#the counsel of high sorcerers or whatever they are

[asuyaka]

Hello Hello!!📞 Hope ur having a wonderful time zone, author I just wanna say that I have read 2-3 of ur writings and I alr love it! Keep it up! ur writing's amazing.💗 I was wondering if I could request a Geto from jjk fic about him with a Curse! M reader, not a curse user, a literal curse like Mahito. But unlike Mahito the reader doesn't understand human emotions and from observing Geto (after he betrayed jujutsu high and became a cult leader) think's that its normal to kill and hate non-sorcerer's. Reader just sticks around in the shadow's and watches Geto and observer's his behavior until Geto notices and question's reader but after learning that, oh shit this curse is actually pretty powerful he might actually be useful, and promises reader to teach him about human's in exchange of him staying by Geto's side and helping him in his goal. Geto (as time passes) fall's in love with reader while reader get's this feeling that he can't understand when he's with Geto. sorry if this is a lot to ask and if u don't understand what i meant, u can just ignore me and my rambling😅

★ - s'okay lovely, descriptive reqs are jus as interestin' as non descriptive ones! <3

☆ - Cult Leader! Suguru Geto x Curse! M Reader!

♡ - typical Geto stuff! racist ta non-sorcerers, n tha word 'monkey' s'used one too many times (toji only said it once, by that way.)!

Geto remembers finding you— a curse who's stuck by his side ever since he deflected from the Jujutsu world— letched onto the side of a very popular road for couples to hang out and do whatever it was that couples do.

The very first time you two met, he remembers your soft voice, body radiating heaps of untapped cursed energy—untapped potential. Your curled up body, eyes void of emotion looking up at him with something that resembles confusion. "You can see me?"

Ever since then, you've been stuck to his side. While he doesn't think of you as useless, it has taken a bit too long for the potential— the strength he wants to see from you come out.

He's willing to wait, of course, he needs all the help he can get before initiating his plan against Jujutsu High, but there's only so much patience one man can have.

Especially, a man who's already running low on time.

You're accompanying Geto on a trip to a 'money-collecting monkey', as he likes to call them. They went back on their payments to the...cult (?) home (?) and he came to give them some 'personal counseling'—which was what he always said when blood was more than likely to be shed.

"Remember why we're here, [Name]," Geto says as he gets off his manta-ray curse, extending his hand to help you.

You stare at him, muttering a small thank you. "Help the monkey?"

Geto pushes his arms into his sleeves with a smile that makes your tummy churn in discomfort. "And?"

"Work on my cursed technique..." You mutter, kicking a pebble on the ground with an unseen pout working its way on your face. Ever since Geto quite literally found you on the side of a road, you've been his right-hand man ever since. Even if your understanding of cursed techniques and cursed energy is slim to none.

You've always understood in the back of your mind that he needs you for something. He had to—otherwise, he would've turned you into a ball and swallowed it on the spot. He always says how you aren't necessarily a bad curse, but he's never said you were good either.

You've never understood what he meant by that, but by the way Nanako grimaced whenever he said it, you assumed it wasn't a good thing. Without knowing, the pout grew into a frown and you found yourself huffing. Humans and their weird emotions always intrigued you ever since you were born, but you could never understand it.

Which is why you've been with Geto for so long. He's the first human who acknowledged your presence, the first human to act (kind, was it?) around you, so by process of elimination he was your first and only candidate to learn from.

When you two reached the house you overhear Geto whisper something about how the stench of monkeys would get everywhere.

'... Monkeys = bad people, they make Geto angry.' You think to yourself as you rummage through the pockets of the clothes Geto lent to you, bringing out a small spray bottle and handing it to the male beside you.

The action seems to take him by surprise. His smile falters and he stares at the item in your hand for a beat too long, grabbing it with a 'thank you' and spraying it on his clothes with a tight expression.

"Come here, you aren't getting monkey on my curses, or around the house." Geto waves you over, spraying a generous amount on your clothes and on your face. The spiciness takes you by surprise, spluttering as you try to get the taste off your mouth and the burn out of your eyes.

Surprisingly—shockingly even, you hear Geto laugh. It doesn't sound like the one he uses around the curse-collecting or money-collecting monkeys, it sounds like the one he uses around Nanako and Mimiko.

'Geto laughing = good. He's happy or excited.'

The laughing stops but he brings up a finger to wipe the tear that fell down your cheek during the sting. His hands are slightly calloused but soft to the touch. "Come on, let's get this over with. I'd rather stay away from monkeys on my weekends."

Nodding, you follow behind Geto as he walks up to the door, planting three brisk but firm knocks against the wood. You make sure to stay a step behind him, your body stiff and your eyes blank in case the monkey decides to try anything.

The door opens a slither a pair of green eyes widening the second they see you and Geto. "G-Geto-san! What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Good afternoon to you as well, Mr. Ashido. From my understanding, you're to fund my organization with three hundred thousand yen a month, am I correct?" Geto smiles, but it doesn't feel nice like when he smiles at you.

'Monkeys make Geto's smile weird. All monkeys are bad.'

The man nods shakily, his grip on the door faltering slightly. "Y-yes, but I cannot make up with the payments anymore because—"

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, Mr. Ashido, but you were the one who said three hundred thousand, am I correct?" Geto interrupts with a slight movement of his head, his signature bang moving with it.

"But Mr. Geto—"

Then, Geto's smile falls. His nose scrunches up in disgust and his eyes narrow. That means he's going to kill someone.

Before either of you knows what's happening, a surge of cursed energy flows into your hand, and the man's body squishes onto the ground until it pops as if the gravity on his body somehow quadrupled.

Geto's eyes widen, staring at the eyeball that rolled on the tip of his sandals. He turns to look at you, equal parts shocked and amused. "You did that, didn't you?"

"Monkeys are bad, and you looked like you were going to kill him anyway. I'm sorry for acting out of line G—"

"Don't you dare apologize for that." Geto interrupts with a sharp cut to his tone, making you stutter and trip over your words.

