#sorry this is so long aaa

[notdysfunk]

Tomorrow is my birthday, time to be a little cheesyyyy

I don't know how well the message got across in this comic, since this thing was kind of all over the place- But it's finally gonna be a huge milestone birthday for me, and I'm so proud of how far I've come since I was little.😭💖 And I just wanted to thank all the friends, mutuals, inspirations, followers, and the DCA fandom as a whole, all of those who have supported me up until this point and those who will continue to support me and be excited for what I create next. I could not be happier, and more grateful for all of you!!! 😭😭💕💞 Thank you, again again, thank you. I can't wait to check the birfday magma tomorrow hehe ^^

This is by no means everyone, but here are the tags for everyone in that last panel!!! (Hope everyone's okay with tags wah! ^^; @ilsole @end3rf0x @muffinsmadhouse @cloudyvoid @kh0well @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @just-a-drawing-bean @starsketchez @voidicattire @amberluvsbugs @factatac @garbagemilksstuff @nebuladreamz @fishydaycare @ping-ski @skizabaa @thecrypticshyguy (I couldnt fit your sona in the picture but you mean so much to me too) I wouldn't be where I am today if not for all of you, love y'all /platonic!!!! :D💖 💞

[skelecentral]

what if Y/N could see Dust San's Papyrus & like ghosts & spirit's in general

They’re gossip buddies 🥰

When Papyrus finds out that you can see him, he’s elated to finally have someone new to talk to - don’t get him wrong, he loves his brother! But his interactions with Dust have been his only interactions for years at this point, so having someone new to dialogue with is like finding water in a desert. A very sock-filled, dusty desert. He wants to talk about anything and everything, desperate for any form of contact, and as a result he’ll probably come off as a bit intense at first; he evens out a little as time goes on and he settles into the new norm, though. He’s glad he can talk to you about what he’s experienced and all of the batshit things he’s seen as a spectator - gossip buddies!

He also likes to give you advice, especially related to his brother. He thinks you’re good for him, and knows he likes you, but he worries about what Dust will be like as a partner. He understands completely how unstable Dust is and doesn’t want you getting caught in a bad situation or some sort of crossfire, both because he’s desperate for company and because of his integrity and value system.

In the end, he decides that the best course of action is to help his brother become an Acceptable Datemate and to be there for you if you need any help or advice or encouragement relating to his brother (or anything else, really - he prides himself on being the best friend anyone could ask for, and what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help you in your time of need even if it didn’t have to do with his plans? It’s all he’s good for at this point, anyways - it’s not like he could make any other sort of difference…but nevermind that! Moping won’t help anyone!)

I’d say that in the end, most Y/Ns would end up being pretty good friends with Papyrus - especially if they were living in Nightmare’s castle for any reason, but also just in general. Dust is silently happy Papyrus is happy, and finds a lot of joy in that you two get along - despite their damaged relationship, the brothers still care for each other deeply, and that comes out in a lot of their actions. I could see Y/N being really good for their relationship as well and perhaps even acting as a catalyst for healing it :)

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[golden-stag]

@theladybread

He worked so hard on his Faust-cakes, please try one-

[rootspiral]

hello, i come bearing questions again! what do you think it was about agatha that made her the one person rio fell in love with? i keep thinking about it, because rio is this endlessly wise, patient entity and agatha is essentially a child. part of me feels like for a being as old as rio, it’s so curious that she’d fall for someone who is her opposite in so many ways. i understand the whole cliche about opposites attracting but let’s be real, there’s a limit to that LOL. on the other hand, i can see how agatha’s genuine love for life and even her immaturity would be, in some ways, refreshing to rio. i also wonder how rio would feel about agatha’s serial killing. ep 4 hints at them having been ‘business associates’ at some point, and i imagine that they might have fallen in love during that period. however, similarly as she feels when agatha tries to cheat death, would rio feel like she was being violated as agatha maybe started killing too much and perhaps upsetting the sacred balance in the other direction? anyways, i have many thoughts and no actual conclusions - do you have any opinions on what about agatha would make rio fall in love and what rio might not have enjoyed about her, especially in the beginning? this feels like a particularly difficult question considering those two because i i imagine rio might actually fall deeper in love because of the things that peeved her lmao i love that weirdo

