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ghostlyferrettarot · 2 days ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖🔴.𖥔 ݁ ˖Mars and how we express our anger .𖥔 ݁ ˖🔴.𖥔 ݁ ˖

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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✦In our birth chart, Mars shows how we deal with challenges and, of course, how we express our anger and frustration. This planet reflects impulsive energy, our willpower, and the kind of strategies we use to deal with conflict✦

🔥Aries: Mars is the ruler of Aries, so if you have Mars in Aries, anger is direct and fast. It's like a fire that explodes in the moment, and there's no beating around the bush. When Aries gets angry, anger can come out impulsively, without much thought, and after that outburst, it's like everything is fine. It's an anger that passes quickly, but it can be intense. The key here is to learn to channel that energy constructively, because when Aries is at peace, it has incredible energy to move forward and conquer.

🔥Taurus: When Mars is in Taurus, anger is quieter, but no less powerful. Taurus is slow to anger, but when it does, the anger can be almost tangible. It's like a dormant volcano that shows no signs of its power until it erupts. Taurus tends to bottle up their anger for a long time, but once it explodes, there's no turning back. Patience is their trump card, but if it gets overloaded, anger can become heavy and hard to handle. The key for them is to release frustration gradually before it builds up too much.

🔥Gemini: If you have Mars in Gemini, your anger tends to be mental and verbal. Words are your weapons when you get angry, and sometimes it can be more infuriating or sarcastic than explosive. People with Mars in Gemini are quick with their tongue and tend to think before they react. When they're angry, they don't show it in obvious ways; instead, they're mentally frustrated, and this is expressed in tension-laden conversations or biting remarks. The key here is to channel that mental energy into something creative, so as not to use it to hurt.

🔥Cancer: With Mars in Cancer, anger can feel emotionally intense. People with this position tend to suppress anger, keeping it inside and only expressing it when they feel deeply hurt. This anger can come from emotional sensitivity and a need to protect themselves. Instead of attacking head-on, they withdraw and look for indirect ways to express their frustration, such as silence or regret. The key here is to learn to release those emotions in a healthy way, without building up resentment.

🔥Leo: When Mars is in Leo, these natives tend to be really dramatic. Leo is a fire sign, and when angry, it can be like a show. Anger here is explosive and can become a bit selfish at times, as Leo tends to get angry when they feel their pride has been hurt or when they are not recognized as they think they deserve. However, it can be easy for Leo to let it go and move on. The key is to not let ego guide anger and to try to see situations from a broader perspective, even sometimes it is difficult.

🔥Virgo: Mars in Virgo expresses itself through constructive criticism, but when angry, frustration can become subtle and calculating. Virgo prefers to analyze situations and find solutions, so their anger is often linked to an inability to do things right or a lack of order. Instead of exploding, they tend to keep their anger internally and become more frustrated by disorganization or the mistakes of others. The key for you is to learn to be not so hard on yourself and others, you deserve flexibility and gentleness.

🔥Libra: Mars in Libra is interesting because, as an air sign and ruled by Venus, they tend to seek balance. However, when angry, Libra can avoid conflict at all costs, which can cause anger to build up until they can't take it anymore. This anger is not direct; Rather, it shows up in the form of resentment or passivity. The key for Libra is to speak openly when problems arise and not allow anger to sit inside, hoping that everything will resolve itself.

🔥Scorpio: Mars in Scorpio is intense and deep. This placement can lead to anger that is slow-brewing and expressed in a very intense way, but only after going through an intense emotional process. Scorpio does not easily forget when they have been hurt, and their anger can be more vengeful, they take their time to get back to you. The key here is to learn to let go of resentment and not fuel the fire of anger, as they tend to hold grudges, they are great at revenge. Self-transformation and forgiveness can help calm that inner fire.

🔥Sagittarius: When you have Mars in Sagittarius, your anger has such a direct and expansive energy that it's almost like a flare. Your anger is completely linked to your freedom; anything that makes you feel trapped or restricted will make you react quickly, without much thought. But here's the beauty, once you blow up, everything quickly dissolves, you are not one to hold freshness. The challenge here is to channel that energy constructively. The key is forgiveness, because for you anger goes away as quickly as it came, but learning to let go will help you move forward in a much lighter way.

🔥Capricorn: With Mars in Capricorn, your anger tends to be calculated, serious and contained. You are not one to show your frustrations in public; your way of dealing with anger is more strategic and, although it may seem like you keep it all inside, in reality you channel it towards something very constructive. Anger is expressed in achievement and overcoming, and it becomes a way to prove to yourself that you are capable of handling anything that comes your way. The danger with this energy is that you can internalize a lot. Remember, it's not wrong to take a break and allow yourself to vent. The key here is to find a balance.

🔥Aquarius: When you have Mars in Aquarius, your anger is expressed in a unique way. It's like you're idealistic and a bit emotionally detached. Your anger is not usually something visceral; instead, you tend to think about it a lot before you react. Sometimes, however, this approach can cause you to lose a bit of emotional connection to what's going on inside you. The key is to remember that your reasoning ability is powerful, but it's also important to connect with your emotions so you don't lose touch with what you really feel. Don't let objectivity turn into emotional coldness.

🔥Pisces: With Mars in Pisces, anger is not something you show often, but when you do, it is in a very indirect and evasive way. Your anger tends to disappear from the sight of others because you prefer to keep it inside, trying not to create conflict. You may feel overwhelmed by the feeling that things are not going as they should, and that frustration builds up in your being. The key for you is to express that anger directly, even if it is in a gentle or subtle way. Do not allow yourself to emotionally escape from what you feel, and remember that emotional healing is essential to release any tension.

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cmdrfupa · 12 hours ago

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Lifetime

post shibuya!nanami x caregiver!reader

A series dedicated to healing and letting yourself have a second chance in this lifetime.

Inspired by this song that brings me to tears every single time.

content warning: shibuya arc, mentions of death, mental health awareness, angst(eventual comfort), burn victim so expect some detailed imagery.

wc: 4.9k

an: thank you for reading. I love you lots.

Time seemed to trickle as Nanami waited for his physical therapist to arrive.

First at home session since being discharged.

4 days a week, 30 minutes a day.

“Individualized exercise program including rigorous activities as you progress to help you regain your independence.. Sure.” Nanami read from the pamphlet out loud and sighed as he looked over the stack of literature he left the rehab facility with.

He was thankful that he was deemed fit enough to continue his healing at home after 11 weeks in the best facility Gojo could find. While it accommodated every possible concern one could have, he was certain he wouldn’t feel confident in being self sufficient until he was able to put all he had learned into practice at home.

So there he was, sifting through paperwork and sipping his coffee as he awaited his new physical therapist and as Ino finished cleaning his kitchen.

“I think thats it! Lunch is in the black container on the top shelf in the fridge and I’ve prepped dinner for when Gojo comes to cook. Anything else before I’m off?” Takuma grabbed his keys, the jangle bringing Kento out of his reading trance as he looked up.

“Yes, that should be fine. I appreciate you coming over every morning Takuma. But it’s not necessary.”

Takuma scoffed, almost offended at the idea. “Nonsense. Its just a little breakfast and lunch. Its on my way to the school anyway. Consider it a small help.”

He could protest but Takuma would simply find another way to make himself useful. Whether it be taking him to his appointments or coming to slather his injuries: he was going to find a way to be of help.

As he adjusted his cast as best he could, a text popped up from an unsaved number.

>Hello, Mr. Nanami! Currently heading to you. ETA is ten minutes.

Signed with your name, Nanami simply reads the text and reacted to the message with thumbs up.

“Thank you, Takuma. Truly. But I think thats everything. My physical therapist is on their way so I’ll just hang out til then.”

“Alrighty! I’ll be working mostly on campus so just shoot me a text if you need me. Take it easy, Nanami.” with that, Ino grabbed his jacket and proceeded out the front door.

Nanami exhaled and got up to sit at the window. The mid morning sun was gentle but insistent, that soft golden hue brightening everything it touched.

It wasn’t harsh, just warm enough to remind Nanami of the outside world, a quiet promise that time was still moving. The warmth on his right side almost felt foreign as the dust mites danced lazily in the light. He closed his eyes, taking in the fragile sense of something stirring inside of him— reposeful comfort in the way the sun didn’t have a sudden, overwhelming wave of joy but a soft declaration that he was still here.

Nanami hadn’t had many moments to really think about just how life changing the incident had been. Half of his body littered in 3rd degree burns, a third of that, 4th degree. Loss of hair on one side, an eye patch over his eye and a lack of feeling down his left arm.

He’d looked at himself in the mirror exactly once since the incident and didn’t do it again until he acquired his face prosthetic recently.

It was bulky and itchy, but it alleviated the deformities and more importantly, kept him from being too hard on his own appearance.

The moment felt necessary. Reminding him that the sun remained a constant while other things changed.

“I’ll need to see if I can sit outdoors for a few minutes a day. Would be good for me.” he noted outwardly before a light tapping at the front door had him shuffling towards the foyer.

One moment, please.” he paused a few paces before he reached the door to look down, remembering his shirt had a hole near the hem of it. He didn’t have time to change but only hoped the therapist wouldn’t see him as some undetermined slob with no real concern on how he looked.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Mr. Nanami?”

“That would be me.”

“Perfect! Hello! I was sent by the health and wellness agency as part of your transitioning to home health care. We have an appointment. May I come in?”

No scrubs, no accessories to signify you were a medical professional. Just a badge clip holding your ID with “HHA” boldly sitting under your name.

“Sure. Come on in.” He led you into the house, slowly walking into the living room and nodding towards the couch as you stood next to him.

You grin and sat on the far end of the couch, near the window, “Thank you.” you sat your tote littered in small pins on the coffee table and pulled out a somewhat thick file.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee?”

Shaking your head, you tapped the top of your bag. “No thank you. I have my tumbler. But I appreciate it!”

Nanami slightly bowed his head and sat in the solo chair next to the couch. “Alright so, how do we start this? I was told I’d see you four days a week with one more day possibly if I need to.”

You pursed your lips, looking down at your paperwork before looking back up to meet his neutral gaze.

“I believe that’s your physical therapist that you will be seeing four days out of the week.”

“Then pardon me for being so… impolite. But who are you exactly?”

The laugh that left your lips was a soft one but enough for Kento to lift his lips into a slight smile.

“I realize your discharge team didn’t give you names, faces, or titles. My apologies.”

“It happens.”

You continued. “I’m your Home Health Care Provider. While you were still in recovery, you met with your primary care provider and you spoke of your in home care, correct?”

Nanami nodded. “Yes.”

“Going over the team you’d have for your in housee rehabilitation, you were assigned a home health aide 5 days a week.”

His brow furrowed. “So you are that, I assume?”

“Yes. I will also be the one looking over the full team that provides you with your in-home care.”

“This feels very unnecessary.” The tone in his response was sharp. “I have people who come to help me with my daily needs. Having an entire team sounds like an exhausting back and forth to have coming to my house. A waste of resources.”

Your demeanor remained soft and understanding as you listened to his concerns. “Mr. Nanami. I understand that it sounds overwhelming. If I had to be in the predicament of needing a care team after an incident, I too would be a bit apprehensive.”

“But you aren’t. I am.”

The immediate smile that grew on your face wasn’t one that came from kindness. It was your defense, albeit an understandable one. “You are correct. I’m not. But I implore to at least hear me out on why its important to have us.”

A rush of emotions filled Kento’s chest. He wanted to pull his hair out from sheer frustration. But he remained calm.

His discomfort was obvious to you and you wanted to remedy the ache somehow.

“I want you to have an idea of what this could look like as you approach the first steps of gaining a sense of normalcy. Would you be willing to let me give you an example of what a week may look like for you? And if you don’t like it, we can adjust to a schedule that fits better for you.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Splendid.” You reached into your file and pulled out a thoroughly detailed schedule and turned it for Nanami to look along with you.