'Don't apologize, Geto gets angry. Angry = bad emotion.'

You nod hastily, but the nagging feeling to apologize stretches along your throat, itching to come out. Geto huffs, walking down the stairs and dragging you by the collar. "Seriously, the one time I take my eyes off you, you go change the actual laws of space on a guy?"

"Sor—" You stop yourself midway, remembering how apologies made Geto feel. You opt to stay silent and let him drag you wherever it is he wants to.

As you and Geto ride back home on the manta-ray curse, you see the smile on his face from earlier still hasn't left.

'Killing monkeys makes Geto give Nanako and Mimiko smile. Feels better than what he uses with sponsors.'

"Did I do good, Geto?" You ask absentmindedly, shifting closer to him until your chest is pressed against his back.

Something that resembles a laugh comes out of him, but it seems airy. Still genuine, but not as hard as when he sprayed you in your face. "Yes, [Name]. You did well."

A slight flush and embarrassment creeps up on you, causing you to plant your face on his shoulder. It didn't feel bad, just new. The same thing you feel whenever Geto falls asleep on your shoulder, or when he and you stay on his flying curse for hours at a time, doing nothing but basking in each other's presence.

It feels great, and you're glad to be feeling it with the only human you would put your life on the line for.

#ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 — ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴ' ᴍᴀɴɢᴀ #⋆｡𖦹 — ​ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ​ #013 #★: anon! #jjk x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #male reader #x male reader #geto x male reader #suguru geto #geto suguru #suguru x male reader #suguru x reader #geto x reader

[tinietaehyun]

Forsaken [VI]

[Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader] [Series] [Chapter Six]

Pairing: Sorcerer!Taehyun x Royal!Reader [Ft. Prince!Beomgyu]

Genres: Royal!au, fantasy, romance, angst, fluff, supernatural, action, enemies to lovers.

Contains: Profanity, manipulative behaviour, mentions of illness, poison, dialogue-heavy.

Links: Forsaken Masterlist || Masterlist

Summary: Things seemed to be going rather smoothly now, despite this, you had an underlying feeling of uneasiness, it was going too smoothly. You also felt rather curious, what was your handsome companion’s past? Why was he so reluctant to open up?

Regardless, you were on target. You’d work together with Prince Beomgyu and be set to wage against your tyrant brother! Though it seems some underlying issues seemed to have slipped your mind.

Well, no one ever said things would be easy, just not…impossible. You come to the haunting realisation you were stuck in a web of deceit.

The quiet chatter and flapping of paper resound out in the Sorcerer’s Tower as the young apprentices read through their notes and books each with wand in hand reciting spell after spell.

Yeonjun stands proud, his gaze flickering between each apprentice and their techniques; his arms crossed and brows furrowed in concentration. This time he doesn’t adorn his cloak and stands in front of a large, crinkled spell book (which seemed to have seen better days.)

This was Yeonjun’s father’s prized possession and now it was his own prized possession. This beloved book contained drafts of new possible spells and was a collection of older spells. He would not let a single soul touch this book or peer inside. Albeit, this spellbook’s author - most thought it was Yeonjun’s father; that was far from the truth.

Sehun stands beside Yeonjun observing the apprentices; he shifts his weight from left to right foot carrying an air of apprehension. Sehun had become rather paranoid, sporting a set of dark circles under his eyes and losing some weight. “You look rough, your highness,” Yeonjun muses. Sehun dryly hums, “I’m aware, Yeonjun.”

The people of Fortuna upon learning about the consecutive deaths of their beloved rulers were appalled. Conspiracy started to spread like wildfire in the kingdom, how could both rulers die months apart from each other? Some theorised the queen died from grief. Others hyperbolised that it was a grand assassination attempt from another nation. Whatever it was, the people were unsettled and rather unhappy with the lack of a ruler. It made him nervous; what if they didn’t accept him?

Furthermore, members of the Royal Court have made several comments in which the people are perceiving the deaths as a bad omen. Much effort was spared to cover up Sehun’s crime with the support of his barons, yet, there was a fair hint of warning, that if the people found out he poisoned his parents, threatened to kill his so-called sibling, it may result in a rebellion. They’d call him a tyrant! He shudders, no, he couldn’t have that. He had to become king! That’s what he was born to be!

Yeonjun’s sharp eyes observe Sehun's silent yet tormented demeanor. Of course he knew the Crown Prince was having internal conflict, second-guessing himself, particularly after the bounty he sent out. A smile laces the blonde haired man's lips, “Your highness?”

“Hm? Apologies, it appears I drifted off into my own mind. I’m not imposing here, am I? I need your counsel, is all,” Sehun utters, frowning. Yeonjun beams, “Nonsense, your highness. I am first and foremost your friend. Never feel it as a burden to confide in me. I sense you have some doubts and concerns, no?” Sehun hums, “Observant as always, my friend.”

Yeonjun comments, “I feel your anxieties are unnecessary, your highness. You will be well received by the people, after all, you’ve taken all the necessary measures. Additionally, you are the blood-born son of the King and Queen - the people have no choice but to accept you as their king.”

Sehun stiffens. No choice but to accept him. Yes, yes, if the people weren’t agreeable whilst he took the diplomatic route, then he’d have to rule with a firm fist. He couldn’t lose his position, even if half the population despised him.

“Worry not, your highness. I’m sure everything will go accordingly. You will be a fine king,” Yeonjun reassures. Yeonjun tilts his head with a crooked smile, “Surely, you trust the words of your favoured advisor and mage, no?”

Sehun smiles, “Ah, how could I not? Everything you’ve helped me with so far, has worked out. If you say I will, then with you beside me, my friend, I shall indeed rule with an iron fist.” Yeonjun hums, “That’s the confidence I like to hear, your highness. No need to fret.”

Yeonjun speaks, “I’ve caught wind that your sister is currently in the Kingdom of Luna, your highness.” Sehun stiffens, “What? Before my own knights? How did you come across such information?”

