#it took me a long time to write this post

[littlegreenfag-archive]

Regarding @littlegreenfag

Tldr: Adina, known by the Tumblr urls littlegreenfag and prksoda, has spent the past several years lying about many facets of their life. The list of lies includes, but is not limited to, being half manouche Romani, being Jewish, and being descended from Holocaust survivors.

I never wanted to have to do this. I’ve spent months trying my best to encourage Adina to come clean themself. My methods were not ideal. I should not have used anonymous messages. I used to be friends with them, I should've talked to them openly as their friend. I also should’ve attempted to be less aggressive at times, even though I think it is incredibly reasonable to have felt the way I felt when I was sending some of those messages. I understand and regret both of these things. Unfortunately, since Adina has deactivated @littlegreenfag, I cannot provide links or screenshots to every ask of mine that they responded to, only those I saved at the time. I will do this later, upon request. This post is already going to be enough of a monster without them.

Though the last day has been a complete nightmare, I am satisfied with one thing: Adina came clean about everything, even if not publicly. My worry was always with the though of having to reveal their personal information, as many of the things they’ve lied about would require me to, functionally, dox them. Though it's technically all public, I would much rather that no one who doesn't already have access to this information gain it.

So, why am I writing this post? For those of you who were on Adina’s blog last night, you may have seen this post. I was also able to save a capture of their blog on the Internet Archive. Here is a screenshot that I took around when the post was first published. Apologies for the formatting.

To summarize, Adina begins to by admitting to a small lie, that they were born in Chicago, before admitting that they had been lying about their race. Though it was not present at the time of the blog's deletion, I would like to note that Adina had the phrase "jewish and half-romani" in their blog's bio for a very long time. This phrase was quietly removed after I sent the first anon message telling them that I was aware of their lies, on March 16th 2024. This can be seen on the Wayback Machine, by looking at the capture taken on March 5th, 2024, in comparison to the capture taken on March 24th, 2024.

That is what you may have seen. However, it is not the only major lie Adina has told. After suggesting Adina should turn off anons, I sent them another ask with my blog name visible, telling them that I could tell everyone about the other lies for them, if they wished to log off and be done with it. They messaged me privately, and this is the resulting conversation.

I apologize for the block of images, but I figured it was necessary to include the entire conversation. Here, Adina openly admits to not being Jewish. Adina has spent months receiving social benefits for claiming to be Jewish, and they've even used this claim to support arguments. Truth be told, Adina has one Jewish great-grandfather. How Adina expected me to believe they would know about this without knowing his surname, I will never know. However, I should emphasize that Adina is not Jewish by the standards of any main movement of Judaism. Orthodox and Conservative look for an unbroken line of Jewish women, while Reform asks that you be raised Jewish by a Jewish parent. Adina is descended from a Jewish man who converted to Catholicism and raised his children Catholic.

Regarding the Holocaust claim, I understand hat Adina did not directly address this. I will say that I find it suspicious that they deactivated as soon as I mentioned it, but they technically never confirmed it was a lie. However, with the information that:

The ancestors they mention as being survivors or victims quite literally do not exist and

Their Jewish ancestor was born in the United States well before WWII

I believe it is quite safe to say this was also a lie. My screenshots of their claims come mostly from their Reddit account, which is now deleted.

It is absolutely ghoulish to me to create fake relatives so that you can pretend they were tortured and killed during the Holocaust. All to receive sympathy.

Though there are many, many other lies Adina has peddled, such as being a child of divorce and having a dead biological mother, I don't think any of them matter much in the grand scheme of things when these are the other lies that have been told.

It is also worth noting that this is a pattern of behavior from Adina. As some of you who followed them may know, back in 2019, a blog was created with the intent of calling them out for lies. Frankly, this blog, @prksodalies , is what put me on to Adina's trail in the first place. Though I believe that several of the things Adina was accused of on this blog are downright cruel to accuse someone of without evidence, the fact that there were so many smaller obvious lies made me very uneasy. What specifically made me curious was the post, here, where Adina claims that they are half Lebanese. Obviously, this did not make a ton of sense with the half Roma and half Ashkenazi Jewish Adina we all knew. As it turns out, this was one of the very few shreds of truth from Adina. They're a quarter Lebanese on their father's side, and other than that and a Jewish great-grandfather, are of mostly Polish and German descent.

This being a pattern of behavior, alongside the way Adina behaved in messages with me, tells me that this will likely unfortunately not be the last time this person creates a Tumblr blog with a fabricated life story. I feel immense guilt at the thought that they may continue to swindle and hurt people, and that I will never know or be able to help again.

To everyone who was friends with this person and has been hurt by their actions, I am truly, truly sorry. This has been an absolutely miserable experience for me and I can't imagine it's much different for any of you. If you have questions, I'll be available for a least a few hours. I do not want to share any of their personal information, but I will share what I need to (privately) if some of you need or want more information.

[zexapher]

Vacuan Nights, Like Vacuan Days

They’re just so great together! I’d love for Jaune and Weiss to get a little downtime in Vacuo to live out a moment like this. They really deserve it, and I’d love to see Jaune’s guitar make a reappearance.

The comic here was inspired by u/Silverstar1243’s excellent piece of art, A Serenade Under the Moonlight. Send some love to them on their twitter, commission some art if you’re willing and able, they’ve made some great stuff.

You folks may have noticed I threw in a couple of references for those in the know; the Golden Oreos behind Yang (double stuffed, I might add) for the trio’s ship, Weiss liking it rough for Mallobaude’s great fic, and of course I made a whole theme around the Arabian Nights Disney song. A song, along with its Aladdin compatriots, which I spent the better part of a day finding covers for just to listen to on repeat while I worked.

This one’s now officially my longest comic project, with 14 panels, two over the past record since I added the White Knight kiss at the end. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Not sure I’d say it was more difficult than my Vanity of Vanities post, but for this one I actually knew how to use my editing software going into it (at least somewhat).

Put a lot of work into this one, been working on it on and off since February. Took a few breaks for vacation, to make my memorial post for Rooster Teeth, and another five meme edits or so, but I came back around to it. First half was pretty easy, relatively minor edits inserting characters into scenes and so on. The second half with Jaune and Weiss was tougher though, with color correcting, merging poses, redrawing features, drawing Jaune’s entire head to fix some lighting issues, etc. Really like how the edit to make Jaune strum his guitar turned out.

The time it took to make the whole comic got me down a little, until I did a bit of math. Including my side projects since starting this, all the scripting and editing and all, I’ve been pumping out a panel every two days. That seems pretty good to me, that kind of accomplishment makes me a little proud of myself.

Really need to get around to watching the second part of the Justice League Crossover movies. It’s got a few Vacuo scenes that might make things a little more authentic instead of me just using Saphron’s house and pretending it’s a suite in Vacuo. I do love taking yet more character stills from Jaune and friends experiencing deep trauma and turning it into something positive, been making that a bit of a personal habit. And I’ve got to say, the background for Jaune and Weiss’ scene is really beautiful, pulled it from when Sun and Neptune hear Ruby’s message about Salem. That’s just a really good shot all on its own, I even saved a copy for my computer’s wallpaper after editing out the two.

Posting a big RWBY White Knight edit, watching not one but two RWBY Beyond episodes, and all on the trail of the news that RWBY’s found partners that they’re negotiating with and that the creative team is expected to stay on. And I'm sipping bubble tea. Life is good.

Anyway, pardon the long write up. I’m invested in this one, and am quite pleased with how the comic turned out. I hope you all get a kick out of it as well!

