#and then have him keep doing the thing that got him hospitalized
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Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife chef!reader? She always brought him food because she knew how busy he could get with everything. So, she would always make him his favourite meals/pick up a guilty pleasure snack as a surprise for him. Maybe she had some surprises for him. I'll let you decide what it was. Just something fluff and cute. Thanks! :))
Lets make lunch for my Husband! - Peter Bonnington x ChefWife! Reader
Plot: You are famous on Tiktok for making videos where you pack lunches for you husband but use ingredients globally as you always travel with him of race weekends.
Credit to princemick for the GIF
y/user
Liked by peter.bonn, gordongram and lewishamilton
y/user: Racing in Bahrain!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round One 🇧🇭 And we have Chicken, Rice and Veggies (a very hearty meal here) 🏎️
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fan1: I love her TikTok’s she’s so funny and Peter is just so cute!
fan2: their relationship is eveything you me
gordongram: Cooking in Style as always Y/N!
-> y/user: thanks Gords!
“Baby, lunch was amazing today! And thank you for putting the Twirl in there!” He grins as you both get back to the hotel, it had been a good race and you were both happy.
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it hunny. I’ve already made a meal plan of what I’m going to make at each race! You’ll be so happy with breakfast lunch and dinner in Silverstone!” You grin pulling him in for a kiss.
“Mmmm what have I got?” He grins, pulling you to sit on his lap on the sofa in your hotel room.
“Breakfast, of course a full English, get you all set for the day and make sure you’ve got all the protein to see you through till lunch. Then you’ve got your fave Ham Pesto and Mozzarella Sandwich for lunch. And then to round it off, I’ll invite Toto, Suzie, Lewis, George and Carmen all round for a Sunday Roast!” You say practically bouncing at the prospect of guests and being able to cook for them!
“I love you, you are without a doubt the best thing that has ever happened to me” he smiles pulling you back to relax on the sofa as you both sit there in each others embrace.
“I love you most!” You declare making him laugh and kiss your head. It wasn’t a battle he could win with you despite knowing you were wrong and he held an impossible amount of love for you.
y/user
Liked by peter.bonn and lewishamilton
y/user: Racing in Saudí Arabia!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Two 🇸🇦 And we have my first time making Kabsa which a local helped me get all the ingredients! It’s very yummy! 🏎️
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peter.bonn: it was so nice, can’t wait to come back!
fan1: I’m living for this series, not the rich men racing!
fan2: this is so cute that she cooks for him!
“You know, the boys keep saying you need to start bringing it in for them aswell” he chides as you get into the car.
“What am I expected to cook for the 5000 now? I don’t think so, that’s why they have a paid for hospitality…” you groan, waking up early just to prepare Peter some food was exhausting you couldn’t imagine getting up to make it for more people!
“Maybe Toto should hire you as head chef here!” He grins and you laugh at the thought. You, working in Mercedes Catering?
“Baby … you know I have a … Michelin Star right?” you offer in confusion.
“Oh so your below working for Mercedes now are you?” He frowns, faking his offence on the matter.
“Oh stop being a whiny baby Pete!” You scold lightly hitting his arm, making him recoil and sigh before pulling you into a big hug.
“Im lucky you don’t have to be there 24/7. What would I do without you” he laughs.
“Probably starve as you’d forget to eat!” You hum in thought.
y/user
Liked by oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and peter.bonn
y/user: Racing in Australia!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Three 🇦🇺 Of course I couldn’t come in and not offer fairy bread (as requested by my adopted grid son Oscar Piastri) and my famous Chicken Parm Sandwiches for the team which went down a treat!
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oscarpiastri: thank you for the fairy bread Y/N, LN understands the hype now
-> landonorris: don’t tell Jon, he said I couldn’t have any …
-> y/user: and rat out my second grid son, no way!
danielricciardo: brought back childhood memories! Thanks for coming all the way to VCARB for delivery!
-> y/user: you are welcome Dani! 🇦🇺🐨
“Thank you for the fairy bread!” Oscar said pulling you into a hug as you came back to get your container from the McLaren garage, seeing it fully empty.
“Everyone enjoy? Even though I felt like a child making it?” You laugh knowing it wasn’t exactly a chef thing to make but Oscar had asked for it, and who were you to deny the literal son you had adopted since he started.
“Yeah, Lando hadn’t ever tried it and I made it for Lily once to prove to her it was a real thing we ate but the bread kinda ended up being soggy, she preferred yours a lot more” he laughed back and you continued to talk about racing, cooking, life and everything else that just came up.
Halfway through that conversation Lando joined pulling his grid mum into a massive hug and asking her to bake him some cake or make the chicken wraps.
Fun fact, Y/N actually invented the chicken wrap for Lando. She became Lando’s private chef for a while when he lived in the UK, and he wasn’t … well I mean he’s Lando and if anyone expects him to know even know to turn on an oven you are sorely mistaken.
Eventually a group of drivers were around the woman, and it took Peter and Lewis forcing their way through to get her to come back.
“You’ve been busy!” He smiles nodding his head to the now dispersing group.
“Yeah, just talking to the kids!” You grin, nodding in the McLaren twins direction who were now messing around with each other.
y/user
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y/user: Racing in Azerbaijan!
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Four 🇦🇿 Cooked up a storm off track today in a cooking interview and remaking one of the first dishes I learnt in school ‘Uzbek Plov’
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inthekitchen: pleasure to have you in and talking while cooking :)
-> y/user: thank you for all the fun! 🫶🏼
peter.bonn: This was nice, but I’m going to need some comfort food soon baby, these variations of meat and rice … it’ll be the end of me.
-> y/user: I thought you enjoyed my cooking!
-> peter.bonn: I DO! Just missing some creature comforts!
“You were amazing in that interview baby!” He says twirling you around as he came to pick you up on the Saturday evening. You had unfortunately missed qualifying, but you were excited to hear about your husbands day.
“Thank you, how was qually?” You ask.
“Could have been better, could have been worse” he admits looking down. He then tells you all about his frustrations with the car this season and he feels pretty helpless when it comes to advising Lewis who is getting more and more hot headed as the season progresses.
“Well I made your favourite!” You grin showing him the famous Victoria Sponge you’d made on the cooking show.
“Oh fuck, I love you!” He grins before directing you over to the car to get you both back to the hotel as soon as possible so he can have some of the delicacy in the tin on your lap.
y/user
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y/user: Racing in Miami
Come make lunch with me for my husband who doesn’t go to Mercedes Hospitality for some reason!
Round Five 🇺🇸 My husbands been getting fussier. Now in the homeland where there is no cuisine … we’ve gone for the requested creature comforts. From Breakfast to Lunch here are Peter’s faves!
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peter.bonn: best waffles ever 🧇
“Thank you, I think I really needed that meal! As much as love the differentiation with this global skills challenge. I needed something to remind me of home! The waffles were perfect. And my favourite Sandwich? I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for Monaco next week!” He grins happily. Loving that you were cooking him something for every race.
“Ooo that reminds me. I picked you up these” you grin. Out from your bag you pull out a box of American Candy that he always wanted whenever you guys were in the states.
“In Moderation okay? Toto will murder me if he knows all these desserts are happening!” You smile kissing him before placing the sweets in his hand.
You had big plans for Monaco and you couldn’t wait!
Taglist:
@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul l @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula 1#formula one#formula one fanfiction#peter bonnington oneshot#peter bonnington fluff#peter bonnington x you#peter bonnington x reader#peter bonnington imagine#peter bonnington#mercedes
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Hii, can you do a Leo Valdez x Reader one-shot about the reader getting deaf or half-deaf? Like when he discovers, or even hcs😭. I'm asking this because I got half-deaf last year and there's ZERO content about that with pjo characters. It's okay if you don't want to do it or feel uncomfortable❤️❤️❤️
ᝰ.ᐟ leo valdez x half-deaf!reader headcanons
☆ radiostar is playin': on melancholy hill by gorillaz
warnings: none!
a/n: hi! i read your two posts and saw that you finally leaned towards headcanons. don't worry, it's okay, baby. Anyway! i have some experience in this because i had a classmate who was also half-deaf so here we go. If i make any mistakes, please let me know, okay? thank you for putting your trust in me. i hope you are very well.
