#source: the golden palace

[roguefankc]

(Kate Bishop and Yelena Belova walk by John Walker/U.S. Agent)

John Walker: What, aren't you two going to wish me a nice day?

(Kate and Yelena glare at U.S. Agent)

Kate Bishop (ticking off each point with a finger): You called me "the Discount Hawkeye" over a dozen times since we got introduced to each other. You told Yelena to her face that you can't trust her to lead the Thunderbolts because as a woman she's, and I quote, "too emotional to make good decisions". You insinuated to Sam Wilson the only reason he became Captain America was that Steve Rogers took pity on him. You gave an unauthorized interview with the Daily Bugle that you believe in Mysterio and threatened to arrest Spider-Man yourself. And you blatantly said in front of Princess Shuri and Namor that Wakanda and Talokan didn't deserve to have vibranium and that it should go to more deserving countries…

Yelena Belova: We don't care if you have a pulse, much less a nice day.

#incorrect kate bishop quotes #incorrect yelena belova quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #incorrect mcu quotes #john walker #u.s. agent #yelena belova #kate bishop #marvel mcu #source: the golden palace

[ddarker-dreams]

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005. 

8:02 a.m.

-

You don’t get it. 

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role. 

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport? 

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then. 

You go as still as a statue. 

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system. 

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?” 

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. 

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard. 

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh. 

“Just a bit.” 

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head. 

“Gonna come with?” 

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found. 

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?” 

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?” 

“It’s almost like a ghost town.” 

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point. 

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one… 

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says. 

You blink. 

“On… the first day…?” 

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.” 

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future. 

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious. 

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later. 

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image. 

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other. 

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth. 

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable. 

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience. 

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning. 

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away. 

The creature continued to sip. 

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way. 

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’ 

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel. 

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them. 

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’ 

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four. 

You hope you can befriend everyone. 

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book! 

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment. 

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines. 

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten. 

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself. 

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs. 

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground. 

Dodging isn’t an option. 

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone. 

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters? 

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can. 

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds. 

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest. 

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.  

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed. 

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares. 

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind. 

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.” 

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges. 

“Are you okay?!” 

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense. 

You inhale shakily. 

“Never better. You?” 

He sounds chipper. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over. 

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?” 

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.” 

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch. 

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells. 

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger. 

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice. 

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan. 

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?” 

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely. 

How did he pull that off…? 

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go. 

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess. 

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?” 

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”  

You make a face. “Eh?” 

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?” 

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?” 

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes. 

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble. 

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.” 

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines. 

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.” 

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.” 

“That was the most egregious part!” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you. 

“By the way, how do you know my name—” 

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence. 

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison. 

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.” 

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up. 

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets. 

You introduce yourself as well. 

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?” 

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.” 

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.” 

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue. 

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color. 

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him. 

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.” 

Any spell you were under withers and dies. 

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say. 

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own. 

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him. 

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly. 

You wonder what everyone else is like. 

-

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class. 

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.” 

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.” 

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?” 

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly. 

“What’s up?” 

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.” 

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?” 

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.” 

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face. 

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun! 

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information. 

-

This has been the first proper school day. 

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking. 

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball. 

This guy really irks you. 

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up. 

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.” 

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha. 

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response. 

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite. 

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?” 

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.” 

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.” 

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums. 

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.” 

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.” 

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory. 

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back. 

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.” 

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually. 

-

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down. 

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high. 

“Need help?” 

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares. 

“I’ve got it,” you insist. 

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.” 

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact. 

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out). 

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.” 

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon. 

You take a deep, deep breath. 

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?” 

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.” 

“...” 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known. 

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face. 

“Wait, really?” 

“Really.” 

“Really really?” 

“Really really.” 

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow. 

“For you, madam.” 

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along. 

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.” 

Gojo gives a hearty salute. 

“Yes ma’am!” 

-

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.” 

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space. 

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.” 

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway. 

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose. 

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.” 

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?” 

Gojo furrows his eyebrows. 

Geto blinks. 

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?” 

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist. 

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.” 

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce. 

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?” 

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?” 

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate. 

He doesn’t. 

“Geto-kun, care to translate?” 

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…” 

Geto trails off and clears his throat. 

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him. 

You nod. 

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?” 

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.” 

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw. 

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask. 

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? 

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever. 

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.” 

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?” 

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor. 

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.” 

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear: 

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?” 

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes. 

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally. 

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.” 

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest. 

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance. 

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?” 

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach. 

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?” 

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal. 

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.” 

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.” 

“You do?” Geto hums. 

“He does?” You ask. 

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?” 

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment? 

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such. 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.” 

Geto and Gojo exchange looks. 

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.” 

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that. 

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.” 

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?” 

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—” 

You clap to redirect their attention. 

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.” 

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses. 

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.” 

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off. 

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon. 

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied. 

“Satoru.” 

“Hm?” 

“I think I get it now.” 

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.” 

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.” 

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?” 

“Are you?” 

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it. 

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that. 

-

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.” 

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on. 

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums. 

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.” 

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.” 

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say. 

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said, 

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.” 

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right. 

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed. 

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex. 

What could be better than learning from the best? 

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors. 

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children. 

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration. 

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment. 

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident. 

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time. 

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read. 

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight. 

Painfully so. 

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested. 

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life. 

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines. 

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location. 

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.” 

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?” 

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival. 

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak. 

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions. 

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?” 

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.” 

You shiver. 

“... Oh.” 

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.” 

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.” 

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out. 

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different. 

This cuts and it cuts deep. 

Are you that incompetent to him…? 

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building. 

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument. 

Leaving no room for you. 

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day. 

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” 

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru. 

This is destruction in its raw, purest form. 

This is what it means to be the strongest. 

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant. 

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description. 

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed. 

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage. 

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace. 

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—” 

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack. 

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else. 

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating. 

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him. 

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.” 

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby. 

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown. 

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…” 

You hear a sniffle. 

Then a whimper. 

And a gurgle. 

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—” 

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources. 

All is still. 

All is silent. 

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain. 

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon. 

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions. 

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.” 

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise. 

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from. 

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them. 

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit. 

The appendage plummets down. 

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name. 

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe. 

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable. 

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge. 

You dismiss your cursed technique. 

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run. 

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in. 

Is that really the only way? 

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up. 

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing. 

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?” 

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—” 

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.” 

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back. 

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.” 

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—” 

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.” 

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession. 

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?” 

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.” 

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures. 

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks. 

“Just a few sprains.” 

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.” 

You exhale shakily. 

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?” 

How does he know that? 

You’ll worry about this oddity later. 

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?” 

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you. 

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse. 

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.” 

Seventeen sources? 

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says. 

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?” 

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.” 

“Seriously?” 

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?” 

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all. 

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant. 

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind. 

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage. 

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well. 

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is. 

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers. 

“Cursed Technique: Null.” 

Your ability is versatile if not simple. 

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth. 

There’s an additional application beyond this. 

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within. 

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds. 

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer. 

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood. 

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast. 

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them. 

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you. 

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down. 

Time to leap across. 

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you. 

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two. 

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too). 

Three. 

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops. 

…

So does your breathing. 

-

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse  ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

-

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design. 

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping. 

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud. 

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh. 

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?” 

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp. 

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups. 

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking. 

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his. 

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”  

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.” 

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter. 

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.” 

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.  

“What kind of suggestions?” 

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.” 

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?” 

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.” 

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed? 

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?” 

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation? 

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children. 

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.” 

The tips of his ears turn red. 

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.” 

“I’m getting this over with.” 

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.” 

“... Oh.” 

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat. 

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.  

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward. 

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?” 

He nods without hesitation.  

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?” 

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self. 

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down. 

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain. 

It stops you from shattering. 

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.” 

… Is that what you meant? 

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace. 

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back. 

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage. 

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace. 

-

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day. 

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.  

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak? 

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side. 

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway? 

-

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed. 

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still. 

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down, 

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.” 

“Eek!” 

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure… 

“Satoru? You’re back?” 

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic. 

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning. 

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!” 

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything. 

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable. 

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though. 

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility. 

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.  

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs. 

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless. 

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp, 

“Welcome home, Satoru!” 

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out. 

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.” 

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that.  “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

(He holds up two). 

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat. 

“Funny girl.” 

“I learned from the best.” 

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath. 

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being. 

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier. 

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.” 

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch. 

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off. 

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.” 

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?” 

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.  

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—” 

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.” 

You blink. 

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow. 

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?” 

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane. 

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught. 

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric. 

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since. 

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.” 

That sounds like your mentor alright. 

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?” 

You point to yourself and he nods. 

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation. 

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.” 

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now. 

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?” 

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.” 

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.” 

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.” 

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection. 

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done. 

“It’s—” 

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.” 

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?” 

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.” 

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!” 

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight. 

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—” 

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—” 

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication. 

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.” 

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in. 

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.” 

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you. 

“And that happy medium is…?” 

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it. 

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.” 

What is he, a member of the mob?! 

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe. 

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff. 

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.” 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.” 

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?” 

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.” 

Wait, what? 

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish. 

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!” 

“But I did.” 

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.” 

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning. 

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.” 

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you… 

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere? 

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.” 

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum. 

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs. 

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out. 

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder. 

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?” 

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight. 

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”  

-

December 23rd, 2017. 

8:02 p.m. 

-

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him. 

Or so you thought. 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.” 

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!” 

“I’m not laughing, am I?” 

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take. 

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching. 

“Is that genuinely what you think?” 

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record. 

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future. 

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate. 

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends. 

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?  

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not. 

“... It isn’t.” 

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.” 

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo. 

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell. 

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion. 

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.” 

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. 

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?” 

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t. 

“I know.” 

“... Could you?” 

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through. 

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile. 

He quickly abandons the farce. 

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out. 

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.” 

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition. 

He whispers your name. 

“You trust me, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then do this for me, baby.” 

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?” 

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.” 

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice. 

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you. 

“And this is all based on a hunch?” 

“Mhm.” 

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you. 

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth. 

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available. 

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school. 

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up. 

His explanation upon answering the phone? 

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!” 

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm. 

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.” 

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile. 

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

[calirph]

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All quotes here have been taken from different sources of media, literature, television, movies and more regarding medieval or period drama quotes in the context of those stories, some might work on more modern setting but these were made with the intention of medieval and fantasy settings. Change names, pronouns and locations as you see fit.

I just wish he'd have the decency to say whatever he came to say in front of his wife.

His wife should track him like a bloodhound.

Let him who knows who he is be no other but himself.

Seduction, as you know by now, for women starts with the ears and for men starts with the eyes.

She is my friend, and there is nothing you can say or do that can stop me from helping her.

You seem a might bit distracted this evening. Is something the matter?

History belongs to those who write it.

But I have never lost faith... even if the world turned upside down I could still find you.

Some mistakes are bound to be repeated.

Do you plan on marrying Charles?

This is a time of change. This is a time of enormous power.

Do you understand the meaning of the soil beneath your feet?

The other Clans will soon arrive. The greatest times of our family are before us. And so are the darkest.

Tonight must be our secret. Swear it.

You pander to her. You spoil her. You make such a fuss over her when she tantrums. This is what happens when you raise a child like that.

I´ve always wanted him to love me the way I loved him. 

We were arrogant and naive, thinking we knew what we felt then was love. 

A man´s desire is a powerful thing. It can reduce a strong man to nothing. When he sees a woman who fascinates him, he will give up everything for her.

 You are like a golden rose, a rare bloom but no less lovely.

So, you see, you're not the only ones who have lost someone. War doesn't discriminate, Petra. 

What you think is indecent, I do to my wife every morning before breakfast. There is no such thing as indecent between a husband and a wife. The only thing indecent is a cold marriage bed. 

The earl and I...We were... not intimate.

He fought in the war. He might fall apart, fly off the handle, go off the rails.

Mr. Russell, don’t you think I’m too young for you?

To be humiliated so publicly. I don't know. I never wished him ill.

He wasn’t quite what you’d hoped for, was he, Mother dear?

It is easier to start a war than to end it.

All I am guilty of is surviving, and for that, I will not apologize.

There is no law that gods must be fair, Achilles.

How many times can a heart be shattered and still be pieced back together? 

She succeeds because she is loved and respected. 

I have waited to see you again when none believed that you should ever return; I would have waited for ever.

Your lips are calling for me.

This is your home now. You're one of us, and we take care of our own.

You have a spine of steel and fire in your eyes, Rosalie. 

I've never met anyone as kind as you are.

A little taste before the wedding, Jayden?

God’s given you to me, and as soon as He allows, I’ll claim you as my own.

I brought you something. It gets cold in Nashville in the wintertime.

It seems you want me at your mercy, Princess. The question is why?

I am a slave in your palace.

To speak my truth, even if my voice shakes.

What would you say if I asked to kiss you?

Will you allow me to kiss you?

Do I have a choice? Doesn’t it happen with or without our consent? Falling in love, that is.

I have the power, and you will obey me.

You’re a lady. It’s written all over you.

It is amazing what a woman can do if only she ignores what men tell her she can't.

I am not a besotted fool. If you think to jilt me, think again.

It's all my fault. He was trying to save me.

All things in Fiji are paid for in blood.

I have not forgotten that I am a Norman, nor the responsibilities that I bear.

I swear I will be a lady worthy of our family name, worthy of England, and worthy of my conscience.

Being set apart is lonely, until you find purpose.

My faith has promised me to me to my king.

I want your reputation... I want everything you have.

Remember when I told you I would marry none but a warrior, Collector?

I want you to be the father of my child, yes, more than any other man in the world. 

I am the flesh of your flesh, and you are the heart of my heart.

My father fought against the infidels during the last crusade. It cost him his life. 

Grace saves us, but is not grace beautiful? I think it must be full womanly, even, to draw men in, and to give us a second birth.

Marriage is less about love and more about who is right.

A woman's life is never a fairy tale ... neither is war.

You're not made of kings, boy, but of common clay.

I'm Uther's daughter and sole heir: Morgan Pendragon.

Who better than you, King Lot, my father's strongest opponent.

If we forge a union, we'd have the strength to unite the realm. As King and Queen.

Ambition for its own sake is worthless.

Uther's daughter, Arthur's sister. You can't be defined by others. People need to know you for yourself.

The past doesn't matter. Define yourself in the present, and you might rule in the future.

We are going to build a land full of hope and honor where fear is extinguished, to which people will flock from far and wide, seeking out our beacon of light.