Yeonjun flashes him a grin, “I have a few special informants of my own, your highness. I can’t sit back and let a threat to you run around, and disturb the peace. I thought it’d help you, no?” Sehun goes quiet for a moment, “Oh, your own informants? I see, fascinating. Good, I am glad to see you are as capable as always.”

Sehun murmurs, “Luna is our ally kingdom. A strong one at that; our treaty signing ceremony was historic after years of war over the Northern Territory.” Yeonjun nods, “Indeed, it’s an exemplary example of diplomacy. Fortuna flourished after signing the treaty.” Sehun remains deep in thought; what were you doing there? He had put out a bounty for you, so he should have gotten word of it immediately, no?

Sehun scowls, “I assume she fled there to seek help. How pointless, she does not know about the numerous clauses in our peace treaty. That foolish prince would never side with her, if he knew what was good for him and his kingdom. Luna had already surrendered to us once, he knows his place.”

Yeonjun speaks amused, “I suppose so. Yet it’s a valiant effort. She is rather beautiful, no? I believe she can be rather persuasive, she may persuade him to side with her. I’ve heard the Prince is fond of her.” Sehun’s gaze darkens, “Preposterous. There’s not a chance.” “The Prince has not informed you of her presence, though?” Yeonjun questions.

Sehun scoffs, “Who knows if he’s even aware that she’s in the kingdom. He’s always been focused on expanding territory in the North. Their pitiful kingdom has so many restrictions in terms of magic too, so far behind. At the end of the day, as much of a pretty boy prince as everyone says he is, all I see is a greedy bastard behind those eyes, playing a charming facade. Father always was wary of his political exploits in the North.”

Yeonjun chuckles, “An astute observation, it appears there’s still some resentment.”

Sehun mutters, “But of course! If it weren’t for the stupid peace treaty our nation could have taken over theirs. But no, both troop’s were forced to retreat after sustaining too many losses. Ungrateful wretches.”

Yeonjun hums in thought, “Didn’t they ask for the Princess’s hand in marriage at one point?” Sehun grimaces in disgust, “Do not remind me. They wished to strengthen our allyship through betrothal. My father saw straight through their attempt. What a poor attempt at taking over Fortuna. Then again, if it had occurred then y/n would not be such a pain. I’d have gotten the throne automatically.”

Yeonjun muses, “I heard the court was up in arms at the thought of betrothal with Luna.” Sehun nods, “Believe me, it was a unanimous vote. Marriage gives way to power. Something that Fortuna cannot afford to lose. Y/n seemed to not like the idea anyway.”

Yeonjun’s lips curl up, “Well. With you as king, the people have nothing to worry about.” Sehun hums pleasantly, “Yes. Yes, exactly,” he continues muttering to himself, “Shame, they took the rejection rather well.” Yeonjun snorts.

They both stand in silence, each sunk into their own thoughts before the sound of footsteps rush into the room. A young knight bows before peering at Yeonjun, “Royal Sorcerer, I have received more word from across the border.” Yeonjun gestures for him to continue. “It has been confirmed that the Princess is within Prince Choi’s palace.”

“Backstabbing, filthy brat,” Sehun snaps, “And he did not think to inform me? Of course he has his own agenda!” Yeonjun muses, “Your highness, calm down.” The knight trembles, “W-Well, it was also confirmed that she was not alone. Her companion was described to be tall, pale blonde hair, young man, perhaps in his twenties. Black cloak.” Yeonjun’s brows furrow.

Sehun’s eyes flicker back and forth; his breaths becoming shaky, his thoughts running wild, “How insolent, I knew it, they were conspiring against me. They plan to rebel against me, that foolish wench! She must have seduced him, something, anything!”

The knight and Yeonjun peer as Sehun’s composed exterior cracks. The pressure and paranoia were building up. Yeonjun’s eyes glimmer and he hums, “Now, now, your highness, please don’t say such things. You know what, leave this to me. I am your personal advisor, no? These are matters below you.”

Sehun peers at Yeonjun’s calm demeanor and the wide eyed stares of the apprentices around him. He must have looked frantic. Sehun clears his throat, “Right yes, a trivial matter indeed. Look into it promptly and report back to me. Quickly. Make haste.”

Yeonjun lowers his head, “Leave everything in my hands, no need to concern yourself.” Sehun nods before quickly retreating out of the room with an emerging migraine.

Yeonjun’s peers back at the knight amused, “Well then, do you not know the identity of this mysterious companion?” The knight splutters, “Ah, well he attacked the knights in Luna. We suspect he’s a sorcerer. The informant passed on his name-“

“Tell me,” Yeonjun cuts in his expression, growing menacing. “Taehyun? Kang?” The young boy rattles in his armour noting how the sorcerer’s eyes darken into a malevolent gaze and a crooked smirk.

“Ah, my friend, my dearest friend,” Yeonjun boisterously breaks out. Yeonjun slams his hands on the table startling everyone and he grits out brightly, “Oh how joyous indeed.” Ah yes, the son of the most talented sorcerer known to the nations of the south, of Fortuna. The pioneer of sorcery. Yeonjun’s gaze peers down to the large worn out book in front of him.

His hands clench to form fists and he smiles at the knight, “Good job. Keep the information coming. Anything to help our crown prince, yes?” The knight nods, quivering. “You’re dismissed,” Yeonjun mutters.

The startled apprentices resume their practice as the royal sorcerer stands with his hands on the table peering down at the book intently; his mind churning with an onslaught of thoughts. The exiled sorcerer and his exiled gifted son.

How did he come into contact with the princess? Yeonjun surmises, the princess must have taken the short route through the Woods of Mors; there was no other way they could have crossed paths.

A bitter laugh escapes his lips, “I thought you’d learned your lesson. But it appears you wish to play the game of revenge.” Here he thought he had died of starvation and loneliness.