— kisses from the hypothetical planet vulcan. 🧡
∘˚˳°
he was like boom in love and love pushes you to do things you never thought of doing, right?
At first, he's scared of messing things up with you, as if him being clumsy in love wasn't enough. He didn't want to offend you in any way, so he practically searched every corner of the library. You got him to read! And this fool never reads because it's hard for him, but there he was, researching about the topic.
He's definitely the type who always tries to help because he knows it can be tough sometimes, so when you have to go out in public, he makes sure to hold your hand tightly and NEVER let go.
He always positions himself on the good ear side so you can hear him better, and he gets even closer to you if there's too much noise around.
When he arrives somewhere and you don't see him immediately, he tries to make it noticeable that someone else has arrived, so he doesn't startle you.
But this guy is sometimes a teaser, and when you both reach that level of trust, he'll say things from afar knowing you won't hear well, but only because what he's saying is embarrassing
"I love you, I'm going to marry you, and I'm warning you from now on," he says from the entrance, and you deal with just seeing his lips move and hearing halfway.
You squint and shout, "What?!" and he laughs, so you show him the middle finger. "Idiot, you know I can't hear you."
Leo rushes towards you, and after giving you a kiss on the cheek, he whispers gently in your ear: "i'm sayin that one day your last name will be Valdez," and well, you end up as red as the forges he works in.
If you're the one who enters while he's working in the bunker or wherever he is, he immediately puts down the tools and gives you his full attention. This is also because he wants to make sure there are no loud noises when you're around. Sometimes you tell him it's not necessary for him to stop, but he does it anyway.
Although, if you insist, he'll look for the ear protectors he bought/made for you and ask you to wear them because he wants to keep you safe. Both of you might be wearing them, and even though he's working with dangerous, heavy materials, he can't help but steal glances with that loving gaze of his. Because oh gods, he fell so hard for you.
Even when both are alone, to talk to you, he gets close to the point where your foreheads are touching and gazes fixed on each other. You tell him he can back off a bit, and he shakes his head while giving you a kiss on the nose. "I know, but I still want to be close to you."
When there's not much noise on the street that could be dangerous, he chooses to walk with you arm in arm, continuing to tell you things and talk nonsense that makes you laugh.
Leo doesn't like going to hospitals much, but if he has to accompany you to your regular check-ups, he will, or he'll tell you that Will Solace is a very good doctor.
He whispers sweet nothings in your ear every night, to let you know he loves you.
Here comes a huge confession from Leo Valdez, he's definitely working on a device that could help you. With the help of the Apollo cabin, he thinks he could pull it off, and he's just refining it every day to improve your life because he simply wants the best for you. Even if he ultimately has to scrap it, he'll look for other types of gadgets he can create to help you.
Although he knows you can manage, Leo feels good and proud to be able to help the person he loves. You're the one who made him explore that part of himself where he looks out for your emotional and physical well-being.
#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#leo valdez#leo valdez x y/n#leo valdez x you#leo valdez x reader#pjo hoo toa#heroes of olympus#pjo#hoo x reader#riordanverse#leo valdez headcanons#leo valdez fanfic
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Hello hello hope you are swell 🩵 I see you do platonic drivers 👀👀
Could it be possible to request a platonic! Reader who is a younger sister (that is also a driver, any team) to a driver of your choice who is given either a drink or meal before going on the race and getting a severe allergic reaction. Like rushed to the hospital asap reaction please 🥺
A/N: The only thing I’m allergic to is bullshit(and mosquitoes), so I don’t know what it’s like to have an allergic reaction to food. Hopefully I wrote this ok but do let me know if there are things I need to change. I decided to keep this as a blurb only because it's so similar to the last oneshot I wrote and I went with Oscar for this one
~~~
“Shouldn’t they be back by now with our drink bottles refilled?” Your teammate asked as you looked over some data. The race was set to start in just under an hour and the matter your teammate was more concerned about is the assistant that had gone to refill both your drink bottles rather than look over data with you.
“They only left a minute ago. I know you’re used to everything going fast but they’re not a race car.”
“Well they better be back soon with my energy drink. I have to drink one before every race. Helps with my performance.” Your teammate said. You just rolled your eyes.
The assistant soon came back with both your drink bottles refilled. You thanked them and took it. As you were about to take a swig, your phone vibrated with a text from your brother, Oscar.
Papaya-Bro: Chit chat before the race?
More often than not, you and Oscar would find each other in your respective drivers rooms to talk before the race. It was a small amount of time where the two of you would talk about anything but racing, giving the two of you a sense of peace before you had to face the chaos of Formula One. You sent him a text that you were on your way over and made your way to the McLaren garage. Some of the McLaren workers waved at you as you walked in, having gotten used to you making appearances in the garage to see your brother.
“Mom wants to know what she should cook for dinner when we come back home.” Oscar said, looking down at his phone while sitting in a chair.
“I’ve been craving her meatloaf for the past couple days. Ask her if she'll make that.” You said, taking a sip from your drink bottle. Your face scrunched up in disgust as you tasted something that wasn’t water on your tongue. You ended up swallowing whatever it was you just drank as your first reflex was to gag at the taste of whatever you consumed. It was sour, with a hint of fruitiness.
“What’s wrong?” Oscar asked.
“This isn’t water.” You said, handing him your drink bottle. “Taste this for me.”
You gagged again and then started to cough as Oscar took a swig of the mysterious drink.
“Yea, that’s not water.” He said. “It’s got a–”
“--fruity taste.” You started to cough more violently while trying to gasp for breath. Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself as you struggled to breath.
Oscar didn’t have time to figure out exactly what the drink was. He was able to guess what was in it though as he witnessed you starting to have a severe allergic reaction to whatever the mysterious drink was.
“I need medical assistance!” He called out into the hallway, hoping anyone heard him. Oscar quickly opened the front pocket of his backpack that always carried the spare epipen and grabbed it. By now you had gotten down to the floor, still struggling to breathe. Kneeling down in front of you, Oscar steadied the orange tip over your outer thigh, before having it make contact with the fabric of your race suit. He pushed the auto inject button till he heard the click. He then looked down at his watch to watch the seconds go by.
“One…two…three…”Oscar then removed the epipen and checked to see if it went in. But to his horror, there was no puncture hole from the needle. Of course race suits that were designed to keep a driver safe from getting burned or injured in a crash can prevent a needle from going through the fabric.
“I NEED SERIOUS MEDICAL ASSISTANCE!” Oscar yelled again. This time someone seemed to have heard him as a McLaren worker came in with a medic right behind them.
“She’s having an allergic reaction! The epi pen didn’t puncture through the race suit!”
The medic took out a pair of scissors and an epi pen before they started quickly cutting the pant leg of your race suit and fire proofs. Once the material was cut away enough to reveal the skin of your upper thigh, the medic didn’t hesitate in administering the epipen, which successfully went through this time. Oscar helped steady the pen while the medic put an oxygen mask over your face to help you breathe while the medicine worked its way through your system.
Eventually you were able to breathe again and your throat no longer felt like it was closing up. But you and Oscar both knew that you couldn’t just hop in the car and race. You’d have to be taken to the hospital to make sure whatever allegens you had consumed were fully out of your system. Oscar made sure one of the McLaren personnel went over to your team garage to inform your team that you had an allergic reaction and could no longer race today, before he helped you up off the floor and handed you off to the medical staff.
“Kick their asses for me.” You said to Oscar before leaving, your voice raspy from coughing.
“Will do.” He promised.
~~~
Oscar was a bit rattled throughout the race because of what had taken place just before it. That wasn’t the first time he had to administer an epipen for you, he’s seen you have allergic reactions before. But the fact that it didn’t work the first time is what really freaked him out. But knowing that you were ok and breathing was enough for him to score P3. And the fact that he beat your teammate seemed to make you happy so Oscar took that as a win.
“Because I saved your life today, can you let me freely pass you during the next race and defend me from the people behind?” Oscar asked as he drove you home from the hospital.
“You didn’t save my life. The medical staff did.” You said, playing with the medical band around your wrist.
“I attempted to! If our race suits weren’t made so tough to protect us from crashes, you wouldn’t have needed to be rushed here.”
“That’s kinda a big flaw with the race suits. They can protect us from fiery crashes but prevent someone from administering an epi pen.” You noted.