With a little luck, in time, you might fall in love with him. And if you don't, before you know it,he'll give you children, and then you'll love them.

Well, the most enticing aspect for any man is the forbidden. But you'll just have to forego the looks from men other than your husband.

What exactly do you think I'm capable of?

To forget myself. To lose the world for a moment.

One rumour of my death, and you proclaim a new leader! A king could get offended.

If she takes the crown, I'll tell you what you get. Fear!

You have no rights in this kingdom anymore.

#meme #roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #◟ ⋆ memes › roleplay sources. #medieval meme #historical fiction meme #fantasy meme #medieval fantasy meme

[evilios]

This painting, done by Charles Le Brun (French, 1619-1690) in 1674 or 1679, is created using black and white chalks on a piece of Japanese paper. It was a part of a study done by the artist for decorating one of the staircases in the Palace of Versailles. The staircase was, sadly, destroyed upon the order of Louis XV.

Apollo is supposed to be leaning onto His golden tripod, holding onto a bow that He has just used to slay the Python; the God's pose is relaxed, gaze - serene.

Photo source: 🏺

#APOLLO 🌞 #BELLAS ARTES 🖼 #art #french art #apollo #greek mythology #greek gods #anatolian gods

[rosie-zia]

Luxiem Drabbles

Scenario: Luxiem's significant other turned into Luxiem’s own fan mascots. Word Count: 3.3k+ all in all Genre: Fluff, comedy, & comfort. Note: I apologize in advance if the Luxiem boys are a bit OOC. I tried my best, and I hope you enjoy!

Vox Akuma:

Around the palace of the voice demon, you wandered the great long corridors, admiring every single detail and structure of the castle. As you walked in the halls, you would check each of the rooms to see if everything was in order before Vox Akuma returns home.

By the end of the hall was a door that you have never seen before. Curiosity has drawn you into the room. When you opened the door, it was an isolated room. You only saw some things that might have belonged to Vox. An album, a samurai sword, and other trinkets that you could possibly find. You felt like you were crossing Vox's privacy, so you tried to leave the room quickly.

However, you heard a small voice enter your mind. You turned around and no one was there. You looked around again just to make sure no one is in the same room as you, but you noticed red mist surrounding you. You looked for the source of this mysterious smoke, and the mist comes from the shiny Oni mask displayed on the left side of the room. Inhaling the smoke made you draw closer to the mask. There was no holding back anymore as you touched the mask before you fell unconscious.

A few moments later, you wake up in a random room and see Vox's trusted assistant, Oni Giri, trying to wake you up. Oni Giri explained about what happened to you, and how you passed out all of the sudden from the curse of the mask. Now, you turned into a biblically accurate fallen angel with eight dark wings, a huge eye, a pair of black horns with horizontal golden lines, white hair, and extra two white wings. Your new transformation made you look like one of his Kindreds. At first, you weren't able to process it properly, but when it did, it hit like a truck and made you panic. You worry about Vox's reaction.

It didn't take long before Vox arrived hurriedly in the scene, as it was right for you to worry because he tries to hold you like a plushie and examines you for any wounds.

"Darling, who did this to you? I swore if I ever find this person, I would absolutely hunt them down!"

Before things could even get dirty, Oni Giri explained the whole situation which calmed him down, but still wary about how you are feeling at the moment. Once you two are alone, Vox holds you in the most gentle way possible.

"It's alright now, my beloved, I'm here now. Let me take care of you like how I take care of my other Kindreds."

Soon enough, he leads you to a room filled with lots of friendly Kindreds and also locks the cursed room to keep you safe from the curse hitting you again.

Kindreds take one of the unique form as they appear like biblically accurate fallen angels. Their form can spook or scare someone, but Kindreds are sweet creatures. Kindreds are known as one of the most loyal species to their owner as they were drawn to the demon's sophisticated and alluring voice. At first, Kindred thinks very highly of their owner due to his elegance and his royal-like demeanor. Now, they still look up to him but in a different way that they got to see his true self free from expectations. Also, Kindred would work hard in helping whatever they can to do to show their gratitude to Vox. Whether someone is a Kindred or not, no one can resist the demon's charms and wit, so they will always fly back into his arms.

Luca Kaneshiro:

In the four corners of the manor, you waited for your boyfriend and mafia boss to come home from an important mission. It was getting too lonely whenever he had an errand to take care of in the mafia, so you had to find new ways to entertain yourself for the time being when he's gone.

This time, you were drinking some tea in your bedroom with Luca's lion cub, Augustus, idling away and enjoying the peace you have to yourself. The tea you were drinking was a gift from Shu since you want to try and explore different tea blends. Halfway through drinking the tea, you were getting a bit dizzy, and Augustus noticed it. He kept nudging you, but you assured him that you were fine. You don't know if it's from the tea or just from the times you spent with so much passion with Luca on the bed, but you can't keep your eyes anymore that you ended up passing out on the bed.

You woke up feeling normal but still groggy, trying to recall what happened before you passed out. You looked at the time and it's five in the evening. You feel like it's still too early for Luca to come home, so you will be expecting him sooner or later. Augustus saw you were awake and kept licking your face.

"mmm... Augustus, you know I'm sleeping. You can wait for Luca to come home and play with you."

Usually, you would get up from the bathroom and wash up after your nap, but something doesn't feel right when everything in your vision looks a bit bigger. You didn't feel like going to the bathroom this time, so you reached out to your pocket mirror by your nightstand and saw you turned into a small lion cub like Augustus.

"Wait- Augustus, what happened?! Why am I small and I look like you?"

You examined your features before reaching out to your phone and contacting your boyfriend. Although you know he's on the mission, it won't hurt to call him in the middle of his work, right? Surprisingly, he picked it up immediately.

"Oh, hey, babe. What's up?"

"Sorry for bothering you, Luca, but can you come home a bit earlier?”

“Oh yeah, I’m already on my way home, Y/N. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Alright, see you soon.”

You hung up as you slouched on the bed. While waiting for Luca, you played with Augustus. After exactly ten minutes, Luca barged into your room feeling a bit upbeat.

“Baby, I’m home! You sounded like you were panicking through our phone call. Are you alright?”

He expected to meet his partner on the bed, but he was surprised to see that his lover, you, turned into a Lucub. The young mafia boss may look amused about your transformation, but don’t let his expressions fool you because he’s clenching his fist.

“Alright, who did this to you? I just want to talk-”

“NONONO, it’s alright, maybe it’s temporary.”

Before you could explain yourself, Luca was already calling his friend, Shu, to ask him what to do in this situation you are in. He eventually hung up after talking to the sorcerer.

“Shu said you’ll be back in your own physical form tomorrow. Don’t worry too much, okay? It’s not good for you.”

As much as you were worried about how you will turn back to your normal self, you can’t help but listen to Luca. All your thoughts disappeared as you felt your man’s hand petting you.

“You look so adorable, and you really are fit to be a Lucub.”

You laughed at what Luca said and his bright smile made your worries fade away.

“Well… I’m your biggest fan.”

“Haha, Pog!”

From there, you and Luca played games and talked all day together along with Augustus by your side. It’s always nice to be with your number one himbo.

Lucubs are similar to lion cubs and the spitting image of Augustus. Additionally, Lucubs took an oath to work as bodyguards under the Kaneshiro mafia. They tend to be very huggable and lovable towards their owner as they really cherish him to the point they would kill everyone in the room and then themselves. Their owner may describe himself as the “mean and evil” mafia boss, but they try to prove him wrong and call him a “himbo.” Whether one is a Lucub or not, one will always ask if they are now facing the sun due to how bright his smile and personality is.

Ike Eveland:

It was an ordinary day as you cleaned out your boyfriend’s streaming room. Ike was out for the day to buy some groceries for the two of you, so you wanted to return the favor by cleaning his room. You were simply dusting his novels when suddenly a book fell off the shelf. It was an odd-looking book with an ancient design. You decided to open it, and the book glowed which then blinded your sight of vision.

After a while, you opened your eyes, and everything around you turned big from your perspective. You looked into your reflection on the marble floor and suddenly, you turned into a huge white ball of fluff with a blue feather on top. You were panicking, but you even panicked more when you heard yourself only saying small squeals and soft noises. After a small breakdown, you decided to wait for Ike to return home.

A few moments later, Ike returned a bit frustrated from driving to your shared home; however, his road rage somehow disappeared when he saw a huge white ball of fluff with a huge blue feather sticking out on top of it. The novelist pauses on his tracks and tries to have a double take if he is seeing things correctly and not just being delusional. Knowing that you cannot explain things by words, you picked up a pen and a paper to describe what happened.

“So you’re saying that you turned like this by a book from my shelf?”

You nodded apologetically while Ike picked up the same ancient book that turned you into a Quilldren. He scanned the book and then placeed it back on the shelf.

“Ah, this must belong to Shu. It says here the spell will just last for the whole day. Tomorrow, you’ll return to your own self in no time. Don’t worry too much, okay?”

As much as you wanted to speak with words, you let out sad noises and looked down on the ground. Ike sensed how you felt bad for troubling him, but it’s no trouble for him at all. He wanted you to at least cheer up, so he sat on his gaming chair and patted his lap, inviting you.

“I’ll be having my Zatsu stream today. Would you like to sit on my lap, älskling?”

Hearing those words from him made you so happy that your feather perked up in excitement. You made your way to his lap, and it felt like heaven. Ike started streaming and talked with chat about his usual day and some random topics to throw at. From time to time, your boyfriend will give you head pats and head rubs to assure you he’s there to hold you secure and safe.

The highlight of Ike’s chatting stream was when chat starting to ask for “lap rights” and he gave in after some persuasion from you and other Quilldrens. When his stream ended, Ike laughed and patted you once more.

“You and the Quilldren are a feisty bunch aren’t you? Hehe, never change, my älskling"

Quilldren come in various sizes, but they appear like fluffy cotton balls with a blue feather on top. Mostly, Quilldren can convey their feelings through their feathers similarly to a dog’s tail. These cotton balls may be endearing and sweet but won’t hesitate to bite back to their owner. Despite their different behaviors, they will unite as one to demand “lap rights” from their owner until they get what they want.

Shu Yamino:

You and Shu live together in the comfort of your shared home just chilling in each other’s presence, and you two will always help out each other. One day, he asked for your help. You were planning to do something else, but you were persuaded by your boyfriend and had to bribe you with extra food which led you in helping him with his chores.

Currently, you two are sorting out his spell books that he keeps in the basement. Most of them are collecting dust for being there for too long, so you tried your best to clean them.

"Is it really safe to keep them here? How about you just keep these books in your room?"

"I think it's safe enough as long as I don't chant or activate any spells from the books, and I can't put my spell books in my room because it doesn't fit anymore in there."

Shu smiles while you roll your eyes at the sly sorcerer. You both then get back to work, and you've finished cleaning Shu's bookshelf of spells.

"Alright! We're finally done. Now, where's the food that you promised?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll order the food you want. Just tell me what you want, and I'll order it for you."

As you two left the basement, your foot hit something from the ground and it's a thick book.

"Hmm? I think we might have missed this one. Hold on, I'll just put this back on the shelf."

"WAIT, Y/N, DON'T-"

Before you could even react, there was a glowing and blinding light inside of the basement like your whole life was flashing in your very eyes. You close your eyes for a moment, and then open it. Everything was blurry at first, but it was all clear when you looked in the mirror and you became... a banana?

"AHHHH SHU, WHY DID I BECOME A BANANA?!"

Shu also opened his eyes and saw your sudden transformation. He was silent at first, trying to process the current events unfolding before laughing so hard.

"Eyyyyy, you're a Yaminion now!"

"SHUUU!"

"Don't worry, don't worry! The effects are just temporary, you'll be just fine."

Throughout the whole day, Shu tried to compensate for what happened with a lot of your favorite comfort foods and lots of pampering. Your boyfriend does tease you from time to time though, but you don't mind as long as he keeps paying you back with food.

Yaminions take the form of bananas with stick-like arms and legs, occasionally wearing sunglasses to represent their swag. Unlike Quilldren, Yaminions are on the cooler side of things like their owner. Though they are chill, they don't experience much "fanservice." They go through means in order for their owner to give them some crumbs of affection to go throughout their day. If ever their owner would give a once in a lifetime pick-up lines, who knows what would happen to the hearts of the Yaminions.

Mysta Rias

At present, you are in Mysta’s apartment because he called you to come over. When you arrived, you saw a small note and it was written by your boyfriend, saying he had to leave urgently because of a serious investigation. At the back of his note, he added something and asked a favor to you to look out for his pets “Mystakes.” You sighed, concerned how hard he’s working, but that’s one of the reasons why you fell for him. You opened the door to Mysta’s apartment with one of his spare keys that he gave you.

Once you entered in, all of his Mystakes pounced on you. You almost tripped, but you were able to balance yourself.

“Hey, guys! Hehe, it’s nice to see you all again! Did you miss me?”

The foxes nodded happily as they helped clean Mysta’s room. Looking around at his apartment, there were boxes and some luggage lying around. You were wondering why they were packing Mysta's stuff until you remembered he was moving out to another city. As you watch them pack his things, you can't help but notice how sad they look, so you try your best to cheer them up.

"Awww, don't be sad. It's going to be alright, guys. I know you will miss him, but he says how much he loves you all. Wherever he goes, he'll always carry his Mystakes in his heart."

Some of his foxes are crying while the others are happy for him, but they just want the best for him at the end of the day. You let them process their emotions first before speaking up to give your idea.

"There are still a few days left before Mysta moves out, so better make the most of it with him and just have a blast!"

The small foxes looked at each other before looking back at you mischievously, certainly planning something in mind. This made you a bit nervous when you saw how the Mystakes kept approaching you until they threw themselves and piled on top of you.

"h-huh? w-what are you doing, guys? HEY WAIT-"

Those were the last words you uttered before chaos struck because somehow, you are now in the same physical form as them.

"I'm a Mystake?! How is this possible? Please change me back!"

Mysta's sly pets looked at you feeling proud of their work. It seems that they don't have any plans in changing you back to your original form, so you texted Mysta to just come home ASAP without telling him any details.

This led your boyfriend to get frantic when he read your message. After a while, Mysta finally returns home with a concerned expression on his face. He thought something serious had happened to you, so he ran home as fast as he could. The detective barged in the room and kept screaming your name.

"*huff* *pant* *pant* BABE?! Where are you? I tried to come home as fast as I could after receiving your text. Answer me!"

Looking now at the events before him, his face turned into a blank expression as soon as he understood the situation.

"Ah! Mysta! Thank goodness you are here. I became one of your foxes. Help me change back!"

"Ayo, they changed you into a Mystake, huh? Not surprising though since they can really pull tricks out of their sleeves."