That’s it, you were being used as a pawn by Taehyun. So he could leverage himself back into the palace despite his exile. How clever; Yeonjun deems irritated. Yeonjun sighs dramatically for everyone ears to hear, “To think, attempting to kill the King and Queen wasn’t enough, yet you’re coming back for more, how greedy, Kang.”

The apprentices look at him mortified. Yeonjun releases a chuckle, brightly grinning, “Ah sorry, I’m talking out loud aren't I? Don’t mind me.” To think after all that had happened, Taehyun had the guts to approach you and help you in your futile pursuit. How funny. Yeonjun laughs to himself. You were naive to trust him or that damned prince.

It appears that he’d have to see Taehyun again. Not a problem, Yeonjun always loved a good old reunion between best friends. He muses to himself, “Seems we'll meet again soon, old friend.” Yeonjun’s lips curl into a smirk as his eyes flicker back to the spellbook slamming it closed.

—————

Your heart sinks having had a revelation that Taehyun is far more important than he let on. Son of the pioneer of sorcery, the son of the previous royal sorcerer. Things couldn’t add up in your head. Why would the royal court banish his father and him so quickly? Why would your parents agree to such a thing?

What could his father have possibly done to warrant such an extreme response? A pang of worry hits you. Beomgyu gazes at your lost expression, his lips twisting into a smile. “Y/n, come now, don’t be worried. I’m sure Soobin will ease him. You have more important things to take care of, no?”

Right, your plight was still hanging in the air. You regard Beomgyu; his eyes twinkle, he seemed unfazed by the events. He outstretches his hand with a mischievous smirk, “Come, let’s go on a walk together, we have much catching up to do.”

You peer at his hand slightly flustered, “I’m still in my nightgown, I-“ Beomgyu chuckles, “I’m aware, luckily for you, it’s rather cute on you. But for your comfort I’ve already arranged some attire to be given later to change into. Don’t fret, come with me.” You bite your lips anxiously peering back in the direction that Taehyun stormed off. Would he be okay? Should you check on him?

“He’ll be fine,” Beomgyu cuts in startling you and you look back at him and he flashes you a smile. You hesitantly take his hand; it feels soft and your eyes widen as he grasps your hand firmly pulling you forward playfully, “Walk with me.”

Your heart palpitates a bit as you walk beside him; his hand not leaving yours. “It’s been quite the while since I’ve seen you in person.” You nod, “Indeed. We’ve seen each other briefly at balls and such.” He agrees, “What a shame, I was training my swordsmanship and studying, otherwise I could have seen you more often.” You chuckle, “You flatter me.”

Beomgyu muses, “No, but truly you seem to have become even more beautiful. All you need is a crown and…perfect. Radiant even.” You shake your head feeling warmth in your cheeks, “Come now, don’t jest.” You both walk in a comfortable silence. “I often wish I could visit Fortuna more. Our peace treaty has allowed Fortuna to truly prosper especially in regard to sorcery.” You reply, “Well yes, it makes me proud.”

You feel his thumb caress the back of your hand making your lips part in surprise as you walk. “You should be, if only Luna could be as half as developed in that sphere.” You had read that Luna sacrificed much during the wars and eventually unhappily conceded to allow the peace treaty to occur. You hum, “Luna is beautiful truly, small but thriving.”

Beomgyu muses smirking, “Oh it won’t be small for long, I do plan to expand out.” “In the North?” You question. He shakes his head, “I have recently achieved that territory, I was thinking somewhere bigger.” Bigger?

“Oh? That sounds ambitious. It won’t lead to any conflict will it?” You ask. He nonchalantly responds, “No, it should not, it all depends on the ruler’s choice.” Ruler? Surely he wasn’t targeting another nation? “Ruler? Isn’t that rather risky? What about Luna’s peace?” You inquire wide-eyed.

Beomgyu looks down at you as you walk with a chuckle, “You’re sweet thing aren’t you? Don’t worry I plan to go forward diplomatically.” You sigh in relief, “Good, I never expected less.”

“Oh, you must have high expectations of me?” Beomgyu grins. You bashfully smile, “Luna has always been so accommodating for my parents. Luna’s cooperation is what has allowed Fortuna to flourish.” His eyes flicker to your lips, “Well said.”

You resume walking, absorbing your stunning surroundings of the hallways of the palace. Your eyes look back at Beomgyu who seems to be observing you intently. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what do you think of the sorcerer? Taehyun?”

“Hm?” You ask surprised. Beomgyu hums, “Well, it seems you bicker quite a bit, not seriously I presume? I just find you two…to be an odd pair.” You don’t know why but at the mention of Taehyun’s name your heart flutters, bounces in your chest. What was wrong with you?

Beomgyu’s gaze locks onto you; the way your pupils dilate and your lips part in hesitation. He tilts his head, his grin fading a little. You mumble, “As…annoying as he is. He has a good heart.” “A good heart?” Beomgyu quirks.

You nod, “I…I don’t know how to explain it but, he saved me. He’s remained by my side thus far. As cold and rude as he might come off, I sense a kind heart within him.” Your mind flashes back to the conversation you had earlier with him; how he reassured you that he was going to stay.

“That’s admirable…” Beomgyu comments, “To see good in someone, is always a good trait to have, y/n.” You shake your head with a soft smile, “No, I don’t see good in him. He is a good person, Beomgyu. Misunderstood…” your brows furrow, “…maybe even wronged.” You frown.

Beomgyu muses, “Is that so? You think that?” You murmur, “Yes, I do.” He looks forward; his expression becoming neutral, “How endearing. Dare I say, you sound fond.” Do you?

“As sweet as you are, please be careful. At the end of the day, you haven’t known him for long, he is not a noble, he’s not as predictable,” Beomgyu advises. You sigh; did Beomgyu not like Taehyun despite his courtesy earlier? “Right,” you utter.