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #rwby white knight #white knight #rwby whiteknight #whiteknight #jaune arc x weiss schnee #jaune x weiss #yang xiao long #golden oreo #yang x jaune #yang x weiss #yang x jaune x weiss #blake belladonna #ruby rose #qrow branwen #sort of #shipping #comics #rwby memes #memes #greenlightvolume10 #rwby volume 10 #rwby news #vacuo #jaune's guitar #needs a come back #disney #aladdin

[ruershrimo]

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

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev

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

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#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

[shiki-jin]

YOUR CELESTIAL MAJESTY • SAGAU

(part 0 here)

was listening to TruE on loop while writing the last part of this, it's genuinely such a good song ugwvdya

also can you spot the contradiction ;D it's plot relevant i promise

not proofread, dont bully me ill write a thesis on why youre a meanie

—

you had long deleted genshin, since you had other things to do. you had wanted to go back to the game for a while now, now that you were less busy, but there was just one little problem.

it was now taking up nearly triple the amount of space that it was when you uninstalled it. around 300 whole gigabytes.

jesus christ, what phone can even handle this???

your phone, apparently. because as you opened the game to see if maybe a miracle would happen and that if maybe they would just, like, remove half of the things in the game, it just… kinda loaded?

no installing new files, no checking for anything, no nothing…. just an immediate pan to the gates of celestia.

you decided to check if it was the right genshin since this was just way too weird, but countering your judgement, every link you found led you to the same game, leading you to believe it not to be a bootleg or an illegal version.

guess i’ll trust it then.

you clicked on the gates which opened smoothly, and your screen turned white. then, the symbols of the seven elements appeared in gray.

and then the game just… opened. no loading time, once again. no getting stuck on the geo symbol, nothing. nada. just a smooth entrance into what you had to assume to be teyvat — but your surroundings didn't really support that claim.

the grass was brown and just looked off, the sky was gray. a darker shade than, say, mond’s walls, but it was like one of those game crashes.

well, except you could still move around.

you moved your current character around (the traveller? since when were they the only one in your team?) and decided to open the map after not figuring out where you could possibly be.

hold on, this is springvale? since when?

eveything looked dead, like it had been rotting for a century. you tried to ignore it though, and teleported to the inside of mondstadt. surely this was just some glitch, right? one that would fix itself if you teleported?

maybe the world loaded incorrectly, maybe the fact that nothing took time to load meant that it couldn't load, maybe this or that, maybe…

maybe this really was how the game looked normally. you hadn't done any quests though, so you wondered if it could be restored.

you took a screenshot of the your surroundings — the stone, worn down and dirty. the houses which looked to be in a horrible state, and… the npcs, all sickly and pale, like they were starving.

you went to reddit (yes, reddit), and posted the screenshot, asking if it was normal.

you closed the game and decided to take a nap, too tired to really deal with this shit any further.

while you slumbered, people replied to your post.

╰┈➤ lol me too anon, me too

╰┈➤ isn't the game closed or wtv? how'd you get this wtf

╰┈➤ they're trolling

╰┈➤ o makes sense oops

╰┈➤ So we’re all still mourning huh

╰┈➤ jokes aside that's a super impressive edit ngl

you remained unaware of the truth, but you'd find out soon enough.

actually, you'd find out now, apparently…

what the fuck?? why is my bed so hard now?

you groaned and forced your eyes open, seeing a dark, nearly black sky.

the only light was a single star, lingering right above you.

“since when was i outside...?"

a voice spoke to you, answering your question.

“you always have been, have you not? but would you like to head inside, my lord?”

... huh? i recognize that voice...

—

p.s. place your bets on who it is, i’m thinking of one specific character but if there's a fan fav i'll make it them instead since i haven't written anything beyond this point (⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠;⁠)

p.s.s. don't expect updates to this series too quickly, i wish i could write as quick as i think of ideas but sadly that's not the case orz

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #sagau #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yippie #genshin self aware #genshin self aware au

[milf-murdock]

Hi!! I love love love your writing! Especially your 141!Reader series <3 I don't know if you take requests, but your last post about Simon and baby Joseph made me so angsty and I would love to read more angst from you. Could you please write about Simon thinking 141!Reader was KIA on a mission? Thank you!!!

Anon....who....who hurt you???? I’m kidding 😆 mostly 👀 But for real, this one HURT. Like. OUCH. This man has been through so fucking much…but let’s put him through a bit more 😈😈😈 also, I did very much hurt my own feelings with this one. So I’m thinking we might need a part two reunion because I don’t know if I can leave our Ghosty boy in shambles like this

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

The rain patters against the window in a steady rhythm.

Simon watches the fat raindrops roll down the small window pane, one foot anxiously tapping against the concrete floor. He didn’t know why he was called to Price’s office, but there was an ominous charge to the air. Call it a premonition, or maybe an instinct, but he knew in his bones that something was wrong. 

The click of the door handle pulls Simon from his thoughts as Price enters the office, a heavy silence filling the air. 

“What’s happened?” Simon's voice has a hard edge to it, cutting straight through the bullshit. Watchful eyes appraise every detail of Price’s body language, and Simon notes the deep sunken look of his captain’s eyes accentuated by a somber expression. 

Price avoids Simon's gaze, staring down at the oak desktop before him as he takes a seat. The captain wasn’t one to mince words or beat around the bush, but even he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation despite his many years in the service.  

Simon's heart hammers in his chest, every second in the unknown feeling like an eternity. This isn’t right, he thinks to himself. 

Price steels himself with a deep inhale, pulling his gaze from the desk to face Simon head on, looking past the mask, speaking to the man he knew laid beneath. 

“I wanted you to hear this from me, son. You…deserve to hear this from me.” 

Simon stops breathing. 

With practiced determination, Price continues his speech, having rehearsed the words in his head the entire walk down to his office. 

“Reconnaissance mission, Operation Blackout, suffered multiple casualties after a long-range detonation by enemy action. There’s been no contact with the team, and rescue attempts were unsuccessful due to the extensive damage caused by the explosion. All team members are presumed KIA. The official course of action…”

The rest of Price’s speech is drowned out by the dull roar in Simon’s ears; his blood runs cold, his rigid body barely breathing. 

This can’t be happening. Not again. Never again. 

Simon's thoughts grip him by the heart, squeezing painfully. 

I can’t do this again.

He had already lost everyone once. Had built impenetrable walls, designed to protect him from this type of pain. 

But you. You and your goddamn charm, and your soft smiles, and your relentless fucking attitude. You broke down those walls brick by brick, made Ghost–no, made Simon– feel more like a man than he had in years. You slipped past his ironclad defenses and took his heart without him even realizing it. 

And just when he had finally opened up, just when he had finally convinced himself that maybe he could be happy–that you could be happy together. It all came crashing down. 

In the distance, Ghost could hear shouting. A chorus of denials piercing the air, heavy ragged breaths filling the silence between. 

A heavy hand fell on Ghost's shoulder and he found himself back in his body, looking up at Price, voice raw. 

With a stark realization, Ghost realizes it was him. He was the one shouting, the one gasping for breath. 

The world tilted out from under him. 

____________ 

Ghost left Price’s office a different man–a mere shell of the man who entered. With every step he took, he felt himself slipping further and further into the familiar safety of Ghost, an unpierceable facade moving through the world. 

Everything felt wrong. Every step. Every breath. He felt like he was moving underwater, every action taking twice the effort it should. 

The next few hours pass in a blur. The official order that he was being sent on leave. The ensuing argument with Price over the orders. He eventually just gave up. Leave, no leave, it didn’t fucking matter. 

None of it fucking matters. 

Johnny tries to see him before he leaves, meeting Simon on the tarmac. He tries to be there for his lieutenant, his friend. 

The red rim around Johnny’s eyes reminds Simon that he wasn’t the only one who had lost you. They had all lost you. But even that which should have been a comfort, a sort of kinship in the grief, meant nothing. Simon didn’t give a singular fuck. He turned away from Johnny mid-speech, leaving the Scotsman to sit in his grief alone as he watched Ghost disappear into the aircraft. 

____________ 

It takes every ounce of strength Ghost has to make it through the flight. To make it through the drive back home. To make it through that door. 

Keep it together, soldier. Don’t you dare fucking lose it, Simon Riley. Just a bit longer. 

His belongings crash to the floor as the door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, instead using the faint glow of the moonlight through the curtains to guide him to the cabinet. 

Ghost pulls the bottle of bourbon from its resting spot, not even bothering with a glass as he pulls off the corked top and takes a hearty swig. 

The burn of the liquid is invigorating, filling Ghost with a quiet simmering fire. 

He takes another drink. And another. 

He walks through the flat in a daze, the amber liquid dulling his senses, sending him even deeper into the haze of his grief. 

Ghost finds himself in front of his dresser, staring at the wooden drawers. 

Taking another drink, he steels himself as he yanks open the top drawer. Rummaging beneath the pile of socks and t-shirts, Ghost digs out the small velvet box. He grips it tight in his hand, the small object groaning in protest as waves of rage and pain overtake Ghost, threatening to pull him under. Hot tears slide down his face, but he doesn’t even notice. 

With a roar he throws the velvet box across the room, the impact fracturing the drywall. Ghost’s knees go out from under him and he crashes to the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. There would be no repairing this. No amount of time could heal this type of heartbreak. 

You were dead. 

And as far as Ghost was concerned, Simon Riley died with you. 