"Will I be like this for a long time?"

"Nah, It will just last for a day. You'll be fine, trust me. I was turned into one of them, and it's not that bad."

You give him a suspicious look before trusting him and letting your boyfriend take care of you. You two, along with the Mystakes, ended up playing some games, chilling, and enjoying each other's company. It was just a usual day for Mysta streaming, but the smallest and simplest things count as precious memories.

After a day of gaming, Mysta ended the livestream and helped you prepare for bed. Even being in a form of a fox right now, Mysta didn't mind snuggling into you for the night. You two then eventually fell asleep in each other's arms.

In the morning, Mysta opened his eyes as he felt the morning light hit his eyes. When his eyes were fully opened, he saw now how you finally turned into your original human form. As much as Mysta wants to wake you up to tell you that, he held himself back to look at your peaceful figure.

Your boyfriend brushed away any strands blocking your face while whispering the words he has been keeping to himself for a long time.

"You may be one of my Mystakes, but I never made a big mistake in loving you."

Mystakes are sly and mischievous foxes who tease and joke around their detective, but their behavior represents as a sign of affection towards their beloved owner. Foxes are known to form strong bonds with their owner or to their loved ones, and Mystakes show how loyal they can be to their owner. They don't hesitate to tell their owner how comfortable they are around him until his final moments. From the start until the beginning of the end, Mystakes stood up as strong ones, wanting for their owner to be happy and live his life to the fullest.

Fin.

-----------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for reading my work and for your support >_< Sorry I took so long. This is dedicated to the boys of Luxiem, especially to our beloved detective Mysta Rias. He taught me to stay strong and keep smiling in times of hardships and difficulties. He became a part of my life that I will never forget. Mysta, wherever you are, I hope you are living the best life. I will always pray for you and your safety as you solve the next case. Good luck on your work, detective! Spread the love!

#luxiem fluff #luxiem x reader #nijisanji en #ike eveland x reader #shu yamino x reader #mysta rias x reader #vox akuma x reader #nijisanji x reader #luca kaneshiro x reader #luxiem headcanons #luxiem #ike eveland #shu yamino #luca kaneshiro #vox akuma #mysta rias

[bestiarium]

The Drac [French folktales]

The municipality Draguignan in south-east France was originally named Draconeum, and its name was supposedly derived from a local myth about horrible monsters that lived in the nearby river Rhône.

Usually referred to simply as the ‘Drac’, these dragons or dragon-like creatures could shapeshift into the form of a human and walk among the people undetected. They made their homes in underwater caverns along the riverbed and would often shapeshift into golden objects such as cups or rings, in order to attract people. Though they are said to capture children too, their preference goes out to women old enough to lactate.

The drac thus sits beneath the surface of the water in the shape of a desirable golden treasure, enticing women to enter the river. But when they do, the beast grabs them and transports them to its lair where the kidnapped woman is forced to care for the dragon’s offspring as a nurse or maid. These drac caverns aren’t filthy dungeons, rather they are beautiful subterranean palaces. After exactly 7 years of work, the women are usually allowed to return to the world above.

One particular tale tells of a woman who was thus kidnapped and forced to care for young dracs. One day, she accidentally touched her eye with a magical salve or ointment made from eels, after which she gained the ability to see the creatures in their usual, invisible state. But one of the dracs later found out and took this ability away from her.

The story – as described in the 13th century Otia Imperialia – doesn’t tell us what the creatures looked like, however. It is tempting to imagine the dracs as large, scaled reptiles but remember that the word ‘dragon’ was a common umbrella term for evil monsters during this time.

However, these creatures do appear to be reptilian, as the French poet Frédéric Mistral would later describe the dracs as winged reptiles with the head and shoulders of an attractive young man.

Interestingly, the French story of the drac was eventually brought to Great Britain where it gained traction among the Scots and was eventually adapted into Scottish folktales. In this version, the creature was a female fey (in contrast with the French male dragon), but the details of the tale remained the same.

Sources: Tilbury, G., 13th century, Oria Imperialia. I consulted the 1856 version “Des Gervasius von Tilbury Oria Imperialia” by Felix Liebrecht. Holman, F., Valen, N. and Walker, S., 1975, The Drac: French Tales of Demons and Dragons, Scribner, USA, 84 pp. Mistral, F., 1897, Le Poème du Rhône, Paris. Douglas, G., 1901, Scottish Fairy and Folk Tales, 360 pp. (image source: James Christensen)

#French mythology #monsters #dragons #mythical creatures #creatures #mythology

[achaotichuman]

See the thing with Tamlin having a daughter, he's absolutely a single parent and has no clue what the fuck he's doing.

So, balancing having a newborn with also rebuilding a Court from the ground up would be one of the most mentally taxing jobs he's ever had. He's so exhausted and can barely think straight or string a sentence together, and there's no real help in Spring, because most of the servants, or nurses, or anyone that could provide any support are still wary to enter.

So, he reaches a point where he's like, 'If I keep going like this, I'm not going to survive.'

Therefore, desperate times call for desperate measures, and Tamlin goes to one source of help that might take pity on the situation, or least on his daughter Dahlia.

And goes to Day, where Andrea, former Lady of Autumn, is staying with Helion.

Cue super adorable step in grandma and grandpa Lady of Autumn and Helion.

Anyway, it would start something like this.

Rain pounded down on the Day lands. People rushed inside, desperately dragging signs and chairs into buildings. Using books, clothing, anything to shield themselves from the onslaught of water that poured and poured from the raging dark clouds above. 

Andrea drank jasmine-infused honey sweet tea. The warm liquid slipped down her throat, and soothing her body. The Day palace was warm and dry, a stark difference from the thunder and lightning cracking in the sky. A fork of brilliant white light streaked the sky, Andrea smiled, she had always loved storms. 

Her husband… not so much?

Helion huddled himself closer to Andrea when lightning followed quickly by a snap of thunder pierced the sky. The Day Lord had near a dozen blankets wrapped around himself, his head lying in Andrea’s lap. Andrea laughed as he jolted and wrapped his strong arms around her waist, pressing his face into her navel. She toyed with the braids in his hair. 

“It isn’t all that bad,” She assured him, leaning back into the soft white couch, while her eyes tipped to the balcony across from them, the glass doors sealed tightly to shelter them from the rain. 

“It is that bad,” Helion insisted, “The thunder has no right being that loud.”

Andrea laughed quietly, stroking her husband’s hair. Placing the porcelain cup down on the table beside the lounge, Andrea tipped her head back and closed her eyes. Smiling to herself at the next round of thunder, holding Helion closer, knowing he was ever so frightened of the storm outside. 

She sighed, this was nice. 

There was a rapping at the door. Looking up Andrea furrowed her brow, surely none of the servants needed them currently? After a moment’s hesitation, Helion sat up and looked at the door, then Andrea. It was Andrea who called out, “Please come in!”

A short female with wild brown curls, red eyes and fluttering wings entered. She bowed low, then straightened, “Your Majesties, there is a visitor requesting your presence.”

Andrea put a hand on Helion’s. Her brown eyes turned to his, though she found no answer, his face was as confused as her own. Helion took in a breath, “Where are they as of now?”

“Still at the entrance, my Lord, the guards have not let him through.” She replied. 

There was a moment of silence as Helion and Andrea assessed each other. Helion raised an eyebrow, Andrea shrugged ever so slightly. They weren’t in the middle of anything, the slight quirk of her lips told Helion she was just a little bored and this could be some form of entertainment.

“Alright, we’ll head down, thank you.” Andrea told the female. 

She again bowed low, then quickly fled the room, flittering off to wherever she was required. 

Andrea and Helion fixed themselves and quickly headed down for the Day Court palace entrance. Whispering to each other, “Who could be visiting so late?” “Perhaps a courtier, or emissary?”

They reached the tall golden doors, the two guards stationed there shared a glance. When Helion lifted his hand, they nodded, the doors flew upon. 

Immediately there was an onslaught of cold wind, it rushed through the threshold and splattered water across the polished tiles. Hail had begun, the small balls of ice rained down from the sky, smashing against the flooring. 

Andrea had closed her eyes and put her hands out in front of her as she adjusted to the sudden cold. Then she looked up to see the person standing at the entrance. 

Her jaw fell open. Looking at Helion his face had gone white. 

Tamlin was shivering in the cold, his whole body quivering. His eyes were dull and his skin was near grey. His lips were blue and frost-bitten. Instead of the normal greens and whites he wore a heavy black coat with a hood that had fallen off. His hair was a wild mess of knots and tangles. 

And in his arms was a tiny babe, so small she couldn’t be more than a few weeks old. She had tiny golden curls and pale skin, mostly wrapped in linens, her face was red, she was crying and screaming in his arms. 

Tamlin met Helion’s eyes, then turned to Andrea’s. Looking back at the High lord, he half-sobbed, “I had nowhere else to go.”

He stumbled like at any moment he might collapse. Snapping out of the daze they had been shocked into, Andrea made the first move. Like him or not, he had a child in his arms. She quickly approached the male and gently took the small girl from his arms, hushing and cooing as she did in an attempt to console her. 

As soon as the babe was safe in another’s arms. Tamlin collapsed to the floor. Helion then rushed to the younger High lord, shouting orders for a room to be made up and dry clothes to be brought out. Andrea rocked the crying girl as Helion picked up Tamlin. 

The doors were shut and the storm was locked outside. Helion and Andrea exchanged a look. Then the Lady of Day looked at the babe in her arms. 

Green eyes glistened up at her. Andrea stood there in pure shock. She looked like a tiny version of Tamlin. She screamed and Andrea watched as tiny claws pricked out of her fingertips. 

“Thats…” Helion trailed off. 

“The future Heir of Spring.” Andrea finished, her voice filled with wonderment, “Tamlin’s daughter.”

Tamlin himself shivered and gasped in Helion’s arms. The older High lord gritted his teeth. Her eyes didn’t deceive her, Andrea saw Helion bring the younger male closer to his chest. 

“What do we do?” Andrea asked. 

“We do what’s right.” Was all Helion said, then a group of servants came out. 

The oldest among them said, “We have prepared a room for the guest.”

Helion nodded, he then said, “Tamlin and his daughter will stay with us until further notice.”

Looking back down at the baby in her arms, Andrea bit her bottom lip. 

“Why were they out in the storm?”

Helion shook his head slowly, “I don’t know.”

#is this a fic im plotting? #no of course not #... it might be #give me a headpat if you like this i crave validation #acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin's daughter #helion acotar #lady of the autumn court #pro lady of the autumn court #we give her a name here #we stan a queen #acotar au #acotar headcanons

[soulofapatrick]

Kiss and Tell - Alex Claremont-Diaz x Male Reader

Summary: You and Alex accidentally out your relationship at an international jumping competition

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: heavy make out; being outed

Notes: How are his eyelashes so pretty?! I mean how is he so pretty altogether! And Nick too!

Y/N’s POV

As the sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the sprawling English countryside, I can feel the familiar excitement coursing through my veins. It’s the day of the international equestrian jump competition, where I’ll proudly represent the royal family. The rhythmic sound of hooves against the earth and the fluttering of the Union Jack flags in the breeze create a thrilling atmosphere. 

Dressed in my crisp riding attire, I lead my stallion, Indiana Jones, towards the starting point. The adrenaline pumps through me as we approach course of jumps, each one more challenging than the last. 

As I focus on the course ahead, I can’t help but glance at the crowd. Amongst the sea of spectators, I spot familiar faces of my fellow competitors, all dressed in their nation’s colours. But there’s one face that stands out, a face that instantly captures my attention. There, sitting in the VIP section with Henry and Bea, is Alex Claremont-Diaz, the First Son of the United States. He’s a vision in his perfect tailored suit, his dark hair is impeccably styled, and his eyes sparkle with excitement as he watches the competition unfold. 

For a moment, the world around me fades away as our eyes lock.The intensity of his gaze sends shivers down my spine, and I’m momentarily mesmerised by his presence. It’s as if time stands still as I watch hi, his enthusiasm for the sport and the event itself evident in every expression, despite him not knowing anything about it at all. 

As Indiana and I approach the first jump, I can feel Alex’s support from the sidelines, a silent but powerful encouragement that pushes me to do my best. With a deep breath, I guide Indiana over the first hurdle, feeling the rush of exhilaration as we soar through the air. The competition continues and I can’t help but steal glances at Alex, sitting in the royal box with Henry, Bea and June. His presence is a source of motivation, and with each jump I clear, I’m not just competeing for myself and my country but also to impress him. 

The jumps come and go, each one presenting its own unique challenge, but Indiana and I handle them with grace and precision. The crowd cheers bled into a distant hum as I focus on the task at hand. It’s a demanding course, but the thrill of the competition pushes me forwards, having always felt freer on a horse than anywhere else in the royal palaces. 

Finally, as the last jump is cleared, and I cross the finish line to the thunderous applause of the crowd, a sense of triumph washes over me. I’ve given it my all, and it’s a moment I’ll cherish forever.  But, my heart drops when I don’t see Alex in the crowd anymore. 

As I ride Indiana out of the arena, a mix of emotions well up inside me. Disappointment tinges my victory as I wonder if I missed my chance to share this moment with him. However, just when I least expect it, I spot Alex leaning against the horse box, a dreamy smile on his face. My heart leaps with joy as I rein Indiana to a halt. 

With a gentle pat on Indiana’s neck to reassure her, I prepare to dismount, but before I can swing my leg over her back, Alex steps forwards. “Let me help you down.” He offers, voice soft and inviting. My heart pounds in my chest but nod, my heart races as he approaches. Alex’s large, capable hands find their way to my hips, and with a graceful movement, he lifts me down from the saddle. His touch is firm yet gentle, and I can feel the warmth of his body pressed against my back. 

Once I’m securely on the ground, I turn to face him, our proximity now closer than ever. His dreamy smile has transformed into something more intense, a longing that mirrors the desire in my own eyes. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, and begin to loosen the girth on Indiana’s saddle, the leather creaking softly under my touch. Alex watches me with a quiet intensity, his presence a magnetic force that draws us closer together. 

“You look so good in those.” He squeezes my hip, breath hot against my neck and way too close for anything innocent to be assumed. 

Suddenly, the click and flash of cameras intrude upon our private moment. The paparazzi have found me, eager to capture me post competition and even more so now that Alex is standing so close to me that there is no plausible explanation other than intimate. Alex’s hands leave my hips, and we both step away, allowing the stable boy to approach and take Indiana from me to cool him down and getting him untacked. 

With a glance exchanged between us, Alex and I wordlessly agree to disappear from the prying lenses of the paparazzi. He looks behind his shoulder before offering me his arm with a grin, I do the same, glancing back at the paparazzi who are mostly obscured before I loop my arm with his, letting him lead me away. 