“You have a pure heart, princess. Many would take advantage of that. I’d hate to see you suffer because of your own kindness,” Beomgyu smiles at you. “I suppose you’re right, Sehun managed to,” you bitterly laugh. Beomgyu frowns, “Indeed. What a pity, to think he even sent a bounty for you, how sadistic.” You nod solemnly.

“Do not fret, y/n. I am by your side, after all.” You release a chuckle, “But of course.” He hums, “You would be a far better choice as a ruler than that self-centered scumbag.” You snort, “Well, yes.” You both return to a comfortable silence as you walk out into the palace gardens.

The gardens are filled to the brim with various flowers and shrubs making for an exquisitely grandiose display of nature. A gentle breeze wafts in the air.

“Ah, I’ve been meaning to ask, are you betrothed by chance? Here I am holding your hand and not even asking. How discourteous of me,” he chuckles. Your eyes widen, “Ah, no. Not since we- I mean…I have not thought of it. I wanted a few more years of solace to myself before such a commitment, you know?”

Memories flash in your mind; the grand bouquet and umpteen gift boxes delivered to your room with Hueningkai atrociously glaring at them. A laugh escapes your lips.

“Ah, ah, ‘since we’- ah, so you do remember and here I thought we were avoiding the elephant in the room,” Beomgyu teases. You murmur, “Well, how could I forget? It was my first and last betrothal proposal .” Beomgyu sighs with a smirk, “My parents truly did pick every single flower out of this very garden for your bouquet you know?” You murmur awkwardly, “Ah yes, the humongous bouquet.”

“Did you like the other trinkets that were sent? Surely you did not toss them aside?” He asks concerned. You shake your head, “No, no! I still have them, they were too precious to throw out. Like the music box and the hand mirror. Stunning pieces.” Beomgyu nods slowly peering down at your hand in his clasp, “Good. That makes me happy to hear.”

A heavy sigh escapes his lush lips and you start to feel your hand become weighty. You were honoured when you received the offer from Beomgyu’s parents to be betrothed to their son. A high honour indeed. You knew they did not do that because they liked you, no, no, it was only to strengthen the allyship between Luna and Fortuna - and what better way to solidify things than through marriage?

Unfortunately for them, your eighteen year old self was not prepared for such an advance. You were adamant in rejecting it immediately no matter what; as nice as Beomgyu was. You just weren’t keen on the idea of betrothal…especially when you were having mixed feelings with your beloved knight: Hueningkai at the time.

“May I ask…why you rejected it?” Beomgyu’s voice flattens and you awkwardly reply, “Ah well, I just thought the pressure of betrothal at that age was a little much. I didn’t know how you felt on the matter either, I didn’t want to agree on anything so concrete.” Beomgyu hums nodding slowly, “Huh…is that so. You considered my feelings.”

“Yes, what if you weren’t happy with it either? By saying yes I’d-“

“What if I was?” Beomgyu interrupts. You stiffen, “What?” Beomgyu peers at you deeply, “What if I was okay with it? Okay with being betrothed to you?” Your heart rate hastens. Well, this is awkward.

“Then…I’m afraid the answer would have been the same,” you shakily breathe out. He squeezes your hand before releasing it. A tense silence ensues and you titter, “W-What about you? You should be fighting off suitors, no? You must have betrothals coming at you frequently.”

Beomgyu muses, “Ah, you think I’m popular? Well after my mother had become bedridden, I had to become in charge.” Of course, Beomgyu had been ruling Luna since he was nineteen, how young. He must have felt so much burden and pressure. You frown, “Oh right, yes.”

He chuckles, “I haven’t had time for such things. The last betrothal I had was…you. I rejected others simply because I didn’t have time or didn’t care enough.” You process his words slowly.

You remember your father standing beside you as you looked at the pile of gifts and his eyes scan the letter offering a betrothal. You begged your father not to go through with it. Luckily for you, the royal court seemed opposed to it, and he had a soft spot for you. So he declined it; you remember hearing that marrying you off to Luna would endanger Fortuna’s diplomatic power and independence.

You peer back at Beomgyu’s blank expression; a pang of guilt hits you. All Beomgyu knew was royalty, he’d have accepted anyone in your position, anyone his parents asked. You weren’t special. You both continue to walk together beside each other.

How did the conversation swerve to this? How awkward. You sigh; perhaps you shouldn’t have agreed to take a walk. You just wanted to be on Beomgyu’s good side so he’d help you out. Your mind wanders back to Taehyun. What would they be talking about? Was Taehyun okay? Frankly, you wanted your own set of answers.

You both turn a corner following the path and you notice Beomgyu’s gaze on the ground. Was he deeply in thought or upset? You continue walking forward enjoying the scenery the best you can.

You realise you don’t hear the crunch of fellow footsteps beside you. You peer over your shoulder seeing Beomgyu come to a halt. He gazes at you with glimmering eyes, “Princess,”

“Beomgyu? Are you alright?” You inquire worried. You really hope you haven’t offended him. “We’ve forgotten the matter at heart, no? Your current situation.” Finally, you think. This was what you needed; you turn to face him.

“I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days on how best to approach this, how to help you attain your power back.” Your jaw tightens, ah, your title was stripped, how could you forget?

“Initially, the first thing to mind, is using Luna’s military and enforcing ourselves into Fortuna, barging grandly into the Royal Court to upheave their decision by force.” You flinch, well, that was certainly one method.

“Perhaps even kill your brother off, play it off as collateral? Revenge even?” Beomgyu nonchalantly comments startling you. You begin to realise how ruthless Beomgyu could be behind that charming and mischievous mask of his.

Beomgyu takes a step forward, “But how would that benefit me? In both those scenarios, I’ve violated the peace treaty holding our nations together; tantamount to treason, I could even start a war. We wouldn’t want that would we?” You shake your head; your heart begins to sink. An aura of anxiety filling your senses.

“Escorting you in front of the royal court, to have a fair trial and debate, to upheave the decree, would be pointless. I have no power in your court, and well, neither do you. They’d reject your plea to overturn the decree in a heartbeat,” he hums, taking another step forward. Your heart palpitates; something about his tone irked you. He sounded amused; condescending even.