#y'all I'm so sorry this one HURT #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost riley

[copperbadge]

Lately, it's felt like every time I've started to work on writing, I'll just be getting into the rhythm of it when I get interrupted, either by work or the cats or because the time I'd booked in the library study room is up (you can only do two hours at a time, and only four hours a week total). It was getting to the point where I kept re-reading the same chapter or so of previous work but never managing to add to it.

So I tried an experiment this past weekend -- I found a really cheap rate on a local hotel room, and on Friday I took an overnight bag and a very old laptop with limited processing power and checked into a room about a mile from home for a quasi "staycation". I unpacked and had a quiet night on Friday, as prelude to working Saturday-Sunday. The idea was to write uninterrupted by other people, pets, the presence of all my Stuff around me at home, et cetera.

I had snacks but I also bought meals out, which was nice; I don't often order in or buy out when I'm at home. The way I set up was that I would do fifty minutes of writing with do-not-disturb engaged on my phone and then ten minutes of checking email, texts, etc. since often what pulls me out of writing is a text or an email that needs answering, or the anxiety that I'm missing one that would. If I set it so that every hour I check, well, nobody's going to die if something doesn't get answered in an hour, so the anxiety isn't there, and neither is the distraction. (I found a nice app for this, review later depending on how functional it continues to be for me, but it's a like $4 app called Forest.)

It worked pretty well -- writing for an uninterrupted hour, as long as I know what I'm working on, is very functional for me. I average about two thousand words, that way, though there is a limit to the number of hours I can put in. I ended up doing two hours in the morning and one hour in the afternoon, then switched from fiction writing to clearing out my tumblr drafts and some correspondence for the fourth hour. So it went something like

Go out and get breakfast, bring back and eat in room

Change into lounging clothes and do two one-hour sessions

Go out and get lunch, eat lunch out

Bit of a rest break back in the room

Two one-hour sessions, one of writing; when tired, switch to something that requires less creativity

Go out and get dinner, bring back and eat in room

And then in the evening the plan was to watch movies or catch up on reading, but I ended up being mentally weary, so instead I did some simple tarot reading. It was less divination or even meditation than just messing around, keeping the creativity stimulated; I did a couple of Creative Writing spreads, some very brief divination spreads (I nicked a nice three-card spread here that I mentally call He To Hecuba, and just used it in general rather than for a specific question) and then invented a spread when I was starting to get irritated that the same like, five cards kept coming up, more on this in its own post.

Sunday I did one more writing session but it was less successful, I think partly because what I was writing required a lot of research and partly because the previous day I'd dumped eight thousand words into the file. (Research took longer because I brought the most garbage laptop known to man, and the browsers crash if you try to open Google Maps, but in other ways it was ideal since there wasn't much I could do on it other than write.) But I had a good breakfast, got some rest, packed up easily enough, and headed home just ahead of the rain storm.

I don't think it's something I'll be able to do in that format especially often, since the deal I got on the hotel was an anomaly and Chicago lodging, even just AirBNB stuff, is stupid expensive. But in addition to helping get some work done it was a nice break, so I'm going to look into ways I could swing it on a perhaps monthly basis, or some other way to cheaply spend an entire day alone with decent access to a bathroom/snacks and a way to come and go easily. I've looked into coworking spaces before but they tend to be prohibitively expensive and don't really have the setup I'd prefer; there's a hostel on the north side with private rooms that I might try out but it doesn't seem significantly cheaper than a hotel. I might just have to pick one weekend a month and watch last-minute hotel price cuts where they simply want to fill a room for a day or two.

Anyway, functionally I wrote almost a fifth of a novel this weekend, and one that I wasn't feeling super on fire about; I'm feeling much better about it now that I've got some established plot going and I feel like I "know" the newer characters a bit better. (Also I'm enjoying writing Simon as someone who is absolutely entranced by his love interest and clueless that what he's feeling isn't mild antipathy because they met while fighting over ricotta.) So it was a big help, although if I were to put a budget line item in the Extribulum Press ledger for "writing staycation" it would wipe out my royalties surplus very quickly.

#writing #shivadhverse

[otdiaftg]

WHAT'S NEXT:

The out pouring of love for this blog has swept me off my feet. I knew the logic behind the follower count, but this weekend proved to me without a shadow of a doubt just how much this fandom cherishes these characters and this story.

I am overwhelmed with adoration towards every. single. one. of you.

I took the weekend to finally recoup after the whirlwind of this past year but wanted to take a moment now to answer some of the questions I've seen pop up and to inform you all of what my plans are for what's next.

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:

WILL YOU CONTINUE THE ACCOUNT THIS YEAR?

This took me a long time to ponder and I wanted to make sure I was in the correct headspace to answer it. Short answer: No.

Long answer: All For The Game is near and dear to my heart. And the reason I began this account was because the dates for 2023 matched that of the dates they were meant to be in 2006. To continue it in the year 2024 would mean the dates would be completely wrong and a lot more logistics would have to occur beforehand.

But also-- I'm not the best when it comes to technology, especially when it comes to BOTS so every post that was published was typed out, formatted and scheduled by hand by me. I did not have help. I did not have proofreaders, or editors, or managers. I contacted all the artists myself, sorted through every single page of the artists to find matches to the story, read and re-read the books for exact or guesstimation of dates/times, and made a hell of a lot of typos on the way through all that.

There was probably an easier way that I could have done all this. But I didn't/don't know it. So that all boils down to: It’s a long and tiring process.

Don't get me wrong, it was worth all the hours. And all the sleepless nights I had getting everything done and out. I already thanked my support network, but without my wife and my best friend being there to make me another cup of coffee, walk our dog, do the chores and generally make sure I didn't crumble from the pressure -- none of this would have happened.

So, putting myself through that again, after everything that has happened this year alone-- felt like it would cheapen the experience I had when the dates won't even match.

That being said.... 2034 isn't that far away. >__>

WILL YOU BE DOING AN OTDITSC?

Short answer: No.... sorry.

Long answer: As stated, it is VERY hard to organize what and how I did. HOURS spent researching, organizing, scheduling, etc. Time spent away from my family and other hobbies. NOT time I regret (need to keep prefacing that) but time I want back now. At least for a little bit.

It also doesn't sit right for me to start an OTDITSC when I know some people are still waiting for their copies. There are so many of us out here (as I've come to find out) and I don't want to exclude people's enjoyment and connection that this account gives. I also feel like the more posts about TSC out there, the harder it is for those who are (lets say) waiting for the physical copies to block/mute spoilers. We can say a tag is enough, but this is the internet. And that's not always true.

And lastly, personally, TSC is still SO VERY NEW. It's not even complete yet and we don't 100% know when the next one will be published. I don't want to start something, get to the end of the timeline, and than have a huge gap between posts that will potentially be moments in the second book. It doesn't feel fair to their story, to myself, or to the followers of this account to have incorrect information for something I love so dearly. If I'm doing it. I want to do it right.

SO, WHAT'S NEXT?

Well. A lot. For me personally, as well as this account. I don't want to leave everyone in such a finite way. I love this fandom. I love its art and writings and the abundance of talent and joy that it exudes.

So first, for myself, as well as those artists who agreed to help with this account, I want to post, for the next 40 days Artist Highlights (that means this account will still be active until Friday, May 24th).

Every day, I will post about an Artist and the work that I wanted to post but couldn't fit in. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, these artists are the reason this account thrives. Art, in a multitude of forms, speaks in a way words can not. And these artists prove that.

I'm excited to show them off for a couple more weeks at least. They are all wonderful people.

AND, FINALLY:

To also tie us over, I am opening both my personal account as well as this account to questions.

Questions regarding the process, the story, the best movie out in theaters, whatever. I will be answering your questions (as fast as I can) until that last Artists Highlight day (Friday, May 24th). After this day, I will leave the questions answered up for a week, and then remove/delete them from this account. I want to make this more of an archive of sorts and will be updating the Timeline Page as this progresses as well, so you can move freely within the timeline.

Keep in mind that I am only one person, have a family and a full-time job-- so answers may be sporadic, but I will answer them.

This has truly been such a pleasure. And whether I get questions or not, I see you and I appreciate you. I hope your life is filled with everything you ever want, everything you need, and that you never let it go.

