Maybe Tomorrow, Satan

Extra info was provided by a local friend I wont name because shit is scary for our Minnesota friends. But here's some valuable orgs and funds that are on the ground helping right now

MN Freedom Fund - bail org for arrested protesters

TCMAP - mutual aid project

Powderhorn Families - direct donation to families in the Powderhorn Park neighborhood so their rent and utilities are paid while they are sheltering in place during ICE deployments

Fe y Justicia - Latine aid organization that is managing rapid response in St Cloud

MN CAIR Minnesota - assisting with representation for Muslims in

Minnesota Minnesota Interfaith Coalition (ICOM) - accompanying people to USCIS appointments and on errands to keep them safe from ICE

MIRAC - THE immigrant rights org in Minnesota, doing a huge amount of rapid response and protest work in the TC

Sip of Silk - Palestinian and Salvadoran coffee house in the university neighborhood doing a direct food and hygiene products drive

This was prompted by me and my boyfriend discussing handedness and being able to tell apart left and right. And me, being ambidextrous, was baffled by how do people with an obligate dominant hand mix up which side is the one with their Writing Hand and which one isn't?? And my boyfriend pointed out that I go "turn left - no I mean right" so much when giving directions that I have lost my navigator privileges.

I argued that mixing up the words isn't the same thing as mixing up the directions. Like if your mom accidentally called you the dog's name doesn't mean that she literally can't tell you apart from the dog. And he looked at me like this

Im summary, the document was on a ship, the Dalton, which was seized by the Royal Navy on Christmas Eve 1776. The Royal Navy captain listed it as "another paper", and it was just folded into storage along with his letters. Which everyone proceeded to ignore for 250 years.

Title

i’m nothing but nausea, nothing but reverie, nothing but longing

Word Count

7,230, written across four days

Summary

“Itadori,” Hiromi asks calmly, “what are you doing?” “Isn’t it obvious?” Hiromi blinks, waiting for a real answer. It is obvious, that’s true. Itadori is taking a bath—in his clothes and also in Hiromi’s tub instead of the perfectly serviceable one at his own house. “Itadori,” he prods. “You were right,” says Itadori. “It does feel better than I expected.” Hiromi closes his eyes. It’s a terrifyingly easy habit to fall into when this person is involved. He forces them open. “How long have you been like this?” There’s a low hum that’s not reassuring in any way, shape, or form. “Who knows. A while.” “You’ll get sick.” “I never get sick.” “Itadori,” Hiromi sighs, dragging a hand over his face, “get out.” Itadori raises an arm, indolently stretching it out toward Hiromi. “Help me up then.” “You don’t need my help.” “No,” Itadori agrees serenely. “Help me anyway.” He shouldn’t. Hiromi takes his hand. It grips him tight, yanking him down into the water.

Thirteen years after their first, fateful meeting, Hiromi’s favorite mistake pays him an unexpected visit.

Tags

Canonverse, Post-Canon, Older Yuuji, Older Man/Younger Man, Porn and Angst, Bittersweet, Past Situationship, Pining, Suicidal Ideation, Under-negotiated Kink, Rimming, Anal Sex, Drowning, Asphyxiation, Coming Untouched, Offscreen Somnophilia, Past Gojou/Yuuji, Jujutsu Kaisen Modulo Spoilers

Now and then, there comes a story that makes me go, "Yes, this is what I was put on this earth for." It's the sheer satisfaction of writing them. Among my existing JJK works, the ones that made me feel this way are the kidnapping fic, the fic in which Modulo Yuuji time travels to the Shinjuku Showdown, the time travel fic written before Modulo came out where Yuuji from a dismal postcanon setting time travels to the isolation chamber in Episode 1—and now this hiita fic.

Higuruma's PoV came to a lot more smoothly than I was expecting, and using his eyes and thoughts to sketch out a Yuuji who's slowly, inevitably transitioning from the boy we see at the end of JJK canon to the man we see in Modulo is the most fun I've had writing in quite a while. The sex also expanded my horizons! I haven't written extended/repeated drowning as a kink before, and my earlier stab at it was a much shorter affair that wasn't from the PoV of the one being drowned.