“So, this schedule is based loosely on the day to day you had while in the rehab facility. No matter who, anything involving someone from your team wouldn’t be arriving until 10am. This is unless you decide to utilize me. Then I would be here at 7 every morning to aide you with your morning routine.”

“What if I don’t want extensive help?”

“I would respect the boundary.”

Nanami took a closer look at the schedule, seeing the words ‘kitchen prep healing exercise’ highlighted for every Tuesday and Thursday. “What does this entail? Kitchen prep healing.”

“Your passions shouldn’t suffer because of changes. So I created a regimen that would help us get in the kitchen and get busy while making sure we help maintain your range of motion and fine motor skills.”

Nanami looked up at you for a moment, trying to assess just how serious you were about changing what he was uncomfortable with.

“So if I only need you for meal prep and assisting with chores around my house.”

“Then I will only help you with meal prep and assisting with your chores around the house.”

He handed the schedule back to you. “And if it isn’t something that I’ve mentioned?”

Trying to test you. Cute. “If you mention to me that would like me to assist you in going to the grocery store, fixing your bed, helping you get ready for your appointments, then I will. Because my goal is having you confident in yourself and your abilities.”

That nagging feeling of what if filled his chest and mind. Nanami knows he can’t do it alone. But to be a burden is the last thing he wants to ever become.

“I don’t want to become too dependent on you and your teams’ services.” He sat up as best he could, stretching out his legs and wincing at the unexpected intensity of his blood flowing through his left leg.”

Not wanting to lose the momentum, you sat on the edge of the couch alert of and aware of the pain he showed. “Your independence will not falter. We are merely an extension. We are the claw arm that’s in your reach if the jar of pickles are too high up, if you will.”

Nanami tried to stop the half smile on his face but faltered. “I understand.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” You smiled politely.

“A few,” Nanami cleared his throat. “When it comes to changing my dressings..”

“I will be the only one who sees them completely outside of your primary physician.” You answered, as if you were waiting for that specific question.

“Second question: can you properly fold a fitted sheet?”

You laughed, nodding. “The trick is in how you hold the corners. Line up the creases and you’ll always have a perfect fold.”

Nanami nodded. “Interesting.” The intense blood flow in his legs ceased and his body noticeably relaxed. He sat forward. “Final question, if you were to start tomorrow, could we have your start time for 8am? I like having the first hour of the day to myself.”

“If you want me here at 8 am, I will be at the door by 7:55 to knock at 7:59.”

The moment of silence was filled with hope as you realized you got to him. You let him see genuine concern and thats all he wanted. But this was only the beginning. And you were willing to be his guide to a sense of independence all the way through.

___________________________________________

The silence of the early morning was heavier than usual— a quit hum of of the refrigerator reached his room as he slept with his bedroom door open now, a new practice he’s since learned is a response to his trauma.

He sat on the side of his bed, staring down at his slippers that warmly held his feet as the barely visible morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and unrelenting.

“I embrace healing.” He spoke out loud, his voice still low, sleep riddened, as he slowly rose from the bed and grabbed his cane.

“We aren’t going to be hard on ourselves because this is still new to you, Kento. Its okay to not know what to do.”

Mornings were more of a drag than he would like for them to be.

His body was more stiff. More rigid. He needed 30 minutes minimum to sit on the side of the bed and stretch just to muster up enough internal energy to get up and grab his cane.

He sounded off, flipping the bathroom light on and adjusting the sink to run warm water. “Today will be a great day.” He washed his hands, meticulously washing between his fingers and flicking the excess off his fingers before he dried them, reaching for a clean towel and letting it soak under the faucet.

“You will be more than okay.” this time, he spoke as if someone would overhear him talking to his self.

Nanami shook his head, lowly chuckling at what he found himself doing.

Yuji began to send him various videos that initiated ‘positive self talk’ and ‘daily affirmations for healing the body.’ Yuji hoped to try and help expedite a process that Megumi told him more than fives times, would take awhile.

Slowly pulled away the dressing on his cheek, Nanami watched small bits of dead tissue peel away from his healing skin. He threw it in the trash hamper, then pumped a small dot of antimicrobial soap on the wet towel he’d soaked and gently began to wash his face.

He looked closely, inspecting every patch he wiped over to take notice of any changes in how his skin looked. He tried very, very hard to not look into his own eyes.

Rinsing and patting to dry, he washed his hands again then reached for the jar of salve, precisely swiping a thin layer over his left cheek and forehead before he placed his transparent face mask on.

Finishing up his morning bathroom routine went without a rush. Going to throw on yet another loose fitting t-shirt and casual pants before sliding his slippers back on.

Slow and steady. Nice and easy.

“I am going to have a great day today.” the rubber end of his walker softly thudded against the wooden floors as he made his was down the hall. “It is a new day. New chances.”

He wasn’t going to confirm or deny if these affirming exercises were doing anything. But he’d admit that saying them aloud was probably the silliest he’d felt ever doing anything.

The living room held a welcoming warmth as he drew the blinds open that faced the street.

The third floor apartment view was always the one thing that made the asking price of his condo worth it to him.

The patchwork of traditional rooftops and modern buildings met the edge of the cities outskirts. Bare branches stood against the pale early morning winter sky, hints of early plum blossoms added a hint of a spring that would soon come and wipe away the muted landscape.

Kento sat on the window seal, taking in the low mountains in the distance. That thin veil of mist hiding the peaks that were still dusted in snow. With a deep inhale, he looked down at the street to see a bundled up pedestrian loading his car with boxes as another, that looked only slightly familiar, was exiting their car in a slow jog to the front steps of his building.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

7:55 am.

“Timely.”

slowly, he went to open the rest of the blinds around the living room, a slow tango that made him a feel like he still had just enough control, timing the last curtain opening perfectly as your soft knock filled the foyer yet again.

He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on the frame, before opening the door and stepping aside in a half step to let you in. His expression was neutral — not unkind, but carefully composed, as if he were still deciding how much space to give you in his life.

“Good morning,” you spoke softly, offering a polite smile.

“Morning,” Nanami replied, his voice low and steady. “I was about to make myself a simple breakfast. Coffee too.”

It wasn’t quite an invitation, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was just a statement — a line drawn firmly down the middle.

You nodded. “That sounds good.”

You sat your bag down on the ottoman against the wall and followed his lead. The condo was quiet — too quiet, the kind that felt deliberate. Like he'd stripped the space of anything deemed unnecessary. A few trinkets here and there, clean lines, muted colors.. But the kitchen felt like the homeliest part of the space.

Black stainless steel appliances, cold press juicer and blender sitting on the counter. A top of the line built-in double electric convection wall oven, a display of every herb and spice on a dark mahogany shelf sitting high on the wall.

“You have a very beautiful kitchen.” Your eyes grazed over the quartz cabinets, taking in the light blue finishes until you landed on what you knew to be as the best stand mixer that only experts chefs and bakers would have.

“You have a Bosch… Its even more beautiful in person.” You inspected it as if it were a lost artifact seeing the light for the first time in 500 years.

Nanami cocked his head for a moment. “Are you that taken by a stand mixer?”

“Mr. Nanami, I’d have to work 3 weeks nonstop to not only get the mixer but to financially recover from it.”

Your half suppressed laugh had Kento smiling. “Understandable. It is a big purchase. I use to bake fresh bread for my weekly use.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration one day! Would love to see the Bosch in action.”

Nanami raised his brows. “You think I can get back to that one day?”

The small flick of something resembling hope flecked in the richest parts of his brown eyes.

“We can get you back to that. I’m sure of it.”

He nodded, a silent acceptance of an unspoken challenge. He opened the refrigerator, bearing his weight on the cane as he used his dominant hand to grab the butter, holding it out.

“Do you mind taking things as I pass them to you?”

You reached out, taking the butter and placing it on the counter. “Don’t mind at all.”

A pack of bacon, a jar of jam and an orange followed after and you awaited his next instruction.

“I’m going need your help with peeling orange. I believe I can manage the rest.”

With quiet acknowledgment, you grabbed the orange and began to peel as he placed 2 pieces of bacon in the skillet.

It took less than 10 minutes and Nanami moved to the dining table, a slice of toast placed next to his bacon on a plate and setting out a small dish of fruit with the addition of an apple now. You brought out 2 mugs of coffee, placing his in front of him and sitting across from him with yours.

A butter knife rested awkwardly beside the jar of jam he chose. It was clear he had intended to do more, but something had stopped him.

You didn’t move or say anything, you sipped your coffee and watched as he reached for the jar. His right hand gripped the jar while his left hovered over the lid. His fingers trembled — just slightly — but enough that the lid refused to budge.

You didn’t move at first. You’d quickly learned that Nanami wasn’t the type to appreciate overstepping, even if it came from a place of concern. So you waited, giving him the space to either push through the task or acknowledge the struggle.

After a long moment, his jaw tightened. The jar didn’t budge.

You opened your mouth — not to offer help, but simply to ask if he wanted you to hold the base of the jar steady when his voice cut through the silence.

“Can you��” He paused, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “Can you open this for me?”

It wasn’t a whisper, nor was it loud. Just a calm, measured request, but you could hear the effort behind it — the weight of a man who wasn’t used to asking for assistance.

You stood and went to his side of the table and gently placed your hand on the lid. “Turn when you’re ready.”

His hand dropped away, switching his left hand out for the right gripping the glass part and his left fingers curling into a loose fist at his side. The lid gave way with a soft pop, and you set it down in front of him without a word.

He didn’t thank you, but there was a small nod — barely noticeable, but it was there.

“Would you like me to slice the apple for you?” you asked, careful not to overstep.

Nanami shook his head. “No. I can manage.”

You sat back down, sipping your coffee as he asked you more questions about your fascination with his Bosch.

_______________________________________

The morning moved quickly. Breakfast cleanup was a breeze as Nanami continued his light reading and non rigorous solo exercises.

During breakfast, you’d been given what you called the key to the cupboard by Nanami. He uttered, with few words, that he didn’t want to prevent you from doing your job. While he limited what that might be, he was quick to say how appreciative he’d be if his bed could be made up, his laundry started and lunch done. He’d have a friend come by to do the rest.

You happily complied and began working on laundry the moment he sat down post breakfast. And by noon, his physical therapist had arrived to continue his exercise routine and mobility work.

Despite the pain he would occasionally feel from the intense stretches he felt near his ankles, this was Nanami’s favorite part of his rehabilitation. Feeling the tightness dissipate as he stretched his neck and chest together. He closed his eyes, allowing the PT to guide his body on top of the exercise ball.

“Now a slow exhale as you reach your arms over your head. Nice and easy.”

The short man moved the ball under Nanami and he grunted.

“Sorry Mr. Nanami, too much?”

Nanami wheezed a chuckle out, “Not enough. Can we do this one more often?”

The therapist exhaled and smiled. “We can. Your body is reacting as it needs to and it seems to be the best exercise to get a reaction out of you. Does it feel like your body is loosening up?”

He nodded, slowly sitting up with assistance. “Definitely. My skin feels less taut at my hips and chest when I open up my arms like that. It feels.. good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. We’re going to finish off with some hands exercises then your aide will be tagged back in to finish the day off with you.”

His session proceeded and came to an end before he knew it. He walked with a bit more confidence as he escorted his therapist to the door and went to find you in the kitchen finishing lunch.

Nanami watched you sliced the cucumber. He nodded at the precision of the knife movements, impressed with how perfect each little sliced green disc was as you added it to the salad bowl. He waited to speak once you sat the knife down.

“You have some really great knife skills.”

You looked up and smiled, wiping your hand on the dish towel nearby. “4 years of cooking for a group of broke college students as a college student. 2 of those years were spent dating a sous chef who taught me some of what I know.”

“I’m sure this sous chef would be happy to know you use these techniques so well.”

“We could only hope,” Expertly, you avoided giving that a full response that would push the topic of your ex. “Where did you learn to cook, Mr. Nanami? I’m sure you are amazing with a Bosch in your kitchen.”

Nanami walked behind you, reaching for two bowls out of the cabinets and placed them next to you. “My grandfather wanted me to be self sufficient once I moved out on my own.” He slowly opened the silverware drawer, pulling out a pair of forks and knives. “And cooking in itself is its own therapy for me.”