We navigate through the bustling crowds, our steps quick and determined. The intensity of the situation electrifies the air around us. The desire for privacy and the magnetic pull between is intensifies with each step we take, both of us needing something more than just our arms locked. 

Soon enough, we find a small, windowless room tucked away from he public eye. Without hesitation, Alex tugs me inside, and with a swift motion, he slams the door behind us. I can feel the thud resonate through the wooden door as he presses me against it, his body covering mine and my hands pinned above my head. The sudden closeness between us sends a rush of heat through my veins. Our hearts been in unison, and our breaths come fast and shallow. 

With a burning desire that mirrors my own, Alex draws me up into a passionate kiss. His lips meld with mine in a fervent embrace, sending shivers of ecstasy down my spine. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and longing that leaves me breathless. With equal passion, I respond, our mouths locked in a dance of insatiable hunger. 

Having Alex here with me after three long months apart is a sensation like no other. It’s as though the world falls away, leaving just the two of us to revel in this long-awaited reunion. His presence making me feel alive, desired, and utterly cherished. 

Alex’s hands, strong and possessive, roam my body with an almost desperate need. They trace the lines of my back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My own hands are equally eager, clutching at his shoulders, fingers running through his fluffy hair as I pull him closer, craving more of his touch. Everything makes the room seem to spin around us, a blur of passion and desire as we lose ourselves in each other. Our kisses deepen, becoming a tumultuous symphony of need and longing. The heat between us is almost unbearable, and every touch, every caress, sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. 

A strangled sound leaving my throat to me swallowed by Alex when his nimble fingers find the buttons of my jodhpurs, a wicked smile spreads across his lips into the kiss, and I can feel the way he revels in the effects he has on me. His touch is almost maddening slow, each button undone with deliberate intent, driving me to the brink of desire. My body responding eagerly, and I lose myself in the sensations, a man slipping past my lips. 

As he gets to the last button, we hear my name being called over the speakers, announcing first, second and third places. Panic courses through me, and we break the kiss with a gasp, sharing a frantic look, realising how screwed we are. In a rush, we disentangle ourselves, and hastily start buttoning up my jodhpurs, our clothes in disarray, and our appearances very obviously post-make-out messy. With no time to fix ourselves, we hurried make our way out of the small room. 

The flashes are blinding as soon as we step out, the press obviously having seen us go in somehow. We have no way of hiding the evidence of what’s just happened: our hairs are tousled; lips kiss-swollen and our shirts untucked and crumpled. There’s no denying what just transpired in that private room, and the paparazzi have captured it all. I can already hear the headlines tomorrow: ‘FSOTUS and Prince Y/N - Closet Lovers?’ Or some bullshit like that. My family are going to kill me but honestly? I don’t care because now I hold Alex in public. 

I don’t have time to really think about it all as my security details find us and are rushing us through the crowds but one thing I do know for certain is that I'm not going to hide anymore. I don’t care what grandpa has to say or what Philip thinks. I love Alex Claremont-Diaz. 

As I come to a sudden stop, Alex bumping into my back, hands instinctively flying to my hips to steady himself. That small, wordless gesture of support is all the confidence I need. I spin around, ignoring his questioning look, and without hesitation, I grab his face and draw him down into a searing kiss. The world around us seeming to pause for a moment as our lips meet in a passionate embrace. The paparazzi’s flashing cameras capture the intensity of the kiss, and a murmur of surprise and excitement tipples through the crowds. For a brief moment, it’s as if we’re the only two people in the world, our love and desire on full display. 

When the kiss finally breaks, Alex is grinning down at me, chocolate eyes sparkling with unspoken affection. He draws me into another kiss, but this one is softer, filled with tenderness and a promise of a future where we don’t have to hide. Our lips meeting in a sweet embrace, the softness of his kiss feels like a whispered promise that he’ll stand by my side no matter what happens. 

Alex is pulling away too quickly for my liking, his gaze locking with mine, and in a hushed voice, he murmurs, “I love you.” 

Hearing those words from his sends a rush of emotions trough me. It’s a declaration that makes my heart soar, a confirmation of the love that has bound us together despite the odds. I look into his eyes, filled with love and sincerity, and I can’t help but smile. 

“I love you too.” I reply, my voice filled with so much warmth and affection that it cracks a little. 

“Good, now go get your rosette, Baby. You deserve it.” 

-------------

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#alex claremont diaz x you #alex claremont diaz x reader #alex claremont diaz #Alex Claremont-diaz zx male reader #Alex Claremont-diaz x y/n #red white and royal blue x male reader #red white and royal blue #red white and royal blue x you #rwrb x male reader #rwrb x y/n #rwrb x you #rwrb movie #rwrb #taylor zakhar perez

[breelandwalker]

Sneak Preview of The Sisters Grimmoire Vol. II - Gilded Locks

So he went into the first room. A cauldron was hanging from the walls; it was boiling, but the Prince could see no fire under it. "I wonder what is inside it," he thought, and dipped a lock of his hair in, and the hair became just as if it were all made of copper. "That's a nice kind of soup. If anyone were to taste that his throat would be gilded," said the youth, and then he went into the next chamber. There, too, a cauldron was hanging from the wall, bubbling and boiling, but there was no fire under this either.

"I will just try what this is like too," said the Prince, thrusting another lock of his hair into it, and it came out silvered over. "Such costly soup is not to be had in my father's palace," said the Prince; "but everything depends on how it tastes," and then he went into the third room. There, too, a cauldron was hanging from the wall, boiling, exactly the same as in the two other rooms, and the Prince took pleasure in trying this also, so he dipped a lock of hair in, and it came out so brightly gilded that it shone again.

-The Master-Maid (The Blue Fairy Book)

-----

Intent: To braid wealth into the caster's hair.

Materials:

Hair long enough to braid

Copper, silver, and gold-colored embroidery floss

Rubber bands (if desired)

Ideal Timing: Waxing Moon is best, but this spell can be performed anytime.

Acquire three pieces of embroidery floss the same length as your hair. One should be copper, one should be silver, and one should be golden. Approximate as best you can; they don't need to be metallic, or to contain any of the actual precious metals. If desired, this can also be done with "fairy hair" or long strands of fine tinsel.

Align the three strands with a small lock of your hair. Knot the strands together around the lock, as close to your scalp as you can get it. (If you prefer, you can use a small rubber band for this step.)

Divide the small lock of your hair in half and braid, using the embroidery flosses as the third piece. Alternatively, you can divide the lock into thirds and match one piece of floss to each strand. Tie everything off together at the end. If you'd like to make a larger braid, you can add additional pieces of floss, so long as there are equal numbers of each color. For a fun touch, you can dab some Amber oil onto the embroidery floss before braiding, or add a lucky charm to the end when you've finished.

Leave the braid in until the night of the Full Moon, or until the desired financial boost manifests itself, whichever comes first.

This spell is geared toward individuals with hair that is long enough to hold a braid, but this is not a requirement. In the absence of long hair, you can weave in a piece of sewing thread the same color as your hair (whatever that happens to be). Wet the thread with your saliva and allow it to dry before braiding. This will tie the charm to you the same way a piece of your hair would. Wear the finished braid around your wrist or ankle until the wish manifests itself or the braid breaks and falls off.

-from the forthcoming book, The Sisters Grimmoire, Vol. II; © 2021 Bree NicGarran

More Fairy Tale Spells:

#witchcraft #witch community #witchblr #spells #money magic #fairy tale spells #The Sisters Grimmoire II

[viviennevermillion]

I like to believe that when you enter Malleus' castle, at first it looks like a really elegant and slightly intimidating place. It's a big gothic castle on the tallest mountain in the area and the only way to get up there is flying or using a staircase that was probably made in hell and destined to destroy the bones in your legs. If we ever get a Briar Valley event I can just see Malleus looking at his guests and going "oh well you guys don't have any wings and I don't have brooms ready so I'm going to accompany you as we walk the stairs together :)". Bonus if it's Idia and Azul.

The walls inside the castle are cold, ancient stone and there's all sorts of expensive carpets and curtains in the hallways. The place is lit up by chandeliers and candle holders and otherwise the only light source is the frequent lightning outside. It has this mystical fantasy charm.

But the more time you spend in there the more you realize that the Draconias are fucking insane.

First off, all offices in the castle have the exact same layout and it makes you feel like you're walking into the same room just decorated differently. The windows are are always behind the desk and facing east even when there should be a fucking wall there because there's another room right next to it. Magic.

There's a statue that talks but got on everyone's nerves so hard that the Draconia family regretted putting it in the castle. It's unfortunately such an architectural fuck-up that it functions as a pillar that would make an entire wing of the castle collapse if removed so they decided to just tape its mouth shut.

The treasure hall contains a glass showcase and Maleficia is like "this is a weapon our most treasured warrior Lilia Vanrouge used to decide the course of a battle long ago that saved all of our people" and it's just a wooden stake that still has some dried blood on it and you're like "tf did he kill with this? A vampire?"

There's a secret treasure hall inside of the regular treasure hall and the entrance only opens when you collect parts of a clock from different rooms all over the palace and place it into the large grandfather clock in the treasure hall. The Draconia family and Lilia are the only ones who know this mechanism but it's completely useless because they can just teleport in and out of it regardless. For some unexplained reason they repeatedly forget this and do the super complicated mechanism anyway.

The bookshelves in Maleficias office contain the entire "Draconia Chronicles" where each family member just documented their life experiences and there's Malleus' weird af great granduncle Malgus Draconia who just writes about how he climbed into the piano in the music hall once and met the god of death who gave him a treasure map of the Scalding Sands and sent him on a wild goose chase after a "long lost treasure stolen from Briar Valley" and all he came back with was a weird tree he could supposedly communicate with and a small bust that is most definitely cursed but everyone conveniently ignores the way it makes the castle distort sometimes.

They're just like "oh yeah this happens sometimes no biggie"

The castle has all sorts of hidden passages and one of them leads to a path in a cave that splits in two. One of the paths leads to what Malleus calls "the catacombs" and never elaborates on but you can hear creepy singing coming from it. The other leads inside the mountain to the Draconia family's dragon hoard. Listen. I need you to understand that every member of the Draconia family had a dragon hoard full of jewels and gold. You enter Maleficias' and it's like you're in Kalim's treasure vault. And then you enter Malleus' dragon hoard. And it's just the weirdest fucking place you've ever seen. Because Malleus has a very different definition of what he considers a treasure so you got golden goblets and gemstones lying around right next to parts of GaoGao Dragon-kun he replaced, a macaroni necklace Lilia taught him to make when he was like 7 and some rocks he found at the side of the road when he snuck out of the castle. It's a big pile of everything Malleus has ever owned and especially received from others and whenever he sulks, he just climbs on top of it and lays down.

When Malleus first came to NRC, Lilia and Silver had to convince him that he definitely does NOT need to bring his entire dragon hoard.

"But Lilia, how am I supposed to feel at home in this school if I don't at least bring this 7 feet tall GaoGao Dragon-kun statue I commissioned for my last birthday?"

He was pouting and Lilia was just gesturing wildly like "I don't know how to make this clear to you but this will not fit in your room-"

Speaking of Malleus' quarters....oh boi. Malleus' room at NRC is a temporary residence and thus looks relatively normal but Malleus' room at his castle is a 200 year old testimony to his complete and utter boredom while being locked in the castle for most of his life and it looks exactly like that. The interior design is elegant and princely but there's a whole pin board full of hyper realistic drawings of Malleus and GaoGao Dragon-kun and Lilia flying through the sky over Briar Valley and eating ice cream together and he has Twst Lightning McQueen bedsheets. He doesn't know who Lightning McQueen is, he's never seen the movie, Lilia got these for him 5 years ago from the mall in Shaftlands and Malleus thinks it's another foreign treasure given to him by his guardian. Lilia has also never seen the movie and doesn't know who Lightning McQueen is.

There's a corner where the walls and floor are basically charcoal because it's where Malleus practiced breathing fire as a kid. They've offered renovating it like over 50 times by now but Malleus keeps insisting he "likes it that way because it reminds him of an abandoned building"

There's several stringed instruments including one Malleus just utterly ruined in an attempt to "create his own version of a violin" where he tried to replace the strings with spinning wheel thread.

There are stone equivalents of action figures of the Great Seven and one plastic figurine of GaoGao Dragon-kun from the Twst version of a Happy Meal 12 years ago and a spreadsheet with the tarot readings Malleus made for them. He has a handmade tarot deck where every card is just designed with drawings of thorns and lightning. The Tower looks "accidentally" like one of the towers of his castle.

The wall over his desk has a chalk attempt of Malleus trying to play tic tac toe against himself and failing.

One corner of the room has a pile of gold and jewels he sits on when he doesn't feel like going to the dragon hoard right now.

#twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus #malleus draconia headcanons #crack headcanons #shitpost

[theostrophywife]

in case you’re still doing the smut prompts, i’d be very stoked to read something with nr. 8!! hope you’re having a wonderful day.☺️🌟

into it.

author's note: as you all know by now, i rely heavily on music for inspiration so here's my muse for this request. consider this my present to all of you. happy holidays besties. warning: smut under the cut.

The walls of the Summer Palace shook as you slammed the door with so much force that the entire thing threatened to come off the steel hinges. You were fuming, chest heaving and eyes blazing as you whirled around to face the source of your anger.

“How dare you interfere with my mission?” you huff with indignation, staring up at the cold, stoic expression of the shadowsinger.

Azriel was entirely unmoved by the outburst and it only served to infuriate you further. You’d both been assigned by Rhysand to repair the tenuous alliance between the Night Court and the Summer Court and you were doing a damned good job of charming Tarquin back to your side before Azriel rudely interrupted your lunch with the High Lord.

“It’s our mission. Not yours.” Azriel says coolly, his golden gaze sweeping over you with indifference.

“Funny because it seems like I’m the only one doing the work,” you bite back.

A flash of anger marred Azriel’s otherwise neutral expression, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He straightened to his full height causing the Illyrian warrior to tower a good foot over you as his large, dark wings flared across his back.

“I’d hardly call throwing yourself at Tarquin work.”

You scoffed at the utter hypocrisy of his accusation. “Oh please, like you weren’t out there shamelessly flirting with Cresseida. Are you so unaware of the irony of such a statement or are you truly so blinded by your arrogant misogyny that you fail to see that we are doing the exact same thing?”

Azriel seethed, stalking towards you in three smooth strides. The shadowsinger stepped directly into a beam of sunlight streaming through the open window, his tall, muscled form completely overshadowing your own. You supposed you should've felt intimidated, but as you looked up at his cruel, handsome face, all you felt was pure adrenaline.