🦊 🧡- Kelysium

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #tkm #the kings men #the foxhole court #andrew minyard #palmetto state university #psu foxes #andreil #on this day in aftg #otdiaftg #palmetto state foxes #otdi all for the game #nora sakavic #the foxes #on this day in all for the game

[johnslittlespoon]

curtbuckbucky nightclub au .* :☆ﾟ. ☽

open for drabble/more pics! <3

alright, i've never done a proper 'intro' post for a fic/au i have in mind, but this one has been rotting in my brain for ages and i know there's no way i'm not gonna write something for it eventually so here goes, bear with me <3 made a lil edit (took me fucking hours to collect enough stock footage lmfao) to go along with it too >:)

a modern au where college student curt is a regular at a new–ish queer nightclub, showing up every friday night without fail to dance his heart out, his way of de–stressing at the end of every week and getting his pent up energy out. he's the prettiest little thing, dresses up so fun– some nights he throws on dresses or crop tops with skirts or short shorts when he's feeling it, other nights he goes for more of a relaxed baggy pants and flowy linen button up type of vibe– always with the same pair of scuffed up sneakers on for ease of dancing.

the bartenders and other regulars adore their bubbly little club bunny, always looking out for him, doting on him with free drinks and food. and even if some of them eye curt like he's dinner when he's out on the floor swaying his hips, eyes closed to fully lose himself in the music, the glitter on his eyelids and cheekbones catching the lights just right, curt's not there for any of that. he dances with people occasionally, he's confident and carefree and likes the attention and it makes him giggle when he catches newcomers staring, doesn't mind a wandering hand here and there, but he never goes home with anyone. the same routine, every friday, dancing until his dark waves are curling damp with sweat against his temples and his black eyeshadow is smudged and he leaves to make the walk back to the flat he shares with a few roomies.

enter john and gale, longterm boyfriends who sometimes like to go out clubbing and find someone pretty to bring home for a fun time, only an open relationship in that sense– they have no interest in actually dating other people, both adamant that it's no strings attached, too head over heels for each other to have eyes for anyone else anyway.

they decide to check out a club they haven't been to yet, usually sticking to the tried and true ones, but a couple of their friends recommend it, so they give it a go one friday night. they've barely sat down at the bar with their drinks when they see a boy who, john comments to gale, looks like the 'energizer bunny' (gets a snort out of curt when he tells him so in the future.) even once they're buzzed enough to head out onto the dance floor together, neither of them can take their eyes off of the bundle of energy, mesmerized.

they both know the other is equally enamoured with the boy, drinking up all the glitter and bouncy curls and blissed out smiles, already knowing they just have to have him– the prettiest thing they've ever seen. curt's confused when they approach him, because he's noticed them too, has been admiring from afar, but he's also noticed their hands and lips all over each other, dancing much too close and comfortably to not be a couple. but john purrs out "we just like to have a little fun every now and then sweetheart, don't you?"

and no, not really, he doesn't. usually a night of exhausting himself dancing is his idea of fun, not ever looking for anything else, not finding most guys worth his time. but john and gale sweet talk him just right, spend time actually getting to know him when he agrees to let them buy him a drink at the bar, and fuck, they're both the hottest things he's seen walk into the club in a long time, and they're giving him all their attention? he decides that maybe he'll be brave and flirt back. despite his confidence and lack of caring what other people think about him, he's so shy and easily flustered when someone he's actually into makes the moves on him, doesn't even know what to do with himself when he realizes he's blushing at their compliments and the combination of their heavy gazes on him.

obviously they all get each other worked up as the night goes on, and curt goes home with them and gets his world rocked, spoiled and pillow princess–ed and showered in praise, not at all what he expects hook–ups to be like after having only been with people he's been dating. he expects to walk back home after since they all live in the same vicinity of downtown, tries to ignore his wobbly legs when he finally crawls out of bed, gets dragged back down by gale for one last messy breathless makeout while john gets him an uber before curt can protest or offer to pay.

normally john and gale don't get the numbers of their one night stands, but they want to make sure he gets home safe, and they can both gauge how the other is feeling and they know they'll want to see him again if they're lucky enough for curt to say yes, so john puts his number into curt's phone and tells him "text when you're home safe, yeah? or, y'know, text whenever you want." and curt isn't sure if this is john saying they both want to see him again, because he's dense and shy and they made it clear beforehand that they're in a closed relationship, but next friday he texts to let them know he'll be at the club again, and john and gale tell him they'll be there, the three of them going home together for a second time that night, and they fall into a routine from then on.

curt gets giddy every friday, dolling himself up extra pretty for the two men, flushed at their attention every time and so thrilled to dress up for someone other than himself for once. he can already feel himself going all heart–eyes for them after the second or third time they hook up, but he knows where he stands, and he's having fun experimenting for the first time and having two experienced, sweet guys show him a good time every week, so he doesn't want to jeopardize that by getting his feelings involved.

little does he know that john and gale are falling head over heels too for this sweet energetic boy, loving how much he spices up their lives, both in the bedroom and out, realizing their flat feels so quiet now on the nights where they don't take curt home with them. so that leads to some serious conversations to see if they're on the same page about getting to know curt better, both of them learning how to navigate this new territory because neither of them expected to want to bring someone else into their world like this. they agree they'd like to take curt out on a cute date, during the daytime for once, to properly test the waters and see how curt feels– of course he slots into their lives perfectly, as if he's been there all along. <3

but along the way: lots of slow burn, miscommunication, endless filthy smut, curt trying to balance college and work and friends with his newfound feelings for john and gale, john and gale getting dragged to raves and festivals by their always adventurous bf, city night–life juxtaposed by early morning domesticity, etc etc.

this has been floating around in my head for a couple weeks since i got this vision of 2012–stalker–era barry with eyeshadow and glitter stuck in my brain and thus a whole universe/plot spawned from it. honestly would mostly be pwp, but would love to write a proper fic for it anyway eventually, each chapter littered with filth, obviously LOL. i have so many thoughts and so many little scenarios planned out in my head already... these three have me in a chokehold.

i need to make proper intro/drabble posts like these for my other aus too aghhh it just takes so longggg because i get carried away with the drabble and then i have to find the perfect clips for edits and the perfect pics to tie it all together and suddenly i've spent half a day on one post but. someday <3 leaving!bikeriders au next surely! thx for reading hope u enjoy this version of the boys and hopefully i'll have time to write it soon!

all posts about this au will be under #curtbuckbucky nightclub au :-)

#curtbuckbucky nightclub au #johnslittlespoon aus #i'm going fr insane over this actually tweaking #i hope my vision is seen. will happily elaborate (too much) #is this essentially femboy!curt? perhaps. can you blame me tho have u seen 2012 barry how can we *not* want him in pretty skirts and makeup #not my strongest drabble ik but it's more of an au info dump :) #where my girlboy!barry enjoyers at bc this ones for us fr #the edit song is an unreleased one by artemas btw </3 #and i lit rally could not find any good club–esque clips from any callum movies to use so just pretend he's not in his pilot uniform LOL #curtbuckbucky #curtgalejohn #johnslittlespoon brainrot #johnslittlespoon edits

[bomber-grl]

hi could I be able to request number 8. embracing them from behind for leo valdez? or if that one's closed by the time you get to this (it's probably popular cuz it's super cute ^-^), then number 30. Laying their head on the other's shoulder also works.

My request is something with some mild angst comfort, maybe Leo is having a stressful day and sees reader turned away from him, and he decides to help himself to some behind-hugs (feel free to adapt that to 30 if that's what you use, also if you wanna switch reader and Leo's places that's cool too). thank you so much I love your writing a lot, its seriously helped me and made me smile through a rough week this week (sorry for making this super long)

Prompt #8: embracing them from behind

The week was long and tiring. You and Leo hadn’t been able to meet lately and when you did it was because of something.

Either monsters, missions, or something just going wrong.

It was a mess and in all the chaos you were finally able to find a calm and quiet place to relax: a place near the lake.

You weren’t the only one affected either, Leos usually cheery demeanor and vibrant light dimmed as exhaustion took its place.

He was really affected- actually. He was skilled and it was no wonder why he was occupied all the time.

Your thoughts stopped swarming you as you picked up on the sound of footsteps against rocks and stray sticks snapping.

It should’ve been scary, it was night but you knew whose footsteps those belonged to.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” Leos familiar voice rang, loud in comparison to the previous silence.

“Nothing, just relaxing, I guess…” you began playing with the dirt.

Usually sounds of laughter, teasing and jokes would be heard but right now you just needed to be near each other.

He got closer and sat behind you as he wrapped his arms around your your shoulders and stuck his face into the crevice of your neck.

You let out a pathetic laugh, “you tired?”

He let out a mumbled “yea” but then stepped back from his position to stand in front of where you were seated.

Your confusion was short lived as he sat down and spoke once more.

“Can you hold me too?”

Despite the fact that you were both facing each other you somehow ended up switching positions, with you embracing him and now him being embraced.

This time, however, you were both leaning back against a stray log and he was laying in your arms.