You finished placing the grilled chicken in the salad bowl and handed over the tongs to Nanami. “How does cooking make you feel?”

He looked down at the tongs, his heart fluttering with an anxiety he couldn’t place. His eyes found you. “Do you think I can?”

“I’m right here,” you slid one of the eating bowls directly next to him and smiled. “What does cooking do for you?”

Nanami put his eyes back onto the salad and took a deep breath. He grabbed the tongs, gripping them, feeling the cold stainless steel rest in the part of his palm that still had feeling. “Cooking requires me to pay attention. Smell, sounds, how my food is looking.”

He widened the tongs, lowering them into the salad and tossing it lightly, as if he’d harm the lettuce if he placed any pressure.

“What do you usually cook with?” You noticed his hesitance in squeezing the tong tips together, his grip faltering as he exhaled from frustration. “I’m going to hover my hand below yours. Claw extension. Only if you need it.”

Nanami closed his eyes, slowly breathing out as he tried to not lose his momentum. “Garlic. Fresh minced garlic.” He tried again, slowly working his hands closed until he had salad gripped between the flat tips. He carefully moved it over to the dish, hand shaking but making it with no spillage. “I prefer to mince it and store it in water. Taste great every time.”

You smiled as he looked at you for a hint of validation and gave a nod of acknowledgment.

He moved the tongs back to the serving bowl with a glimmer of determination in the way he rolled his shoulders back. He grabbed more and placed it into the bowl, releasing a with a bit of force before sitting the tongs down. “I think I want a bit more tomato.”

Fork in hand, trying to pin down a slice of tomato so he could cut it. His right hand hovered awkwardly, meant to steady the cutting board, but his left — the one gripping the fork — trembled just enough to betray him.

The fork slipped.

The tomato skidded to the side, smearing juice across the surface. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

You didn’t speak either. You knew better than to rush in with help he hadn’t asked for yet.

He reset the slice, pressing the fork down again. His grip was too tight — his knuckles pale from the strain — but the tremor in his fingers wouldn’t let up. The fork scraped against the board, missing the tomato entirely this time.

A sharp pain ran through his forefinger and he dropped the fork, cursing under his breath as he massaged his purlicue.

His gaze stayed locked on the tomato, his shoulders tense.

“You did good. You and the tongs are quite the dynamic duo.”

Nanami felt a heated tear well in his eye before he sucked it back in. “This. Its all so hard sometimes. A fork? I can’t hold a damn fork and its been months.”

He needed to let the frustrations out. It was going to be the only way he could get over those hurdles to feeling whole again.

You stood in silence for a moment, giving him space to process and feel. “Don’t give yourself a timeline but do give yourself grace.”

“Is this all worth it?” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself until he took a few steps back and leaned against the counter looking at you. “Will I be the same person I was before all this? Because I feel like even when I’m giving 200%, I’m failing with no progress.”

“This feels like it’s never going to get better,” Nanami said, his voice low — almost too calm, but there was an edge to it. A rare crack in the carefully composed man standing next to you.

The words hung between you both, heavier than the silence.

You gave him a moment before you spoke. “It’s frustrating,” you said softly. “I know.”

Nanami’s jaw shifted, his lips pressing into a firm line. He didn’t respond right away, as if letting the admission sit out in the open was already more than he was prepared for.

His hand flexed at his side — open, then closed — before, at last, he exhaled through his nose. “Can you help me?”

The question was quiet, but it felt like a victory in its own right.

You nodded, letting him take a few steps forward before stepping in slowly so he had the chance to pull back if he wanted. When he didn’t, you picked up the fork, steadying the tomato with your other hand. The prongs sank into the skin with a soft pop — a simple act, but weighted with everything unspoken.

Nanami’s hand hovered near yours for a moment, then dropped back to his side.

He didn’t thank you, but the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave was enough.

You didn’t push for more words. Instead, you handed him the knife, stepping back just far enough to let him reclaim some of the space —he had let you stand just a little closer, and it was a sign that he was willing to let you in to help.

#jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #kento x reader #jjk kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #shibuya arc #lu.logs

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meadowfics · 1 day ago

Text

not your concern

the salesman x f!reader

part two to the regular

warnings: mentions of death, I used the actor's name as a placement name for the salesman (who's real name is not known or canon)

one year.

three hundred and sixty-five days of marriage. when you had agreed to his offer, you never thought life would turn out this way. better than you expected, even. there had not been a single time when you had to think about money.

gong yoo had taken care of everything before you even had the chance to. rent? nonexistent. bills? never crossed your mind. your old habit of checking your bank balance every night before bed? unnecessary.

your life, once dictated by numbers, debt collectors, and sleepless nights at that rundown café, had transformed into something entirely foreign. no financial stress. no work. only comfort.

he had only one rule: never ask about his work.

fine, you thought at the time. you had worked enough in your life, exhausted yourself in ways you never wanted to again. so you stayed out of it. no questions. no curiosity. just… existing in the life he gave you.

in your free time, you indulged in things you had once pushed aside… painting, skincare, even sightseeing. sometimes, you spent entire afternoons in art galleries, admiring brushstrokes and colors.

other times, you lost yourself in the quiet ritual of self-care, trying every serum, every mask, every oil you once could never afford.

it was a strange kind of freedom. one you had to get used to.

as a husband, he had been nothing short of great. loving, attentive, surprisingly kind. not once had he been cold or dismissive. he touched you like he cherished you, looked at you like he meant it.

intimacy between you both was never lacking. it was fulfilling, tender, and, above all, real. he wasn’t a sugar daddy figure at all, just an older man that you’ve grown to love, just after getting the ring.

nothing to complain about. no reason to question anything.

until one encounter on a late afternoon.

you remember the scent of fresh herbs and ripe fruit filling the air as you browsed through the produce store, picking out what you needed for dinner. cooking had become something you enjoyed since you no longer had to work long shifts.

now, you had the time to make meals from scratch, experiment with recipes, and create something warm for whenever your husband returns home. it was a simple pleasure, one you never got to indulge in before. its been turning out great, since gong yoo always compliments your skill in culinary.

you grabbed a bunch of green onions, then turned to head toward the tomatoes when—

thud.

"oh my… sorry! excuse me," you said instinctively, stepping back.

the man you had bumped into didn’t move right away. he was dressed in all black, a cap pulled low over his face, obscuring most of his features. something about him made you uneasy, but he didn’t seem outright dangerous.

still, you weren’t in the mood for small talk, so you moved to step around him.

"wait," his voice stopped you.

your fingers curled slightly around the plastic bag in your hand.

"...yes?"

"i have a question..”

the man says, determined for an answer that you’ll say.

“go ahead?” you say in confusion.

you hope it's not a date proposal, you’re already married to the man of your dreams.

“do you know a man who’s always in suits? plays ddakji with strangers all around seoul? hands out cards with shapes on them afterward?"

your heart nearly stopped.

he was describing gong yoo.

your husband.

your expression remained unreadable, the years of learning to mask your emotions paying off. you blinked once before shaking your head, feigning confusion.

"i’m sorry, i haven’t seen anyone like that before."

you had no reason to trust this man. your loyalty was to your husband, not to some stranger lurking in a grocery store asking odd questions.

the man hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if studying you.

"i ask because i’m looking for him," he continued, "he’s partially responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people every year."

the man's words were absurd. ridiculous, even. you almost wanted to scoff. sure, you didn’t know the details of your husband’s job, but murder? hundreds of people dying because of him?

yeah, right.

"i’m sorry, but i have no clue who you’re talking about," you said, shaking your head again, reinforcing the lie.

the man exhaled through his nose.

"you’re protecting him," he stated. not an accusation, just a fact.

this time, your heart did stutter.

he knew.

you kept your face neutral, but the blood in your veins felt like ice.

"you must’ve gotten the wrong person," you said smoothly, forcing out a small, apologetic smile,

"i’m sorry, but i have to go."

without waiting for a response, you walked to the register, casually placing your items on the counter. your fingers trembled slightly as you tapped your card, but otherwise, you kept yourself composed.

as soon as you stepped outside, you checked, subtly, carefully, if the man was following.

he wasn’t.

still, the unease didn’t leave you.

clutching the bag of produce a little tighter, you made your way home, the stranger’s words replaying in your head.

when you returned home to your sky-rise penthouse, the tension in your chest still hadn’t fully dissipated. the city lights casted soft glows along the sleek, expensive interior of your home. it was a lifestyle you had grown accustomed to, one of quiet luxury, security, and ease.

however, placing the bag of produce on the marble kitchen island, you let out a slow breath. that encounter had shaken you more than you wanted to admit. you weren’t naive. you knew gong yoo’s work wasn’t normal.

the idea that he was responsible for people’s deaths? that part didn’t fit or make sense.

before you could spiral too much, the sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts.

"y/n, sweetheart, i'm home," his familiar voice filled the space.

you turned, greeted by the sight of your husband stepping inside. he loosened his tie as he walked toward you, the usual warmth in his expression unchanged.

as always, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before pulling back just enough to look at you.

"how was your day?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"fine," you replied, but your hesitation must have been obvious. he tilted his head slightly, silently prompting you to continue.

you sighed, leaning against the counter.

"something strange happened today. i ran into this man at the store. he asked if i knew someone who plays ddakji in subway stations and hands out cards to strangers."

gong yoo’s expression didn’t change. not even a flicker of surprise, even though he knew exactly who you were talking about.

seong gi-hun.

"what did you say?"

"i told him i didn’t know anyone like that," you admitted, "but then he said he was looking for you because you’re responsible for… the deaths of hundreds of people every year."

for a moment, there was only silence between you.

suddenly, gong yoo exhaled lightly, a small, almost amused smile on his lips, "and do you believe him?"

you hesitated.

"...i don’t know. i mean, i don’t know much about what you actually do."

he reached out, gently cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your jawline.

"you don’t have to. that’s not your concern."

he said it so easily. so calmly.

you searched his eyes for something, anything, but all you found was unwavering certainty and really, what more could you ask for?

as long as you were comfortable, as long as you weren’t in danger, what reason did you have to dig any deeper? you had agreed to this life a long time ago, and it had given you everything you never thought you’d have.

so, you nodded.

"you’re right. it’s not my concern."

he smiled, pleased with your answer, and pressed another kiss to your forehead.

"good girl."

just like that, the subject was closed.

you turned back to prepping dinner, the encounter at the store already beginning to fade from your mind.

after all, you had everything you could ever want so why question it?

masterlist

#the recruiter #the salesman x reader smut #the salesman squid game #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #the salesman #seong gi hun #seong gi hun x reader

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hetalian-veteran · 1 day ago

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America's Storage Room Cleaning: The Moment that Changed Hetalia

Hetalia: Axis Powers Episodes 17 and 20: America's Storage Room Cleaning Parts 1 and 2 are probably some of the most consequential episodes of not only Hetalia, but for the Hetalia fandom as a whole. Both for how it broke away from Hetalia's satirical mold, as well as how fans reacted to it. Or at least how I reacted to it.

This episode, which aired in 2009, has been talked about to death. So much so that almost all conversations about it have been had. However, as someone who can't seem to shut up, I'm offering my two cents.

This is the episode where we not only get a deeper look into America's character but also get to see the American Revolution. And instead of portraying this conflict in a funny or satirical light, the whole thing is played out like an emotional, character-driven tragedy.

Let's start by talking about America. We all know how he is. Loud, obnoxious, optimistic, in your face, ambitious, light-hearted---he's more or less portrayed as a giant kid. Seeing as he's still a relatively young nation regarding his history, it makes sense. Especially since most of the other countries in Hetalia are much, much older. In fact, his physical age is stated to be about nineteen years old. Pointing to him being an adult but still being quite young and inexperienced.