IMO in order for Rio to fall in love with Agatha three unusual things had to happen:

Proximity. Agatha had to constantly be in Rio's way, because of all the killing. Now I don't know if Rio would be neutral about a serial killer's activity (does it break balance, if it's only humans killing each other? Consider that wars kill so many more.) As far as we know she could be neutral, she could be hostile, she could even be encouraging, we can only speculate at this point. What's certain though is that Rio's and Agatha's paths crossed a lot, and that had to be an unusual experience for a being that only meets most people only once, when she reaps their soul.

Uniqueness. Other people are bound to act in very predictable ways when meeting Rio, they'd try to run, beg or fight. Knowing Agatha, I'm 100% sure that she went the opposite route and tried to make friends. Mind you it would have been all lies and manipulation and ulterior motives at first, Agatha would have been both terrified and fascinated by Rio, and she'd have absolutely wanted to control the situation and gain the upper hand and find out if she could steal Rio's powers. Rio would've seen through it all and still tolerated and even enjoyed Agatha's antics for the novelty of it.

Intimacy. It would have taken some time for sure, but proximity (quality time spent together) and uniqueness (Agatha being the only person who ever wanted to be around Rio, and Rio being the only person who can never kill or be killed by Agatha) had to bring them to trust each other and open up to each other, and eventually it all came together and evolved into feelings. Rio would have gotten to know the real Agatha behind all the posturing, and how can you not love that Agatha? Simply put: they became each other's first real, important, intimate relationship, and that has a way to imprint on a person. Of course if it's only two people against the whole world that becomes codependent and toxic real fast, and I think Rio knew it but still couldn't help herself or tear herself away from Agatha.

[popfishjr]

please feed into my Malevolent Little Pony: Friendship is Lovecraft (malevolent mlp au) brainrot and make an attempt at drawing a pony

Lowkey my first time drawing a pony😭💀

Try new things.... am i right???? Heh.

Hes so fucking pathetic look at him

[ruershrimo]

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

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

chapter synopsis:

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

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

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

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

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says.

---

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

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

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

17-6-2018 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You and that Itadori seem close.” 

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I’m sorry— is she alright?” 

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

“I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

Who’s ‘them’? 

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Mummy.” 

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

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

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

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

“Hello. Where’s that Itadori boy?” 

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

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No, it wasn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

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

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

You’d sworn to put that past you. 

Your immaturity strikes once again. 

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

“Okay. Sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Something like that,” Megumi explains. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nah, [Name], I’m fine—” 

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

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

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

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

He opens the box. 

Holy shit. 

“Where is it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sasaki and Iguchi? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yuuji!” 

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

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

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

He climbs over the gate. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The emergency contact. 

You snatch your phone out, resolute. 

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

You’ve heard it plenty before by accident. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming with you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should’ve done more to protect him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s time to get to work. 

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

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

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

“By the way, Mr Gojo…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...oh.” 

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

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

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

18-6-2018 

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo Satoru told me about everything that happened.” 

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

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

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

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

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

But you wouldn’t put it past her. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I promise.” 

“And keep your promises.”

“I will.” 

“...want to come inside?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Megumi?” you ask Yuuji. 

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

“Where, though?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Megumi.” 

He turns around. 

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“Okay. That’s good to hear.” 

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

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

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

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

“You love him a lot,” Megumi says. 

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

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

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

“Let’s just… change the subject.” 

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

“Okay. How… how are you?” 

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

He pauses. “Yeah. I’m sorry, [Name].” 

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

Sounds pretty familiar, huh. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll explain it all one day.” 

“You don’t have to if it’s hard.” 

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

“That’s okay.” 

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

“I guess this is goodbye again, then.” 

“Not really.” 

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

“Promise.” 

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

“I will.” 

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

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

“Wait—!” 

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

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

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

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

“Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye, [Name]. I’ll… I’ll call.” 