In a way that you knew infuriated him, your gaze flickered down to the soles of Azriel’s boots, dragging your eyes to the breezy riding pants that hugged his powerful thighs and toned ass, all the way up to the white, billowing shirt that was left unbuttoned, revealing the sprawling tattoos inked upon his golden brown skin. The fabric did nothing to hide the toned physique hiding underneath and the sculpted planes of his abs peeked through the thin material. He held your stare as you slowly made the ascent to his irritatingly handsome face, never balking as you took in the razor sharp jawline, the full, sensual lips, the strong brows and the fluttering eyelashes that kissed the tops of his perfectly sculpted cheekbones.

Azriel released a frustrated sigh, his breath disturbing the inky dark locks falling over the brightest shade of hazel eyes you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not the same.” He gritted out, taking a step closer towards you. “I didn’t smile at Cresseida.”

You paused, blinking up at the shadowsinger. He clenched his jaw and glowered down at you. The most expressive you’ve ever seen him in all your years of knowing one another.

“Are you honestly that much of an asshole that any display of happiness I exhibit would infuriate you this much?”

Azriel’s laugh was mirthless and devoid of humor. “Are you honestly that clueless as to why that would bother me?”

The words barely registered as your temper got the best of you. Lifting a defiant chin up at the shadowsinger, you dared to poke his chest.

“I’m not fucking clueless.”

Azriel wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Something dangerous and lethal flashed through his eyes. “Yell at me again and I’ll give you a reason to scream.”

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind as your gaze flickered to the grim line of his mouth. Azriel snarled as you inhaled a sharp breath.

Perhaps you’d truly lost your sanity because against all sense and logic, you found yourself baiting the shadowsinger.

“What are you going to do, Azriel? Punish me?”

Azriel backed you up against the wall, his hands coming down on either side of your head as he caged you in. Your heart was beating so loudly that you could practically hear its erratic rhythm echoing in your ears.

“Is that what you want? For me to fuck the brat right out of you?”

Cauldron fucking fry you. The tension was palpable between you and Azriel, permeating in the air and practically suffocating you with the heady sense of lust and desire.

You’ve never been more aroused in your life.

Azriel could sense it in the flush spreading through your chest, the color tinging your cheeks with a rosy flush. You looked so fucking irresistible, but he wasn’t done toying with you. He knew you wanted this, wanted him, but he needed to hear it come out of your pretty little mouth.

His fingers curved around your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet his burning gaze. “It is, isn’t it? Does the thought of me keep you up at night?”

Your eyes fluttered close as his other hand fisted the hem of your dress. His rough, calloused fingers skittered over your leg as he pressed his erection against your midsection. You hissed in response as he hoisted you up, pressing your back against the cold cement.

“I bet you’ve thought about this exact moment with your hands between your legs. Tell me sweetheart, do you touch yourself and wish it were my fingers getting you off instead?”

Despite how accurate he was, you weren’t about to give Azriel the satisfaction. “Don’t flatter yourself, shadowsinger. If the thought of you ever crosses my mind, it’s because you infuriate me like no other. Never in my immortal life have I ever met such a stubborn, hard headed male."

“But you want me just as badly as I want you.”

You huff in indignation, but there was no denying your arousal. It was so potent you were sure Azriel could scent it.

With your pride on the line, you pivoted back to the anger you’d felt only moments ago. “Where do you get off making these assumptions? The absolute fucking audacity—“

Azriel chuckles darkly. “Oh?” His lips skate over the hollow of your throat as you swallow thickly. “So if I were to touch you right now, I wouldn’t find your panties absolutely soaked?”

“No,” you breathed. “Because I’m not wearing any.”

“Fuck,” was all Azriel managed to say before his lips collided with yours.

There was nothing sweet about the kiss. It was rough and punishing, full of need and desperation as his lips melded against yours. Azriel hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his trim waist as he deepened the kiss. Your fingers twine in his hair, tilting his head up towards you while he nipped at your bottom lip. His tongue begged for entrance and you gladly obliged him, moaning into his mouth as he explored every inch of you. Azriel absolutely fucking lost it.

The shadowsinger squeezed your backside and hoisted you up, his kisses skirting over your neck, down to your throat, and into the little crevice of your collarbone. His name fell from your lips like a prayer.

Azriel was a full and complete sentence.

“Keep moaning my name like that and I won’t be able to resist the temptation to fuck you right against this wall.”

You nipped at his earlobe, eliciting a string of curses out of the shadowsinger. “So do it.”

Perhaps it was foolish to challenge Azriel, but you couldn’t fucking help it. You wanted him so badly that every second that he wasn’t inside of you felt excruciating.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Azriel’s silky voice caressed your ears and sent a wave of pleasure through your body.

“You were right. I do think about you. All the fucking time. I get off on the thought of you touching me, but it’s nothing compared to the real thing.” Azriel growls into your neck, sucking harshly at the base of your throat and marking his claim on your skin. “I want you, Azriel. So fucking badly that it hurts.”

“Then take me, sweetheart.”

With those four words, your pride completely disintegrated. You tugged at the front of his trousers, pulling them down hastily while Azriel groaned into your mouth. His cock sprang free from the constraints of the fabric and you licked your lips at the sheer size of him. He was long and thick, so much so that your brain couldn’t quite calculate how you’d take all of him.

But you’d damn well try.

A growl ripped through the shadowsinger’s chest as you gripped his shaft, flicking your thumb over his tip and spreading the bead of precum over his sensitive head. Azriel rested his head on the crook of your shoulder, his hot pants sweeping through your skin.

“Save the teasing for later, baby. I need to be inside of you. Now.”

You whimper in anticipation, watching as the shadowsinger hoisted you over his cock. You braced your hands on his shoulders as he eased the tip in, gasping as you felt his length stretch your walls. Azriel cupped your cheek, brushing the tears from the corner of your eye as he allowed you to acclimate yourself to the pain and pleasure.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers softly. The tone of his voice soothes the sting as his golden gaze locks onto your face. Azriel presses his forehead against yours, kissing you so gently as though he were afraid of hurting you. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good, taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl for me.”

Holy gods. You were so overcome with pleasure that you couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. You took every inch of Azriel’s cock, your pussy hugging around him so tightly that it was a wonder how he didn’t come right then and there.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Feels like fucking heaven, baby.”

You groaned in response, greedily latching your lips onto his collarbone. “Az, please. Wanna feel you.”

“Use your words, angel. What is it that you want?”

There wasn’t a single ounce of shame left within you as you faced the shadowsinger and traced his bottom lip with your thumb. “I want you to fuck me, Azriel. Rough. Hard. Show me how badly you want me.”

“You fucking kill me when you say things like that.”

Azriel doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his mouth is on yours again. He grips the tops of your thighs, pulling his cock out of your pussy before slamming it in all the way. You cried out in ecstasy, clawing at his back to keep you steady, careful not to disturb the beautiful wings at his back.

The shadowsinger thrusts at a steady, relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure, making you writhe and cry and moan all at once. You couldn’t tell where you ended and where Azriel began. The two of you were fused together and the entire thing felt like an out of body experience. At one point you could’ve sworn you were watching yourself getting absolutely railed against the wall while clinging onto Azriel for dear life.

You were entirely shameless as you licked, nipped, and sucked at the expanse of golden brown skin that your lips had access to. Azriel fucked into you and you rolled your hips in tandem as that wicked tongue of his slipped past the seam of your lips and flicked against yours. You sucked hard, fighting for dominance as the shadowsinger moaned into your mouth.

When your fingers grazed the sensitive membrane of his wings, Azriel bucked against you and released a string of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush.

“Fucking hell,” Azriel choked. “I can’t—gods, you feel too fucking good.”

“Don’t stop, Az.” You plead, rolling your hips to take more of him. “I’m so close.” Azriel responds by rutting into you, hitting that sweet spot that had you seeing stars. “Gods, right there. So perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.”

Azriel could feel you clenching around him. It felt divine, the ironclad grip you had on his cock, hugging snugly around him until he was practically melting into your hands was nothing like he’s ever felt before. He squeezed your ass, angling his hips just right so that his tip touched that sweet spot within your walls over and over again.

“Be a good girl and cum for me, sweetheart.”

When his thumb flicked over your clit, you completely lost it. The orgasm was mind-shattering, rocking through your entire body like an earthquake as you buried your head in Azriel’s shoulder. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he thrust hard and fast, moaning your name repeatedly as you felt a wave of euphoria wash over you.

“Holy gods,” Azriel breathed. “Fuck me—”

Those dark, powerful wings of his flared behind him as he came, hard and fast, the orgasm barreling through him like the rushing wind when he took flight. He crumpled to the floor, taking you with him as you both collapsed from the effort. Azriel’s chest rose and fell as you held him against you, the both of you feeling absolutely fucked out and blissful. You toyed with his soft, raven hair, cradling him in your arms as his eyes fluttered open. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen and you decided that it was the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

Azriel blinked up at you, his hazel eyes shimmering like honey in the light. He appraised you in silence, gently tucking a stray dark lock behind your ear. The intensity of his gaze awakened butterflies in your stomach.

“What?” you asked softly, much to the shadowsinger’s pleasure.

“Nothing,” he says with a slight grin. “You’re just so beautiful.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. Azriel felt like someone had taken a fist to his stomach. You were so fucking breathtaking that it was almost unfair.

He traced your lips, his mind committing the sight of your genuine smile into his memory. “Gods, do that again.”

You grinned. An actual, genuine grin. “I’m just smiling.”

“I know,” Azriel says. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Despite the fact that he’d given you the best orgasm of your life just moments ago, the compliment makes you blush. “And to think, all you had to do to see it was to piss me off beyond belief.”

The shadowsinger beamed. He took your hand in his, brushing his lips over the tops of your knuckles. “It was worth it.”

“Because I finally admitted that I’ve wanted you all along?”

“Because you smiled for me.”

#AHHHHHHHH #here's me screaming into the void #azriel smut #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel/reader

[kit-williams]

I want to use the Emperor on his golden throne to fry an egg. I’ll be butchered by the Custodes within seconds but it’ll be worth. Emperor fried egg. :)

If the egg ain’t cooked to perfection then I’m using my final breath to Yeet a second egg at his divine corpse/body/being.

So I remember getting this ask and being very confused... but I put this on the backburner for when I would get around to writing yandere custodes and the necromundan scum, that one of them decided to bring home, named smoothie.

@sculptorofcrimson this is your fault/this is the funny one (again my knowledge of the golden boys is very limited/I struggle to write them)

And you lot get to benefit from it @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon

thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

Smoothie did not like it here... the clean empty inner hallways left nothing for her to scavenge... no place to get food or drinkable water for miles. It was two days before her golden shadow found her dehydrated as she slipped away from him when he had a chance. Adonis only collected her so soon as they were about to release a small swarm of hormagaunts into the imperial palace for practice and Adonis did not like how easily she could slip from his grasp.

Like recently... Adonis felt his fingers clench and unclench as Nicodemus had jested even at how he must have picked up a mindwiped assassin with how easily she could vanish from his grip. But there was something about her that satiated the itch behind his eyes... it sated the desire to feel a crumb of affection back.

Smoothie crawled through the vents moving on padded knees and wearing thicker gloves as she looks around unable to make marks or else they'll figure out where she's going. Everything seemed to narc on her if she tried to make herself comfortable add her own touch to this gawken gawdy golden glitter glamhouse! She looks around as her body starts to tingle and she is certain that she's getting closer to the radiation.

It makes her body tingle... her nose bleed and she needs to get a bit closer to the source till she feels her teeth itch and then she's in the right spot to cook the eggs she stole from the kitchen. Not like she was gonna live very long anyway and if the glamshow that is Donnie and his brothers just casually relaxing with an open source of radiation then she could die faster making something she loved to eat.

"Adonis." One of the Companions said into the coms with a monotone drone that to Adonis belied a hint of amusement.

"Yes?" He replied going over the mental checklist of places to look for her and she rarely went to the same place twice in succession.

"She's in the vents again."

"Of course she is. Thank you Amadeus." He replied slightly between his teeth. If a companion was telling him where she was... he moved quickly.

She saw her 'lover boy' look at her with the most unamused look in his eyes as she just gave a shit eating grin offering him a radaition cooked egg, "Can I offer you an egg my lord?" She snarked at him as one of her eyes was bloodshot and her nose bleeding from even being this close to the golden throne unprotected.

"If I eat it will you come back willingly?" Adonis asked knowing he could just grab her but he hardly delt with such willful... creatures? She was certainly human... just very different from any other... paramour would be a word but so would obsession fit as equally for what this... itches would be.

"I dunno Donnie... I worked so hard in cooking these." Smoothie says peeling the shell away as she took a bite leaving a smear of the neon green lipstick she wore on the white of the egg.

"Smoothie." His augmented voice shakes the air as he does his best not to order her, because that is not what lovers did. But what the supposed ideal versus reality was also another thing to take into account.vHe watches her frown as blood trickles from her nose. She was so much more willful than any of his other paramours obsessions that it confounded him but also greatly excited him.

He is certain that his beloved Lord would have teased him... But then again he and the others would not feel that itching need so often. The pout on her green lips as she crawled closer to him before just putting one to his lips. He ate it, it was simple as he expected it to be.

"Fine we can go. At least before more of my teeth fall out." She says trying to crawl past only for Adonis to hold her to his chest. He moved quicker than she could out of the vents.

She whined as he took her to a rather unused medical area. As it was time to start some treatments to keep at bay the... Side effects of her lifestyle. Adonis had told her that she would be surprised at how much longer she would live around him. He wasn't going to let her fall apart so soon.

#Adonis the Custodes #adeptus custodes #yandere custodes #male yandere #yandere #OC: Smoothie #x reader #unhealthy relationships #unhealthy obsession #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #obsession #warhammer 40k

[satoshi-mochida]

‘Swashbuckler action game’ En Garde! announced for PC

Gematsu Source

Fireplace Games has announced “swashbuckler action game” En Garde! for PC. It will launch via Steam in August. A demo is available now.

En Garde! began as a student project back in 2018. The reception from the community led the team to establish itself as Fireplace Games and recreate En Garde! from the ground up as a full game experience.

Here is an overview of the game, via its Steam page:

About

From the forgotten pages of history, comes Adalia de Volador! Legendary swashbuckler. Dashing adventurer. Hero of the people.

Play as Adalia in her daring escapades full of sword-fighting, satire and shenanigans. Challenge the cruel Count-Duke and oppose tyranny with panache!

Beautifully painted locations, charismatic characters, and an astounding amount of battle banter will transport you to the golden age of swashbuckling comedy!

So, sharpen your sword, grab your boots and hat, and embark on a hilarious, action-packed spectacle!