“I’ll talk with the FIA tomorrow to propose new safety regulations so race suits have to be made so a giant needle can break through the fabric. I’m sure that will go over well with the other drivers.” Oscar joked. Your phone buzzed and you looked down to see a text from yours and Oscar’s manager.
“Mark just texted me. Apparently the energy drinks my teammate has before every race are now banned from the garage. Turns out it’s got lychee in it.” You told your brother.
“Honestly they should have been banned from the start to prevent what happened today.” Oscar said. You nodded in agreement.
“So you’re not going to let me pass during the next race?” Oscar asked. You rolled your eyes.
“Only if you defend me from my teammate if they end up behind you. Which is often.”
#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x sister!reader#platonic grid x reader
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The Games We Play - Chapter 4
She’d survived the very worst a person could, lived through things that still kept her up at night, the screams of other innocent people ringing in her head as sleep evaded her.
She’d survived so much, but she didn’t think she’d survive leading him to his death.
A Hunger Games AU
-x-
Hi friends,
Well, here we are - the final chapter of the most insane fic idea I've had yet. Thanks for all the love on this silly little AU it really means the world.
Please let me know what you think, your comments mean the world <3
-x-
Words: 3.6k
A full list of warnings can be found on the series master list
Read over on Ao3, or below the cut
He grunts as the knife enters his chest again, the pain barely there, not matching up with what he thinks it should feel like. He looks up at George, at the crazed look in his eyes, and he knows this is it, that he’d got so close to surviving, so close to fulfilling his promise to Emily, and he’d fallen at the last hurdle.
Emily.
He thinks of her smile, of the way she’d laugh just when he needed to hear it. He thinks of her beauty, not diminished by what she’d survived but enhanced, her endless strength making her impossibly more gorgeous.
He had to make it back to her.
He growls, an animalistic sound escaping him as he surges forward, taking George by surprise as he flips them, the knife scattering out of the other man's hand as he gets the advantage. He hits him, his fists aching and splitting open as he carries on, not stopping as he feels bones crack beneath his knuckles.
He carries on, all the anger he’d ever felt surging through him. Anger at his father. At himself. At the world he found himself living in.
He only stops when he physically can’t do it anymore, his arms giving out from under him as he collapses off of George, who was eerily still, his eyes, one of the only recognisable parts of his face left, staring straight ahead.
Aaron collapses, his head swimming as blood loss catches up with him, his eyes drifting shut as he hears a canon crack in the air around him.
___
He sucks in a panicked breath, his eyes flying open as he looks around him, his body heavy as he tries and fails to sit up.
“Aaron.”
His head snaps to his left, his eyes wide and wild as he looks at Emily, a mix of relief and disbelief painted across her face, “Emily?”
“It’s okay,” she says, still in her seat, seemingly glued to it as she looks him over, her shoulders tight, “You’re okay. You’re in the private wing of the hospital,” she says, looking around them, “I shouldn’t even be here,” she flashes him a quick smile, “Dave can talk anyone into anything.”
He nods, taking in his surroundings a little more now the panic has passed. Everything looked opulent, expensive in a way he never would have been able to imagine before he came to the Capitol. He looks past the open door to his room and sees the nurse sitting at a computer and typing, the clack of the keys clear even from where he is lying in his bed.
“My hearing,” he says, placing his hand over his right ear, “It’s back. After the explosion with Kate…I could barely hear.”
“They restored it for you,” she explains, her smile tight as she sits up straighter in the chair next to his bed, “Nothing but the best for their victor.”
He nods, blinking heavily a few times before shaking his head, trying to dispel the sleepiness that threatened to overtake him, “What else?”
“You have a fair number of scars on your chest,” she says, her eyes fixed on his gown as if she could see his damaged skin through it, “And on your knuckles from where you…” she presses her lips together, the memory of the sound of George’s face giving way under his fists sending a shiver down her spine, “They can get rid of the scars too if you want to. Some people keep them.”
“Did you keep yours?”
His question takes her by surprise, and for a moment she forgot he didn’t know, that in all the nights they shared a bed he’d never seen her without her clothes on, had never seen the constellation of scar tissue that spread across her abdomen. Pink lines and creases that had faded to white, skin that was still numb to the touch and likely always would be.
“Yes,” she says, subconsciously placing her hand over the scar through her shirt, “I kept it.”
He stores the information away for later, not wanting to pry now, but he thinks he’ll make the same decision, not wanting to lose the evidence of what he’d survived.
“What else happened?” He asks, and she frowns, her eyebrows knitting together as she tilts her head and he smiles softly, “You looked like you saw a ghost when I woke up.”
She wonders how she should feel about the fact he can read her so easily, that, despite everything, they’d seemingly picked back up right where they left off when she’d been reaped for her own games and her life had changed forever. She thinks she should hate it, but she doesn’t. She likes that he knows her like that, that he understands her.
It had been so long since she’d felt known.
“Your…” she clears her throat, her teeth clenched as she tries to breathe through the emotion threatening to overwhelm her, “Your heart stopped when they got you out,” her voice shakes a little, “You were dead for almost a minute until they brought you back.”
He frowns and places his hand against his chest, his ribs aching, his entire body on fire from pain that the medication in his system barely dulled, “They brought me back?”
She chokes out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she nods, “Yeah, they brought you back.”
“Why?”
His question surprises her, makes her breath catch in her chest as she looks down at her hands, her torn up cuticles something she can focus on instead of him, “Because they need a winner,” she whispers, “None of this works if they don’t have a winner and George died in the arena. So you’re their winner.”
He stares at her, his focus on the way she absolutely avoids looking at him. He can’t help but wonder how she felt when she was in his place. When she was laying in a bed, stitched back together after barely surviving the unthinkable, alone and wondering what came next. He feels selfishly grateful that he has her, that she can guide him through this next part.
“So,” he says, offering her a half smile when she looks at him, “Looks like I’ll be able to take you on a date after all,” he jokes, wanting nothing more than to lighten the mood, to feel anything other than despair for the first time since his brother’s name was called during the reaping.
She scoffs, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest, Dave’s words from just a few days ago weighing heavily on her chest, “I wish it was that simple.”
He frowns at her, lifting his hand from his bed and offering it out to her, grateful when she stands and takes it without any further prompting, as if she was magnetised to him, moving against her will, “What do you mean?”
She isn’t sure how to put it into words. She wanted him, wanted whatever sense of happiness was possible in the reality they lived in, but she knew there would be a cost. She’d always known that, it’s why she’d cut him out of her life until he volunteered for his brother, fate intervening and putting them back firmly in each other's paths. She sighs as she sits on the edge of his bed, his warmth even with the small amount of distance between them intoxicating.
“There will be expectations of us,” she says, her chest hollowed out, aching and empty, ready for the heartbreak she can already feel, the heartbreak she’d endure for the rest of her life if it was what he chooses. She reaches out to push some of his hair out of his face, the strands longer than they usually would be, unkempt from his time in the arena, her fingers ghosting across his forehead. “If we do this. Our life won’t necessarily be our own.”
He catches her hand as she pulls it away from his face, linking their fingers together and squeezing, desperate to keep her close, “What do you mean?”
She looks over her shoulder to make sure they are alone, to check the nurse who was assigned to him wasn’t in earshot. She’d learnt a long time ago that no one could be trusted, that even those who seemed to be her friends here would give away her secrets for free. The only person she did trust, other than Aaron, was Dave. He’d never lied to her, never been anything other than almost painfully honest, their shared burden of what they did year after year something that had bonded them in a way she’s sure she’d collapse without. She leans in and makes sure she talks quietly, her voice low so only he hears her.
“We’ll get married,” she says, a smile flitting across her face at the treacherous hope that flashes in his eyes, something that even what he’d just been through couldn’t kill. She liked to think that would one day be the country’s downfall - the hope that existed between them all no matter what they had done to them. Hope that planted seeds and bloomed even in the darkest of circumstances, its flowers too bright and beautiful to be ignored, “And we won’t…there won’t be a lot of choice,” she says, hoping he’d understand, that he wouldn’t make her say it, “We would be expected to do our duty as victors.”