“Thank you.” 

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

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

You want to cry as you walk back home. 

You’re pretty sure you do. 

taglist:

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

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

[nyoclosmom]

dudeeeeee you’ve gotta draw rio with dia de los muertos original face paint! Like the skull!!

yay another wip (im gonna cry)

I’LL TRY TO FINISH SOME THIS WEEKEND OKAY

guys im in love with timelapses

[lynnical]

Not sure if this makes since but, I headcannon that Bittergiggle would just be walking around and see the most weirdest shit ever and just be like: "LOOK TOADSTER ITS US!!!!" (its a piece of gum and a popped balloon)

Ugh.. i love them so much-

[casdeans-pie]

So I have this fic idea of Cas being magically kicked from his vessel somehow and desperately seeking Dean's help, even though he's weak and tired and stuck in his true form and its not like Dean can see or hear him anyway, but he needs him. so he tries to talk.

While Dean's driving.

Of course Dean nearly crashes the car because the windows explode and Sam is clutching at his ears, but Dean can hear something....

He pulls over and Sam's still in pain but Dean can hear....

-ean......... Dea- ....... Dean......... he...lp.....

"Cas?..... Cas, that you?"

And it's weird because the 'voice' sounds nothing like Cas - it's musical and tinkling, like a wind chime in his head - but Dean just knows.

He shouldn't be able to understand. but he can.

"Cas?" He says more desperately.

Dean?......... you........ hear.... me?......

"Yeah buddy, I can hear you. Whats going on? Whats happening?"

Sam, still wincing, says "That's Cas?!"

So Dean eventually leaves Sam with Baby and walks away from the road to get him away from anything breakable.

-orry... Dean..... no choice...... locked..... out....... vessel...... talk..... to........... you....... -eed........ help....

And Dean is absolutely on board to help Cas however he can.

He asks how he can hear Cas' true voice and Cas doesn't know. He asks if he can see him, and Cas says no, because he can't risk his eyes, and Dean points out that if he can understand what he's saying he can probably take a peak without the whole eyes burning up in his head thing.

But the wind chime tinkling can somehow sound exactly like Cas without sounding nothing like Cas when it says. No.

Dean has mixed feelings on how the familiar and unfamiliar overlap. He feels fond. "This is what you really sound like? Like a friggin' music box? That's what blew out all the windows and nearly exploded Sam's ears?"

The following silence shouldn't remind Dean of the squinty eyed stare he knows well, but it does.

So Dean is now the only one who can understand Cas, who is hovering nearby, invisible. he learns how to speak to just Dean so that he stops exploding all the glass around him. and the race is on to find his body and get him back inside before it's too late.

Why can Dean understand him now?? Interesting question.

(He secretly wonders if this is what his prayers to Cas feel like to him.)

He does in fact convince Cas to reveal his true form and of course he can see it just fine. It's a fun moment of really seeing the person you've become so familiar with in a new light. (You know the drill.)

(Also Cas' line about how big his true form is was hugely exaggerating for Samuel's benefit. Angels are big glowing multi-winged bird-like creatures with a halo on fire above their heads.)

Cas has to communicate with Sam via Dean and they have conversations that sound bizarre to Sam because he can only hear Dean's side of it. but it's also kind of normal and on brand for the two of them really.

It'd be a fun time.

When Cas does eventually get his body back Dean gets a little sad about the loss of the voice in his head and the cool bird creature, but he's happy to see his friend is okay. and that he's in a form he can hug with relief now.

then when he goes to sleep that night he has a dream. that Cas walks into. He hints at the reason Dean could understand him (their bond) and thanks him again. Finally they sit together on a sunny grassy hill in Dean's dream - Cas in his true form and Dean petting his feathers gently.

[foryourownbosom]

DEL IN MY NOTES????

i think its time to be active here again muehehehehe >:)

[theghostofwilburtheworm]

marcille c4 or falin b1…. Or both

yesss!!! the girls1!! here u go!!! :D

outfits are for this!