You take a step back instinctively; you murmur, “So what are you suggesting we do then? I came all the way here for help.”

“But of course, y/n. All I ask is that you rely on me.” “Aren’t I already?” You quip back.

“No, I mean really rely on me, y/n.” You stiffen; as he steps forward once more. “You need to solidify your position as ruler. You need power. You need the power to have resources at your disposal.” You murmur bluntly, “Beomgyu, I need you to be direct with me.”

He chuckles, “You can get all this, provide me with enough diplomatic power in Fortuna’s court to aid you, and have my resources at your disposal if,” your mind churns, the only way he’d get diplomatic power in Fortuna’s court is if- no. Absolutely not. You freeze; only if you-

“Marry me.”

The words slam into you as though he threw a boulder at you. Marriage was a word thrown so carelessly around by nobles, for the sake of furthering themselves. A concept you despised so much; you wanted to love and be loved.

Yet, it had come full circle. He had come full circle.

You sharply snap, “Surely you are not bitter I rejected you all those years ago? You did not love me, to take it so hardly. I don’t understand?”

Beomgyu chuckles, “Oh y/n, I assure you, it’s a beneficial solution, for the both of us. It grants me diplomatic power to enter Luna. It allows you to become my ruling consort, providing you with a title.” Damn him!

“Furthermore, our allyship would strengthen, don't you think it would be lovely for Luna and Fortuna to be united?” Beomgyu questions inching closer. You’re speechless; he’s really thought about this. How cunning.

He muses, “You wouldn’t have to worry about the bounty either.” You shake angrily; you feel as though you’ve been backed into a corner. Why were you so naive? To think he was being so caring and nice out of genuine nature? Every damn noble was out for themselves!

All your kingdom’s actions have a price to pay. You step back trembling, “And if I don’t?”

“Don’t what?” He questions, his lips curling into a coy smile. “Want to marry you?” You snap, glaring.

A laugh escapes his lips as he walks forward talking, “I don’t have much I can do, as crown prince, I can’t encroach in Fortuna’s territory and start an uprising without valid reason. The treaty explicitly states to maintain peace at all times, but with you here, it endangers that. I’m sure you didn’t read the treaty, ever did you?”

Beomgyu continues with a condescending smile, “I can’t waltz in and claim that Sehun has no right to be king, because at the end of the day y/n, he is the blood-born heir, you are not. I’m not meaning to say you can’t rule, you very much can, but I have no power to stop him from becoming king, unless a member of the Fortuna royal family marries into mine.”

You scramble, “But- I came all this way for you. Just to be told all this!” Beomgyu chuckles, “Surely, you didn’t think it was that easy? Ruling is not just wearing a crown. It’s politics. It’s mindgames to hold your own against the enemies around you. Even your closest allies can be your enemies, princess.”

Beomgyu stands right in front of you, towering over your frame. “Hm, I shouldn’t even be calling you princess anymore should I?” Your composure cracks. Everyone was the same; everyone had their own sick agenda. Even… Beomgyu.

Your back hits the wall; he takes your shaking hand in his, “You know what they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” You stammer,“But if I marry you, I…our kingdoms will have to officially join. My father always stated foreign interference was never…” you begin as he interrupts, “If you’re worried I’d take over your throne, you’d still become queen? It is your nation, no?”

“I…I suppose.” You weren’t stupid to see that would not be the case; he’d take over Fortuna.

You were manipulated the moment you set foot here. To think you had such confidence in the mere political label of ‘ally’ just shows how inexperienced and foolish you are. The treaty was just for show; Luna had a lot of resentment against Fortuna. You should have known.

At the end of the day, everyone was out for each other and fighting for their own selfish gains.

“Both kingdom’s would benefit.” You whimper, as he leans down, “Why? Wouldn’t you prefer Fortuna to be in our hands than Sehun’s? Surely you trust me, no?”

His fingers lift your chin up to meet his gaze with a dark smile on his lips, “Come now, don’t look too upset. I’m helping you, don’t you see?” Shaky breaths tumble out of you, “You don’t love me.”

Beomgyu laughs with a mocking glint in his eyes, “What? I have to be in love with you to marry you? How naive.” His eyes flicker down to your trembling lips, “But if you want me to,” he twistedly hums, “I suppose we can play a facade of our own. Public support will be important, after all.”

You feel like you have nowhere to run. You’ve escaped a lion's den only to get caught in a bear trap.

“I thought…you’d respect our allyship,” you brokenly whisper. “I do, y/n. In my own way.” His gaze darkens, “You don’t know what it was like for my people, to wave the white flag and concede during the war.” You remain silent; “It was all for peace-“ He snaps lowly, “Peace that benefited your people.”

Beomgyu’s slender finger caress your jaw and his thumb runs across your cheek, “I don’t mean to be rude, you are rather endearing. I’m just providing you with options is all. I won’t force you.”

“Options?” You snark. “Yes, options, work with me or..” He alludes. “Or?” You mutter darkly.

Beomgyu leans closer with a malevolent smile, “I hand you over myself. After all, I’d rather not get on the new king-to-be’s bad side, hm? Quite the bounty too, I’ve heard.”

“Bastard,” you utter icily. Those weren’t options at all!

“Ah, ah, language,” Beomgyu hums, amused.

You were caught in a stringed web of deceitful complexities. How much worse could your situation get?

Taglist: [open]

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[opedguy]

Christie Calls Trump Voldemort

LOS ANGELES (OnliineColumnist.com, Nov. 21, 2022.--Former New Jersey Gov. Christ Christie, 60, said Republicans are treating former President Donald Trump as “Voldemort,” the mythical evil sorcerer in the Harry Potter novels.  Christie ran against Trump in 2016, forced to drop pout because of his own baggage from the 2013 Bridgegate incident, when he closed down lanes on the George Washington Bridge to punish Fort Lee New Jersey  Mayor Mark Sokolicih for refusing to back Christie for governor.  Christie managed to escape consequences, despite several of his closest associates convicted of obstructing traffic, causing chaos in Fort Lee New Jersey.  Apart from all that Christie once backed Trump enough to manage his transition team for president in 2016, before he stabbed Trump in the back for receiving no appointment in Trump’s 2016 Cabinet.  Christie still has his own vendetta with Trump now that he announced for president Nov. 15.