As a result, you don't expect to have many serious moments with this character. Not only because of the way he's portrayed, but because of Hetalia's genre being comedy. Up until this episode, you're given numerous laugh-out-loud scenes, funny one-liners, and even a few problematic jokes along the way. Overall, Hetalia is not a series meant to be taken seriously. Still isn't, even in 2025.

But this is what made America's Storage Room Cleaning so jarring.

This is an episode that nearly drops everything Hetalia is known for. There are no laughs. Hardly any jokes. No silly one-liners. No slapstick. No problematic moments that make you cringe and think, "Ooooh, this hasn't aged well." If anything, I'd say this is an episode that has aged like a fine wine. (And no, I'm not just saying that because I'm American).

While going through an old storage room in his house, America mentions that he often has a hard time cleaning it out, as its contents manage to dredge up all kinds of bad memories. Mentioning that it's not always easy looking at one's own history.

And it's here where we get our first look into the history between Britain and America. We've gotten little glimpses of it before in prior episodes when the Hetalia crew was trying to hype us up for this one. But here is where we get to see the pieces put together.

America goes through a few different items, each one detailing a different part of his and Britain's history together.

We see a set of handmade toy soldiers that Britain made for America when he was a young child. One that Britain put a lot of work into, seeing as he nearly broke his hand. America even mentions that Britain painted each soldier with a different face, further showing just how much time and effort he put into the gift.

We see an old suit. One that Britain got for America as he got older. Britain emphasizes the importance of dressing nicely in public. Even though America isn't a fan of the suit, he agrees to keep it and only wears it for special occasions.

These scenes give you the impression that Britain and America have, or at least had, a close relationship in the past.

And then we get to the bayonet. The one with a deep scratch in the side.

Upon seeing it, America is quickly reminded of a confrontation he had with Britain during the American Revolution. Standing in the rain and backed up by an army, America declares his independence from Britain. The latter of whom is deliberately shown to be alone, with no army at his side.

And then America says this:

"Britain! I am no longer a child, nor am I your little brother."

This establishes the nature of their relationship. While not related by blood, they're family. Growing angry, Britain charges at him. America blocks him with his bayonet. The gun flies out of America's hands, and Britain is given a clear opening to shoot him. But he can't bring himself to do it.

Falling to the ground, Britain begins sobbing. As America looks on, we get flashbacks to Britain and America when the latter was a child. Britain holds out his hand with an offer to go home. An offer that a happy, smiling little America cheerfully accepts.

Then the scene flashes back to the war, with Britain continuing to break down in front of his little brother, questioning why and how everything got this way. To which America tells Britain that he knows why. Watching the disheartening scene unfold, America sadly says:

"What happened? I remember when you were great."

The whole episode gives you such an insane, in-depth look at America's character, and even Britain's to an extent. The story is portrayed as a tragedy of two brothers torn apart by conflict. Brothers who love and care about one another but no longer see eye to eye. One desires control, and the other desires freedom and independence.

By depicting America and Britain as family, this episode gives you a vivid window into how this could be seen as a tragedy, but one you know is necessary for one of the characters to grow. It almost plays out like a soap opera.

The reason this episode is, in my opinion, the one that changed Hetalia and its fandom is because this is the episode where we truly got to see the sheer brilliance of Hetalia's potential.

World history is hardly a pretty picture to look at. History, real history, is often violent. Ugly. Controversial. Unsettling. Complicated. And in some instances, downright horrifying.

And yet, on the other side of the coin, history can be incredible. Inspiring. Powerful. Though-provoking. Intellectually stimulating. Beautiful. And at times, even hopeful.

America's Storage Room Cleaning is an amazing episode because of how they portray such an incredible moment in history. It's treated like it's a serious and intense drama. Because, for America and Britain, it is. It's an episode that prompts the audience to think, "If this is how the American Revolution is portrayed using these characters, then how can other conflicts be depicted?"

And I believe it was this episode of the anime/chapter of the comic that led to the creation of the historical side of the Hetalia fandom. Now, I have no doubt that side of the fandom would've formed eventually, regardless of whether or not Hetalia tried to play it straight. But this episode absolutely fueled it, as evidenced by the copious amount of fanart, fanfiction, fanon, headcanons, and cosplays this episode has inspired.

I know there are other moments where Hetalia delves into serious territory. Joan of Arc, the battle of Grunwald, the protests in Russia, etc.

But this is the moment where the audience caught a glimpse of what Hetalia could be. The potential to portray history in such a unique and different way, the likes of which you don't see everywhere else.

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tetragonia · 19 hours ago

Text

A True Love's Kiss

Itadori Yuji x Megumi Fushiguro x Nobara Kugisaki x GN!Reader

summary: The first-years—meaning you, Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi—were in deep trouble because a mission had gone wrong. Gojo had told you to exorcise a Grade 2 curse just outside town, but it didn’t end well. The cursed spirit was exorcised, yes, but before it vanished, it left behind one last curse—a curse that could only be broken by a true love’s kiss. Now, the four of you were contemplating how to break it.

notes: uhhh this is just a silly idea lol. also you're welcome to check another silly fic of mine! here -> JJK fic @ AO3!! enjoy!

words: 2.3k

The mission was supposed to be simple. A grade 2 cursed spirit lurking in an abandoned park—nothing they couldn’t handle. They had faced far worse. So when Megumi, Nobara, Yuji, and you cornered the thing near the rusted remains of a jungle gym, they thought it was over.

Then it cursed them.

"What the hell did it just do?" Nobara asked, rubbing her temples. The spirit had let out this ghastly, wailing screech, and suddenly, an invisible force had passed through them like a gust of wind. The air shimmered, reality bending for just a moment—and then everything felt wrong.

Megumi was the first to feel it.

"Shit," he hissed, clutching his head. His body felt heavy, like he was being dragged down by unseen chains. His limbs were sluggish, his vision slightly blurred.

Yuji groaned, stretching his arms, "Ugh. Why do I feel like I just pulled an all-nighter and got hit by a truck?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the odd, sinking sensation, "I feel like I’m about to pass out."

"Great. We’re cursed," Nobara, ever the practical one, clicked her tongue. She sighed as she walked away, but she was yanked back. The veil wasn’t lifted yet, but she couldn’t step farther.

“What the hell?” Yuji frowned, as he tried to walk away. But he ended up just like Nobara, it was like there was a giant transparent wall surrounding them.

The spirit laughed, its grotesque mouth curling into a smirk as it started to fade away.

“People can come… but they may not go…” its voice was disgustingly teasing.

“Oh, come on!” you frowned, looking at the spirit’s half-transparent body.

“True love’s kiss… breaks the spell…” it rasped mockingly, before disappearing completely.

Silence.

Dead silence.

You all stood frozen, the cursed spirit’s words settling in like an earthquake cracking through their collective sanity.

Then—

"I’m sorry, WHAT?" Nobara shrieked.

"Did it just say—" Yuji coughed, couldn't believe what he heard.

"Nope. Nope. I refuse," Megumi immediately rejected whatever was about to be suggested.

"You can’t reject it, Megumi, we’re literally cursed!" Nobara snapped.

"True love’s kiss?" you repeated, staring up at the sky like you were having a crisis. "You mean like… fairy tales?"

Yuji, looking both horrified and oddly amused, hesitated, "So… one of us has to… kiss someone?"

Megumi closed his eyes, "I hate this."

"We all hate this!" Nobara shouted. "But if that thing wasn’t lying, then we’re stuck like this until someone kisses their so-called ‘true love’!"

You blinked. Then you squinted.

"Wait. How does it even know what ‘true love’ is?"

"That’s actually a good question," Yuji raised a finger.

"I don’t care! I feel like my soul is rotting inside my body, so someone better start smooching!" Nobara groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

Megumi, in full maximum suffering mode, looked like he was debating whether to just let the curse kill him.

"Absolutely not."

Yuji scratched the back of his head. "Okay, okay, let’s just—hypothetically speaking!—figure this out logically."

"There is no logical way to figure this out!" Megumi snapped.

"Sure there is!" Yuji insisted. "Like… okay, who here has a crush on someone?"

Silence.

Megumi’s eye twitched. Nobara crossed her arms, looking at the others expectantly. You just blinked at Yuji like he was insane. Yuji sighed.

"Okay, fine. Let’s just try kissing someone at random."

"Do you hear yourself?" Megumi asked, voice flat with horror.

You, ever the agent of chaos, suddenly smirked, "Alright, Fushiguro, pucker up."

Megumi stared at you like you had just committed a war crime.

Nobara cackled, grinning wickedly, "Ohhh, yeah, Fushiguro! If it works, then—"

"Over my dead body!" Megumi immediately shut it down.

Yuji, bless his soul, was actually considering it.

"I mean, (Y/N), have you guys ever—"

"Shut up, Itadori!" Megumi barked, palms slamming the table. You snorted.

"Wow, so aggressive. If you keep glaring at me like that, I might actually fall in love."

Megumi looked like he was about to throw himself into traffic.

"Okay!" Nobara interrupted, clapping her hands. "Let’s just get this over with! I’m not sitting here feeling like my soul is corroding. If none of us are romantically interested in each other, then we just gotta go for it."

You exhaled, "I hate that I agree.

Yuji nodded, reluctant but determined, "Alright. Let’s try."

They all looked at each other. Then they realized something.

"Wait," you said, squinting. "There are four of us. What if this curse is, like, super specific and only works for one pair?"

A pause. A horrible pause.

Then Nobara paled, "Oh my god. What if we have to do trial and error?"

Megumi made a sound that was either a groan or the death rattle of his last brain cell. Yuji exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples.

"Okay, okay, we just gotta get this over with. It’s not a big deal, right?"

"It is absolutely a big deal," Megumi’s jaw tightened.

You stretched your arms lazily, "We could just let the curse kill us. Sounds easier than dealing with this."

"Nope!" Nobara shot down that idea immediately, jabbing a finger at your chest. "No one is dying because you’re all too emotionally constipated to kiss someone!"

"Why are we even debating this? It’s simple. If true love’s kiss is the requirement, then it’s already impossible,” Megumi ran a hand down his face.

"Why?" Yuji frowned. Megumi gave him a look.

"Because that means someone here has to be in love with someone else here. And that’s—"

A terrible silence. You blinked, then smirked, "Fushiguro, do you have something to confess?"

Megumi's eye twitched violently, "I swear to—"

"Enough," Nobara clapped her hands. "We’re gonna be scientific about this."

Yuji raised a brow and tilted his head, he looked like a lost puppy, "Scientific?"

Nobara ignored him, rolling up her sleeves.

"We’re going to test every possible combination. First up—Yuji, (Y/N), kiss."

You and Yuji froze.

"Wait, wait, why are we first?!" Yuji panicked.

"Because you’re both dumbasses, and dumbasses should get it over with quickly!"

"That doesn’t even make sense!"

You, still smirking, shrugged, "Alright, alright, let’s get this over with, Itadori. Don’t fall in love with me."

"I—I—don’t phrase it like that!" Yuji made a horrible strangled noise. Nobara grabbed Yuji by the back of his jacket and practically shoved him forward.

"Just do it, I want to go home."

"I—I CAN’T JUST—(Y/N), HELP—" Yuji sputtered.

You, not one to back down from a challenge, grabbed Yuji’s face with both hands, "Shhh, just close your eyes, darling."

"WHAT THE HELL, (Y/N)—"

And then you pecked him right on the lips. The room held its breath. A beat passed.

Two.

Three.

Nothing happened.

Yuji slowly opened one eye, blushing like an idiot, "Did it work?"

"Nope," you popped your lips. "That was a waste."

Yuji, still dazed, touched his mouth, "Huh. That was my first kiss."

"This is the worst mission I’ve ever been on," Megumi groaned into his hands.

"Alright, next pair!"Nobara sighed.

"Oh, let’s do Fushiguro and Itadori next,” you perked up. Megumi snapped his head up.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT."

"I second that!" Yuji held up his hands.

"Cowards,” you shrugged.

Megumi glared daggers, "(Y/N), why are you enjoying this?"

"Because this is the dumbest thing we’ve ever had to do, and I live for chaos."