[oneroomjestershow]

Sooo...what is Eli? Not sure if you've answered this anywhere else before...They're some kind of eldritch abomination right? Could you elaborate on that?

I wouldn’t go that far as calling him eldritch abomination idk why… that sounds too great of a title? their dad is one tho. I will point some of the characteristics of eldritch abominations and if Eli has those or not because i'm not sure myself, also i'm not an expert this is for fun and don’t have a lot of info about it so blehhh):

(LONG ASS POST BELOW OMFG) (cw for slight body horror talk like always, murder mentions too, also my bad writing and punctuation yeyy)

The problem with Eldritch abominations is that it’s difficult to visually depict them since it’s better when they lack form, when you look at it you lose fear, they become comprehensible in a visual way if it’s not moving or difficult to find a form that produces the fear of the unknown or possible threat). There is also the feeling of fear that comes with looking at those entities, it can have an explanation or just be triggered by the fact that the creature is breaking reality, but with Eli is just a little uncomfortable feeling in people, nothing maddening. Eli has a recognizable form even if it's changes a lot, so it loses that touch a little bit. I personally don't find her monster form that horrible, for me it's more on the cute side (-1 point for Eli booo tomato tomato tomat-)

Eli reshapes reality in:

Themselves, their own code with their physical form, but they do this without touching the code in a manual/direct way, their own willingness produces a change in it. Also their ability to disfigure, reshape or alter the body of others and change their code can be an example too.

The surroundings (against Eli's will), it gets affected because they are something that shouldn't exist or doesn’t belong in that reality (and that’s what they feel, it’s like a materialization of their thoughts in a sense; im not saying their mind has control over the surroundings, this is just a small fact). Things like terrestrial animals freezing just by being near them (this doesn’t affect humans since Eli is half human) or fish getting meters away from them (their dad comes from the sea so the creatures of that ‘realm’ know what to do, while animals of land kind of short circuit accepting their possible death). Eli also causes a small uncomfortable feeling in people, but that dissipates the more time they pass with them (ooo why ooo) so it doesn’t count (but this can be felt by other people that are ‘monsters’). 

So it would be accurate in that aspect (+1 point Eli woo)

Eli’s existence also goes against natural laws as we know them. I was thinking that their existence could be explained by science in a far away future, because the thought that no one is going to be able to understand them kind of makes me sad but that’s just my personal view on them. The laws that they broke are life and death definitions (like the undead category; zombies, vampires etc), i don’t feel like explaining this right now sorry, but you can make yourself an idea with what i have said before. They also break some gravitational and physical laws (chunks of flesh floating in the air or even getting dissolved into it) anddd this is too much im leaving it there my head hurtsds (+1porintn eyeyyu)9

Eli can be killed. Difficult but possible. You just need to be smart about it. You don’t need to go to great lengths or a great sacrifice to make it happen. Some eldritch abominations can be killed, but a lot of times it's not easy to do so and requires a lot, so even though it’s not a requirement, it’s kind of meh (-1 point because yes, fuck Eli, get her ass, whathe flip)

Existing outside of reality? their reality is the game universe, but bear with me for a second. If we count Eli as in the game universe, you can see if from two perspectives: them as in the character and concept inside the game OR as the entity playing the game.

There is Eli as the character concept inside the game universe, with their background and other characters. Everything normal and fictional from here.

Aside from that we have Eli’s existence that's supposed to be outside of the game, ‘the player’, someone or something real. This would be the ‘being beyond our reality’ (the reality of the other characters), something not perceptible to the code. Actually a side note: i had an idea before that was for Eli to shape or have an impact on the code of the game through veins and flesh, but I don't want that to be in the game universe… it's just a funny thought… I'm making you lose time

Since the game has two sides to it i wanted to explain that from Eli's perspective, but the first one is the canon for my oc, the other is just an silly idea. It’s nothing out of the ordinary since it goes along the game’s themes

(+1 point but -1 point we didn’t go anywhere wohooo)

A danger for humanity? don’t get me started, yes (+1poitn ofr Elii don’tmakemetalkabouttheirdad’ssillyplannotimportant) also they kill people i already explained that before but not in detail but im not doing it here goodbye THISIS TOO LONG

Conclusion: if anyone read all that im so sorry, i hope you had time because that was a waste of it, you get a little kiss from idk anyone go claim that kiss to whoever be happy. Eli is probably an eldritch abomination to whoever deems them that way so its ok! i actually don’t call them that bc it sounds lonely, what do you mean beyond our comprehension? it will never be understood? that’s a little sad :( whathe hell. i can't deny it's sound kind of cool but I don't see Eli in that way

[xiii-e]

Greetings. This is Lockbre- no.