Sand was all over the place but despite being near the lake and night, it still held the warmth of the day.

Luckily your hands weren’t a victim of the sand, and so you lifted your right one to play with his hair while your left one remained on his chest.

Mostly because Leo was holding onto it.

“Feels nice” his voice was raspy and his drooping eyes showed how truly spent he was.

“Go to bed, you’re tired ” you spoke without a second thought to your surroundings.

Worst case scenario you’ll wake up by some harpies, maybe Chiron. You’ll get teased by campers, that’s it.

Worst case because if something were to be a danger, you could defend you and Leo.

Leo finally cracked a smile and began giggling at your command. “Really?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

You playfully smacked his shoulder and chose to ignore it. “Yea, I’m going to sleep too I don’t care if we become the laughing stocks for a few days. As long as you’re here with me is all that matters.”

He hummed “Kay’ me too then” he yawned “ I never really cared either.

You both fell asleep near the lake and when you both awoke you were lucky and watched the sun rise.

Then scolded for not returning to your cabins last night, dish duty for you!

-

A/n: I’m glad my writing helped you and that you enjoy my posts, it makes me happy. Also don’t worry for how long it is, it’s fine :)

#fanfic #gn reader #male reader #fluff #fanfic fluff #female reader #fluff headcanons #leo valdez x female reader #leo valdez x male reader #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez pjo #leo valdez x reader #pjo leo #hoo leo #bad boy supreme

[drdemonprince]

Can you offer any (academic) writing advice for Autistics and ADHDers? You clearly write a lot and write very well and very clearly, so some insight into your process would be great. Personally, I tend to struggle with over explaining or over citing (cause I am always getting misunderstood) and that I get very fixated on not misrepresenting what my sources are saying to avoid feeling like I'm lying. All this is time consuming and makes it hard to say what I really want to say. Thanks!

Hi there! I've written an essay about a lot of this, here is the free link to read it on Medium:

Much of my writing process is inspired by the book How to Write a Lot by Paul Silvia, and it is specifically tailored to academics. The advice applies to people who write popular nonfiction or fiction just as easily, however. And he does have advice relevant to the self-editing and self-doubt you describe feeling.

The full piece gets into this more, but here are some of the stand-out tips:

Schedule a regular time to write every week and show up no matter whether you are feeling it or not.

Throw out all your magical thinking about what you "need" to be able to write. You don't need the perfect workspace, divine inspiration, the right pen, the right playlist. You just need to show up to write regularly, and do it

Editing, outlining, working with research notes, and drafting all count as "writing." Don't expect your initial drafts to be perfect or to equate writing only with getting new words on the page.

Try writing in public spaces to help get yourself in the mindset of explaining a concept to someone with a different frame of reference and type of expertise than you. Writing in a cafe or a public library can force you think and write in a more accessible way. (alternatively, you can pretend you are explaining the concept to a specific person in your life who you respect but who doesnt have all the same reference points as you -- sometimes this is called the "Grandma Test". Explain something like you are talking to your grandma.)

In addition to all this, I would add that you should read a lot of writing, both good and bad, especially work that isn't dry and academic. If all you read is journal articles, you'll write a journal article -- and most of those are hell to read, even for academics. read fiction. read bad wattsapp shipping. read substacks. read newspapers. read indulgent personal nonfiction in the cut or whatever. read reddit posts. notice what works and what doesn't. develop an ear.

and then write a lot! it took me 15 years to get good enough for anything i wrote to get noticed. you can expect to take many years to get comfortable developing your own voice, too. i dont know how far along you are, but even when you've made tremendous progress you'll only notice your flaws and feel the most turgid brain foggy moments. that doesn't mean you're failing.

also, to some extent you can embrace your citation-dense, precise manner of self-expression. we are living in a moment of maximalism and indulgent, long creative works. it's the decade of the 5 hour youtube essay and the 2 hour album. my 5,000 word essays do better than my 2,000 word ones. you should strip down unnecessary tangents and trust yourself and your reader a little more probably, but ive found that the more blatantly autistic and indulgent my writing gets the more the right people like it. a writer's flaws and their distinctive voice are kinda hard to separate. you're not for everyone!

good luck!

[bettsfic]

This may be a strange question, but as someone who has never gotten the hang of using notebooks in my day to day life (unless it's once in a while to outline something specific like a project for work), what are the kinds of things you write down in them?

for journaling, that's complicated. youtube always recommends me these "journaling will improve your life!" videos and i think they're very funny because i've kept a journal for 20 years and it has made me a worse and more miserable person. so i will not be writing any "how to journal" posts any time soon.

my commonplace notebook, however, is where i keep everything. every morning i write down the date, the hours i slept, and my weight. occasionally i track my mood and mental state, because when i meet with my psychiatrist i like to have cold hard data to give her. then beneath that, i write out my to do list for the day.

it's kind of a reverse bullet journal in that you fill it up with all the random ephemera of your life and then label the important bits with a highlighter and index it later.

more specifically i keep:

the books/movies/shows/etc that are recommended to me.

notes i take at the doctor's office, or when i do my taxes, or get my oil changed. i'm a compulsive note-taker. in fact i started a commonplace notebook because it calms me to have something to write on and with even in situations where that's weird. i'd rather look weird than be anxious.

ideas for fanfic, original work, newsletters, craft thoughts, workshop models, etc.

brainstorming/planning/prewriting stories.

tracking my WIP cleanout and annual goals.

doodling!

i think sometimes we get caught up in building spaces for things to keep them organized, like that's the whole point of bujo. you create a page layout to do a specific function and then you fill it out. but that doesn't account for the stuff you haven't made a page for, stuff that would be blight in a bujo. we also think that a whole page needs to be devoted to a specific thing, or a notebook needs to be devoted to its subject. but you an also just...not do that.

it's a lot of work to setting up a bujo. work i would love to have the energy and aesthetic inclinations to do. but i don't. so i do the next best thing which is fill up every page in the most chaotic way possible.

poorly scanned example pages under the cut:

these are notes i took during my rewatch of Mockingjay in preparation of writing Wind of the New World.

notes about leveling my Genshin team, and notes about a story i was working on. and a to do list.

working through a plot knot in Skinless.

Stardew Valley farm planning. and a grocery list i think.

i don't recommend this method for everyone. i think if i were to have read this post 2 years ago my thought would be, "what the fuck is wrong with you." but it works for me and makes me happy, and as long as all the important information is safely indexed and retrievable, it doesn't matter how messy the pages get.

#writing advice #commonplacing

[ilwonuu]

saw ur posts and i really hope you're feeling okay now! if you feel like writing i wanna ask for some reqs where in the established relationship reader realized just how much jungwoo loves her bcs she's on her periode week and jw is taking care of her nicely without hesitating even adjusting his works and providing his help to accomplish reader's workload. thank you so much i really hope you're doing good and having a happy days ahead <3

thank you so much same for you:( i love this idea bc im always soft for jungwoo<3 thank you for requesting i hope you enjoy hehe,,,

honey

*๑♡՞ kim jungwoo

ᖗ pairing- established relationship, idolbf!jungwoo x fem!reader

ᖗ warnings- fluffy fluff , mentions of period pain/cramps, reader is not feeling great thru most of this, jungwoo is a sweetheart <3, he loves reader sm bye,,,,lmk if i missed something

ᖗ a/n- hi mls!!! i missed posting and i haven’t written for jungwoo in a while and i think he might be one of my biases,,,anyways i hope u guys enjoy<3 not proofread 😪

you have been rotting in your bed for hours. you asked your boyfriend to bring you some extra feminine products just incase. he was quick to respond to your text. he sent you a text saying he would be home soon with everything you need. you sighed in relief feeling so thankful for him. you cuddle up into your blankets as you wait for your boyfriend.

you watch whatever dumb dating show you had on earlier. your pain on the first day differs but this time is was painful as hell. you took some ibuprofen but it hasn’t started working yet leaving you to suffer. you hear the front door open making you smile to yourself. you see your boyfriend with a bag from the store.

“i asked you for a couple things- baby you didn’t have to get all this.” you sit up to face him as he brings the bag over to your side of the bed. “i know you did. i wanted to get your favorite snacks and some more stuff just to make sure you have it. i’m sorry you don’t feel good sweetheart.” he sits on the bed next to you. he pulls you into a gentle hug as he rubs your back.

“how was your day other than that? did you rest mostly?” he massages your back looking at you for your response. “it was good. i was missing you all day. i was just watching tv and cleaning a little but i gave up on the cleaning very fast.” you smile at him as he smiles back. “yea? i was missing you too. don’t worry about the cleaning i will take care of it all.” he rubs your cheek softly as you lay against his chest.