Key Features

Fencing With Flair – Parry, riposte and lunge your way to victory! Fight with style to fill your Panache Meter and unlock special skills! But you’ll need more than your sword to win the day…

Adapt and Improvise – Challenging, ever-changing fights push you to rely on your cunning and acrobatics to disturb your enemies. Learn their weaknesses to toy with them and express your fighting style.

Experiment with the Environment – Combat areas are playgrounds full of opportunities to create mischief and gain the upper hand. Surprise, stun, or evade enemies with a variety of objects – from rolling barrels to falling chandeliers.

Arena Mode – Unlock zany game-changing modifiers and new fight situations in the arena mode. Play and replay randomized scenarios to test your skill against waves of enemies!

Theatrical Characters – A flamboyant cast dazzles the screen! Adalia and her rivals react to each of your actions, exchanging witty one-liners during the flow of the fight.

Story Episodes – Discover the tales of Adalia, with unique challenges to complete and secrets to uncover. Fight through marketplaces, dungeons and palaces: the world’s a stage for your epic duels!

Award-Winning Passion Project – The game was first prototyped as an award-winning and much-loved student project. The original team has reformed and expanded as Fireplace Games to increase the scope, sweep and grandeur of En Garde!

Watch the reveal trailer below.

Reveal Trailer

#En Garde! #En Garde Game #En Garde #Fireplace Games #Action Game #Steam #Gematsu

[noco-alienau]

Stay Back!

writing below the cut!

The house shook as the impact of the fallen object outside rolled throughout the ground. Items of all kinds were knocked off their surfaces, a few of which shattering as they made contact with the floor.

The animals nearby reacted accordingly, a hairless cat sprinting for the only bedroom while a golden labrador began to bark in the direction of the sudden noise. Cody was the first to leave the dining table, kicking aside the mess that had been made and watching nervously as the source of the ruckus had still yet to cease.

It was a ship of some kind, three mechanical limbs protruding from a saucer-like shape with blaring green lights. Whoever the pilot was, they had very little knowledge over how the machine worked. It rocked awkwardly, stumbling over and finally falling still in the flattened grass.

"Noah, stay inside."

"Cody, what's going on?"

"Just get Daisy and stay inside."

Cody grabbed whatever blunt object he could, a baseball bat, racing towards the exit. This wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. Not now.

He hesitated as he approached the front door, a wave of realization washing over him like a cold rain. This - all of this - should have been forgotten years ago. Why had they returned? He had no significance to them, no importance. Why now, years later when he had finally settled down, did his past catch up to him?

Noah had the dogs collar in his grasp, but he hadn't left his spot. The two had seen the same thing. He wasn't sure what to think of. He didn't get the chance to ask again, his partner leaving for the outside. He could only watch.

A hatch on the side of the ship swung open, a mixture of steam and smoke escaping into the air as it did. An odd scent of dust and dirt spilled alongside, as if the area couldn't get any worse. Two passengers stumbled out and over one another, seemingly fighting.

"Is it really that fucking hard to land?" One hissed. "We've been in training for ages! This is why you pay attention, asshole!"

"This was all last second," the other would argue. "If you know so much about ships, why didn't you fly?"

Their bickering seemed to have no end. Cody inched closer to get a better view of who exactly he was to deal with.

They were relatively tall, both donning similar clothing and features. Their skin was a bright shade of blue, they shared a somewhat similar antenna and tail shape. Both pieces of clothing had a set of stripes to specify their color ranking. It was all too recognizable to the brunette before them.

Their argument came to a quick pause once their eyes settled on the human nearby. Cody grew tense as they approached, lifting his weapon and intending to bash their skulls in. The taller of the two aliens caught it in their claws before any contact was made.

"Cody 6827," he spoke, ripping the bat away. "We have been ordered by the king to return you to your home planet. You have information that he needs."

The boy was stunned. "How did you find me?" He blurted out.

"You had been tagged by your caregivers before you had been sent here. We can explain further once you come aboard our ship. You will be given a temporary room within the palace, so long as you comply."

"If you don't," the shorter alien inched closer, "we aren't arriving back empty handed. Best decide if you want to go there in one piece."

"5728, there is no need for threats."

"Cody?" A voice called. "What is all of this?"

Noah kept his distance from the rest. He was unarmed; something that made his partner more anxious than anything.

"Noah, stay back-"

"Step away, newcomer," one of the aliens warned. "He isn't what you believe for him to be."

"Cody, what are you?"

Noah's tone was unreadable. Was it disgust? Fear? He couldn't tell. There was no point in hiding any longer. No facade he put on could hide the world around him.

Cody's form shifted unnaturally. Two long, green antennas emerged from his hair with a matching tail following suit. Green splotches grew on his skin, although it seemed difficult to get far past this stage. The transformation was visibly uncomfortable. He never intended to reveal this again, and having hidden for so long left certain aspects of his appearance irreparable.

Words couldn't save him now. Cody waited for a response. He was met with nothing but a long gaze.

"Noah, I.. I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner-"

"You should have."

"But you would have thought I was crazy! I didn't.. I didn't want to lose you."

"Cody," the brunette gave an agitated sigh, "that summer camp we met at taught me that even the weirdest shit is possible. This wasn't exactly on my list, but.. guess I need to get back to writing it."

Despite everything, Noah came closer in reassurance of his loyalty to his lover. The green alien's ears perked up. He couldn't have asked for a better partner.

"Besides, there were.. signs."

"Signs?"

"Yeah.. remember that time I caught you breaking into the pantry because I tried to cut off your candy-fix for the night?"

"Yeah. Child locks don't work anymore."

"I learned. Anyway, when I found you, your eyes looked off. Later realized they were glowing. Thought it was the flashlight, but no, you're just.. spacey."

It was nice to see Cody's tooth-gap smile, especially now.

"Are you two done?" The shorter alien called out. "It's either you get in or we'll make you!"

"The king isn't one to wait," the other warned.

"He's only going if I can go, too," Noah stated.

There wasn't a lot of time left to waste. No, neither of the earthlings wanted to leave, but it was all or nothing. It seemed the intruders had a similar mindset.

"Get in," they ordered.

Hesitant but less worried, the couple slowly made their way inside the unidentifiable ship. The many blinking lights, screens, and buttons were a tad bit overwhelming, but they had no choice than to adapt.

"Everything will be fine," Cody told himself. He only hoped it wouldn't be a lie.

Noah and Cody are open for questions!

♡writing done by @plushii-gutz !♡🧸

#total drama #total drama au #noco alien au #cody tdi #noah tdi #noco

[achaotichuman]

Hedonism

Welcome back for day three of Tamlin Week, today's prompt I went with both. Prompts- Flower language, and Mates. Though I used them quite loosely in this fiction.

This oneshot is focusing around Tamlin reconciling with his feelings about Lucien and taking action finally to attempt to fix what he has lost. He has never been good with words, and much less any kind of relationship. But for Lucien he will try. For Lucien he has to try.

You can read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Warning- Explicit Mature Content.

The sun was on the edge of the horizon, a few minutes from slipping below the line of the glittering sea when Tamlin landed in Day. The white marble, sandstone and gold gleamed in the dusk light. A smatter of pinks and yellows smeared over the picturesque city. His own golden hair gleamed in the light. The gold in his eyes like spots of sunlight as he looked upon the Palace of gems and carved marble. 

The guards standing as sentries either side of the large gilded doors shared a glance. Neither showing any signs of recognition when they looked upon the disgraced High Lord. The disappointment of his father, and his father before him. It was a sigh of relief to for once not be seen as the Lord of the Spring Lands. 

Tonight he had braided his hair with forget-me-nots, marigolds and bluebells. Spilling down the plain white shirt he wore. A simple beige coat overtop, and black pants. Daggers nowhere to be seen tonight, only a leather satchel slung over his chest. Gripping the leather strap tightly, he lowered his head and looked through his long, blond eyelashes at the guards. Walking slowly up the stairs. 

“Your business here?” The one on the left, a male dressed in armour from head to toe, but with a peek of dark gold hair underneath his helmet. 

“I am here to see the Lord Lucien Van- SpellCleaver.” Tamlin corrected himself quickly. 

The guards both scrutinised him. But ultimately didn’t seem to think he was lying. Lucien had spies and sources scattered all throughout Prythian, it wasn’t an unlikely story that he was one of those. 

One guard called for an escort to take Tamlin into the Palace. Two new guards flanking him as he was led through winding hallways covered in finary. With statues of females and males lounging amongst their own nakedness, and art of swirling colours hanging from the pristine walls. 

Thesan’s Palace was grander, but Day held a hedonistic, lightly charged sense of finary. That Tamlin didn’t feel he belonged in. Lucien certainly did, the male was the definition of hedonistic. 

With scarlet hair that fell in thick, shiny waves over his shoulders, spilling down his back. Gleaming dark skin that glowed in afternoon sunlight. Amber eyes that shone with tame wickedness, even that scar added a hint of cruelty that only added to roughen his sharp appearance. Making him appear like a freshly sharpened blade. 

With a build made to wield weapons with effortless grace it was no wonder he resembled one. Tamlin looked down at the rolled out carpet across the tiled floors. All swirling gold and white. 

He was a smear of mud in an otherwise perfect painting. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. 

Eventually they faced a large dark oak door. Silence rang through the world, and Tamlin’s hand twitched. The servant, with fluttering wings and dark skin, who had been his escort, knocked three times in rapid succession. 

“Enter.” A muffled voice called, and Tamlin’s heart throbbed against his ribcage. He knew that voice so, so well. 

The delicate wrist of the Day Faery opened the golden handle, and the door swung open. Letting Tamlin take in the dappled sunshine breathing through the large open windows of the office. It was simple, simpler than the rest of the grand palace, but just as tasteful. With white lounges and dark wood furniture. And every wall that was not a window was a display case for dozens, if not hundreds of books. 

Lucien didn’t look up from his desk, as he scribbled away at writing some kind of letter. His slender fingers stained with black ink. A smudge under his eye, and on his cheek. His hair was held back by a red satin band. And he wore a long loose red silk robe with swirls of gold, open over his chest. 

“What is it?” Lucien asked, not looking up. 

“You have a visitor, my Lord.” The servant said, bowing low. 

“I do-” Lucien cut himself short as he finally looked up. 

“Everyone leave.” Lucien ordered, standing up to reveal the loose knot at his waist. 

In a second, the guards and servant scattered out, the door clicking shut behind Tamlin. His heart thundering as Lucien stepped away from behind his desk, robe swishing with every movement. His long hair fluttered behind him, strands of wine red hair glowing dark in the dying sunlight. He stared at Tamin, those glowering amber eyes not looking at his face but rather fixated on the flowers in his hair. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien said, as he made his way to a white lounge. Effortlessly draping himself over the blankets tossed lazily across it. A blank expression in his face, but his eyes revealed the true expanse of emotions hiding behind his false indifference, “What brings you from the South to the Solar Courts.”

“Are we really playing this game?” Tamlin asked with a cocked eyebrow, truly his hands began to tremble, so he folded them behind his back. Lucien’s eyes darted to the motion as a cruel smile slipped over his face, he knew, the bastard always knew. 

“Yes we are.” Lucien murmured, “You ensured it the last time I was in Spring. That we were back to these games.”

The last time Tamlin had laid eyes on Lucien. When they had fought so ferociously, both losing themselves to suppressed anger and the trauma they desperately hid from the eyes of others. Lucien had spat venomous words that in hindsight Tamlin knew he hadn’t meant. But in the moment, they had struck true. 

His magic had lost control once again. Falling prey to the insane beast writhing within him. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d done it all the same. Lucien had left with bruises and cuts, the most prominent of them all a blackened eye. 

Tamlin had run for him, but Lucien was gone with tears in his eyes before he could get a word out. 

“I didn’t mean it.” Tamlin whispered softly, "Truly I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter though does it?” Lucien hissed, “I know you can’t control your magic Tamlin, it wasn’t about the injury. For fuck’s sake, I broke your arm once on accident during sparring. But fucking Cauldron on earth and Mother in sky, I apologised right after.”

Tamlin kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward. Taking everything he said. 

“You’ve taken two years Tamlin, two fucking years. Two years of me thinking everything we had was truly thrown away, and now you come here thinking you can make it alright with an apology?” Lucien stood, gracefully smooth, that scarlet silk caressing his naked skin underneath. 

He said nothing, just waiting, waiting as Lucien watched him with those cunning, sharp eyes. Staring him down like he was deciding whether to ask him to leave or to punch him in the face. Neither Tamlin would have hated him for. 

Lucien waited for his response too, and when it was clear Tamlin wasn’t saying anything. He stalked forward. Head high and eyes locked in on green. The sun’s rays disappearing behind the horizon. 

Tamlin’s eyes trailed up and down Lucien, “Is it thrown away?”

For once during this entire conversation, Lucien looked at a loss for words. As if he had practised this encounter a hundred times over in the mirror, like Tamlin wasn’t following the script he had out, “What?”

“Is it thrown away? Is everything we used to be just,” Tamlin made a flitting gesture, “Gone.”

Silence echoed like thunder through the room. The room began to darken, as the sun was almost fully set. The pinks it left behind slowly dimming and giving way to deep purple and endless midnight blue. 

“I don’t know.” Lucien whispered.

Tamlin didn’t know either, he just knew he had to make this right. One way or another. Find someway to fix this. There was hope, Lucien hadn’t thrown him out yet, he was standing right in front of him. Telling him off as he had done for years. 

In those burning amber eyes, there was want. Lucien had waited for this day, so there must be some part of him that wanted it. 

And Tamlin needed to take advantage of the opportunity he had. To rekindle what they had lost, what in part had been taken from them, and in part he had neglected. 

But there were no words that he had that could fix this. No magic he possessed that could rebuild their relationship right this second. 

So Tamlin instead said something he knew Lucien would want to hear anyway, “The bar down in Summer is closing.”

Lucien blinked at him, surprised once more, Tamlin put the cherry on top, “It’s their last night open, they have a deal going. Three shots for the price of one.”

That bar was owned by two Lords who had moved to working in Tarquin’s Court. Tamlin had known them as long as he had been of drinking age. And knew they had a large supply of cheap alcohol that needed getting rid of quickly.

There was a heartbeat of silence, followed by another. 

Lucien turned on his heel and headed for a door that when it swung open, revealed his sleeping quarters. He slammed the door shut and Tamlin flinched, blinking at the door.

A grin curled on his lips as Tamlin counted in his head. 

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 

The door swung open again and Lucien was fully dressed. Simple and mostly plain. A billowing white shirt with black pants. A golden drop hung from one ear, and a simple necklace with a blood red ruby dangled around his throat. 

“Off we go.” Lucien said, already heading for the door. 

And Tamlin was quick to follow. 