It’s the desperate look in her eyes that makes it click for him. He thinks of their conversation on the train, the way they’d casually agreed children weren’t on the cards for either of them as they drank liquor he’s sure cost more than his parent’s house. It was a moment in time, something that had led him back to her, his volunteering for his brother a crossroads in his life that had changed everything. A decision that, in the grand scheme of things, hadn’t been that long ago but may as well have happened to a different person.
“Oh,” he says, feeling her hand go slack in his, her expression tight as she starts to pull away, taking his silence and lack of a reaction as confirmation he would change his mind. He holds her hand even tighter, and feels her bones pop against each other, “Well, if there was anyone I’d want to do any of that with, it would be you.”
She scoffs, disbelief catching on every rib as it forces its way out, “Aaron, it’s not that simple,” she says, looking down at their joint hands, his tanned skin from the artificial sun in the arena making hers look even paler than usual, “We’d have to have children. If we didn’t Barnes would punish us, our families.”
“Em-”
She carries on as if he hasn’t spoken, as if she can’t hear him. All of the fears she’d pushed down for years finally burst to the surface, escaping from the box she’d hidden them in because he’d knocked it over, his love and kindness tearing her defences to pieces.
“And as much as I always said I don’t want children, I’d love them. I’d love them so much and then having to send them off to the arena when they turn 12-” she’s cut off as he sits up, groaning at the pain that spreads through his chest, his entire body burning from the points where Foyet had stabbed him, “What are you doing? You’re hurt.”
“I’m trying to hug you,” he says through gritted teeth as she lowers him back down to the bed, her hands firm on his shoulders as she raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief. He breathes through the pain for a moment and then rests his hands on her hips, “Em, I understand what you’re saying,” he says, encouraging her closer, her face close enough that he can feel her breath skipping across his skin, “I know it won’t be easy, but even if we had a kid tomorrow, 12 years is a long time. You never know what could happen.”
She huffs out a laugh and presses her forehead against his, “You think the world is going to change enough between now and then to mean we’d be safe.”
“I think you haven’t even kissed me yet,” he says, his hand on her back, his palm splayed so his fingers sneak under the hem of her shirt, smiling softly as she shivers as his heated skin touches hers, “Everything else will happen as it happens.”
She thinks she should hate him for being so sure, for the hint of optimism she knew time would kill over the next few years, but she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she allows herself to feel the relief that she’d been holding off since she’d arrived at the hospital. It fills her lungs, her chest fully expanding for the first time since she’d last seen him before he went into the arena, and she shakes her head, pressing her forehead against his for a moment before she pulls back, her smile fond as their eyes meet.
She leans in and presses her lips against his, her hand on his cheek to hold him in place, as if he’d rather be anywhere else even if he had the strength to move. It’s everything she’d ever imagined it to be and more as he pulls her closer, his hand insistent on her back as his other one finds its way into her hair, anchoring her to him. He tastes of the sugary medicinal drink she’d been made to have when she first woke up when she won the games, a boost she’d never known the name of, a hint of something she knew must just be him lingering underneath.
He sighs contentedly as she sinks into him, her tongue running across the seam of his lips before he opens his mouth. He’d thought about this moment for so long that it didn’t feel real, almost too good to be true. For a moment he wonders if he really did die in the arena, if this was the last thing his subconscious was doing for him, a moment of heaven before he slipped into darkness.
He knows it’s real the moment she pulls back, a concerned look on her face as he groans in pain, the two of them having got carried away as he pulls her tight to his chest, the pain reverberating throughout his body.
“Sorry,” she says, her hand slipping from his cheek to his throat, the reassuring thump of his pulse against her skin calming her down.
“Never apologise for kissing me,” he replies, encouraging her back in for another kiss, a quick thing stamped against her lips, “But we might have to wait a little while for our date.”
She smiles and nods, resting her forehead against his, taking a moment to breathe him in, “I should get going anyway. Let you rest.”
He shakes his head, “No, stay.”
“Aaron-”
“Please,” he says, wincing as he tries to shift in the bed, making room for her to slide in next to him, “I want you to stay.”
She hesitates, not sure what people would say or think if they found her in his bed, but she realises she doesn’t care. For the first time in years, she doesn’t think about anyone other than herself and she nods, slipping off her shoes before she carefully slips into bed with him, her head on his shoulder as she snuggles into his side. A sense of peace she hadn’t felt since they’d last slept next to each other washes over her and she tilts her head to look up at him.
“I love you,” she says, the words not seeming as heavy as they had on the rooftop the night before the games started. It was no longer something she’d only get to say to him once, no longer a rushed confession borne out of a misunderstanding. It was softer, impossibly more real.
Something she would say to him every day for the rest of her life.
“I love you too,” he replies, kissing the top of her head, tightening his hold on her the best he can with his injuries, “And I’ll spend the rest of my life doing that the best way that I can.”
___
At first, she’s not sure what wakes her up.
She’d never slept well on the train, not from the very first time she’d boarded it. It was eerily quiet given the speed they were travelling and it left her feeling uneasy, a stillness to it all that felt unnatural.
She rolls onto her back and groans, rubbing her hands over her eyes as she considers going to watch the sunrise in the back carriage, and then she hears a moan next to her, drawing her attention to Aaron as he sleeps fitfully. As he thrashes in the bed, his fists clenched at his sides, she knows what woke her up and she sighs sadly. She sits up and turns on the light, folding her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she watches him, waiting for him to wake up.
The first night he’d been back from the hospital, the same day he’d had his interview with Gideon, she’d tried to wake him up. She’d put her hands on his face and tried to pull him out of it, her words soft and reassuring as she eased him back to her. He’d grabbed her wrist, his grip tight around it, as he woke up, leaving a bruise that hadn’t quite faded yet. He hadn’t forgiven himself, had refused to sleep next to her again until she promised she wouldn’t try to wake him up again, and she hated how he sometimes looked at her.
As if she had something to be afraid of when she was with him.
It feels like an age passes before he wakes up, his chest filling quickly with a breath that’s clearly painful as he sits up, his eyes wild as he yells, his fists clenched so tightly she’s sure he could break the skin on his palms.
“Aaron,” she says quietly, not wanting to startle him. He looks at her so quickly it must pull at his neck, his eyes still wide as they meet hers. She knows that look, she’s seen it on her own face in the small hours of the night as she splashed water on herself in the bathroom after a nightmare. He was in the arena, his mind playing tricks on him even though he was now as safe as he ever would be. “You’re okay. It’s a dream. We’re on the train home.”
“Emily?”
She smiles and nods, shifting closer to him as the fog in his eyes starts to lift. She reaches out and places her hand on his cheek, her heart twisting in her chest as he leans into it, seeking out the affection she always had waiting for him.
“It’s me. I’m right here,” she assures him, shifting closer again until she’s in his lap, something in her stomach easing when he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, “I’m right here.”
He sighs, his eyes drifting closed as he rests his forehead on her temple, taking the chance to breathe her in, to replace the blood he could still smell with the scent of her, “I’m sorry.”
She pulls back and cups his cheek again, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
His eyes drift to her bruised wrist and guilt churns in his gut just like it had every day since he’d woken up to find his first wrapped tightly around it. He clenches his teeth and shakes his head, familiar anger he hadn’t been able to shift since the arena burning through him.
“I don’t know how you can even look at me.”
She frowns as he looks down, avoiding her eye contact. He barely lets go of her though, as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded, so she wraps her arms around his shoulders to hold him close.
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” She asks, the moniker slipping free without her meaning it to, her focus on playing with the short hairs at the back of his head, providing comfort in any way she can.
“I hurt you,” he says, his tone flat as he continues to stare at the wall, “I killed people, Em,” he finally pulls away to look at her, “I killed a guy with my bare hands.”
“If you hadn’t, he would have killed you,” she reasons, an edge of desperation to her voice that she ignores, “And I’ve killed people too. It’s the only reason we’re both still here,” she smiles sadly, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place, “Does that make it hard for you to look at me?”
He shakes his head immediately, his eyebrows furrowing as if the mere idea was ridiculous, “Of course not,” he says emphatically, “Never.”
