. my mentality is that... if i'm drawing something that i like then the practice feels less of a chore lol

[charmre]

Thank my father before me His mother before him Who would I be without you, without them?

[ghostsprobably]

all i want to do is work on my winx stuff

but fuck

i forgot i have depression

[nxcromantik]

Interest check now up for my next horror plushies! I'll be making Adam, Lawrence, Hoffman and Amanda from Saw! Please fill in the form here if you are interested!

[spikes-got-anger-issues]

Here’s an interesting thought experiment. I was reading your post about the Commando app Beta 2.1 vs 3.1 debate and whether there was an Alpha app or a Beta 1.1. What if there was an Alpha app and Douglas tried it with Adam, the original bionic but it didn’t work right and caused some brain damage which is why Adam is like that? Douglas then realized that if he was going to put the Commando app in a bionic’s head that he needed to completely rewire their brain to be able to handle actually having information downloaded like a computer. By the time he realized this Bree was too far along so he turned his attention to the next subject. He made Chase more computer like and did a bunch of stuff that would allow Chase to handle actual changes to his brain from outside influences. It’s why Chase has the Commando and override app. The other two can’t have actual apps in their heads like that because they weren’t created to handle things like that.

Yayyy another person to talk about Spike/the Commando App with!!

And this is such an interesting thought that I love!! These are all great connecting ideas too, the idea that Chase has these apps because he has a computer in his mind to process and handle it all unlike his siblings and not just because his main ability is super intelligence. After all, he does have more room for upgrades than his siblings. I love this idea!

I do wonder though if after Douglas were to hypothetically do this he went and gave Adam and Bree some from of compatibility to their chips since Chase can connect to them essentially through bluetooth. But him having the computer not only for his intelligence but also for his apps and to process the use and control of these apps alongside his normal brain is really something to think about. Not only that, but he does have a bunch of wiring inside his head and a bunch of different scanners from his bionic eyes that are also linked to his computer system too (identifying people, fingerprint scanning, etc.)

And with the Commando App, we see that in both versions, especially the first one we see in 1x03, that there is a bunch of coding that appears during the activation and deactivation of the app. This almost seems to imply too that the app truly is still not 100% complete, which matches with the Beta version we see.

We also see that the Commando App has an entire targeting system connected to Spike's vision. In the first version this comes in the form of Spike scanning the threat's face before completely locking onto the target as an "imminent threat."

In the second version, this just comes in the form of a literal target being in Spike's vision. He also has a gauge that measures his aggression level, which obviously varies for him. Not only that, but on the right side of Spike's vision he has gauges to measure speed and visibility presumably of his target, which is kind of scary lol.

A mystery however is why does the chip interrupter not only not work on the Commando App, but instead makes Spike more aggressive? It most likely has something to do with affecting the computer system in Chase. Maybe it doesn't work because Spike is an app and is potentially more linked to the computer in Chase than his chip? Is it just a glitch in general? Is Spike's aggression increase also a glitch or is it a defense mechanism against an outside influence? Who knows!

One last thing to note is the fact that after Spike takes a hard hit from Perry, it actually causes an error in Chase's computer system and glitches the Commando App out and forces it to disengage. Maybe this is something that would "naturally" happen or this is another example of the incomplete app being unstable (because one would imagine that this caliber of app and its purpose of fighting shouldn't be able to glitch out and shut down after a hard hit)

Another intriguing thought is that a few of Chase's abilities are apps but are considered "abilities" like the Commado App or his Magnetism App, if that makes sense. Some of his "abilities" are directly related to his computer system as apps compared to his normal "abilities" like his laser bo or forcefield. I just thought that that was interesting to point out because I never really realized that until now!

There's a lot to think about with this, and since we were never meant to dive this deep into because it's a Disney XD show, there's a lot to play around with!

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[superbug06]

Hii silly you said you wanted like requests to save you from artblock n stuff so hi 😎

Ummm Valley Staff? Maybe? Smiles at you, grins even :3

(I don’t mind if it’s a skin or a drawing I will chew on it/vpos either way 🌸)

Valleystaff be upon ye!

She's so beautiful i'm so surprised i've never doodled her before..!

I really wanted to do a FlipsideSMP related doodle because I know you're Valleystaff or something but oh gosh it's so hard to find any info on that server. (I'll find something later)

[savage-rhi]

Magenta 😟