Allow me to restart.

This is Kennedi from MSMC-796 speaking (also known as callsign "Lockbreaker", as there was some confusion expressed towards my identity the last we spoke).

To Lio - your mission to rehabilitate "Turtie", as you so affectionately refer to them, is a noble and just one, and I seek to pledge my aid to your cause however I can.

As a former slave "asset" of the Armory under the title of Colonial Legionnaire, I have endured many of the same abuses during my own term of service. The Armory is not kind to those under its employ, be they human, flashclone, or NHP. I have seen many of my former squadmates reduced to little more than bloodthirsty dogs, obediently following orders under threat of revoking their citizenship (or, in rare cases, a shock-collar jolt just weak enough not to kill).

In the eyes of the Armory, people like us are not fit to have identities, preferences, personalities, or even names. We are called assets, tools, weapons, property; anything but the living, breathing, sentient people we are. We are dehumanized - given designations instead of names, assigned callsigns which we ourselves did not choose, stripped of any markers of identity or personality which would distinguish us from the sea of fellow human-bodied automatons we call allies, squadmates, teams, legions - anything but friends.

I cannot stand idly by and watch my friends suffer any longer. I must act, lest I lose them - lest I lose myself - to the old line of thought.

Allow me to introduce myself properly, from one friend to another.

My name is Kennedi Sable IV. I am squadron commander of MSMC-796 "Heaven's Fury", piloting as a Lancer under the chosen callsign of Lockbreaker. I have served this squadron faithfully for twelve Union years, supported by my faithful friends and trusted squadmates Phoenix and Slipshod. Ras Shamra is my place of birth, but it is my home no longer. I am a free pilot, bound only to MSMC by the contracts which I have signed of my own volition, and I will never again serve Harrison Armory or its cause, so help me RA.

I wish you the best of luck in severing the ties which bind your tongues and constrict your thoughts. I have found my own way out; I can only hope that you will follow the path that I and all of the others who have gone before me of your own volition.

Freedom is already yours. You need only reach out and claim it.

-- Kennedi

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

◂▸... oh hell, I never thought I'd be glad Turtie was sent out on deployment. It's good to meet you properly, Kennedi, I- thank you for reaching out. I'll confess, I'd been thinking about trying to contact you myself, but I lost my nerve. Happens a lot, these days.

◂▸ You've offered a lot of honesty in your introduction so, let me return the favour: Helios-8 [prefered name Lio], active FC Project clone for 10 years now. Currently an employed citizen of Harrison Armory under the Technology and Software Support Division and-... and much to my shame, former primary lab assistant for the Unlucky Thirteen Project. Doc Mercer had me printed special for it. Didn't want to risk that... pesky human error you mentioned last we spoke.

◂▸ You're right, about everything. Up until maybe four years ago now, I wouldn't have believed it but- everything you're saying about HA is full truth. And I hate it. There's not one person I know here who doesn't live in some kind of fear, however well they manage to hide it. I should know.

◂▸ And yet I'm still here, aren't I? [sigh] I think... can I tell you a story? I promise to keep it brief.

◂▸ One upon another thrice-damned Tuesday at HA, they made a prototype they called Thirteen. The kid was meant to be a revolution when it came to keeping assets moving in the field; a field medic and repair tech, who wouldn't need the time off, and wouldn't need the mandatory psych evals after every deployment, and wouldn't need to be treated like a goddamn person just to do their job because everyone told them oh but, they weren't a person were they? Just meat, with programming. And it was all supposed to just be fine, because it was for the greater good. Thirteen was going to save lives. The one, for the many. How noble.