“Then it’s not going to make it hard for me to look at you,” she says, making a point of reaching for his hand, of smoothing her fingers over the still healing cuts on his knuckles, “We survived,” she looks up at him, making eye contact as she kisses his hand, soothes away the damage both physical and mental, the scars she couldn’t see but knew were there, “We survived, and now we’ve got to try and live. As best as we can,” she kisses him, her lips firm against his, and she barely pulls back, her breath skipping across his face as she speaks, “Together.”
He nods, pulling her closer, his grip on her fierce. She holds him back just as tightly, seeking comfort as easily as she gives it.
“Together.”
-x-
Me to me: you will not write a sequel…you will not write a sequel…
-x-
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take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 6: beginning
ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev
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!)
#ohhh my goodness i'm so sorry this took so long#aaa but life's going to get very busy quite soon#so i just decided to post the next two chapters on tumblr first because writing chapter 8 and posting it on ao3 will take a while....#take me back (take me with you)#jjk megumi#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#megumi fushiguro#megumi#fushiguro megumi#megumi fluff#megumi angst#fushiguro megumi x reader#megumi fushiguro x reader#jjk x fem!reader#fem!reader#ruer writes#megumi x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#megumi imagine#adding more tags this time hope it works out#fanfiction#jjk fanfiction
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Assistant Noah's World Tour!
After Jamaca...
Noah screamed into his hands as he sat in the confessional, blushing like crazy.
He felt hot. Both in anger and in lust. Anger that Alejandro's latest scheme to eliminate the final member of Team Victory almost got DJ sent to a hospital. And lust that Alejandro's evil brain was so brilliant. It didn't help that the manipulate charmer somehow looks even handsomer, while he was being so deliciously devious.
Oh god, does Noah seriously have a thing for bad boys?!
And did Alejandro seriously have to wear a speedo of all things?!?
The dude might as well be in his underwear!
No sane person would wear that type of swimwear!
Noah shakes his head and splashes cold water from the sink on his face.
Noah was tempted to buy Alejandro a pair of regular swim trunks… but then the Spainard might see it as his handsome body finally getting to the Cynic… and flustered Noah refuses to give in.
Noah looks in the mirror, ignoring the confessional camera and begins to take deep, calming breathes.
Noah quickly bangs his head against the bathroom's mirror to get rid of those thoughts of that stupid, evil man.
With a sigh, Noah leaves the confessional after finishing what he had to say and cleaning his face, then putting his sunglasses on. When Noah returns to the beach, he decides to enjoy while he still can.
Noah wants to stay as far away from stupid sexy Alejandro as possible, taking a spot at the other end of the beach. He'd rather focus on the beautiful view and the warm sun on his skin than on the Spaniard's charm. It didn't take long for Noah to sink into the soft sand, watch the sea and letting the sounds of it wash over him.
Alejandro however had different plans. His gaze locked on the dark-haired man on the beach. He smiled to himself, feeling a thrill run through him at the thought of teasing Noah again.
As the flirty man approached, he gives a playful smirk. "Hola, Noah. You seem to be enjoying the beach." He says, leaning down to place his towel down beside the other man's. "Or are you just avoiding me?"
Noah glances over at him, keeping his eyes away from the speedo. "Is it that hard to believe that I want some alone time?"
Alejandro begins to casually stretch his muscles in front of Noah. The cynical assistant is able to keep his face stoic and blush-free. But not even he could stop the passionate, burning, fire-like feeling inside his heart and body.
"I don't know…you seem to be avoiding me a bit too much. Don't you like me anymore?" The charmer asks with a playful pout, running a hand through his wet hair.
Noah chuckles sarcastically, rolling his eyes with a small smirk. "Oh please. I never liked an eel like you."
They both know that was a lie.
Alejandro smiles at Noah's retort, enjoying the way the other man's cheeks flush under his tan.
"Oh, I see. So you don't like me because I'm an eel, huh?" He asks, his voice dripping with fake hurt. "Well, that's too bad. I was hoping you could help me out with something."
Noah glances over at Alejandro, arching an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
Alejandro grins manically, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Well, you see, I've been in the water for quite some time now, and I think I've gotten a little…overdone. And I was hoping you could help me out, rub some sunscreen on my back. Maybe give me a nice massage while you're at it."
The taller man lays on Noah's towel, revealing the toned expanse of his back. Noah feels his heart skip a beat as he takes in the sight of the Spaniard's broad shoulders tapering down to his perfectly sculpted waist. Even his back is attractive. Alejandro smirks at Noah's obvious hesitation, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Will you help me, Noah? I'll put sunscreen on your back, if you do mine first."
Sighing, Noah drops to his knees beside Alejandro. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart as he reaches for the tube of sunscreen. His fingers brush against Alejandro's skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He can feel the heat emanating from the Spaniard's body as he slowly rubs the cool gel onto his back.
Alejandro moans softly in satisfaction, arching his back and pressing closer to Noah's touch. The feel of the charmer's smooth, warm skin beneath the cynic's fingers is almost unbearable. Noah's heart pounds in his chest, his blood flowing hotter and faster as he continues to massage Alejandro's back.
Noah can't help but wonder what it would be like to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer.
When Noah was finished with Alejandro's back, Alejandro told Noah to lay down, so Alejandro could return the favor.
As Noah lay on the towel, he felt Alejandro's strong, warm hands begin to knead his shoulders with sunscreen. It was such an intimate, sensual feeling that Noah could barely contain himself. He let out a soft moan, arching his back slightly into the touch.
Those strong, warm hands moved everywhere, massaging Noah's upper back and then down to his lower back. The cynic felt a shiver run down his spine as Alejandro's fingers dug into his flesh, eliciting a deep, satisfying relief. It was as if the Spaniard was trying to wring every tense cell in the muscles loose.
Then when Alejandro was done, he flipped Noah over on his back and began playing with the smaller man's soft chocolate hair. Noah felt too relaxed to stop him. Noah and Alejandro gazed at each other, with peaceful smiles. One laying down, while the other was sitting. Their faces were quite calm, their bodies were more relaxed, but their hearts were pounding.
Alejandro slowly lowered his head, his eyes locked on Noah's lips. The taller man leaned in, his breath warm against the smaller man's skin, as he prepared to close the distance between them. Noah felt his heart race, his body tense with anticipation. He could feel the heat emanating from Alejandro, could practically taste the Spaniard's mouth on his.
But then Noah turned his head last minute, so Alejandro would only kiss his cheek.
"Nice try." the relaxed Noah whispers, pleased with himself. "I don't kiss people that injure animal lovers."
Alejandro simply smiles back, and they continue to peacefully gaze at each other. "But you're willing to let them massage your back?"
"I'm not a perfect person." Noah says softly, with a small shrug.
But Noah actually was perfect. At least to Alejandro he was. The Spaniard couldn't help but feel drawn to him, admiring the way he handled himself, his intelligence, his boldness, and of course, his sass. It was refreshing, a much-needed breath of fresh air in a world full of people who only have a few braincells.
So, when Alejandro felt that Noah was turning his head to avoid the kiss, he felt a little disappointed, a little rejected even. But he wasn't going to let that show. He understands why Noah keeps rejecting him.
Noah doesn't want to be used. Which is fair, cause Alejandro did want to use him at first. But now, the thought of using Noah makes Alejandro feel sick and he doesn't know why. He doesn't feel shame when using others. Why is it different with Noah now?...
...And why does Alejandro want to kiss him, without getting anything in return?...
...Anyway, the charmer glad that the assistant is willing to be friends, or at least friend-like acquaintances.
Noah's friendship should be enough for Alejandro… right?
#assistant noah's world tour#assistant noah#total drama#total drama world tour#td noah#alejandro burromuerto#alenoah
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A lightee ask than usual but do you have any food or eating habit thoughts?
Ooohooohh, I did a whole ass seminar on the history of food. Failed it because I almost bled to death but I got to keep all the material! I've got.... a lot of thoughts and feelings about food culture. Too goddamn many, tbh. This got really long so I'll have to do a part two for other characters if wanted but lol enjoy.
Alfred:
—Actually pretty gourmet little shit when he's got time and effort. He's made food Maria loves so often she has to give up on pretending she didn't enjoy it because fucking hell, he makes good chilaquiles after they've been drinking and fucking. There is, however, a non-zero chance he hasn't eaten a vegetable since the Nixon administration.
—With that combustion engine metabolism, he's also perpetually hungry, so he eats whatever is around him. His guts do not like this, especially when it's a lot of dairy.