Yuji wiped his mouth, still recovering, "Can we at least try people who might actually work? Like, Fushiguro, you and Kugisaki—"

Nobara gagged, "I’d rather fight Sukuna one-on-one."

"What the hell?!" Megumi looked genuinely offended.

"Not my fault you have the romantic appeal of a cactus."

"Then you and (Y/N) can go next,” Megumi looked ready to commit murder.

You and Nobara made eye contact. You nodded, "Sure, why not?"

Nobara shrugged, "Whatever."

Yuji’s jaw dropped, "Wait, why are you two so chill about it?!"

Nobara rolled her eyes.

"Because we’re not insecure little boys, Itadori. Pucker up, (Y/N)."

"Try not to fall for me," you smirked. And just like that, you kissed Nobara, and she kissed you back.

A pause.

Nothing happened.

Nobara clicked her tongue.

"Lame."

"Wow, no true love between us? I’m heartbroken,” you sighed dramatically.

“Oh, come on. This is stupid,” Nobara huffed as she turned to Yuji. “Oi. Let’s get this over with.”

“Huh?” Yuji blinked.

“You. Me. Let’s kiss.”

“Ooooh,” you whistled at her firm and commanding voice. Megumi rolled his eyes.

“Can we just hurry up and break this already?”

“Uh, alright. But if this doesn’t work, you owe me ten onigiri,” Yuji, still processing, scratched the back of his head.

“You really think this is a fair bet?” Nobara narrowed her eyes.

“Hey, food is food!” Yuji just shrugged.

Nobara sighed sharply, grabbed his collar, and kissed him. A beat of silence. Everyone stared.

The curse did not break.

Yuji pulled back, smacking his lips together, “Huh.”

Nobara frowned, eyes darting around her own body like she expected something to change, “Seriously?”

You snorted, “Damn, Kugisaki. Guess you’re not Itadori’s true love.”

“Gross. That was a waste of time,” Nobara wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘gross’? I brushed my teeth today!” Yuji looked genuinely offended.

“Oh, congrats. You’re so hygienic.”

"More hygienic than you—”

Megumi groaned, “We don’t have time for this. Just go down the list already.”

“Man, you make it sound like we’re checking homework,” Yuji shuddered. "Alright, Fushiguro, pucker up."

Yuji cracked his knuckles, stepping forward. Megumi's entire soul left his body.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, we don’t have all day," Yuji pointed at himself. "I'm true. I got love. So let's do this, man."

Megumi took an instinctive step back, "I think I'd rather die."

"Wow. Wow. That is so messed up," Yuji gasped, looking genuinely offended.

"It's not that I—" Megumi massaged his temples. "I just—maybe I should kiss (Y/N) first.”

The moment he said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Yuji froze. Then, very slowly, his eye twitched.

"You wanna kiss (Y/N) first?" he repeated.

Megumi winced, "I just meant—"

"OH, I SEE HOW IT IS."

Yuji grabbed Megumi’s collar, yanking him forward, "So you'd rather have your first kiss with (Y/N) than me? Your best buddy?"

Megumi sputtered, "Why are you making this about you?!"

"BECAUSE I AM OFFENDED!" Yuji yelled, shaking him. "We've been through so much together! And you'd rather kiss (Y/N)?! I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS!"

"That’s not—" Megumi tried to pry Yuji’s hands off, but Yuji had freakish strength. "I just—logically—"

"LOGICALLY, YOU SHOULD JUST LET ME KISS YOU!"

"THAT'S NOT LOGIC, ITADORI, THAT'S JUST YOU WANTING TO KISS ME—"

"AND WHAT IF I DO?! WHAT THEN?!"

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?"

Meanwhile, you and Nobara were wheezing. Nobara had collapsed onto your shoulder, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Oh my god," Nobara gasped, gripping your sleeve. "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

You grinned at the view, eyes gleaming. "Do you think if I say ‘just kiss already,’ they’ll actually do it?"

"Try it."

"Hey, ItaFushi," you called, grinning. "Just kiss already."

"SHUT UP!"

"NOT HELPING!"

Megumi, still half-dangling from Yuji’s grip, groaned, "This is stupid. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been a part of."

"We both know that’s not true,” Yuji snorted.

"Fair," Megumi looked neutral for a second, but he continued fuming. “But can we wait for help?!”

He wasn’t the one to call for help, he was always the one helping. But this whole situation? Nope.

Yuji, deep in thought, snapped his fingers, "What if we call Gojo?"

Megumi turned to Yuji so fast his neck nearly snapped.

"WHAT?!"

"Oh my god, imagine if Gojo was Megumi’s true love!” you cackled.

Nobara wiped away a tear, "We’d never let him live it down."

Yuji, very serious, pulled out his phone, "Okay, I’m calling him."

Megumi grabbed Yuji’s wrist in a death grip.

"Itadori. I swear. If you call him, I will summon my shikigami and make them maul you."

Yuji gulped.

"Okay. Okay. No Gojo. Got it."

“No me?”

A voice chimed in as its owner walked innocently through the transparent wall. Gojo squatted down, grinning, "What the hell happened to you guys? Why does it took so long?"

Four pair of eyes widened, three from shocks and one from an instant death.

Megumi sighed as he just signed a contract to his own death, "Curse. Wouldn’t break. Stupid condition."

"Huh? What kind of curse?" Gojo raised a brow.

"True love’s kiss."

Gojo froze hearing Yuji’s answer. And then he grinned.

"Oh?" he said, far too delighted. "And? Did you figure it out?"

Nobara grumbled something obscene. You just snorted. Gojo chuckled hearing all the responses, "So that’s a no, huh?"

Then, without missing a beat, he reached out—and kissed Megumi’s forehead.

A soft glow flickered over Megumi’s body, and passed through Yuji, Nobara, you, and eventually the transparent wall surrounding them.

And just like that—the curse lifted.

Silence.

Utter, complete silence.

Yuji slowly lifted his head. Nobara looked up so fast her neck nearly snapped. You blinked blearily at the scene.

Megumi sat there, completely frozen.

Gojo, still grinning, gave him a light pat on the head, "See? Was that so hard?"

"Holy shit," you covered your mouth with your hand.

"It was Gojo-sensei?!" Yuji looked horrified. "All along?"

"YOU MEAN WE WENT THROUGH ALL THAT FOR NOTHING?!" Nobara screeched.

Megumi looked like he was experiencing all seven stages of grief at once while Gojo stood up casually, stretching.

"Man, this brings back memories! I used to do that to you all the time when you were little, Megumi."

Megumi finally snapped out of it, "DON’T SAY THAT."

You, grinning like an idiot, leaned on Megumi’s shoulder as you whispered to his ear, "Fushiguro… is Gojo your true love?"

Megumi shoved you off, "I WILL KILL ALL OF YOU."

"I hate everything,” Yuji just lay back down

Gojo, absolutely thriving, clapped his hands.

"Alright, now that that’s settled—who wants pancakes?"

Megumi wished the ground would swallow him whole.

58 notes · View notes

aburningmemory · 2 days ago

Note

“Yeah, well, the dragon could wait. Its not in a big rush to have me back i’d think.” Beithir shrugs softly, a low hum in his throat as he watches the other climb back into the covers, but when it all hits him, his yelling startles the dwarf hedgehog for a moment as he flinches and rubs his ears softly, listening to the other freak out with a soft laugh and low hum. “Atleast i dont have to repeat it, but yeah, i suspected it was all a drunken spiel at the dinnertable anyways. But that probably wont stop percival from having a talk with you, so i’d just keep an eye out.” Beithir coos lightheartedly, moving to just lean his head against the side of the matress again as he kept himself on the floor with another yawn “mhm, we did. But you have to remember im the one that asked if you wanted too, so its moreso my fault for that one.” He shrugs. “Well gawain might be a tease, but the other knights weren’t present if that helps your case. Why are you apologizing to me? Its fine, i assure you. It was no big issue.” The hog assures, and seems to just move to sloooowly slide and melt into the floor as he balls up, hes definitely not making n effort to climb back into the bed if the knights embarrassed about everything right now. So the floor works. Hes slept on the cold rocks so the floor is fine. He moves to stretch around until hes halfway curled up, laying down like a dragon or a cat typically would when they’re about to sleep.

[ @aburningmemory Sir percival time :3 (aka. Twink scolds local knight time /j)]

“I hope you’re enjoying the work, stable boy. Its not getting any easier from here, i assure you that.”

The felines voice rings out from the stable doors. He doesnt seem to care that the other knight is here with galahad, but its obvious Percival isnt quite over galahads dragon stunts. By how his arms are crossed and his eyes are glaring into the hedgehogs even from the doors. The knights leaned against one of the doors, arms crossed and tail slightly lashing. Ofcourse hes also making sure the other isnt burnt out or too tired, while also glaring daggers at him.

“I’d hope you haven’t tuckered yourself out yet, because we still have things to do. Like training for your ‘fated battle against the dragon’ you preach about.” Percival huffs, ears flicking backwards in an airplane shape. Hes only so hard on galahad out of worry, but sometimes it sure does feel like he just isnt a fan of galahad. Thats never the case, ofcourse, but percival cant really mask his anger that well.

Galahad groans. "I'm already well aware, Perci." He set aside the rake before taking a rest on a nearby haybale. "Can't training wait a bit? I already spent hours tending to the horses."

"If you're gonna be watching him, then am I relieved of babysitting duty? I have somewhere to be!"

#reunion #((he's one really embarrassed boy right now.))#<- the poor gay bastard /j)#alcohol cw #alcohol mention #sir galahad satbk #guest muse: sir beithir (satbk)#satbk roleplay #satbk au #sonic roleplay blog #sonic fandom #silver— linings

119 notes · View notes

starly-amazing · 1 day ago

Text

To Not Change

Rating: Teen

Summary: Finally! After laying in bed and being cared for night and day by their allies friends family—finally Siffrin has been deemed recovered and 'stable' enough to get back on the road. They've had plenty of hugs and excruciatingly vulnerable but necessary (necessary!!!) feelings talky-talks while laid up in bed in Dormont, but they finally left the town and that blinding House behind feeling not completely terrible! That is, until a familiar, yet entirely unwelcome feeling begins gnawing on their insides after its long absence and knocks them right back into bed. After assuring their family it's not, in fact, their craft exhaustion causing their current problems, Siffrin confides in Mirabelle over these mysterious pains that have been following them for half their life. AKA: Doctors suck, intersex Siffrin has had enough of their bullcrab, and he and Mirabelle have a nice long feelings talky-talk about their right to not Change.

Tags: Asexual Siffrin, Aroace Mirabelle, Intersex Siffrin, Feelings Talky-talk, Platonic MiraSif, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Catharsis, Sickfic (i guess)

Warnings: Intersexism, Mentions of Medical Abuse/Neglect, Medical Intersexism, Brief/Vague Mentions of Sex and Periods

[Read on AO3]

--- --- ---

Finally! After laying in bed and being cared for night and day by their allies friends family—finally Siffrin has been deemed recovered and 'stable' enough to get back on the road. They've had plenty of hugs and excruciatingly vulnerable but necessary (necessary!!!) feelings talky-talks while laid up in bed in Dormont, but they finally left the town and that blinding House behind feeling not completely terrible!

That was, until a familiar, yet entirely unwelcome feeling began gnawing on their insides after its long absence.

If there was one good thing about the loops...

Of course, of course, it's happening now, when they're finally able to help get Bonnie back to their sister.

Siffrin managed to get through most of their journey to save Vaugarde with their family without having to deal with it, but now it's coming back with a vengeance and has them wanting to claw out every organ in the lower half of their body.

What did the doctors say it was again?

Ugh, it doesn't matter—it's not like they've ever done anything helpful for it.

He adjusts his pack, twists his body a few times, then picks up the pace. Just a few more hours of walking to the next city, then they can find a nice patch of grass to curl up in until it goes away.

It's fine.

It's fine!

Just think about your family and how amazing and wonderful they are for staying with you after everything you've done to them! Think about Bonbon reuniting with their sister after you made them wait even longer to see her again!