Disappearing from Day, they left the rich smells and salaciously, tasteful erotic air behind. Exchanging it for one of loud ruckus, the reek of cheap alcohol, and smoke thick air. 

Tamlin didn’t bat an eye as he walked from the old, chipped away street just on the outskirts of the Summer Court into the small half-broken door of the bar sitting like a hole in the line of old, old buildings. But from the corner of his eye, he watched Lucien’s back suddenly straighten, his face souring as his nose scrunched and his eyes narrowed. 

This, this felt more like him. Dirty, depraved and awful. A stain on the floor. It wasn’t Lucien though. May have been what he felt like years ago, but now as he had been reunited with his mother, with his brothers. And brought to a place that he clicked like the last piece of a puzzle, it wasn’t him any longer. 

It didn’t stop him though, from walking beside Tamlin into the crowded, roaring bar. 

The Lords of this place had neglected it for a while, leaving it all to be run by the two managers in charge. Once they made their way up the imperial ladder, they were finally closing it down. In all honesty the place was overrun by criminals, and should have been shut down ages ago. 

But the drunk violence, the selfish greed all around, the haze of drugs outlawed by the Court they were in and the unrestricted amount of drinks that poured from the bar, was something Tamlin needed to be able to forget. He knew it was disgusting. He knew he was partially hated by it. But he was a selfish man and that much he could admit. 

Lucien wasn’t though, which was why he seemed so out of place. 

But one thing was for sure. In the depraved darkness of this place, there was only a hunger for something to forget the days before and the days to come. To give in to the young of the night and let the swirling midnight haze sweep through the mind. As such, the formal resentment between High and Lesser Fae slipped away in this place. Turning a mix of cliques. Either those looking for a good fight to work out the tension of their work day, or those looking for a good fuck to work out their unmet need for pleasure. 

So Tamlin and Lucien elbowed their way through both High and Lesser Fae. Until they found two thankfully empty seats right at the bar counter. 

Both quickly stole away a place, and let their heavy selves rest against the countertop. The bartender looked up to see them. A lesser faery named Laurel, with white wings that were tinted pink at the edges. She had pale pink skin and an arrangement of flowers falling from her white hair. Despite the loveliness of her appearance. Laurel was also tall, taller than Tamlin, and stronger than him too. He knew that only because of the time he had drunkenly pushed a male down against the bartop and sucked him off on the spot. That night Laurel had to pick him and the male up and throw them outside. 

She saw them and waved with a big grin on her face. In a second she had three shots poured out and all were in front of them in a second. 

“Tam, long time no see.” She yelled over the crowd. 

“Good to see you too, Laurel!” He told her back, he then clasped Lucien’s shoulder and asked, “You remember Lu, right?”

“Yeah, course I remember Lucy.” She smiled at Lucien who waved back. 

“Yell out when you want more drinks, boys, there's plenty more that needs to go.” She said, then her eyes went to two males getting too rough at a table, “I gotta go sort that out, safe drinking!”

Tamlin laughed as he watched her brace a hand on the counter and swing herself over. Running to separate the two. 

As Tamlin turned around, he saw Lucien pick up the small glass, the clear liquor staring up at him. He knocked it back and winced as he did. But quickly took up the next. Tamlin grabbed his own before Lucien got too carried away. 

They said nothing as they waited for Laurel to be done dealing with the bastards fighting. She hopped back over the counter and wordlessly poured them more, before getting back to her own job, the next three were gone in a moment and this time Tamlin took two shots and Lucien one. 

Slowly, the bar began to quiet down. Turning to a buzz around them as the alcohol began to take effect. Laurel had scared the shit out of the noisiest of the lot, so everyone began to return to their own drinking and hiding in the corners away from her cunning eyes for a quick handjob. 

“So…” Tamlin started, he knew they needed to talk, but he didn’t know how to approach it. 

“Let’s play a drinking game.” Lucien stated, Tamlin blinked. 

Slowly, the blond breathed out, “Okay, what’s the game?”

Lucien lifted his empty shot glass to grab Laurel’s eye, and waited until she poured another three before disappearing again. 

“We talk about this.” He said, “And anytime one of us lies, sugarcoats it, or otherwise tries to hide what we think. You have to take a shot.”

This was dangerous. This was so, so dangerous. 

But if they didn’t do something, Tamlin was going to lose him forever anyway, so. 

Fuck it. 

“Okay.”

“Good, I’ll go first. I hate that I ever met you.”

Tamlin gritted his teeth, as his eyes gleamed. But it wasn’t hatred that curled in his gut, rather a fire that began to stoke itself up and up. 

So that’s how they were to play. 

Fine. 

“I hate that I ever met you.”

A growl loosened from behind the Day Heir’s teeth, “I hate that I learned to care for you at all.”

“I hate that I loved you enough to take you in.”

Lucien gripped the counter, “I hate that I loved you enough to defend you in front of Amarantha.”

“I hate you for going even though I told you time and time again it was a bad idea. That wouldn’t keep your mouth shut.” Tamlin carved a line in the counter with his claw, leaning back on the stool. 

“I hate you for coming after me right before I could finally let you go.” Lucien said, staring into the old chipping wood. 

“I hate that I didn’t force you to the continent when Amarantha struck.” Tamlin whispered. 

Lucien swallowed, “I would never have gone. And if you forced me it would have made me hate loving you more.”

“We are a tragedy, and it’s all my fault.” Tamlin breathed out. 

“No, it’s not.” The redhead told him, “It’s not all your fault.”

“Every scar you have is because of me, I mutilated you.” Tamlin told him. 

“No.” As soon as the word slipped from his mouth, Lucien reached over and took a shot. Throwing his head back, the red of his hair all slipped down his back. Throat bobbing as he swallowed. He slammed the glass back onto the counter and wiped his mouth aggressively, “Every scar I have is because of you. And it’s because of how much I fucking love you.”

“I hate you because I can’t fucking hate you!” Tamlin yelled, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut so tightly they pulsed with pain.

“Well I hate you because no matter what, I can’t forget who you were to me. You are everything in me. You’re twisted around me, I can’t even look at a fucking tree without thinking of you!” Lucien stood up to look at him. 

“I hate there was nothing I could do.” A tear spilled down over Tamlin’s face, “I hate that no matter what, no matter who tells the story, there were so many times where there was nothing else I could do. I already begged Amarantha to spare you, I already tried to get you away from your brothers. I couldn’t stop what she did to your eye.”

Lucien whispered, “I hate that I couldn’t make it all stop. I hate that I couldn’t help you.”

“I hate that I made it so hard for you.” Tamlin murmured back, “I hate that in the end you even stopped yelling at me. You used to do that everyday.”

For once, a smile slipped over Lucien’s face. One pure and real and genuine. 

“We haven’t lost it all.” Lucien said, sitting back down, “We aren’t all gone.”

“What else can we do?” Tamlin asked. 

Lucien didn’t respond as he took another shot. Tamlin followed suit. As he did his head spun and the light in his eyes swam. 

Then he felt a pair of hot hands on his shoulders, making him turn to face Lucien. The male seemed closer than before. As if he had moved his chair across to be nearer. 

“I remember your hair.” Lucien whispered into the space between them, “I remember how much you liked me brushing it, or braiding it, or weaving flowers into it.”

He was silent then, as his index finger lifted to curl a fallen lock of blond strands around it. 

“I remember your skin.” Tamlin told him, “I remember each and every mark and freckle. And how you shiver when I run my finger down your neck like this.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the longing for his friend back, or even the repressed sexual need. Perhaps all three. Either way, Tamlin boldly moved his hand, trailing his fingers down from Lucien’s jaw, over the sensitive flesh of his dark throat, as expected, as he touched, Lucien shuddered. His soft, supple skin prickling underneath his fingertips. 

Tamlin stopped at the edge of his collar. Then let his hand fall away, before he rasped, “I remember that night right here, when I took you on the counter and we got thrown out because of it.”

Lucien’s breath was sucked from him, as his pretty face, all flushed pink from alcohol. Darkening in colour as he too remembered that night. 

Because Lucien was the male Tamlin sucked off that night. Too many drinks in, laughing and grabbing at each other. Getting hot and riled up. Lucien’s hot hands had slid over his shirt, eventually finding underneath the fabric. Tamlin’s mouth pressed into his neck, and large hands went up and down his thighs. Both had come to some kind of agreement not long before, that they explore the parts of them they had never been able to before. The parts that made them stare a little too long at the training sentries, the parts they had been told time and time again to hide in shame. 

Then, they had gone further in their explorations than ever before. Lucien’s hands found his chest and started groping him while whispering every dirty thought that went through his pretty head. And Tamlin lost his mind. 

In a haze of what must have been stupidity, drunkenness and pure lust. He pushed Lucien back onto the bartop, Lucien’s nimble fingers had unlaced his trousers in a second to spare them from being ripped by Tamlin’s claws. 

Tamlin’s body, running entirely on lust, had moved quicker than his thoughts. His head had gone down, and before he could even process his own actions, silky skin pierced his lips and flooded his mouth. Filling his throat as his eyes had rolled back. Lucien’s head had thrown back, moaning as he grabbed Tamlin’s hair and fucked up into his mouth. 

After being thrown out, they hadn’t talked of that day again, but Tamlin had never forgotten it. And from the wide-eyed look on Lucien’s face, he hadn’t forgotten it either. 

“Tamlin.” Lucien released his breath so carefully slow. Holding onto his control as much as he could. 

“Yes?” Tamlin ducked his head, pressing his lips to the same spot he had all those decades ago. 

“Mm, fuck.” Lucien bit his lip as his head tipped to the side. 

This was so dangerous. They shouldn’t be doing this. After everything that had gone down they shouldn’t be doing this. 

It just made Tamlin want it more.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Lucien’s skin. Before his tongue darted out and drew a line up to his jaw, before he bit into his skin. A sudden noise left Lucien’s throat, and those hot fucking hands moved. Lucien pulled Tamlin’s shirt out of his pants and immediately went under. Sliding up his skin and finding his nipples. Rolling the stiff buds between his fingers, pinching roughly. Tamlin groaned into his neck and bit down on the fleshy part of his neck and shoulder, harder than he meant too. Causing Lucien to squeeze his eyes shut as he suddenly jolted and moaned. 

One of his hands started groping Tamlin, while the other tugged his hard nipple. Leaning close to Tamlin’s ear, he whispered, “I remember how you moaned like a bitch when I did this.”

Suddenly, Lucien bit the tip of Tamlin’s very, very sensitive ear, and the blond Faery cried out. Trying to muffle himself on Lucien's shoulder. His hands went to Lucien’s thick thighs and started squeezing the hard muscles there. As he mouthed at his neck. 

Lucien licked up and down along the point of his ear, teasing the skin with his talented tongue. All the while his fucking fingers played with his nipples, hands occasionally swapping sides, one to grope, one to toy with the buds. 

“I hate how fucking hot you are.” Lucien breathed out. 

“That’s a lie.” Tamlin pointed out with a grin, “Take a shot.”

Lucien leaned back a little, regarding Tamlin with a fox’s smile, “Wicked.”

“Not as much as you.” Tamlin replied. 

Lucien licked his lips, as he slid his hands out. Making Tamlin shiver at the loss of contact. Moving to quickly lean over the counter, he snatched the bottle of alcohol from where Laurel had briefly left it to deal with another rowdy crowd. Lucien poured himself a shot. Then slowly brought it to his lips. Watching Tamlin over the rim as he took the liquor in his mouth, and swallowed. His pretty throat bobbing up and down as the contents of his glass were drained away. 

The fox kept his eye contact as he put the glass down, the second his fingers were away from it. Tamlin was on him. 

Pushing off his own seat, he practically climbed into Lucien’s lap in his desperation to get those hot lips on his own. Grabbing his face, their mouths met. Both moaned into each other. Lucien grabbed the back of Tamlin’s head with one hand, then slipped his other back up his shirt. At the same time he started pinching and groping again, he pulled the High lord’s hair hard. 

Tamlin whimpered into Lucien’s mouth, as he slipped Lucien his tongue. Causing the male to groan and pull his hair harder, the flowers falling out as his braid came undone. 

His hair had grown wildly longer since they had last been together. As it untangled it fell down to his thighs. Lucien smiled against him as he slipped his hand underneath all that hair and held onto the base of Tamlin’s neck. 

Tamlin grabbed a fistful of pretty red hair, desperately needing something to hold onto, to anchor himself. Biting down on Lucien’s bottom lip, then sucking the flesh. 

As his skin grew hotter and hotter he felt something hard pressing against his own growing bulge. Tamlin moaned as he started grinding his covered cock against Lucien’s. Making the younger hiss as he held Tanlin tighter, pushing them harder together.

They pulled back enough that both could catch a breath, Tamlin breathed out, half-dazed and barely able to form a coherent thought except for one, “Fuck me.”

“Fuck yes.” Lucien said quickly. 

“Get. Out.” Tamlin and Lucien were quickly torn from their lust induced trance as they snapped their gaze around to see Laurel glaring so horribly at them. 

Tamlin was half about to ignore her, when Lucien grabbed the back of his thighs, and lifted him off the chair as he stood. Tamlin quickly wrapped his arms around the back of his neck, and Lucien shouted an apology as they both stumbled out to the entrance. 

Lucien was strong, strong enough to give Tamlin a good fight, and it seemed he had only gotten stronger. Of course, Tamlin also knew he was a lot lighter, having been living off of scraps every couple of days for two years. 

Getting out into the darkness, the warmth of Summer was sticky all around them, despite the sun having gone down at least an hour ago. 

Tamlin grabbed Lucien’s hair, kissing him sloppily as they both grinded and panted against each other, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Lucien forced his mouth away and stared up with glazed eyes. For a moment, their spinning worlds came to a sudden stop as they looked into each other and for the first time in a lot longer than just two years, they truly saw into the other. Saw them for who they were and every broken piece underneath. 

Tamlin cupped Lucien’s face with both his hands, at the same time Lucien squeezed his thighs harder. 

In that second, in that moment of stillness, Tamlin realised one thing. 

They had seen each other at their absolute worst. Broken, destroyed, taken apart and forced to keep going. They had scraped through life by each other’s side for so long. The bond they had ran deeper than just the friendship they showed. It was a deep understanding of what the other had been through, something that no one else in their life understood. Something they all never would. 

But they knew. In their small world, Tamlin and Lucien knew. Better than anyone else ever could. 

“I’m sorry.” Tamlin whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know.” Lucien whispered back, before pressing such a sweet and gentle kiss to his lips. 

In a second, they were in Summer, and the next rich smells and charged air were filling Tamlin’s lungs once more as they winnowed to Day. 

Their lips crashed together once more. And Tamlin moaned as Lucien gently set him down on the floor again. Immediately their hands started roaming, desperate to get underneath each other’s layers. 

