めぐみ

( ⋆ . ° ) - #tokageh , private & independent interpretation of megumi fushiguro from gege akutami's manga & animated series jujutsu kaisen. this blog is not spoiler free!

[ ¹ ] CARRD. [ ² ] PROMPTS. [ ³ ] HEADCANONS.

happily tapping away to the beat of the song when he feels a nudge against his leg. headphones are pushed slightly away from his ears. those dark blue eyes are daggers when they open, aimed straight at whoever has decided to interrupt his peace.

they soften when he sees nobara standing over him.

❛ what are you listening to? ❜ @leventar

i love you, he says, and megumi's heart does two things simultaneously. it swells. and it breaks. he says i love you, but he only knows those words to be a curse.

he thinks of tsumiki: warm hands, stitching threadbare socks when they became too worn down for him to wear anymore. always adorned with a smile even when megumi spat at her with venom on his tongue. he thinks fondly of the times she would read to him, or question how his day went, or scold him for getting himself into another tussle at school. these memories become clouded, dark, grey, stormy, when he remembers standing vigil at her bedside. he stood, counting the number of beeps between the minutes from all the machines hooked into her. only yesterday she had been chattering away happily at him over breakfast, gossiping about nonsense he had been so flippantly ignoring. he remembers doctors and nurses and their pitying stares. good for nothing. them, and the love in his chest.

he thinks of his mother: or, more to the point, the absence of her in his life. he likes to pretend he can remember her. a sweet scent of patchouli and jasmine. he thinks of all the memories he pretended to make with her. showing off scribbled drawings to an empty room. pretending to hear her praise. a soothing voice to lull him back to sleep as his small body cradled against her chest. he thinks of all the love he tried to fill into that mother-shaped hole, but it was insatiable. no matter how much he poured into it, the bottom never came. what was left behind was the heart of a boy, battered and bruised and never quite the same again.

he thinks of gojo, and shoko, and kugisaki. he thinks of all their unconditional love.

and now, he looks at yūji. sweet yūji. the boy who eats curses. who threw himself into harm's way again, and again, and again, for the love that fills and overflows out of him for all the people he cares about. his strength shone like the sun the very first day they met, and cut through the smoky haze that had settled over megumi's life. he thought he had lost it, when it had been washed away in the fallen rain with yūji's blood outside the eishu detention centre. megumi had mourned him, over and over, every night into his pillow with tear-soaked cheeks. he thought it had happened again. that love had once again been cursed by his existence. that another good person had died because they placed that love into him.

but he's still here. flesh and blood and bones. a heart still in his chest that is bravely offered for megumi to take.

‟ itadori --- ” megumi catches himself. they are well past the need for such formalities. he can feel his pulse slamming against the base of his throat, hummingbird wings catching in his throat. he thinks being dragged to movie theatres, of sharing cold drinks on hot summer days between training. he thinks of nights spent, whispering to each other secrets they wouldn't tell anyone else. he thinks of everything he wants to share in this life with him. it is a careful hand that reaches out and places itself on the space between yūji's ribs. a place that had been torn asunder, a place megumi will never forget. ‟ yūji ... ”

between the words there is the sharp knife of a plea. don't leave me again. promise me this doesn't mean you're going to die.

emotions/feelings.

edgy, moody

humble

brave, daring, valiant

aloof, bored

colors.

crimson

night sky, coal (black)

azure, cerulean

scents.

woody, earthy, comforting

citrus

leather

metallic

fashion.

jujutsu high uniform

comfortable, agile clothing

dark clothes

a few expensive pieces

objects.

rings, particularly silver rings

cursed weaponry

his phone <3

books, non-fiction

notebooks filled with whatever fixation he has at that time

body language.

cool, calm, collected, unbothered king

open with his annoyance / irritation

hands in pockets / fiddling with rings

always got that fighting stance in his back pocket

aesthetics.

piles of old books with dog-eared pages

empty energy drink cans

everything in its right place / labels, clothes folded neatly, perfect handwriting

sunrise peeking over the clouds on a morning run

freshly brewed coffee but never tired eyes