"Sif? You okay?" Isabeau's voice makes them jump and stumble. They're saved by his strong arm flying in front of him in a flash.

Siffrin squeezes down on his bicep and rights himself with shaky legs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," they pant.

He narrows his eyes. " Sif ." Slowly, he pulls his arm away and turns to face him fully.

They grumble and clench their jaw. "I don't feel so good."

The rest of their family catch on to Siffrin's distress and circle back around to inspect them.

Mirabelle places the back of her hand on his forehead. "You're running hot again, Siffrin. I think your craft exhaustion is back."

Isabeau glances behind him at the small collection of houses they just passed. "We're only about twenty minutes out from Miette. Do you want to turn back and stay another day?"

Siffrin frowns. "But Bonnie—"

"FRIN!" Bonnie barks, "I can wait! I miss Nille and all, but I don't want you to drop dead either!" They stomp their feet in a wide stance, cross their arms, and pout.

Siffrin feels a twist in their chest. "Hhahah, I'm not gonna die Bonbon."

"Still," Odile sighs, "The nurses back in Dormont did warn you about potential permanent health complications if you overexert yourself while still experiencing craft exhaustion."

"It's fine." Siffrin waves. "It's not craft exhaustion. It's just... something that happens sometimes. It'll go away on its own."

Odile crosses her arms. "Siffrin. Even if whatever 'it' is normally goes away on its own, we have no idea how it interacts with your craft exhaustion. You already know how we all feel about leaving this early. We should head back." Everyone nods.

Siffrin grumbles. "I just need to sit down for a bit." His eye flicks across all of them. "I—" They're all crowding awfully close and Bonnie is digging in their bag for tonics and the clinking glass grates at their ears and he feels the air getting warmer and thicker and they find themself trembling and sweating as the pain inside them twists and claws and threatens to turn them inside out and—

Stars fill their vision, and the world turns sideways.

—

Siffrin doesn't even get a brief reprieve in their returning lucidity before the clawing, twisting, burning sensation returns. They groan and pull their legs closer to their chest but find they can only move a few inches.

Something shifts beside them, and they pry their eye open to see Isabeau already leaning over them.

"Sif! Sif, are you okay? Do you need anything? Are you feeling better?" His hand flies to their forehead, and he pauses for a moment before placing it down gently against their burning skin. They don't flinch; he's too tired, even if he might have otherwise.

"Yeah, somewhat." They smile and run their fingers through their sweaty hair. The air around them is so cold, though, and a shudder wracks their whole body.

"Hold on," Isabeau murmurs, "let me get you some more water." He dashes out of the room.

Siffrin takes that time to slowly, slowly inch their way into a sitting position and survey their surroundings.

Okay, we're in a room. Obviously. Probably back at the inn in Miette. Ugh. Fever is back. Awful whatever-it-is is back. Ugh, they're going to make me stay here for another few days, aren't they?

They shake their head and grab the wall for purchase as the room spins.

No, no it's okay. They're doing this because they care about you. If you drop dead on the road, it'd slow them down even more! You haven't even told them what you wanted them to do with your corpse this time!

The clicking of the door handle jerks them back to reality, and Isabeau comes back with a full glass and the rest of the family in tow.

"FRIN!" Bonnie screeches and launches themself on the bed. Siffrin bites back a groan as the rocking sends jolts through them.

"Boniface, please," Odile presses her fingers to her temple.

"Oh, sorry." They slide off and grab a stool. The legs let out an awful scraping sound as it's dragged across the old, wooden floor. Siffrin grinds their teeth and shrinks in on themself until Isabeau jumps over and lifts it for the last few feet.

Mirabelle kneels beside Bonnie as they get comfortable, and she feels Siffrin's forehead. Her lips twitch downward just a bit. "How are you feeling now?"

He finds himself leaning into the refreshing coolness of her fingers.

"Fi—mmm... bleh," they finally grunt.

"How 'bleh'?"

"Like I-don't-want-to-move 'bleh', not I'm-dying 'bleh."

Isabeau wipes his brow and sighs. "Well, that's good, at least, but you still scared the crab out of all of us!"

"Sorry." They hide their face behind their knees.

"It's okay. Just please, please talk to us more. I know it's hard. But you're not burdening any of us if you need us to slow down."

"Sorry."

Odile taps her notebook. "Siffrin, if you say 'sorry' again, gems help me I'll—"

"Whoa, m'dame give them some leeway, please." Isabeau holds his hands up.

She sighs. "Okay, Siffrin, are you able to tell us what's wrong? You mentioned something about this not being craft exhaustion, correct?"

They look down at their sheets and tug at the hem. "Right," they mumble, "it's something else."

She opens her notebook and raises an eyebrow. "Something else?"

"Frin, I didn't cook you anything bad, did I???" Bonnie leans closer with a stiff frown etched on their face. "I told Za those turnips looked weird, but he said that's normal."

"H-hey!" Isabeau sputters. "They were fine; they just looked weird!"

"I doubt it's that, Boniface," Odile comments. "We all ate it, and none of us seem to be feeling ill."

"Not the turnips." Siffrin shakes their head. They rub their chin on their shoulder to get an itchy bead of sweat off. "It's just something that happens occasionally."

Mirabelle narrows her gaze and stares at Siffrin clutching their gut for a moment. "Oh! Siffrin, are you having cramps? Did you just start—"

"No! I mean, maybe? I don't know, it's—" they grip their side harder. The room is quickly heating up and growing stuffy, and they find their breaths are becoming more ragged and heavy.

"Sif, it's okay; there's no shame in talking about it," Isabeau chuckles warmly. "I have some herbs for that I can grab if you want."

"Sure, yeah," they mumble. Just agree, say it's cramps, and they'll let up. And maybe it is just weird cramps and you actually are telling the truth!

Bonnie jumps in their seat. "Oh, oh! Nille usually cooks up something when she has them, and it helps a lot. I'll try to remember what she used and make some in a sec!"

Stars begin pricking the corners of his vision again. He groans and curls in more, squeezing his eye shut. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay, kids, I think Siffrin needs some space." Odile shuffles the others away from the bed. He takes in a sharp breath. "We'll come back shortly to talk."

"Thanks," Siffrin exhales. His eye snaps open, and he jolts back upright as they start to shuffle toward the door. "Wait!" they yelp.

Everyone jumps.

"Mira, can you stay? Please?"

She gasps and clasps her hands together. "Yes, of course, Siffrin." She settles down on the stool Bonnie just vacated as the others file out of the room.

Mira won't be weird about it. Probably. She's probably the safest person to talk to right now. Odile would want to study you. Isabeau would probably pass out if you go into any details.

"We're trying to find a doctor," Isabeau says from the door, "the only one in this town is swamped right now so—"

Siffrin shakes their head and doesn't stop until Isabeau puts his hands up and takes a step back.

"Enough doctors, I'll be fine. I just need to rest for a little."

"Oh, okay." He grips the door frame and looks between Siffrin and Mirabelle. "We'll be back later with food, then." Isabeau gives one last look at them before closing the door.

Siffrin lets out a long sigh and relaxes as much as his body will allow.

Mirabelle puts her hand beside him on the bed. "Siffrin?"

They flinch but turn to her. "Yeah?"

"I—um—will you tell me what's really wrong?"

They bury their face in their knees.

Honesty. Honesty!

But this isn't about the loops, so why should I?

But it was never just about the loops, though.

Ughhh...

Mirabelle moves her hand closer until it's hovering over his. She waits for his gaze to fall on it before she places it on top, light as a feather.

They turn their hand around and lock their fingers with hers. Right! They can do that now! And it feels great!

Too bad it’s not enough to vanquish the pain, but they’ll take what they can get!

"I don't know what it is exactly, but it's happened before a lot."

"Before?" Mira tilts her head.

"Before I met you all. It doesn't usually make me pass out like that."

"That's probably the craft exhaustion exacerbating it," she hums. "Wait— usually? You've passed out before?"

They wince. "A few times, yeah. Usually, when I've been traveling for a while and haven't eaten much in a few days."

"A few days!?" She looks like she's seen a ghost.

They squeak. Too honest! He tries to hide beneath his hat, but of course, it's still gone forever. He settles for pulling his blanket over his face.

"Sorry, sorry, Siffrin." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Please, keep talking. I promise I won't react like that again. I just worry—you know." She wrings her hands together. "But I know reacting like that isn't constructive, so I'll keep it inside for you!" She picks at her nails until Siffrin points at them. "Thanks," she mutters and slams them down on her thighs.

"Okay," he breathes, "okay, well, it's... it's just that... well... sometimes I just get this weird discomfort or pain like..." They gesture between their legs. "My body is... different... down there. And it might have something to do with it. " They begin to explain their symptoms as best they can. Mirabelle stays as still as she's able, only letting out a few small gasps when he goes over the more gruesome details.

"That sounds awful." Her face twists into a grimace. "Have you talked to any doctors about it?"

They cringe until their cheeks hurt and shake their head. "I've been to doctors before but they're always... " They shift themself around and take a swig of water. "They're always trying to look at me like I'm some sort of weird specimen." His heart pounds against his ribs faster and faster.

They take another big gulp. "And then they keep telling me to let them do surgery on me or go to a House and Change to be more normal and show me all these diagrams of what I should look like and say a bunch of confusing words and don't explain what any of it means and it was even worse when I didn't even know Vaugardian that well and they never explain why Changing like that would even help me." Their head starts to hurt like something is trying to pull it apart.

"And they always keep trying to get me to change to one—you know—set down there and rarely the other and now I don't even want to Change like that even if I might have before and sometimes they give me some medicine that helps a bit but other times they don't and just make it feel worse so I haven't even gone in years and just try to ignore it when it happens and—and—"

"Siffrin!" Mirabelle reaches up toward their face. They jerk back but still themself as she slowly, carefully places her hand where he had somehow tangled it in his hair. Her other hand comes up and under his palm and loosens his fingers to pull them away from his head.

He lets his other hand fall to his side as Mirabelle presses a soft kiss to his knuckles.

It tickles.

"Sorry," he breathes and squeezes his eye shut.

"You're okay, Siffrin. I'm so sorry."

"S'not your fault," they mumble.

"I'm still sorry," she frowns, "that sounds awful. Doctors keep telling you to Change to fix this?"

They nod and scratch at their cheek.

"Is that why you were so adamant about not seeing one here or undressing for the nurse back at the House?"

"Yeah," they whimper. "They even try to talk about it when I go in about something completely unrelated, like that one time I burned my thigh." They cringe and hope she doesn't ask them to explain how that huge blunder happened.

"That's..." She puts her fingernail in her mouth but doesn't chew. She looks off at the faded old lamp on their nightstand as her face twists into something that might have scared him if he wasn't so drained.

"That's not okay!" she barks out loud enough for Siffrin to jump. She turns to them, and they flinch again. "They shouldn't do that to you! What the crab is wrong with them?" She wrings her hands on her belt and taps her foot.

"Ooh, I'm so mad! Doctors are supposed to help! Not try to push people to Change as some sort of end-all be-all solution! Especially not people who don't even follow the Change Belief!" She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Siffrin simply waits for her to continue as he hugs his knees closer and closer to his chest. The pressure helps a bit, but they keep having to move into weirder and weirder positions to chase the bad sensations away.

"Siffrin, I'm so sorry they treated you that way. I'm... " She pinches her brow and is silent for a while. Siffrin leans closer and catches her mumbling something under her breath.

Mirabelle slaps her hands down in her lap, making Siffrin jump once again. Stars , when will he cut that out? "I love the Change Belief. I love how it pushes me to be a better person, and I love how kind everyone is, and I love learning new things. But sometimes I feel like it keeps pushing us to Change just for the sake of change. Like you have to work hard to be a completely different person each day, 'who cares if you're happy where you are in life go buy a whole different set of clothes even though the ones you have are fine go fall in love and get bonded and have babies and—'"

Siffrin perks up. They lean forward and give a few subconscious nods as she speaks.