—He has that kind of lactose intolerance that's tied to his health and stress, so if he's been particularly freaked out lately, he'll remind the world of his nuclear arsenal when he's got to use the toilet after that triple cheeseburger with a side of deep-fried cheese curds.
—He's a stress eater too. He eats every negative emotion he's ever had especially when he's trying not to binge drink or do drugs.
—He’s exceptionally food-motivated. They didn’t call one of his first major historical eras ‘the starving time’ without reason. He has preferences, but food is also food, and he’ll genuinely enjoy it in most forms as long as it's not rotten or otherwise godawful. Cowboy coffee and beans for ten days straight, and he will genuinely be the only man on that cow trail not sick of it by the end.
—This also goes into why he’s so generous with food. He’s big on homemade food. He’ll make a whole big ass batch of like some sort of mac and cheese, and all the neighbours will get a big ol’ bowl of it with an ‘oh just return the Tupperware whenever,’ and it will genuinely be one of the best things they’ve ever eaten in their lives. Europeans recoil in horror, but our portion sizes are almost never single servings. It’s a generosity and hospitality practice except drinks. He really will down like a 2 liter of Slurpee in a single sitting.
—He doesn’t mind eating alone. Actually prefers it sometimes. He loves eating in his car. American frontier culture, especially mountain men, had an often hyper-individualized, almost mythic culture of spending long periods alone in the woods and not being very sociable; thus a lot of situations where single servings were a thing, eating alone in quiet without something to do can be a real goddamn luxury.
—He’s a really big protein guy with his metabolism. Sometimes exists on protein shakes but is more often a beef or barbeque or ham or alligator jerky. And a somewhat chunky Alfred is a healthy Alfred. A perfectly cut no flab Alfred is an Alfred who might be severely dehydrated and on several kinds of uppers.
—He has better tastes than Arthur who didn't really realize food was supposed to taste good until like ten years ago but his combinations can be equally wild and unappetizing as they are batshit tasty.
—He loves spicy food. He's got so many opinions about hot sauces.
—He’s always hungry. If he isn’t hungry or turns down food, its genuinely a bad sign. If he turns down anything or just is just picking at it his food alarm bells should be sounding. He’s either about to declare war or puke all over the table or keel over dead. Peckish or food coma is his default state. Like if he was a smaller guy someone would say he’s got a binge disorder but he’s tall and beefy so he’s pretty okay.
—Incredibly adventurous eater too. People will assume since there’s that old school culture of Anglo-American who eats the same 7 meals every week and might keel over dead if the meatloaf is slightly different he’ll be a bit hard to please but then he’s absolutely charmed by everything from Korean kimchi to Lithuanian Lašiniai.
—He loves anyone who feeds him, just got to be a bit careful because he’s got surprisingly delicate stomach for the world superpower.
—That American obsession with authencity means he’s surprisingly good at remembering people’s food culture or eating norms. He figured out chopsticks in ten seconds and quickly picked up the cues and manners of eating in any given culture. Still struggles with modulating his voice and personality, so he can often come across as rude, but he's so excited to do so. It's almost frustrating how happy he is to try and adapt to people around him and how happy he can be to fit in.
Matt:
—He's a very good cook when he's putting in effort for other people, but he's not really like Alfred, who he'll make a whole ass meal for one just to relax on a Sunday.
—He does tend to eat more vegetables than Alfred, but only because his northern vitamin deficiency has him binging them when he can afford them or they're available during the summer.
—He can be weirdly picky on his own, but no one ever really needs to ask about his favourite food or how he likes anything because he always just goes with the flow around other people. “Just get me whatever you’re getting.” comes out of his mouth often.
—There's a lot of sour cream/crema and yoghurt/coconut milk involved when he eats Mexican or Indian food for as much as he loves it.
—Katya was singlehandedly responsible for his ability to maintain a normal weight during the 20th century by adding rye bread and perogies/vyrenki to his diet. He craves mushroom-umami flavours when he misses her, which is most of the time.
—When he’s normal and eating the Anglo-North American diet, but he isn’t always eating it, he gets some strong sugar cravings, especially when he’s west of Manitoba. He’s as fond of birch syrup as a flavour as he is maple; there’s just less production. But the kind of deprivation he got and his own tendencies to not eat sometimes cause white sugar to just straight-up burns.
—There's very much something of François to Matt's dietary habits, but less in his personal tastes and more in that he might be more sensitive to flavours. He has that kind of discerning and slightly oversensitive palate, but he’s a shitty perpetually broke frontier settler colony. He knows better/feels too guilty/is too embarrassed of himself to really indulge it.
—He kept too much of his peasant communalism in his eating habits. Where Anglo-American communities did have a lot of cooperation, communal eating was a special occasion. The norm was based on the individual household. In contrast, French Canadian habitants still technically lived on medieval land plots and owed labour to a lord while also having a culture of seasonal male work, so Matt grew up used to communal ovens and eating most of his meals around others. Later, in Arthur’s jurisdiction, it was usually the same. He got a plate of whatever he was given, and it wasn’t something he had ever had to initiate himself.
—Partially, he's sometimes exceptionally bad at eating when he has to choose to do it himself. Especially since the Americanization of the food culture took hold in the '80s and '90s. Whereas Alfred is food motivated from going without when he was little, Matt learned how to block out physical sensation until he collapsed because it was rare that someone, including himself, cared about what kind of state he was in. He just doesn’t eat at all when he’s stressed or anxious. And now it's his sole responsibility to do so as there aren’t the same community structures. He has a lot of Alfred’s abundance now, all the brunch and BBQ places anyone could ask for, but it hasn’t meshed with his eating habits. His people gave up so much of their communal eating in exchange for various choices and then wondered why they were so lonely. So he’ll just microwave a potato or a packet of Kraft dinner a day for a week straight and wonder why he feels dead because, technically, he did eat something. It’s seriously a miracle he got as tall as he did.
—Feed him nothing but hardtack for three years, and he won't complain until he's dropped dead of scurvy. If Arthur puts some sort of godforsaken mixture of plum sauce or gin-infused spag bol in front of him, he’ll compliment it before he disassociates to get at least some of it down.
#the ask box || probis pateo#hws canada#hws america#meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations#matthew || my country is winter#alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies
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Ok I just finished rewatching The Rundown Job and so far I have -
The most ridiculously peacocking display of competence porn. What do you mean "'sup Eliot." What do you mean "who needs luck". Where is your damn shame? Where is hundred more episodes of just like this? 10/10 worth every watch.
'I've got a hacker *enter bf*, and a thief *enter gf*'
Only Parker noticing 'too many cops'. It's such a cool detail throughout the show how observant she is just offhandedly, unlike Eliot who observes actively.
Parker pretending to promptly fall asleep as soon as they're in the truck, only to have the handcuffs off in seconds.
"What do they say about me? I hope they gave me a cool nickname." I'll bet all the kudos on my most popular fic that he hacks into his own pentagon file regularly to make up his own nickname.
"Hell your girlfriend's already out of the cuffs" *Parker smiling and sliding them off* AND IT'S DIRECTED NOT TO HARDISON, HER EXPLICITLY STATED BOYFRIEND, BUT AT ELIOT, THEIR BOYFRIEND.
Putting Hardison in those glasses. Those damn glasses. I need a glass of water jfc it's hot in here
'For better or worse, we change together'. Aaaaaand that's on wedding vows.
"I'll drive." "Hold on." "Exactly." "No, I mean hold on. (Our gf is a former gateway car driver)". "Oh. Oh you mean. Yeah."
The hand on the wrist and eye contact and saying 'I'm not afraid. I got the best thief and the smartest guy I know chasing this guy'
HAND ON THE BACK OF THE NECK AND PULLING CLOSER 'HEY LISTEN TO ME YOU'RE THE SMARTEST GUY I'VE EVER KNOWN HARDISON I NEED THAT BRAIN TO GET ME TO HIM. GET ME TO HIM'. Screaming crying frothing at the mouth et cetera et cetera
Figuring out the job TOGETHER
This is Hardison. Hardison likes his personal space. These are Parker and Eliot. Parker and Eliot also like Hardison's personal space.