As Tamlin tried to pull Lucien’s shirt off, considering simply ripping it. Lucien grabbed both his wrists and held them together as he dragged him back into his bedroom. 

Tamlin barely got time to look around. Just noticing the blinds were thrown open, the doors to a balcony open, allowing in the soft night breeze. The bed was covered in a myriad of soft pillows, red and gold silks. Then Lucien was shoving him back onto the bed. Tamlin pulled his wrists free, but Lucien crawled up after him, as Tamlin pulled himself back, until he was amongst the pillows. 

Lucien pushed himself on top of Tamlin. Both thighs bracketed around his own. The Heir of Day, then grabbed both Tamlin’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Tamlin squirmed at the restraint but Lucien whispered, “Be a good boy and stay still.”

“Fuck, Lucien-”

“Wanna get fucked tonight?” He asked with a cruel tint to his voice, “Stay still.”

Tamlin huffed, blowing out his cheeks, but obeying and keeping his hands above his head. Lucien smiled, looking down at Tamlin like he was proud, “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” Tamlin said, whole body turning red as arousal shot through his body like poison. 

Lucien’s hands left Tamlin’s, and the area was left feeling cold, which Tamlin fought to not whine over. Before his attention was quickly captured by something else. 

Lucien’s hands went to his belt, quickly undoing it and pulling out the leather. Then he leaned back over Tamlin and grabbed his wrists once more. In a few seconds, he skillfully locked Tamlin’s wrists together. Tamlin couldn’t help the whine that left his throat when he felt the leather tighten on his skin. 

“Good boy.” Lucien whispered again, sitting back as he looked down at Tamlin. Restrained, flushed and panting. 

“Are you just going to sit there all night?” Tamlin taunted, “Or are you going to do  something?”

Lucien laughed, “Oh really? You want me to do something Tam?”

Frustration welled in Tamlin’s chest and at the same time his heart leapt at the familiarity in the nickname, “Yes, god, please.”

A grin curled on Lucien’s face as he then snapped his fingers, and in a second the rumpled dishevelled clothes plastered to Tamlin’s skin were reduced to ash from flames. It didn’t hurt in the slightest, only a light tingle of sudden warmth danced across his body. 

Now completely open and exposed to the midnight chill. Tamlin’s skin prickled, as his nipples began to ache from lack of attention, and at the same time blood rushed down and his cock began to throb in time with his heartbeat. Even still, he tried to not move as Lucien observed him. 

Amber eyes dark in the minimal light. Lucien slid his tongue over his lips before he moved one hand up. His fingers circling Tamlin’s left nipple, making Tamlin squeeze his eyes shut, and bite down on his tongue. 

“So pretty,” Lucien breathed, as those damning fingers pinched the bud. Rolling it gently. 

Tamlin couldn’t stop as his back arched. Eyes rolling back at receiving the attention he so desperately craved, he moaned as his mouth fell open. 

“And responsive.” Lucien noted, watching like a predator. 

“Fucking… Mother dammit.” Tamlin managed to say, even as he was losing himself to each and every touch. 

All of a sudden, Lucien took away his hand and it took Tamlin biting his inner cheek hard enough he nearly drew blood to not whine. 

“Alright, I’ve had my fun, I’ll fuck you now.” Lucien announced as he reached over to a nearby nightstand. 

“Finally.” Tamlin said, head pushing back into the pillow behind him. 

Lucien opened the first drawer, and reached in, pulling out a clear glass cork top bottle of thick oil. He moved and sat back on his heels as he easily opened the bottle. 

“Spread your legs,” He ordered as he poured out the thick liquid onto his fingers. 

Tamlin was quick to obey this time. Watching with poorly contained excitement as Lucien put the bottle back on the nightstand and slipped his fingers between his open thighs. Pressing one digit against his hole, Tamlin sucked in a harsh breath that followed Lucien murmuring, “Good boy, you’re doing so well.”

Tamlin cursed under his breath again, body beginning to throb as fire climbed higher and higher in his core. Lucien pushed his finger in further, gently exploring, as Tamlin wrapped his legs around his waist. Needing to hold onto him in some way. 

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, Lucien grabbed one of his thighs and forcefully spread his legs open, keeping them wide set as he smoothly thrusted his finger in and out. 

“You can take a little more.” Lucien whispered into the darkness between them. The words were nearly lost to Tamlin, his mind altered by pleasure and alcohol. 

Lucien pressed another finger inside, working it in slowly, until he was thrusting his two fingers in and out. Followed by three, working quicker and quicker as his own desperation built. 

Tamlin was a moaning mess below him, gasping for breath, and moving his hips as Lucien spread his fingers, the searing stretch making his hips jut up and his back arch. 

“Fuck, Lucien.” Tamlin moaned. 

“So fucking tight.” Lucien mumbled, seemingly lost in a daze, Tamlin didn’t know whether he was talking to him or to himself. 

Either way, Tamlin felt himself go redder as that fire built. Then Lucien twisted and curled his fingers and brushed some spot inside him that made his toes curl as he cried out. Pulling at his restraints, he bucked back against Lucien’s fingers, desperate for him to hit that spot again. 

Leaning down over him, Lucien pressed his lips to Tamlin’s. The blond males/’s eyes went wide, his tension causing Lucien to quickly back track, but before he could get too far away. Tamlin wrapped his arms around his neck and crashed their lips together again. Laughing into his mouth, Lucien snaked the hand not fingering Tamlin open, around to the back of his neck. Holding onto him tightly. 

Eventually Tamlin got impatient. As they pulled away to gasp for breath, a string of saliva connecting their lips, he said, “Hurry up.”

Lucien, dazed, flushed and panting, just nodded. Falling to the same need crashing over them. Pleasure pulsed in hot waves through both their bodies, rolling through their cores as Lucien finally dragged his trousers over his hips. Grabbing both of Tamlin’s knees he pushed them up until he was able to push the tip of his hard, weeping cock to the High lord’s slickened entrance. 

The red head crashed over Tamlin again, kissing him desperately as he sank in. Wrapped in each other, limbs like knots. Kissing, sucking and moaning. Tamlin arched up, and Lucien wrapped his arms around his back, pressing them together. Sliding in until he bottomed out. They remained still for a moment, catching their breath as Tamlin adjusted to the feel. 

His chest rising and falling rapidly, Tamlin felt the strands of Lucien’s scarlet hair tickle his throat as he looked up. Opening his green eyes, Tamlin looked up to see Lucien not looking down at him but rather at the open window. 

“What are you-” Tamlin turned his head, and his breath hitched as his eyes went wide. 

The balstrode, the doors, climbing into the room like roots stretching out, where dozens of vines of bleeding hearts, flowering pink. Tamlin looked back up at Lucien who had turned to stare at him. 

Something wet like warm rain fell down the side of his eye and soaked the sheets below. Lucien whispered something that may have been his name but Tamlin couldn’t hear it properly to know. He just knew that the red head leaned down and pressed their lips together. This kiss wasn’t frantic or heady. Steady and chaste. Though setting his body as fire just as much, if not more. 

No words were spoken, Tamlin was glad for it, if he did speak he might break from the thick emotion surrounding them. Clouding his thoughts till they were a jumbled mess of memories and guilt. 

He wanted to just.. Float away from his body forever. 

Lucien seemed to think something similar, he didn’t even try to open his mouth to talk. But he did press another kiss to his lips. Then to his cheek, then down his neck. 

He pulled out just to the tip, then sank back in again. And all at once Tamlin was lost to bliss. 

The sun woke him up, warm and rich like golden syrup. It spread over his skin, casting him in the glow. Tamlin blinked against the rays. Shifting slightly as he tucked his foot back under the covers, freezing from being out. He sighed in content into the mass of chest his face was buried in. His arms around Lucien’s waist, and his around Tamlin’s back. 

Head rolling back, Tamlin started to untangle their legs carefully to stretch out the sore muscles. In the jostling somewhere, Lucien awoke. Tamlin watched as the male slowly came back to consciousness, amber eyes dimmed from sleep but growing brighter as the sun came up. The gold turning to something like liquid sunlight. Tamlin half smiled at the sight, for a moment basking in the glory of waking up like this. No matter how dirty the sheets were and how messy their skin was. This didn’t compare to anything. 

“Morning.” Tamlin rasped, his throat a little sore. All at once a headache popped in his skull and he groaned. It wasn’t too bad, but enough that he wanted a tonic for it. 

“Morning.” Lucien repeated. Pulling himself away from Tamlin, who nearly whined at the loss. 

Sitting up on the bed, propping himself against the headboard, Lucien looked down at Tamlin, “We going to talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Tamlin replied, half-dismissively. 

Lucien just raised an eyebrow and Tamlin folded. 

“I don’t want to lose you.” The golden male admitted, “it’s been torment not having you there at all.”

“You never lost me, Tam.” Lucien told him, “Never.”

“I fucked us up though.” He said. 

Luien shrugged, “A lot of what happened was circumstance and… other’s actions. But yeah, you did fuck a lot up.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Tamlin asked, “What do I need to do to get you back?”

Lucien smiled at the sheets over his lap, “Look at us Tam, you have me back.”

“I don’t deserve it though.”

“We both don’t deserve a lot. Besides,” Lucien looked over to the High lord, “You’ve more than paid the price. What other rock bottom could I ask you to hit?”

Shuffling up, Tamlin leaned against the headboard. Staring at the opposite wall. 

“There’s a lot of shit both of us need to deal with, Tam. We don’t have to get it all done in one morning.” Lucien reminded him. 

“I wish we could. I wish I could.” He whispered. 

Lucien reached out, his fingers brushing over Tamlin’s knuckles, before tangling their fingers together, “But we can’t, so we'll take it all one step at a time.”

Tamlin closed his eyes as he smiled, “One step at a time.”

Lucien hummed and rested his head on Tamlin’s shoulder. 

In that sacred, holy moment, something heavy and hateful just seemed to… disappear. Like all it took to get rid of it was the words they exchanged. 

Tamlin knew it was deeper than that. That last night they had reverted back to who they were before all this, just for a moment. He knew more than anyone they couldn’t live off that high forever. He had tried that with Feyre, and now look where it got him. 

His free hand moved to gently thread through waves of crimson. 

He’d take advantage of this, they’d both been living off of the high of pleasure for far too long. Now they would build something stronger than ever before, something that would withstand the test of time, magical bonds, evil Queen and Kings. 

They’d make something built off of love. Not from hedonistic highs.

“Bleeding hearts right?” Lucien murmured. 

“Hm?” Tamlin questioned, then Lucien pointed him once more in the direction of those flowering plants. 

Tamlin groaned and flopped down, causing Lucien to fall atop him. They both laughed suddenly. Lucien giggled, burying his face into Tamlin’s shoulder. 

Tamlin threw an arm over his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Lucien’s face. 

“What do they mean again?” Lucien mockingly questioned, “Wasn’t it… passionate love, and romance?”

Tamlin rolled his eyes, but moved them so Lucien’s head was laying on his bicep. And Tamlin’s fingers threaded through his hair once more, “Yes, and it can mean unrequited love and a broken heart.”

Lucien’s teasing smirk faded away into something like awe, his eyes beginning to line with tears. Tamlin smiled softly, his thumb reaching out to brush them away from his eyes. 

His fingers shinny with the drops, Tamlin held his hand between them, and whispered, “Then there’s camellias for love, adoration, longing, devotion and care.”

As he whispered the words, a pretty, perfect, pink camellia flower grew from the palm of his hand. Lucien’s eyes went wide with wonder, once again filling with tears that dripped down his face and onto the petals of the new bloom. 

Tamlin leaned over and brushed a kiss to his forehead, “I will try, I promise.”

“I love you.” Lucien whispered. 

“I love you.” Tamlin whispered back. As Lucien wrapped his hands around Tamlin’s holding the camellia and pressed their mouth together. 

Like young blooms in spring, unfurling the cold, misty mornings. Something rich and golden. Filled with immeasurable hedonistic pleasure, filled them both to the brim, spilling over like the wine of a glass. It ran over them like roots and vines held desperately to what they clung too. Like new plants finding their way into life. 

A perfect melding of hearts intertwined. Heavy, rich and luscious, with young, airy and abloom. 

Something so opposite, yet sliding together so easily. 

The mating bond did not ‘snap’ as the many stories went. It bloomed. 

@tamlinweek

#acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #tamcien #tamlin x lucien vanserra #acotar au #acotar headcanons #tamlinweek2024 #tamlinweek

[journeytothewestresearch]

Bad FSYY English translation

The four-volume Library of Chinese Classics bilingual edition of Creation/Investiture of the Gods (Fengshen yanyi, c. 1620) published in 2000 is the only full-length translation of the story available in English. I've had a PDF of the entire set archived on my external blog since May of 2020. It is serviceable for the general reader, but it is not great for hobbyist researchers like myself.

I'd like to provide an example showing how it is not very accurate and/or comprehensive. Chapter 12 describes how young Nezha inadvertently causes havoc in the underwater realm when washing himself in a river with a powerful magic sash. This eventually leads to Li Gen (李艮), a yaksha water-spirit soldier, to attack him with an ax. Gu Zhizhong's (2000) translation reads:

Nezha, naked and empty-handed, dodged the vicious blow, raised his Universal Ring and struck Li Gen on the head. How could the Yaksha withstand the magic weapon from Fairy Primordial! His skull broke open and he fell dead on the river bank (Gu, 2000, vol. 1, p. 239).

However, the full Chinese reads:

Standing there naked, Nezha dodged the advancing warrior's attack and upraised the Universal Ring in his right hand. This treasure was originally bestowed by the Jade Emptiness Palace of Mt. Kunlun to the Perfected Man of the Grand Monad to secure the items of his Golden Light Cave. How could the yaksha withstand the magic weapon as it struck downward on his head? His brains exploded from the blow, and he fell dead on the shore. 哪吒正赤身站立，見夜叉來得勇猛，將身躲過，把右手套的乾坤圈望空中一舉。此寶原係崑崙山玉虛宮所賜太乙真人鎮金光洞之物，夜叉那裏經得起，那寶打將下來，正落在夜叉頭上，只打的腦漿迸流，即死於岸上。 (I don't consider myself a translator, so please forgive any errors.)

You can see that quite a bit of information was left out. This happens throughout the entire novel. This makes me angrier the more that I think about. Why even bother to translate something if you are only going to paraphrase or even skip over passages? It seems like a pointless enterprise.

Source:

Gu, Z. (2000). Creation of the Gods (Vols. 1-4). Beijing: New World Press.

#Creation of the Gods #Investiture of the Gods #Fengshen yanyi #FSYY #English translation #bilingual #Nezha #Third Prince #Lotus Prince