"'—you're not doing it right if you don't want to do these things even if just thinking about them makes you feel gross inside and if you don't want that you're just going to be alone forever and—'" Her eyes blow wide, and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

Siffrin clenches his jaw and shies away. He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, she continues.

"Siffrin, I'm sorry—I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean to make this about me. I shouldn't have brought that up just now. It's just something that's been bothering me for a while," her voice slows and lowers with each word, "even before you said all those things to me. I'm sorry, we can talk about that later. I know this is the worst time to bring it up."

"No, no!" Nope! No going back now. Only forward. Even if it kills me. They lean closer. "No, it's okay. Please keep talking. This is what I was trying to talk to you about that day."

Nope, she can't keep thinking something's wrong with her because of you!

They dig their nails into their knee until it hurts.

"Huh?"

"Like... what you talked to me about on previous loops. You were saying these things, too." They squeeze their legs. "I just worded it so terribly and wasn't thinking about how gross shoving it in your face like that was... even if I did manage to say it right. And I'm still so, so sorry."

"Oh, Siffrin," she frowns. Her lips pull tight and she keeps fidgeting with her belt.

"I should have let you figure it out yourself. I was just so eugh and rushed everyone and ruined everything and—"

"Siffrin!" She squeezes his hands in the same rhythm he did for her. " It's okay . Is this really what we were talking about then?"

They sniff and nod. "Yeah. I was trying to tell you that—well, please, just keep talking, okay?"

"Are you sure? Shouldn't we at least get you something first?" She glances at the door. "I'm sure Isabeau will be back with whatever herbs he has soon."

They shake their head. "Please."

"Oh, okay then. Well," She grumbles and tugs at the hem of her dress. A heavy silence fills the room for a long, long moment. Siffrin shifts themself a bit as their discomfort flares up.

"Okay," she sighs. "Well. It's just that... I mean, it's always about capital C Changing all the time. You have to make huge Changes, and once you're done, you Change again and again and again just for the sake of showing everyone how different you are now and to please the Change God who probably doesn't even care that much! And it's just like people get so caught up in Changing that they don't stop to think about if they really want to or even should, and then they keep pushing everyone to keep furthering their Changes, and it makes me feel like I'm failing everyone because I..."

She bites her lip and rocks side to side in her chair. "I don't want to Change in some ways! I like how I am now! I saved the crabbing country, and I have you and everyone with me who love me and want to keep traveling with me, and I'm happy with that!"

She pauses to take a few shallow breaths. "Why do I have to Change in other ways? I keep looking at those stupid crabbing bonding papers, and I don't feel anything for any of those people or anyone I've ever met. I don't want to date or bond with anyone or have ssss... do stuff with people and have children with them!"

She wipes her glove over her eyes and Siffrin realizes she's tearing up.

"Mira." He squeezes her hands. "Breathe with me?"

"Sorry, sorry, I—"

Siffrin takes a slow breath in and out and Mirabelle soon copies. They close their eye and rhythmically squeeze at her hands and repeat their breaths several more times. The pain clawing at them seems to fade just a bit and they're able to uncurl a little more.

Okay. Okay. This is good. This is fine. We're still getting there even if she's more upset than before and my organs are on fire. Just stick to the s—no—no script, you can do this without one!

"It's okay, Mira," they smile. "You're right, that's really similar to my uh... situation." He tilts his head side to side as he says that. "I can't really imagine being completely surrounded by that pressure all my life."

It seems so stifling.

Mirabelle gasps. "Oh, no, Siffrin, don't get me wrong. I still do love the Change Belief and what it stands for in general, just that... I just—I guess there's some things about it that seem more hurtful than helpful. I thought it was just me and I'm just failing as a Housemaiden when everyone around me is doing these things and I'm not.

"But talking to you about it... I can't be the only one going through this, can I? There have to be other Housemaidens who feel this way too, right?"

Siffrin nods, leaning forward. "Well, I'm not a Housemaiden, but I also don't want to do 'stuff,’ I think. I know it's not exactly the same thing because I do love Isa... and I think it might be romantic but... sex just seems so weird and kinda gross."

Mirabelle perks up and gasps. "Really? You don't?"

Siffrin shakes their head with a tired smile.

She studies him for a moment; he can't quite read her expression. "Yeah. Yeah! It is! It is weird and messy and confusing, and I don't want to do that at all!" She shakes her head and hands, and Siffrin has to lean back so she doesn't smack him in the face with her hair.

He can't hold back a chuckle, but his smile soon falls, and he presses his chin to his knees.

"And I also worry sometimes that that'll be a problem if we do start... d-dating." They bite their lip. "What if he wants to do 'stuff' with me and I still don't want to. Or what if I do try it and he sees me like this and thinks it's weird and gross and—"

" He won't, " Mira says with conviction.

"Wha—?"

"Isabeau won't think or say anything bad about it, Siffrin. I trust him. Just like I know he wouldn't say anything bad to me if I talked to him about what we just talked about."

"Right, yeah." They dig their fist into their gut. "I still don't want to disappoint him."

"If he has a problem with that I'll kick him in his crabbing butt!"

Siffrin snorts and covers their nose with the back of their hand. "Nooo, don't do that!"

"I won't have to!" She gives a sharp nod. "Because he won't! Say anything! Bad about how you look or how you feel about sex or anything like that!"

Siffrin smiles and feels a gentle warmth bubbling up inside him. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. He's too wonderful and kind and understanding and... " they bite their trembling lip. "He's great."

Mirabelle hums and smiles even brighter. "I'm glad you have each other."

Siffrin leans forward and presses his forehead to hers. They both close their eyes and sigh. "I'm glad I have you too."

"Awww, Siffrin," she sniffs and slowly wraps her arms around him. "Thank you for letting me talk about this." She sighs. "I'm sorry, I know I should have just let you explain what you meant back at the House but I was just... " she pulls back and gestures wildly in the air. "...emotions and all that. And it's just so weird knowing you knew things about me that I didn't know yet and, well, you know what I mean."

Woulda been really nice, yeah.

"It's fine. You got it now so it's all good, I hope."

Mirabelle sniffs. "Yep, all good."

They sit like that for a minute before Mirabelle suddenly gasps and jerks upward.

"Wait, Siffrin, are you still hurting?"

Excruciatingly.

"Yeah, but compared to the loops, it's nothing!"

"Siffrin! That's still not good!" she huffed. "We still need to get you... hmm..." She sways her head side to side, mumbles something under her breath, then lights up a bit.

"What if I came with you to see a doctor? I could be there as support and to help if they try to get you to do anything you're not comfortable with."

They open their mouth, but no sound comes out. His mind races. That sounds... like a decent idea, actually. They could get some relief, couldn't they? Mirabelle's strong. She stood up against the King, she could stand up against some stuffy old doctor.

"You'd really do that?"

"Of course!" she beams. "It's my duty as feelings buddy to help you with bad physical feelings, too!" She crosses her arms and gives a curt nod, expression filled with determination. It only stays for a moment before she snorts out a small giggle and looks at him warmly.

"I—" they can't meet her gaze. It's all too much. He shrinks in on himself and squeezes at his wrist. Oh no, he can feel the tears forming. "Yeah, I would like that," he murmurs.

Mirabelle perks up and seems to shake her enthusiasm down as best she can.

"Okay! So!" She dives into her bag and pulls out one of her bonding papers and a pen. "Don't need this anymore!" She crosses out the front and flips over to the blank side. "Let's use it for something actually important!"

Siffrin can't help but smile.

"So! Where to start?"

--- --- ----

Notes:

Inspired by a tumblr post I saw a few months ago that talked about how the Change belief may view intersex people in a similar way to how they view aroace people.

Huge thanks to moltenbinary for proofreading this and motivating me to finish this after I had the idea bouncing around in my head for a while. Check out their fic To Exist in This Body, another intersex Siffrin fic!

Next chapter: Mirabelle strongarms a doctor into being useful. Stay Tuned!

#isat #in stars and time #isat fanfic #isat siffrin #isat mirabelle #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #my fics #my shitposts #intersexism tw #medical abuse mentions #heed the warnings up top

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rizzoreads88 · 3 days ago

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✨Elain Is Smart, Brave & Has no problem getting her hands dirty for those she loves✨

People act Like Elain is useless,weak dumb ect and I’m going to debunk this from canon.

Acotar- Yes we know everyone will bring up how Elain didn’t plant vegetables blahhhh. Nesta & Elain both didn’t help Feyre as much as they should have BUT it is not on them to provide. I don’t blame any of the sisters for not being the parent the father should have been. Also please remember when SJM wrote the first book she hadn’t planned on doing spin offs w the sisters yet so both are made to basically be like the Cinderella step sisters. Even though Elain doesn’t help Feyre as much as she should have we see she does but Feyre paint, she deeply cares for her family, Feyre talks about how Elain is strong too. How through everything Elain still had hope.

“I gazed again at that sad, dark house—the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger.”

Acomaf-

When Feyre goes to the human lands to ask Nesta & Elain to help them be a liaison between the IC & the human queens Nesta doesnt want to help. They are both scared of fae and Nesta doesn’t even want them in the house. But it is Elain who offers to help Feyre and the Fae. It is Elain who comes up a plan how to help them while Also keeping her, Nesta and their servants safe from the townspeople.

“So there will be no meeting here,” Nesta said, shoulders stiff. “There will be no Fae in this house.” “Do you include me in that declaration?” I said quietly. Nesta’s silence was answer enough. But Elain said, “Nesta.” Slowly, my eldest sister looked at her. “Nesta,” Elain said again, twisting her hands. “If … if we do not help Feyre, there won’t be a wedding. Even Lord Nolan’s battlements and all his men, couldn’t save me from … from them.” Nesta didn’t so much as flinch. Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.” She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

Acowar- When she is kidnapped to Hyberns camp she is fine when they show up. Even though she is gagged, bound, and hearing all the terrible things going on in hyberns camp around her she is not cowering in fear…

“A nod. "Get ready to run."My heart thundered. Elain glanced between us, but did not tremble. Did not cringe.

Then as they are escaping she helps save briar!

“"Grab onto him!" Elain ordered the wide-eyed human girl as Azriel thundered toward her….”“Elain screamed at her, "If you want to live, do it now!"

“Azriel, catching amongst his wings as he practically tackled her into the sky. But I saw, even as I ran, Elain's pale hands lurch-gripping the girl by her neck, holding her as tightly as she could.”

When Azriel, Briar & Elain are being attacked by Hybern hounds and briar is too scared to do anything Elain fought off the beast w her bare feet..

“The girl screamed, but Elain moved. As Azriel battled to keep them airborne, keep his grip on them, my sister sent a fierce kick into the beast’s face. Its eye. Another. Another. It bellowed, and Elain slammed her bare, muddy foot into its face again. The blow struck home. With a yelp of pain, it released its claws—and plunged into the ravine.”

Later on in Acowar when the IC couldn’t figure out how to protect the humans in Hyberns war it was Elain who came up with the plan on how to save them and how to be able to get to Graysen to do it.

“Rhys considered. "If we get a ship, they can sail—""They will demand their families and friends come."A beat of silence. Not an option. Then Elain said quietly, "We could move them toGray-sen's estate."We all faced her at the evenness of her voice.”…

“"We can set up a guard-" Cassian began.”No Elain interrupted, her voice louder than I'd heard in months. "They ... Graysen and his father ..Cassian's jaw tightened. "Then we cloak—They have hounds. Bred and trained to hunt you. Detect you."A stiff silence as my friends contemplated how, exactly, those hounds had been trained."You can't mean to leave their castle un-defended," Cassian tried a shade more gently."Even with the ash, it won't be enough. We'd need to set wards at the very minimum." Elain considered. "I can speak to him.""No," I said—at the same moment Nesta did.But Elain cut us off. "If-if you and ... they"—a glance at Rhys, my friends-"come with me, your Fae scents might distract the dogs.""You're Fae, too," Nesta reminded her."Glamour me," Elain said-to Rhys. "Make me look human. Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanc-tuary. Perhaps even let you set those wards”

Then during the war she tracks the suriel. Feyre talks about going into Elains mind and even though Elain didn’t have any mental shield up Feyre notes this…

“She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind ... Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.”