The eyes on each other's lips during unlocking doors and saying thank you
'Kiss for luck?' the sequel: love boogaloo
HACKING THE MF CAR HORN WITH AN SOS THROUGH A MOBILE PHONE
"BOOM MY BOY THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!!" first of all that's his boy so jot that down
Also side note this episode shows the fascinating way Hardison uses his brain and I wish we saw more of it because it's fascinating how he derives what he does from the few bits of data he gathers
"He's on the train!" "Yeah well so am I." "When you pick him out of the crowd-" "No. I'm ON the train! 🙄 Never mind..."
Two good ole boys behind the wheel 🎶 chasing the target and their gf in a million dollar car 🎵 two good ole boys-
*Hanging by her fingertips from a running train roof almost mashed into pulp by signage" WOOOOOO HOOOOO
The way Parker picks him out, not by using thief sense, but mastermind sense that he's immune -> got vaccinated -> pain in the arm. Brilliant way to pick someone out from a crowd while not raising panic
Keeping him talking till she takes the briefcase that he HANDCUFFED to himself right under his nose. How? Well, she's Parker.
"I kept one diamond. Sorry." I love her
Finally "kiss for luck" the trilogy comes to an end
*casually endangers self* "Fire is the only thing that kills it right?"
"Don't do that to me, I can't lose you. Do you understand? I can't lose you. Don't scare me like that. I can't-"
Eliot Spencer: *Barks 'Alright!' at the guy touching him to literally patch up his bullet wound.* Also Eliot Spencer: *ditches crutches so he can lean on his girlfriend and boyfriend*
"I work with them now." Would you like to stay for dinner? "Honor among thieves? Something like that." WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER??!!!
"I don't do hospital." "I told you, he takes getting shot very lightly." Uh huh, you know what I smell? LOVE. In the air! Might be some blood from those bullet wounds too ig.
What a show.
#leverage#eliot spencer#alec hardison#parker leverage#jace.txt#leverage ot3#eliot x parker x hardison#hitter hacker thief#'we change together'#the rundown job
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could you do chris with pregnant!reader headcanons?
dad!chris, who was over the moon when you showed him the positive pregnancy test. he up and left and returned 2 hours later with bags FULL of baby clothes in every color.
dad!chris, who called nick and matt immediately announcing to them the fact that they're gonna be uncles!
dad!chris, who would leave everything behind for you if you had some craving, running to get it for you, or if you just needed cuddles.
dad!chris, who would feel so guilty when you'd tell him "YOU DID THIS TO ME!" and pointing to your belly that carried your twin babies!! 😭
speaking of, he fainted when you got the news you're gonna have twins.
dad!chris, who would play classical music to your babies cause he read somewhere that they grow up to be intelligent.
dad!chris, who would lay in bed with you and kiss on your belly and talk to your babies as if they could actually hear him, giving them time to respond too😭😭, he was really losing it but he was soooo happy! even happier to do this with you😭
dad!chris, who wouldn't let you lift up a finger! constantly telling you to go lay down and giving you large amounts of water to keep you hydrated, leading to you peeing every 5 minutes.
dad!chris, who became so paranoid and would call the doctor even if you had a normal headache. he couldn't risk anything.
dad!chris, who had bought you healthy and organic food for you to eat and everything pregnancy related he would pass by 😭😭
dad!chris, who almost came to the hospital shirtless when your water broke! he was in such a hurry that he slid his shoes, remaining pj pants and ready to go!
dad!chris, who would whisper reassuring things to you and hold your hand even if you threatened to kill him and bit him!! 😁
dad!chris, who fell in love seeing his angelic little girls.
#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you
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can someone else please please look at this set of images before i go insane
#nezha reborn#LOOK AT HIM he is literally just... a kid...... looking for some comfort from his dad............#it's about to be 0 days since our last nonsensical overly emotional post about li yunxiang#it was never that lyx didn't care about what his father thought or didn't want for his approval because he does want it. he does care.#it was just something he accepted he wouldn't have as long as he continue to choose to do what he thought was the right thing#and the 'right thing' was important enough to him to give up on his dad's support#which says something about how important the 'right thing' is to lyx#and up till now it was fine because it affected no one but him#(and if you think about it it is kind of a very immature and idealistic mindset#because if he had gotten caught doing his little smuggling and property destruction it 100% would have affected his family#but i like that i think it's part of his character.. anyway....)#but now his refusal to do what his dad wanted him to do - get a normal job and keep his head down - is like. actively hurting his family#and altho it was the right thing and he couldn't have predicted that ao bing would go completely nuclear#or that the de group would send assassins after him because of the whole reincarnation business#you could say that kasha and li jinxiang's injuries are a direct result of him refusing to just roll over and sell ao bing his motorcycle#(which i think is exactly what ljx was gonna say before he got bodied by that monster truck lol)#and in this moment when he has effectively just put 2 of the people closest to him in the hospital#i think he can't help but look for a little comfort from his dad because he feels so so guilty and confused and upset#but he gets that door shut in his face and he's reminded that he had chosen to not have that#that he had made choices that led to this being the reality of his relationship with his dad. and he is supposed to be ok with that#and then he falls back on his anger and the moment is sort of over but like#bro... at this point li yunxiang has no one bro....#L + ratio + kasha and brother in the hospital + dad can't even look at you + dead mom + separated from extended family when you fled the wa#+ no close friends your own age#and it makes me sad because lyx must have been pretty close to his dad when he was little#i think this + the moment where he's outside the door listening to his dad talk#just fuels the miasma of guilt#guilt over his own actions. guilt over nezha's actions. questioning if he is or ever was making the right choices#but also it's not about any of that it's just about how huge and wet his eyes look here amen
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Me painting my nails all black at almost 5 am when I have to be up by 10 to work at 11
Thinking to myself, "Ah. I really am not doing okay."
#speculation nation#negative/#i guess.#i keep wavering on whether im coping fine or not#im trying. trying to not linger too much. trying to just live my life and continue pursuing my interests#tricking myself that everything is okay. smiling and laughing and enjoying the little things#and then it's nearly 5 am and im remembering the time my uncle came into my bubble tea shop while i was working#a surprise visit. and i got to take his order & recommend him things. a nice little thing.#im remembering trips with him. him driving and me being a little wallflower. but my family expects this so it's okay#im remembering my birthday. this year. where i was free from school and so looking forward to the summer#and then like a week later i got the news that my uncle had cancer. and a week after that my cat died.#and i got through it. i worked on getting better. i was starting to get better. & then i got the call from my dad#that my uncle was in the hospital again. and a week and a half later he was dead.#and here i am now. nearly 3 weeks later. and what do i have to show for it?#with cassy i cried 14 times in one night. it felt like a stab in the chest. a horrible wound. one i still flinch from remembering.#with my uncle... i had time to prepare myself. i began grieving well before he died. so it wasnt such a horrible shock to my system#instead... it feels like ive been slowly bleeding out. a gaping wound that isnt closing no matter how much i desperately try to.#bc the fact of the matter is that this is family. my uncle. who ive known my entire life. & who i was pretty close to#at least compared to my aunts on my mom's side. ive always been closer to my family on my dad's side.#it's not going to go away so soon. i know this. and it doesnt help that ive been away from my family for so much of this.#the memorial is in a week. im hoping it will help to heal the wound. at least a little bit.#i hate living life feeling like i have a hole in my chest. i hate losing people i love.#animal death ment/#death/#regardless. my nails are black. and it's time to go to sleep.