Christie for different reasons opposes Trump 2024 run for president, much different tham 53-year-old former House Speaker Paul Ryan  (R-Wis.) who said publicly that he leads the never-Trump campaign.  Ryan’s argument against Trump involves his belief that Trump can no longer win national office, like he did beating 75-uear-old former Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton in 2016.  Ryan’s argument is a simple one that Trump is not the right person to run for national office, carrying far too much baggage to win the White House, even if 80-year-old President Joe Biden decides to run again.  Many Democrat express openly reservations to back Biden in another White House bid, largely because of his low approval ratings, closely tied to his poor performance on the economy and in foreign policy.  But whatever the objections, Biden is still the incumbent and can do what he wants.

Ryan, who served as House Speaker while Republicans controlled the chamber from 2015 –2019, was a GOP moderate, someone who could cut deals with Democrats, not part of the current partisan gridlock.  Ryan’s views on Trump relate to the fact that he carries so much controversy from his two impeachment trials, Jan. 6, 2021 Capitol riots, and Mar-a-Lago classified documents scandal.  Ryan takes no position on whether Trump will get indicted from Mar-a-Lago or Jan. 6 but just thinks Trump is no longer electable.  Christie’s criticism of Trump stems from his vendetta that he was passed over for a Cabinet appointment, largely because he was embroiled at the time the Bridgegate scandal.  Christie thinks other GOP candidates are reluctant to jump into the fray because they’re intimidated by Trump with his Voldemort metaphor.   Christie knows the 2024 contest is entirely open.

Democrats and the press would like to push the narrative that the GOP is in chaos over Trump’s Nov. 15 decision to run again.  But unlike 2016, when Trump was a first-time presidential candidate, much is known about him today with Democrats, independents and crossover Democrats.  Ryan thinks that Trump cannot command enough votes from independents because of his track record, but, more importantly, his high profile legal problems highlighted daily in the U.S. press.  Whether Trump gets indicted or not, he still is in the middle or more controversy, now that Atty. Gen. Merrick Garland appointed Nov. 18 career prosecutor Jack Smith as Special Counsel.  Ryan sees more trouble ahead for Republicans if they’re foolish enough to pick Trump as the 2024 GOP nominee.  Christie’s Voldemort metaphor speaks volumes about his future plans to run for president.

Christie, a Republican moderate, hopes to reinvent himself when he considers another presidential run in 2024.  Christie’s 2016 campaign got little traction, largely because of his baggage from the Bridgegate scandal.  “They say, ‘Leaders who do this or that.’ But they won’t say the name.  I think that fails the leadership test,” criticizing GOP leaders afraid to call Trump out.  Clearly, Christie has his own reservation for running against Trump, knowing how things turned out in 2016.  Christie wants potential candidates like Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis to start sparing with Trump, not avoiding confrontation.  DeSantis has refrained to mix it up with Trump, knowing it’s a losing proposition.  As Ryan points out, Trump just doesn’t have the vote-getting appeal across the political spectrum, holding onto a 25% base, not enough to get him over the finish line in 2024.

Christie hoped the Jan. 6 House Select Committee or Mar-a-Lago would lead to charges filed against Trump, paving the way for an open field of GOP candidates.  Democrats and the press have been obsessed with stopping Trump from running in 2024.  Now that he’s announced Nov. 15, GOP primary voters will decide who they like in 2024, not who Democrats and the press prefer.  Chritie’s fighting his own internal demons about running again for president, largely because of how things turned out in 2016.  GOP primary votes know all about Trump but their waiting for a fresh face to emerge to carry the party to victory in 2024.  Ryan’s point that Trump can no longer win a national election has considerable validity. When it comes to other candidates selling themselves to GOP primary voters, the field is entirely open, offering Trump no lock on the nomination.

About the Author  

John M. Curtis writes politically neutral commentary analyzing spin in national and global news. He’s editor of OnlineColumnist.com and author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

[petri808]

Pranks Are So Revealing Sometimes…

@itafushiweek One bed prompt

After everything had finally settled and damages were assessed to Tokyo jujutsu high following the Kamo incident, the faculty decided it was time for a full renovation. They would fix the damaged areas but also update other undamaged parts. Including the dorms according to their teacher. The students were given a schedule of when each of their rooms would be worked on and given boxes to pack their belongings for temporary storage.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo grinned. “Shouldn’t take more than a day or two per room.”

“Yeah, okay,” Megumi stared back up at his teacher after reading the information. “But where are we supposed to sleep if our room is being renovated?”

“Oh, well since the unoccupied rooms will also be renovated during this process…” the man tapped his chin. “Got it! You bunk with Yuuji, then switch when it’s his rooms turn.”

“Cool! A sleepover!” Yuuji pumped his fists in the air. “We can hang out and watch movies and eat junk food and just crash from a food coma.”

Megumi swallowed thickly with a groan. “I’d rather you give me your credit card,” directing his comment to Gojo, “so I can get a hotel room.”

“No, can do buddy. Come on, it won’t be that bad.”

Yuuji threw an arm over Megumi’s. “It’ll be fine,” his brilliant smile causing the man’s cheeks to redden. “Movies and food, we’ll have fun.”

Megumi looked away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ugh! Fine!”

“Good.” Gojo patted his student on the shoulder. “Now that’s settled, get packing young Megumi. Tomorrow we’ll be starting with your room.”