Finally in Acowar even though Elain doesn’t care for violence she steps out of shadow, tells the king of Hybern off and then stabs him through the kneck saving Nesta and Cassians life.

“But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

And then we go on to acofas and acosf. In Acosf we see Elain stick up for herself and willing to scry even though no one wants her too.

We haven’t even had Elains pov yet and she’s shown that she is brave, clever and doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty to protect the people she loves. So when people try to see she’s not strong enough, not good enough, she’s weak useless blah. This is not true in canon. Elain has helped everyone since Acomaf and has been pivotal at times too.

People tend to forget Nesta never even wanted to hold a weapon & had no idea how to fight before Acosf. Now look at her. She’s a Valkyrie. A lot changes when you get the characters pov. Just because Elain isn’t like Nesta does not mean she isn’t strong.You can be soft, kind, & feminine and still fight beasts. You can love peaceful things like baking & gardening and still kill a evil king. SJM has pointed out multiple times that Elain is strong, she has a different sort of strength. & I cannot wait for her book!

#acotar #sarah j maas #elain archeron #pro elain #acowar #acosf #archeron sisters

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buckleyflower · 3 days ago

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so, gonna send this in from the prompts list as a combo because I think its absolutely devastatingly perfect. Can't wait to see what you write from it! <3

1.) "I Thought I Was Getting Better"

9.) "Make It Stop"

It happens to Eddie for the first time when he is in Afghanistan. He can’t breathe. Time moves too quickly and too slowly at the same time. His heart is about to leap out of his chest and his hands are shaking so much that he can’t unbutton his uniform to take a breath, even if he couldn’t, anyway.

He chalks it up to the stress that comes with… living in a war zone, probably.

He doesn’t panic. A panic attack makes no sense, does it? He is a soldier, for God’s sake. He doesn’t panic.

And maybe it happens again and again but the intensity is all too different to keep track of it every single time. And there’s always someone shooting at him or about to blow him (and all of his fellow soldiers) up, so it becomes just… his normal. Until he comes back home and has to face a whole new hell, and he is so consumed by grief and pain and anger that it all fades, until he forgets that sometimes his lungs don’t seem to cooperate.

Then Ana Flores comes along and wants to be perfect for him. Hell, she probably is. But not for him. She would be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, but not for Eddie, not for someone who already has everything he’s looking for in a partner in his best friend.

So it happens again. And he is sure he’s gonna die this time, in Los Angeles, while no one is shooting at him and no one is shouting at him. Everything is supposed to be soothing, and yet he hears the screams nonetheless.

He is so sick and tired when a doctor tells him that he is not dying and his heart is working perfectly. He is so sick and tired all the time, honestly, but then there’s Buck who keeps looking at him like he wants to pick all his pieces and put them back together, and maybe, in a way he does, because he breaks up with Ana and his heart slows down again and his lungs expand to a discrete level every single time.

Then, Christopher goes away. Christopher leaves him. He puts 800 miles between him and his father and Eddie can’t help but see all the time he has lost flashing before his eyes. All the little milestones of his son, all the things he will never get back, and all the things he will miss, again, because he is a fucking failure. As a man, as a husband, as a father.

He is not at all surprised when his heart rate spikes in the middle of the night, when his chest constricts and he gasps, desperately trying to get a full breath in, shooting up from the bed with cold sweat coating his forehead, hands shaking and mouth twitching with the need to cry.

His phone on the nightstand begs him to be picked up.

Buck would answer. Buck would make it all better.

But Eddie doesn’t take his phone and Buck never finds out about his panic attacks and nightmares.

It takes two months, of Eddie not sleeping, of Christopher barely speaking to him, of Eddie trying and failing to put up a happy facade, for Buck to notice.

Buck genuinely hates himself because even after his breakup with Tommy, he has missed all the signs. That’s why he doesn’t know what to do the first time that Eddie claims he is not breathing while they are just watching a movie on Buck’s couch, on one of their nights off. Then he tries. He tries to get Eddie to calm down by talking to him, every time, but when it doesn’t seem to work anymore, he starts to take Eddie’s hands into his, and then— then it just isn’t enough anymore and one day Eddie is fine and next thing he knows he’s sitting in his therapist’s office.

So Eddie is sure he is getting better. Weeks pass by and he hasn’t had a panic attack in almost… twenty-one days— yeah, he’s counting. But then— then it happens at the worst of times.

They are on a call when Eddie starts panicking again and suddenly he is engulfed by untamable flames that lick at his lungs both physically and metaphorically, and he can barely see by the time they get out of the building on fire, because he is most certainly hyperventilating. And that’s dangerous, he could have put himself and his teammates in danger. He could have put Buck in—

“Eddie!”

It’s Buck who tries to get his attention, tugging his protective gear off of him in the process.

“Eddie, hey, hey.” He frantically gets Eddie’s mask off his face and then starts unbuttoning his turnout coat, while Eddie is stock still, completely frozen. His chest heaving is the only indication that he is alive, until he stutters something that Buck almost doesn’t catch.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that, Eds.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, once, twice. “I— Buck I— I promise—” he sobs, uncoordinatedly clawing at Buck’s biceps.

“Hey, it’s okay, Eds— it’s okay.” Buck’s chest constricts uglily.

This is the man he loves, the man who makes it all better for him, and he… what can Buck do? He is shattering. But— first things first. He has to keep his cool.

“I thought I was getting better,” Eddie splutters, eyes wild while his grip on Buck’s falters. “Buck, I— why is— Frank said that—”

Buck is vaguely aware that Bobby, Hen, and Chimney are watching the scene like hawks, but they are nice enough to not interfere.

He cups Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe the touch can ground Eddie. “Breathe with me, talk later, hm?” He gently offers to Eddie. “Eddie.” He gets closer, in Eddie’s space, so much that he fears that Eddie’s condition is going to worsen, but Eddie ends up closing even more space. “I— I’m sorry, Buck.”

“What?” Buck moves his hands, puts them on Eddie’s hips, and then moves them up and down around Eddie’s chest.

He doesn’t understand, but then Eddie starts crying and he decides to pull him into a tight hug. “Shh, shh— I got you, just breathe,” he gently mumbles in Eddie’s hair, and he thinks they’re about to come out of this, that Eddie is calming down, but then— then his heart breaks in twenty different ways.

Because Eddie whispers “Make it stop,” eyes closed against his neck. “Please make it stop,” he sobs.

“You’re okay, baby, you’re okay, I got you,” is all Buck tells him in response. “We’re gonna figure it out, I promise.”

What else could he do, after all, if not whispering sweet nothings and gentle reassurance in Eddie’s ears? He can just love him. Yeah. That’s exactly what he’ll do, what he’s doing. And eventually, that will help Eddie to believe that he is enough.

—

I’m sorry if this is a bit too long and angsty :( but I hope you like it. Thank you for asking💓

#911 abc #911 on abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #lucy lad writes

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broodwoof · 2 days ago

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wip wednesday!

tagged by @flowersforthemachines and @greypetrel ty both!!! this fic is currently shelved until i get a little more familiar with writing mythal, but here's the first chapter from the mythal-pov solythal fic a whole first chapter is probably too much but idc 😂 about 1k, and i've shared an excerpt from this before that some of yall might recognize c: tagging: @waterdeep-weavemoss | @sentientpinkfrosting | @mickeysalamander | @volkoss

She twisted the fine, gossamer fabric of her dress in her hands. Tapered fingers played across its surface, teasing at the weave. The dress was form-fitting and spare, as was the style now, but it had an outer-skirt she could worry at. She could not permit herself to show this much unease in public eye, but in her private rooms, her hands immediately sought a relief from her rushing thoughts.

Those, too, she needed to keep tightly contained. She could not let her anxiety spill out, neither in physical action nor in emotional resonance. Her emotions were, as always, leashed. Despite the remove, the containment, she still felt them. Still felt the uncertainty, the tinge of muted, distant panic, like a discordant note that kept her eternally on edge.

She was failing.

It was not easy to admit, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. It was not hubris that made it challenging, but the particular weight of her own failure, the knowledge of who all she was letting down. If she failed, she failed them. If she failed her nature, then Benevolence failed those she had taken form to protect.

Thus, she could not permit herself to fail. She twined the fabric around her fingers, pulling it tight. Long ago, she had committed everything of herself to tempering Elgar'nan. She could not—would not—forsake that commitment now. She would give all of herself to this.

Even in flesh, the dissonance that was her, the dissonance that was all spirits, had softened and blurred at the edges but was no less tangible for it. Retribution raged in her now, coloring her thoughts with fury and vengeance, fantasies of bold assaults on Elgar'nan himself, or on Arlathan. Would that she could burn it down and make something new and better rise in its place. Would that she could do so without destroying those she was committed to.

Would that she could.

Benevolence eased forward, soothing her rage just as she soothed Elgar'nan's. It was not time for Retribution's cold fury. Not yet. Hopefully, not ever. But she was failing, and she could not fail. Thus, she needed to employ a new tactic.

Her flesh sang with eagerness and guilt alike. It made sense. It was the obvious solution. But it was wrong, terribly wrong. She should not ask. But she could not succeed, not alone, not with the way that Elgar'nan increasingly drew the other Evanuris to his side. Wisdom would not want to come, she knew.

It had protested her decision to take form. It saw the toll on the earth—they both did—and it did not want her to aggravate the matter further. But, as was its nature, it did not seek to control or direct, only counsel.

Its nature. The exact nature that would sit and observe while the Elvhen were remade in Elgar'nan's image. She pulled at the dress, the tension against the back of her thighs serving to anchor her.

She had yet to grow accustomed to such things. There was much she had expected upon taking flesh—the inherent physicality of it all, of course; the need to eat, to rest; those differences she could observe. But there was an incredible amount she would never have been able to predict. As a spirit, she had of course had feelings, so the fear itself was not foreign to her, but its expression was.

As a spirit, fear had been a dulling of her edges, a twisting knotted tension in her very being, something that sought to transform her. In flesh, her fear manifested as a dull, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, a painful tension stretching across her shoulders and neck, and a restless anxiety that made her want to overreact to the slightest sensation.

As different as the manifestations were, the responses were equally so. As a spirit, she had needed to grip tighter to that which defined her, to find and strengthen her edges. Not unlike, she thought as she continued to twist the dress, hemming this very material. Without the edges being sealed, time would see it increasingly frayed, until eventually it lost its own shape. She had needed to find and reaffirm her own boundaries.

Flesh, although physical, was somehow more amorphous than spirit. There was no fraying edge to repair, no clean separation. Instead everything was a muddy and distorted mass inside her, contained by an immutable structure. All of her reacted to this stimulus, internal and external, emotional and physical, and the lot of it unique. That a length of fabric drawn against her skin could ease the flighty sensation of panic blooming in her chest was absurd.

It was as if one refilled a pitcher by setting down a bowl. The two sensations should be entirely separate, unrelated and irresponsive to one another, but the muddied nature of flesh was rife with such contradictions.

No less were the contradictions in her mind, the dissonance between what she desired, what she needed, and what she felt would be the kindest. She wanted Wisdom with her, at her side, as they had been for so long. Flesh held myriad distractions, and the goal she had taken such flesh for held even more, but its absence felt like a persistent ache which grew harder and harder to ignore.

She needed Wisdom at her side. She needed its insight in court, she needed its eyes and its direct perception, she needed it to help her succeed. To help her protect the Elvhen people. To quell Elgar'nan's control.

Yet, the greatest kindness she could grant Wisdom was to leave it alone. To let it remain where it wished to, to continue to observe. It would be cruel to ask it to come, crueler still to ask it to take form, but she had tried so hard and for so long and had nothing to show for it. Neither Benevolence nor Retribution were sufficient for the task. She needed Wisdom. She needed Pride.

She needed her friend.

#wip wednesday #broodwrites #solythal #solas #mythal

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