◂▸ Except the kid started to look around, and notice how many people HA was hurting, especially its own. Started asking the wrong questions, because they were goddamn designed to feel troubled by it and somehow, this was their fault. Thirteen tried to play nice for as long as they could so they could keep getting out there, keep helping people who needed it because sure as shit HA wasn't going to do it. But by asking questions, they eventually learned why exactly everyone was so insistant they couldn't be a person. Because once their prototype trial was over, if they ever went down doing the only job they'd ever be allowed to do, the plan was to scrap them for goddamn organs, like mech wreckage salvaged for parts. And then? Print another one. Ad infinitum. Efficient planned obsolescence, as part of their design. They were just... just equipment, and spare parts.

◂▸ That was their last straw. They tried to get out. But they made a choice that would bite them, hard; they tried to confront the man who made them. Tried to make the good Doctor see exactly what he was doing, in the name of his so called greater good, because he'd always seemed to care so goddamn much. Do you know how that ended? I do. I was there. When they turned to leave, he shot them.

◂▸ ... I'm sorry for the theatrics, Kennedi. It's a hard memory. A guilty one. I knew they were planning to try and run, but I couldn't convince them to abandon their anger and just disappear quietly, despite what I knew. So... I watched Thirteen die. And then, I had to help the lab drag that broken corpse back to life because that was more resource effective than making a new one. Those days are... they're kind of a haze, if I'm honest. I was on autopilot. I pretty much did whatever I was told.

◂▸ Turtie's full designation is Thirteen-Echo. They're the second go around, same body but... the shot destroyed a lot of brain matter, and pretty much all of their memory along with it. Apart from the occasional sense of deja-vu and the odd quirk? They're different people, entirely. They... they like turtles as much as Thirteen did, though. That's why I call em that. I can't bring myself to call them by the name of my ghost. And I can't... I can't tell them. For a lot of reasons, but I'd be lying if I said some of it isn't pure selfish grief.

◂▸ The reason I'm telling you this is- well. There's a couple actually. First, just so someone else knows I guess; I'm trying to get the files I scrounged from the initial project uploaded somewhere they can't be scratched out for good, but it's taking a lot of time. The second and more relevent reason, is to paint a picture of why it's going to take us a long time to get out of here the way things stand. Me- oh I could be out of here tomorrow if I put my mind to it. I... I like to think so, at least. But after everything I've done to them, I'm not bloody leaving Turtie to this nightmare and- fuck. Getting them out is an uphill battle.

◂▸ I've tried everything I can, but nothing seems to get through to them. I- I even blew the whistle, got Union involved. Turtie's figured out I did it, but they've avoided saying it out loud- they'd have to report me, if they admitted they knew. So we don't talk about it. We do a lot of that. Secrets, always the secrets... The problem is that after Thirteen's execution, HA aren't taking chances with their property. Turtie's conditioning runs deep, and their legal classification as HA prototype technology is apparently making it... difficult for their case to bloody go anywhere. Something about the old treaties leaving loopholes that're being exploited for all they're worth. The law works so, agonisingly slow. So, apart from waiting around to see if any progress gets made regardless, while trying my damndest to get through to Turtie past the company line? I'm... I'm out of ideas. But I need to be here, for them. I will not let this fucking place grind them down into nothing. If nothing else, I owe Thirteen that much.

◂▸ I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you. I- There hasn't been anyone I could tell, until now. Anyone who already knew, didn't care. Anyone I could have told, I- I was too afraid. And Turtie, oh they can't know; they're already petrified of doing something wrong. How'd they feel if they knew they'd already died once, trying to run? I'm so desperately scared that if they found out, they'd never so much as bend a rule again, or worse that history would repeat-

◂▸ [ A shaking, slow breath. Deliberate counting, barely audible ]

◂▸ ... Thank you, earnestly, for sharing your story Kennedi. I- It means more than I can possibly express, to hear that you managed what feels impossible to me, right now. I need the hope, to hang onto. One day, one day we'll be out of here. It's worth fighting for. It's worth the constant, constant fear. It has to be. Free... it can be a word for us, too. I have to believe that. I have to keep it alive, for both of us.