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was talking to my mom about how the adoption process worked when they adopted my brother and man some people truly are just scum
#all of their process was basically public? since there wasn't a private institution back then (not sure how it is now)#so it was basically women who were 100% sure they were going to give their baby away no matter what#and then when the day came they were like noo i'm keeping the baby (which should be good right?)#and then they would do a follow up and turns out there was no baby because they were basically sold illegally#obviously to people that were not from chile#because what um hospitals? no it's not hospitals but adjacent i guess#what they would do is that they would have a program basically were pregnant women would be like hey this kid once they're born?#i'm gonna abandon them basically. so they hospital would get in contact with the social service#the social service would contact people that wanted to be parents. the they would come and there was no baby because they were sold#obviously didn't happen to my parents but what did happen was the social service lady asking them#if they wanted to see the kid first in case they ''didn't like him''#and my dad being my dad got furious because what the hell that's my kid no matter what#and the sad reality was that a lot of adoptive parents would like to look at the kid first to see if they liked them as if they were what#a fucking couch#anyways. everyday i'm more thankful for how open my mom is about this whole thing and how it was#she still has the name and all the info of my brother's biological mother in case he wants to contact her again#(which hasn't happened since he had his very big and bad bipolar crisis)#but yeah idk i admire my mom a lot she's always trying to do what's best for everyone even if sometimes it comes out a little harsh#b.txt
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something else I really love about feast and famine is how wwx isn't all 'wow lan zhan you're the best I can't believe you've been putting up with me I'm SO grateful you're literally perfect even though I'm so needy thank you so so so much' bc that sentiment arises in a lot of fics that handle his trauma or mental health and it's SO tiresome not to mention ooc. like it's not there for no reason bc wwx did express gratitude in canon and lwj IS a really good and supportive partner, but it's really refreshing to see wwx in a stable and reliable enough relationship where, except that one time he was triggered and panicking, he literally never once doubted that lwj would support and stand with him, nor did he ever feel the need to even thank lwj for being a good partner, even through the extremely heavy and difficult work of supporting him through what happened
and they DO communicate a lot, it's more that the gratitude is left unsaid because it's mutually understood to be unnecessary. and as much I'm in favor of them communicating their gratitude to each other, I feel like this dynamic for them is so much healthier and more mature and illustrates how strong their relationship is and how much they trust each other. also the idea of lwj as this...saintlike martyr who nobly supports and reassures a self-hating wwx is really tiring. he has his own struggles to be sure, but he has them away from wwx and the writing doesn't frame him as some tragic, self-sacrificing hero for it. like I love lwj but that's what it should be about, right? this was always going to be wwx's story first and foremost and I really appreciate works that let it be that
#like lwj freaking out to his brother or telling jyl about his trauma around his mom and going to support groups#that was so necessary and important for him. and wwx probably knew he was doing it. but he and the narrative didn't make it wwx's problem#OR make a big deal of not making it wwx's problem which is the more annoying and common trend#one of my early criticisms abt this fic was actually that they were TOO well-adjusted and healthy#wwx's past trauma seems to be limited to whatever made him scared of dogs and getting disowned as a teenager#which is awful to be sure but not rly comparable to canon#and in fact I was surprised his canon suicidal tendancies never showed up#but I think he was in a safe and supportive enough environment that that also made sense#like. everything possible that could be done was done. lwj came back from his trip. jyl was with him from that first morning#jc came in to help even though he fucked it up initially I think wwx clearly was really happy to have him there#he didn't have to work or worry about food or money or being alone#not that the current system is perfect obviously. like he did get a bunch of therapy and specialized therapy but#he got medical care immediately which while necessary was ALSO traumatizing and went to support groups which ALSO were horrible/demeaning#but overall compared to canon post-SS#he was able to break down and process everything in a healthy way#instead of suppressing his trauma because he has an obligation to be strong for others or to keep people alive#in canon he doesn't really have that freedom until postres. and then post-travels even#and by then things have faded with time. but I wonder if that makes it easier or harder to process them#esp since most of the people who he was close to back then are all gone#anyway. fic I think about literally constantly but idk if I can reread it all again it's very painful and heavy. like most of it but#the hospital scene is just so horrifying#not my favorite but up there maybe. I certainly regard it higher than a place to hide for exactly the reasons listed in the post#the first sex scene is so cringe tho 😔 I must sound like a maniac. like that post about showing ppl hxh for the first time#but it's so well-written besides that part I PROMISE#suicide tw#just a mention but eh#ficblogging
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the last two days have been like twenty dumpster fires and the only thing keeping me sane right now are my mutuals and awsten knight dyeing his hair. whats up with that
#and also my bff (love him sm) but that goes without saying i think#like listen dude in the last two days i have had to:#run an entire store by myself for five hours (combined across two days) which is normally run by TEN PEOPLE while my boss is just. chatting#got handed a LIVE SPIDER by a customer and had to remain professional (is deathly afraid of spiders)#had to deal with a ton of roommate drama???? not involved in it its my two roomies going bonkers over eachother for nothing#one of my cats got a uti and we thought she was just on her period but no she tore herself open and we had to take her 2 pet hospital#and also bc of said uti she like. pissed all over the clean laundry i just did WHICH ISNT HER FAULT but it was just. man. i just washed that#also my coworkers keep being super petty at eachother and i do not have the patience to keep playing mediator#but alas. it is my job. as a manager. but still. guys come on#anyway im doing ok all things considered its just exhausting i wanna evaporate#at this point shit keeps happening and its like. okay. sure. why not#yk? im not even upset im just tired. and worried for my cat. but otherwise tired.#anyway. we stay silly#txt.exe
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A code status is what you want the hospital to do if your heart or breathing stops, and we've got two basic options: full code which means we do EVERYTHING and Do Not Resuscitate or DNR which means we do less than everything. There's like little add-ons like intubated or not intubated, or blood products or no blood products, but that's basic gist of it. Do you want us to try everything we can to save your life or if your heart stops, is that it? And then we take that information and put it in your chart and make it very prominent in case we need to find it quickly in an emergency. Jane Doe, 72 years old, DNR. John Whatsisname, 49 years old, full code. Like that.
Anyway I'd like to propose a third code status that we'll call "DNR!!!" This is when you not only don't want heroic measures to extend your life, you are so excited to die. I thought of this recently when getting report on a patient, and the day nurse talking to me was like, "Alice Smith, 80 years old, DNR and she will tell you that herself." And I was like, "I don't think code status is gonna come up organically," and the nurse was like, "It won't, but she'll tell you anyway." And then I introduced myself to the patient, and like three minutes in as we're talking about pain meds, she goes, "and by the way, when I'm dead, I'm DEAD. Don't be bringing me back! Every woman in my family has lived past 90, and I'm here to break that tradition! NO one needs to live that long, and I certainly don't, and frankly it's indecent for me to have made it this far. God willing the reaper will come for me any day now. I would never take actions to make him come sooner, but I'm not moving that fast and he is DAWDLING. Disgusting. No work ethic these days. And don't bother with a grave, just chuck me out the window and let the birds at me."
And I'm like "so is that a no to the tylenol"
And she was like "oh no, I'd love some tylenol and a warm blanket too. Now look at me. I've done everything I could possibly want to do in this world and quite a few things I didn't want to do, and personally I don't think I should have to keep doing things. I'd also love a cranberry juice."
Anyway. DNR!! I'm sorry to say she made it through the night completely unscathed.
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how do i stop reliving a moment where i said something stupid and got called out for it (rightfully so)
#what happened was i was talking with my coworkers and one of my supervisors after work and we landed on a certain hospital#my sv said he was born there and got surgery there and it’s the same hospital my dad lived at for a year#and without missing a beat i go ‘my dad died there’ and i often joke abt him dying cus he’s old and abusive and technically he DID die +#there during a heart surgery he had#but it took me too long to say Haha no he didnt#and autistic or not i did notice the shift in tone 😭 ohhhhh ill KILL MYSELF I SWEAR#but ofc. my coworker and sv dont know i hate my dad#my friend was sitting next to me and even she had to do a little check cus apparently i said it so seriously#the rest of the night was totally fine and i apologized for my comment#especially cus my sv was like. Well my dad actually passed away. so.#AND GOD I COULD JUST BURY MYSELF RIGHT THERE AND THEN#i dont even know what prompted me to say it i so often have these moments where i just say the most random things#and dont stop to consider what i’m actually saying#i dont wanna sit here and blame my adhd or some other fucking diagnosis i got because i cant go around saying ‘oh that wasnt me that was the#voices telling me to’ LIKE?#anyway#rant over#it happened like 3 days ago and i hate how i keep punishing myself for it#and truly the rest of the evening was totally fine idt my supervisor held it against me much#he knows im autistic cus i told him vaguely about it but he didn’t react to it much then#and ik he understands autism somewhat cus he graduated w a psychology degree and he has family members who are autistic afaik#AND he told me he was on antidepressants for 3 yrs to which i told him i was on meds for 16 yrs and he asked for what and i said for adhd#so he knows that too. but god. GOD. im sewing my mouth shut
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