“how did you come home so early? i thought you had long schedules today?” the two of you move to lay down under the covers together. he pulls you close as he faces you. “yea i had meetings mostly but we got done like right before you texted me so i was quick to get you things.” his hand is resting against your hip as he gently massages your side. “you’re gonna put me to sleep baby.” you laugh as you close your eyes.

“come here.” he says pulling you to kiss him. you kiss him back quickly melting into the kiss. he holds your side gently as he kisses you softly. “i really missed you.” you pout looking at him. “i really missed you too, honey. you were all i was thinking about during my meetings.” he smiled at you again. he leans down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“i love you.” you sigh at the cramps you feel. “rest honey. see if you can nap? i love you more.” he looks at you with a soft expression as he helps you get comfortable. he rubs your back softly until you fall asleep next to him. he just smiles as he watches you sleep peacefully.

jungwoo woke up early that next morning to make sure you had enough food. he made you your favorite breakfast when he saw that you were slowly stirring awake. you watched him bring in your breakfast as you fully wake up. your cramps already kicking you in the ass in the first few seconds of you being awake. you sigh at the feeling but smile at your boyfriend.

“you ok sweetheart?” he sets the food down on the side table as he climbs back into bed. you kiss his lips quickly as you climb out of bed to go to the bathroom. “i’m fine! don’t you worry.” you smile back at him as you quickly use the bathroom. you come to your bedroom feeling a little bit better as you crawl next to your boyfriend. “you didn’t have to make this for me. thank you- wait what time is it don’t you have dance practice today?” you ask as you start eating the breakfast he prepared for you.

“oh yea! i do i just told them i had my girl to spend time with. we pushed it to this afternoon so i can stay with you a little longer. then i can bring home dinner for us!” he smiles at you softly. “how are you feeling though? need medicine, water, anything you need i will get it.” he smiles to himself as he feels the need to help you without thinking about it for a second.

“i’m feeling okay today- my cramps are killing already but i think i just need to finish eating this and it’ll help. thank you baby.” you smile back at him as you continue to eat. “ok. let me know if that changes. as for now i’m here to give you love.” he kisses your head as rubs your thigh softly. you finish your breakfast after a bit with a smile. you look over at your boyfriend to see him already looking at you. you start to tear up as your thoughts start to clutter your head.

“baby? what’s wrong?” his expression is a more serious one as he pulls you closer to him. “n-nothing- i just- you’re being so nice to me. i feel so shitty and here you are making me feel so much better- cooking me breakfast? jungwoo you are too much.” you start to cry as he holds you in his arms. “sweetheart i will do absolutely everything for you. you are my main priority. i don’t need anything else but you. i will always be here when you don’t feel good.” he kisses your cheek as more tears fall from your eyes.

“honey- i love you so much okay? come here.” he pulls you closer to him as he kisses your lips. you kiss him back as you feel him pull away. he kisses your tears and gently wipes them away. “my pretty girl. i love you more than you know.” he smiles at you sweetly as he rubs your hair back. “i-i love you jungwoo.” you sigh into his arms as you stop yourself from letting more tears fall. “you are the best boyfriend i could ask for.” he shakes his head.

“you’re the best girlfriend i could ask for. you deserve the best only you know that. i will never give you less than you deserve. now let’s cuddle until i have to go to practice, i don’t want to leave your side until i have to go.” you laugh at him shaking your head. “what about my online classes? i haven’t done any assignments for this week.” you groan thinking about your work. “don’t worry about it until i leave! when i come back ill help you he smiles kissing your head as you two stay tangled in each others arms for the next hours to come.

#jungwoo #jungwoo x reader #nct jungwoo #kim jungwoo #jungwoo fluff #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct u #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct #nct smut

[hemeruni]

Well. Here’s what I’ve been planning on doing… I’d like to introduce you all to-

The FIRST ANNUAL tumblr User hemeruni direct, a special event where I get to actually go into more detail about the projects I’m currently more so focused on, while giving important news to what’s next on our menus.

Now let’s go ahead and get this show rolling shall we?

NURSE PHILLY UPDATES

As you know, Nurse Philly has been placed on the back burner for a while as I took the time to work on my other projects. But, starting today, I’m working full speed ahead to officially get the Askblog up and rolling! The scripting process has been tough, but a rough outline has been finished and a overall timeline of arcs and events are all laid out, so it shouldn’t be long for you all to see the nurse in person!

I’m not the type to give out dates, but expect this hush puppy to start around mid-late 2024.

Alright we’re getting the hang of things! What’s next?

GLIMMERLOVE NEWS

This project started as a one off post that quickly spiraled into one of my favorite projects thus far under the hemeruni brand. While there isn’t plans to get a Askblog rolling anytime soon, the askbox will always be open for asking questions to these mysterious folk.

This project doesn’t have much besides that, but if things change revolving my work ethic, I’ll surely consider it.

No date on this one, as it’s currently in a fine state from where I’m seeing it.

HAPPY HATCHDAY HEMMY!!!

By the time I’m writing this, Hemera’s birthday is still ongoing and it might honestly been the most exciting days I’ve had in a long time, considering the fact that I’ve just… haven’t been active as much.

This fox means so much to me and I have Sparklecare and only Sparklecare to thank for creating such a wonderful creature that deserves everything wonderful on this blue marble of a planet.

I love you Hemmy, don’t stop being you.

Me and Uni are making a coffee shop au

Yeah idk what else to say

It’s news to me but I’m just posting this since I thought the idea was funny.

Personal au?? I think?? Only WE get to make one not YOU /J

Now. I mentioned something at the beginning of the whole thing about a change that is going to happen. Before we end this, I might as well say what I want to say.

The Future.

I’m breaking away from this community, for my own mental sake. I’m saying this with a heavy heart, knowing that this whole 'fame' thing isn’t something I enjoy. Besides fame, I’ve been so caught up in comments and reblogs that it mentally drains me to see one post that I spent less time on doing better then one I actually put my effort into.

This culminated in a unfollow from the official Sparklecare account that I’m still assuming is over the criticblog situation. Nevertheless, it left me bed ridden for weeks, realizing that what I worked so hard for was taken from my own dumb mistake.

That taught me a valuable lesson though, which is why I’m finally deciding to just cut contact with the community entirely, besides friend groups and servers I’m in you won’t really see me active on my main, mostly just au updates.

That also means I’m no longer reblogging stuff to my main account, but I’ve already came up with a solution revolving a account called hemerunireblogs (which will be linked later down the line)

That’s the most you’ll see me interacting with this community, I hope you can understand.

Now.

We’ve reached an absolute.

The End.

I wish things could’ve been different, but it’s either I continue down this path and further ruin myself for others sakes, or I finally start to work on myself again. In the end, I decided to choose myself. Call me selfish, I could care less.

For some, I’d like to wish the best, even though we may have not talked much, I’d love to see you again sometime soon.

You all have been a wonderful audience, I hope you all had a wonderful Hemmy Hatchday. Good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight my friends.

-Mx. Hemmy

#my art #sparklecare #hemera philly #hemeruni #uni cornelius #nurse philly #Glimmerlove au #text post #ramblings #long post

[wwouldvecouldveshouldve]

taming a bear, making him care

I still have a request to finish but I need to write about this... I am in love... lyric from "The Bolter" by taylor swift in the title. I hereby present how verlaine is whipped, smitten, and down horrendously bad.

verlaine who makes sure the vase in your shared apartment always has fresh flowers of whatever you would like. in the case that you do not have time to tell him your preferences, he will buy what he thinks you will like or a bouquet of something romantic. on anniversaries, there will always be irises, chrysanthemums, daisies, and alstroemeria. verlaine who always looks his best. he cannot bear the thought of being a dirty, ugly smudge in your vision. the apartment must also be clean for you. he wants to please you, including visually. if something looks ugly to you, he will try to ensure you do not come across it again. if you do not like all this, he will easily respond and try to change for you, but you are not often too much of a fan of how far he will go for you. verlaine who would get down on his knees and beg you to stay if he ever cheated. he would stay at your door for however long it took, he could never live a life without you. he also feels the need to be near you whenever possible, he needs to know that you're okay, he needs to know that he can be there to protect you. he would starve before he let you slip out of reach from his stained hands. it is only natural for mortals to crave the touch of the heavenly. verlaine who keeps you with him whenever possible. he will curse himself endlessly if he lets you get injured. if you're in the port mafia, he will even do extra work if it means he can accompany you on missions to ensure you're okay. your security means so much to him. verlaine who takes even the silliest questions of yours seriously. of course, he would still love you if you were a worm, he praises and loves you, his god, in all your forms. if you asked for a snack, he would ask you to accompany him to the grocery store and he would purchase it in bulk immediately. if you were lazy, he would even carry you like a princess.