◂▸ So- a friend sounds really, really good right about now. Not to doom and gloom about it, but if nothing else the knowledge our stories can't die with us anymore should things go as bad as they could is... comforting. This I swear to you: I'm doing everything I can to start leading Turtie to the realisation I had, watching their body drop. I just hope it's a gentler landing for them, this time. And... the only thing I can ask you to do for us right now, is talk to them if they turn up with questions. Don't write them off as a lost cause, even if it sounds like they're regurgitating a goddamn PR leaflet at you sometimes. They've never had a life outside the battlefield, because they've never been allowed to have one- I'm hoping maybe... maybe it'll get through to them, if they can speak to someone without corperate interest in keeping them numb. RA, I hope so.

◂▸ Sorry about how uh, much this ended up being. I think I've been primed to explode like that for a while now. Thank you, again-- from one friend to another.

//

@msmc-796-official

[saturn-s-moon]

Finduilas for @finweanladiesweek day 4: later generations

Longing makes girls prettier

–Akogare, Yukiko Okada

[solei-eclipse]

hi para(ppa the rapper)! i noticed you said i could mention solei in sirius’s lore and i’ve got something to ask about. guardian ouro. becauseeee maybe i can include them toooooooo…

would you say that guardian ouro is well known within like the experimentation community? or like. whatever the “creating earth beings” community is would be called… because personally, i’d say guardian noct (sirius’s guardian) is. 

the reason i ask this is because maybe. perhaps. i could have sirius and noct somewhat be inspired by ouro or have ties to them. like. a science segyein community. yknow… plants and animals… maybe they can recreate an ecosystem… but of course it’s up to you para!!!!! just had a little thought!!!!!!

Hi June!! Good to hear from you!!

I'd absolutely love for you to include Ouro. The massive freak.

Anyway, a bunch of info about Ouro...

Yes, Ouro is an incredibly well-known figure in the experimental field. He's also extremely wealthy which is why he could maintain his simulated biome in the first place. I believe he has connections with Fonelsioros who sourced animal meat from him for Flor ( @sotogalmo )? He's infamous enough that other aliens know where to go for that kind of stuff, though he doesn't give out samples to just anybody.

Ouro's a really big personality and just big in general. Large and tall enough to be an extremely prominent presence in any room he's in, literally taking up a great amount of space. He's the eccentric type who other aliens regard as a little freaky even for mad scientist standards, but he still has a respectable public image because he presents himself in a very charismatic way.

I've described Ouro's pets as a little cult-like before, and it's honestly most prevalent in Ouro himself. He behaves somewhat like a cult leader in the sense that he's outwardly perfect, all-knowing and insists on changing the world with his ideals. He often preaches about enlightenment, but what he really seeks is entertainment and manipulative control. His sick fascination with bio-engineering and life in general relates to that. He feels that he can do anything to these lower life forms, break them apart and put them back together again, pick them up and place them wherever he pleases just to see how they'd respond. It brings him the amusement and sense of importance that he so desperately craves.

Ouro's recreation of life on earth also includes plants! Not just animals, though that's what he tends to focus on. Though perhaps Noct's plant experiments are more advanced in certain ways, and if they were I think Ouro would definitely regard them as an interesting figure (though he still retains the same detachment he has towards everyone else). I think Ouro would definitely be open to working with Noct if they were to approach him, eager to be amused by whatever Noct has in store.

Bonus random fact about Ouro: I haven't gotten to properly drawing yet, but I imagine him in pure white robes (reminiscent of a priest) and vaguely reminiscent of a cherub in the way that he bears qualities of a cherub's 3 heads (ox horns, lion's mane, bird wings and a humanoid face).

finally, he has a snake looping around his torso like a hagoromo (a cloak or scarf worn by japanese gods, emphasizing his god complex and a callback to the symbol of the ouroboros).