WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO
cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know
you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”
“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.
more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”
“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”
“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.”
you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.”
“that’s how this friendship already works.”
you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it.
“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.”
megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.”
“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.”
“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.”
“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.”
“i don’t like the beach.”
“then you don’t have to go on the beach.”
“you’re responsible for me if i burn.”
“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.”
“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”
“but i want a bunny, megumi.”
“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.”
you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.”
you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.”
“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.”
“why not? we already have yuuji.”
“exactly, we already have yuuji.”
“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.”
“done. children?”
“you want children?”
megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.”
and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around.
“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”
“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”
“what about days i don’t cook?”
“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”
“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.”
“no.”
you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.”
“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”
he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind.
“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle.
“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?”
he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.
you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.”
and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.”
“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.”
“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.”
“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?”
“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.”
you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid.
“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.”
“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.”
you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “october? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!”
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So I am invested into the GG Rivals AU its so good, your Etho and Gem dynamic has me in brain rot. It's making me think of the brother song, even if they're not siblings
"Big brother I'm just like you! No matter what you can say I can do! I'll follow you until the day I can smile at you and say, big brother I'm just like you."
Just as that admiration turns into disgust as Etho becomes apart of the one thing she stands against.
Lovely song, and it works so well, too! In my mind, the two of them did used to have somewhat of a sibling relationship. Or, at least, they were very close once upon a time.
The village they grew up in was very small, with the population being only a few dozen people or so. It was a very tight-knit community. He played with her and the other kids her age, he taught her how to hunt, how to wield a sword, corrected her stance when it was needed.
She admired him, looked up to him as one would an older brother. She wanted to, just as the song says, be just like him. She was like a kid sister to him, and he wanted nothing but the best for her.
Though she pretended to be strong and gave him a warm send off, she cried when he left for the army. She was hurt that he never came back. She doesn't know if he lived or died. She doesn't know which would hurt less.
She still tries to follow in his footsteps. Subconsciously every move she makes is inspired by his advice from her youth, her skills honed from the basics that she learned under his guiding hand. She wants to make the memory of him proud of her. Etho can see this, and it makes his heart ache. He never wanted her to follow behind him. He never wanted this, and Gem doesn't know it.
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The Letter
*Warning: Angst, mentions of suicide and generally misery. If your in a poor place mental health wise, please skip past this post and seek help. And regardless and whether you are or arn’t, drink some water, eat some food and love yourself*
So, in a No One Knows AU things are getting more and more dangerous for Danny. The injuries are piling up, the rouges are getting more and more dangerous, his fathers slowly but surly becoming less and less and of lost cause in terms of accuracy, close calls are getting closer.
He starts to worry that someday, something will happen and he won’t make it home, and every one he cares for will be left desperately searching for him, for who knows how long, not knowing his corpse is probably phased into the ground, floating in space, or in another dimension entirely. And the thought of everyone he loves being so lost and confused because he took a second bite of the big one hurts almost as much as dyeing the fist time, so he decides to make a “If your reading this, I’m probably dead.” letter. Just to clear the air and say goodbye and all that jazz.
But the last thing a grieving parent needs to know is that they spent months trying to murder their child, mourning friends don’t need to know that all the canceled plans, detentions, avoidance and secrecy that caused so many fights was because their “Bad Friend” was out risking, and in the end sacrificing, their life for them and their home. So he leaves out any and all mentions of Phantom. Just a whole lot of “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it” “it’s not your fault” “I’m in a better place now” “there’s nothing you could have done” and a few “don’t feel guilty”s thrown in just incase his identity was discovered because of his death.
However, it turns out that a super hero’s “I’m sorry I didn’t make it back home to you” message that includes absolutely nothing about being a super hero reads a lot like a suicide note. Like, A Lot.
Whoops.
Maybe Jazz goes snooping as a worrywart big sister and find a very good reason to worry, maybe Jack and Maddie stumble upon it, you could have a classic “oh no that’s not my homework” mix up and Lancer’s now trying harder then ever to help Danny succeed, Sam could have been trying to uncover whatever the hell Danny’s been hiding with Tucker along for the ride.
Regardless, someone finds the letter and everyone is straight up not having a good time.
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