I'm back from a trip (it sucked!! let's not discuss the details) and here is a post to celebrate me being back (I was gone for like two-ish days I just need an excuse to post about my pookie bear verlaine <333)

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #paul verlaine #verlaine #verlaine x reader #verlaine bsd #bsd verlaine #bsd verlaine x reader #paul verlaine x reader #verlaine x reader bsd #keysstuff

[mockerycrow]

where i’ve been / life update

hi, everyone! i’ve been away & I’m probably not going to be back for a little bit longer but i wanted update y’all.

first things first, i’ve been taking a temporary hiatus (that i didn’t announce) so i could focus more on myself & my life. i enjoy writing! but i also needed to get back on track for my goals. my hiatus/disappearance wasn’t just from tumblr, i needed a detox from most social media.

my waivers for enlisting got approved, so now I just have to take my asvab & go to MEPS :-)

i also.. have realized i am a lesbian! comphet had me by the throat!! it took a really long time to realize, identified as bisexual for six years. but gaz is still my bf because your fictional attractions don’t equate your real ones.

for those who were concerned about my broken glasses, i got new ones ✨

uhh.. that’s about it? i may post things here & there but i’m overall focusing on my real life at the moment. thank you for reading if you did 🫡🫡

#crow’s rambles

[mochees]

— two tortured souls

dazai osamu x chuuya nakahara | wc: 3k | crossposted to ao3

TAGS: drabble, angst, depression, post-corruption ability use, soft/comfort, generally low mental health mentions, chuuya has a BATH, use of petnames for teasing.

A/N: hihi!!! long time no write!!! remember when i dropped the most depraved, disgusting, self indulgent eremin fic ever and then dropped off the face of the earth with empty promises? me neither, moving on! anyway. been wanting to get back into writing lately but yknow..... the undergrad life........ but i find myself with too much time now that the semester is over so have a drabble thing i wrote a year ago and then just never posted lmfao. it was supposed to be longer but i just couldn't get the ending right so i left it kind of open i guess? anyway skk is real to me

Willingly sacrificing your autonomy is so much more than physically exhausting. Corruption leaves Chuuya feeling truly empty and insignificant. It makes him feel as though he really is just a vessel for something else. An empty, fleshy shell that doesn’t even belong to him. Unlike the physical exhaustion, however, the feeling lingers. It hangs around like a morning fog, obscuring everything as far as he can see. It’s disorienting and restrictive. Most of all, it’s loud. The voices that dwell in the fog are so loud, much louder than anything Chuuya has ever heard, and they echo. They echo, bouncing off of each other and amplifying every emotion, every word, every moment of despair.

Chuuya can’t remember how many days have passed since he used corruption. At least two, maybe even three. The fog is so thick that days eventually just blur together, and time turns into molasses. Resigning himself to a night or two in darkness, he tucks his knees against his chest and covers his ears with his arms, attempting to block out as much of the noise as possible. 

But you can’t silence your own guilt. 

It was pitch black in the house by the time Dazai arrived, which was unusual, but he figured that Chuuya was either tucked in and fast asleep already or strewn across some surface with a movie.

“Chuuya ~,” he sang. “I’m back ~!” Concern grew on Dazai’s face when the routine groan of usually completely false annoyance didn’t sound. He counted all the hats in the closet as he tucked his own clothing away and muttered to no one in particular, “he’s definitely here…”

The detective took a few steps before he sounded again, “Chuuya? Where are you?” The absence of an answer worried him further. No matter how tired, angry, or drunk Chuuya was, he always made a point of greeting his partner as unenthusiastically as he could.

Dazai made his way through the house, checking a few rooms before he found Chuuya. Scrunched up in the far corner of the bedroom, his faint form was desperately trying to be swallowed by darkness. Even for someone who consistently allowed themselves to actually be swallowed by the darkness, seeing Chuuya in such distress and anguish was deeply unsettling for Dazai. Chuuya always surrounded himself with people, and for him to look so alone–

Dazai shook off his thoughts and made his way over to the man, crouching low a few feet away.

“…uuya? Chuuya?” When he didn’t respond, Dazai raised his volume a fraction.

“Are you alright?” Chuuya jumped a little, unaware that someone had crossed into his world of anguish.

Dazai chuckled. He couldn’t help but find it a little humourous; it’s not often he was able to get the jump on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“Dazai?” Chuuya’s voice was hoarse and distant, and Dazai immediately steeled himself.

“Are you– what happened?”

The executive didn’t answer. He just stared—not through Dazai or at anything; he just looked ahead with no purpose. Chuuya could hear something but could not decipher the sounds for the life of him. He only realized they were words when he noticed Dazai’s mouth moving.

There was nothing about Chuuya's demeanour that told Dazai he was conscious. But he also wasn't unconscious. God knows Dazai is all too familiar with Chuuya's unconscious mind, and this wasn't it. There was no light in his eyes, but they weren't lifeless. It was as if Chuuya had trapped himself in his own body, caught between two states of being. He didn't know if Chuuya could even process what he was saying in this state, but he also didn't want to stop. Perhaps Dazai believed in a silly idea that the sound waves might reach him, that they would guide him through whatever limbo he was in. 

Once he finished, Dazai rose from his place on the floor and made his way to the bedroom door. Chuuya could see him leaving, but he couldn’t hear his footsteps. All he could focus on was the voices getting louder again, and the second that Dazai was out that door they started to echo again. Unwilling to fight them, Chuuya lowered his head back down and let the pressure build in his chest and ache his muscles.

Physically, the pain was no different from a hard day's work, but emotionally, it was excruciating. Every breath was hell. Each inhale wound a cord up tightly, but breathing out did nothing to release it. All of the fibres in Chuuya's body felt like they would snap and finally grant him a moment's release, maybe even exhaust him enough to sleep, but they didn't. Instead, they grew tighter and tighter, digging into every strand until it inevitably cut him into a million little pieces.

When Dazai returned, he was greeted with a sight more devastating than before. Tension was emanating from Chuuya like heat from a grill, and he looked positively hopeless.

“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice was uncharacteristically soft—unfitting, really—but he hoped it might help Chuuya focus. “Will you come with me?” He waited a few moments, giving the redhead extra time to process.

To Chuuya, the sounds outside his head would die before they could fully reach him. The echo was good at drowning everything out like that. 

But luckily, Dazai always did have a talent for evading death.

“You don’t have to do anything, I promise. I’ll–” He hesitated. How can you promise to take care of someone else when you’ve never been able to care for yourself?

“–I’ll help you. Please, Chuuya. If you stay here, it’s not going to get any better.”

Chuuya Nakahara knows that he is right. Of anyone, Osamu Dazai would know, wouldn’t he? It takes him a little while, but with a few shaky breaths and silent tears, he lifts his head and places his hand in the one outstretched before him. This won't fix him, but he has to admit that when Dazai rubs his thumb along his skin, it releases some of the tension in his shoulders. Dazai leans forward and slowly reaches for Chuuya’s other hand, stiff from how tight he was grasping onto his other arm.

“Okay, up we go.” Wasting no time to get Chuuya out of the isolation he'd built for himself, Dazai does his best to support as much of his weight as he can while holding his hands. He doesn’t know how long Chuuya had been sitting there, but he reckons his legs have probably gone numb. As if on cue, Chuuya almost falls right back down before Dazai has a hand on his waist.

“Careful.”

Chuuya's eyes are red and puffy, and his agony has left trails down his cheeks. Chuuya has always been beautiful to Dazai, stealing heartfelt glances when the former isn't looking. But seeing him like this is, in a way, even more breathtaking to Dazai. It means that after all these years of being so sick of each other's mere existence that Chuuya, his rival, his partner, trusts Dazai enough to shatter before him completely. Bringing Chuuya's hand up to his mouth, he lets his lips linger for a few moments as they wait for Chuuya's legs to regain feeling.

Once Chuuya is stable, he lets go of the shorter man’s waist and leads him with one hand, still petting his thumb across the freezing expanse of his hand.

Chuuya doesn’t know what his partner has been doing, or maybe he does. He can’t remember right now; he doesn’t want to. Wherever Dazai is taking him, it takes no longer than twenty seconds, but he feels like a stranger in his own home, wading through the thickest pool of molasses. He can see a straight hallway ahead of him, but it seems like an endless maze of twists and turns. One foot in front of the other, he tries to tell himself, but it’s hard to tell your feet what to do when you feel like a stranger in your own body to. He can feel his face growing wetter as they arrive at their destination. However, in a brief moment of relief, he realizes that they're not tears but steam.

For the time that he had disappeared past the threshold, Dazai had run Chuuya a hot bath and made him something simple to eat. Knowing all too well what feeling this way does to one’s motivation and desire. But honestly, the last thing Chuuya wants to do right now is to bathe. It’s far too much work, and he’d rather be back in the dark in the corner or under a blanket. Even if it meant he’d be alone with his stupid fucking thoughts.

“I know it seems like a chore, but it will help, Chuuya.” Dazai’s familiarity with the muddied waters of one’s own psyche was currently vastly irritating. Chuuya knows that he’s right. He does, but even then, it’s still too much for him to handle right now.

Dazai takes Chuuya’s other hand back in his own. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I– I don’t know.” His voice sounded better to Dazai, the steam probably settling in his throat.

“It’s okay not to know, but I can’t stay here with you if you don’t know.”

Chuuya snaps his head a little at that, shooting his partner an exhausted expression. Dazai gives a slight smile at the motion and gives the others' hands, still in his own, a reassuring squeeze. Perhaps it’s a little morally wrong given the circumstances, but he thinks that he could have a little, tiny bit of fun with this.

“Would you like my help?” He asks again, and Chuuya nods his head before practically collapsing into his arms.

Oh, it is absolutely morally wrong, but he can’t help himself, so he softly teases the man. “Such a gentleman! Flirting with me before we spend the night in each other's company!”

That earns a tired groan from Chuuya who is not willing to put up with Dazai’s usual jeering, but also not unexpected of the brunette to choose the completely wrong time to make his jokes.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” He uses the pet name, knowing he’ll be able to get away with it tonight since Chuuya is too tired to fight him. He runs his fingers through red strands, waiting for Chuuya’s breathing to even out in his hold before moving his hands down to the hem of his shirt. Deft fingers slip underneath and rub small circles into the skin there.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Upon receiving a satisfied hum of approval, he lifts Chuuya’s shirt over his head and drops it onto the counter. Staying out of your head is hard when you’re alone. Knowing Chuuya has already surmised his partners' intentions of distracting him, gently, Dazai pulls him back into his chest and runs his nails down his back. Chuuya’s skin was already freezing before, so he can’t tell if his goosebumps are from chills, or from him. He hopes it’s the latter. After a few seconds, his movements shift into steady pressure trying to work out the tension that Chuuya had cultivated. When he feels Chuuya fall further into him, Dazai is pleased with his work already.

“Chuuya,” he presses harder when he finds a particularly knotty spot at the base of Chuuya’s neck. “Unless you want to get in with your pants on, you’ll have to take them off.”

This earns Dazai a particularly unimpressed look when Chuuya pushes off his chest.

“What?”

Chuuya continues to stare.

“Did you want me to do it for you?”

Well, Chuuya supposes that Dazai can’t help the fact that he is an idiot. After all, he did promise to help. He rolls his eyes and lets out a particularly rumbly sigh, and drops his pants himself, kicking them to the side.

“So forward of you~” teases Dazai.

Turning towards the tub, Chuuya grumbles. “I hate you.”

Dazai grins again. Even if he still feels worse than shit, he’s glad to see Chuuya with a little bit of his fire again. “I know you do. Here, let me help.”

Holding onto Chuuya’s forearm, Dazai helps him settle into the bath. Chuuya resumes his form from earlier in the night, but much more open. His arms are propped on top of his knees, hands hanging down, and fingers just dipping into the water. Dropping his head in between his shoulders as the heat surrounds his aching body, blue eyes fall shut. Then, he releases a deep breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Dazai has his arm across the edge of the tub, resting his head with eyes full of admiration. With Chuuya completely bare in front of him, he traces the flow of his body with his eyes. Stopping often to archive all the little things he loves. Soft red hair that he can't help but play with. Shoulders that he's cried on. The gentleness of his otherwise blood-soaked hands. Even the scars littered across his skin, Dazai loves. They look much better on Chuuya than on him. He reaches out and just barely grazes the sides of Chuuya’s fingers above the water.

“What are you so happy about?”

Dazai hums in response, and Chuuya blows a ripple on the water. They spend a while like this—still, just next to each other, the only sound being an occasional jittery breath.

Dazai interrupts the silence by dipping his fingers into the water and letting the droplets roll off onto Chuuya’s shoulder. 

“Feeling better?”

Chuuya wiggles his fingers in the water, trying to find an answer below the surface.  

“C’mere, and turn around.”

Chuuya turns his head, resting it along his arm and staring the man down.Dazai can read it in his eyes: For what. 

“You’re still tense. So come here.” He presses his finger on the edge of the tub. “I didn’t get to finish getting all the knots out.”

Dazai is not as good at hiding his intentions from Chuuya as he thinks he can be. “You just want to play with my hair.” 

Dazai knows this. He feigns being insulted anyway, throwing his hands into the air. “And so what if I do? Is that a crime? Is it wrong of me to want t–”

“You’re real insufferable, y’know.” Chuuya turns his back to the side of the bathtub.

Dazai smiles sweetly. He likes that so much of their relationship can be left unsaid. Sure, sometimes it probably shouldn’t be unsaid, but it’s fine. Dazai is happy. “It’s why we work so well together.” 

He gets to work on dissipating the rest of the fear and anger in Chuuya’s bones, occasionally and very intentionally, getting sidetracked and twirling a lock of hair around his fingers. At the mercy of Dazai's frighteningly deft hands, a particular spot just above Chuuya's shoulder blade earns Dazai a groan—one he oh so graciously accepts. Working lithe fingers around it, Chuuya leans his head back onto Dazai as the little ball of stress is pulled apart, strand by strand. 

Chuuya's neck is deliciously bared, and Dazai is an opportunistic man. He trails kisses up to just below red lashes, slow and endearing. He continues massaging throughout, placing a final one on fluttering eyes before dragging his lips back down to Chuuya’s ear. 

“The water’s getting cool, my love. You should really get out soon.” Dazai is very pleased with himself when Chuuya shudders.   (He is an opportunistic man, after all, and it truly is such a wonderful opportunity to be the most annoying man on the planet.) He lets his mouth fall down to Chuuya’s shoulder, resting for a moment and trying very hard to hold back the biggest, dopiest grin. Of course, Chuuya can tell. He can sense the smallest shifts in Dazai's behaviour. Although, this time he could tell by just feeling Dazai's facial muscles straining against his shoulder. But Dazai doesn't need to know that. 

 "...Shut up. Get me a towel." Chuuya does a very bad job of hiding the blush on his cheeks. 

Dazai just smiles at his partner, he can't see, but it's a smile full of fondness. One with admiration, love, and as much as he'd rather die than admit it, respect too. Letting someone see you have a complete breakdown, watching as the industrial strength glue you've used to keep yourself from falling apart rapidly starts to degrade, and still trusting that they won't think any differently of or diminish you, takes so much courage. It takes so much trust to rely on someone, even someone you love, to help you set the pieces back together. 

That's something Dazai has never been able to do. He can't let go of that vulnerability, and he cannot have it used against him. Of course, deep down, Dazai knows that Chuuya would never do that to him, but it's hard to turn off those thoughts. It's hard to think of yourself as worth loving and caring for when you have never loved or cared for yourself. 

"Hey, are you okay?" The smile on Dazai's face is forlorn. Realizing that Chuuya is reading him like a book Dazai masterfully shifts his expression, changing the atmosphere around him. This is not about him, and he shouldn't be making it so. 

"I'm just peachy, Chibi!” Chuuya doesn't press any further.

Dazai wraps the towel around him, pulling at the ends to bring his partner closer. Taking a second to look over Chuuya, he notes that his eyes are no longer red and puffy, and his skin has a sheen from the moisture in the air. He truly is the most breathtaking person Dazai has ever had the displeasure of meeting. 

With Chuuya at his chest, he leans down and kisses the man. It's needy, in a way. Soft and tender, but full of so much want, so much need. Like if he couldn't be close to Chuuya anymore, he would simply explode. Dazai doesn't know how to express it though. How he would articulate these thoughts in a way that feels right, so he settles for something simple. Maybe it's not as meaningful, but he trusts that Chuuya understands anyway. 

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #dazai x chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #chuuya x dazai #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #❀.writing #❀.drabbles