With Yuuji’s help, it didn’t take long for Megumi to pack up his belongings. There really wasn’t much, fitting everything into 3 medium sized boxes. Mostly clothes, some books, and minor items. He packed a bag with just enough to be displaced a couple of days, and if the renovations took longer, he could probably just borrow clothes from Yuuji. They were roughly the same size anyway. The boxes were then taken to Yuuji’s room and stacked in a corner out of the way.

But the full toll of the situation didn’t really hit Megumi until the morning of the renovations. He was awoken around 7 am by Gojo, letting him know the construction workers would be there in 15 minutes. Great. So, he dragged himself out of bed and walked into Yuuji’s room planning to get a couple more hours of sleep. It should be fine considering Yuuji rarely got up early on a day off.

The problem was— ‘Only one bed…’ Megumi groaned internally as he swiped his hand down his face. Duh! How could he have missed this detail?! And there was no way to fit a second bed in the room since they were only designed for single occupancy.

“Ugh…” Megumi shuffled back out of the room in irritation. Guess he’ll just go get breakfast and figure out what to do next!

Look, he didn’t have a problem sharing a bed with another person. It’s just sleeping on a bed instead of the hardwood floor, what’s the issue with that? If it was anyone else, Nobara, Toge, Maki, Yuta, whatever— no problem. The PROBLEM is it’s Yuuji. Maybe one of them will let him stay with them? Megumi put his head down on the kitchen table with his arms over his head in frustration. No… that would be weird to ask. Gojo already made all the arrangements between everyone, so if he suddenly had an issue with it, they might find that suspicious and he really didn’t need them asking questions, or worse teasing him about it.

He could hear it all too. What’s wrong with Yuuji? You worried something might happen? Too afraid to confront your feelings. Wink, wink. Aww that’s so cute you’re embarrassed. But Yuuji’s a good catch. Yada, Yada. Maki’s monotone, “just man up” tone was not something Megumi wanted to hear. ‘It’s just a night or two… no big deal. He’ll sleep on one side; I’ll sleep on the other. What could go wrong?’

“Morning!”

Megumi’s body immediately went stiff at the sound of Yuuji voice. Damn guy was like a cat this morning, he never heard him come in! Or did he just miss it because he was too wrapped up in his mind?

“Yeah… morning,” Megumi responded as he sat up in his chair and pretended everything was fine. “Sorry, I didn’t make coffee or anything yet.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can make breakfast. Want some?” Yuuji responded in his chipper way.

“Sure, since you’re offering.”

“I see they started working on your room. That’s what woke me up.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, That’s why I’m up too. Gojo kicked me out at 7.”

“Oh, if you were tired, you could’ve just gone back to sleep in my room.”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

“You still look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so,” Yuuji placed a plate of food in front of his friend, then sat down across from him with his own. “So, got any plans for today?”

“Not really.”

“I was thinking of grabbing some snacks from the store for tonight.”

“Something happening tonight?”

“Movie night! Remember?”

“You were serious about that?!”

“Of course! We rarely have time to relax, so this is a perfect opportunity.”

“Well, since I’m stuck in your room… what movie are you picking?”

“You can choose. I don’t really care. How about I’m in charge of snacks and you grab the movies.”

“Fine. I’ll dig something up.”

The pair part ways for the rest of the day. Megumi felt it best to keep himself occupied so he wouldn’t think about that night. So, after breakfast he got some training in with Yuta and Maki who between the two really kept him on his toes. The construction work on his room sounded a lot more extensive than Gojo had relayed based on all the noise coming from within. Someone had placed a “do not enter” sign on the door, and so when Megumi walked past it, he didn’t bother peeking. By the time he returned from shopping around 5pm, it was silent. ‘Guess they’re done for the day.’ But since the sign was still up, it wasn’t finished. ‘Ugh, it better be done by tomorrow night.’

“Hey, Megumi!”

Megumi froze in place. Damn it with Yuuji sneaking up on him! He turned around. “Yeah?”

“I got food!” Yuuji held up two plastic bags stuffed full. “Dinner, snacks, drinks. Did you grab the movies?”

Megumi pulled three DVD cases out of his shopping bag and showed it to his friend. Three movies would kill about six hours, which meant sleeping right after they were finished, equaled less dead time to worry about.

“Sweet! Let’s get started!”

The moment of dread was upon Megumi the instant he walked into Yuuji’s room and laid eyes on that single bed. And as the dorm mate puttered around oblivious to his nervousness, he just watched quietly as the man plopped the bags onto the bed and grabbed a laptop from the desk. This was it, no turning back now.

“Why are you just standing there?” Yuuji questioned with laughter in his tone and patted the bed. “Come on, before the food gets cold.”

Megumi rolled his eyes as if nothing was wrong, but his heartbeat picked up the pace with each step towards the bed. He should be happy that Yuuji was so oblivious to emotions, and yet a part of him was annoyed… maybe disappointed… Megumi quickly shut those thoughts down as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“So, just to get it out of the way. How is this gonna work? Like which side do I sleep on?” Megumi questioned.

Yuuji stopped fusing with a food container and looked over. “Oh, hmm, doesn’t matter to me. I can sleep on either side.”

Well since he was already on one side. “I’ll just take this side I’m on then.”

Yuuji gave him a thumbs up. “Pass me the first movie.”

The first movie… all the movies he’d chosen were just action types. Megumi wanted something with as little romance as possible and knew Yuuji didn’t mind action or horror. Frankly, he thought it was funny his friend still loved horror after becoming a jujutsu sorcerer. Don’t they see enough of it in real life? Between the movies and the eating, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Yuuji became so engrossed in what was on the screen, it helped his anxieties stay lowered.

Megumi had taken up a position with his back against the wall sitting upright, and legs stretched out in front of him, while Yuuji was next to him with about a foot of space between them. Mid-way through the third movie, Megumi was genuinely paying attention since he’d never seen it before, when he felt a pressure against his shoulder. His eyes flared, cheeks heated up, and adrenaline spiked his heart rate. Yuuji had fallen asleep against his shoulder. No kidding this guy could fall asleep anywhere! Versus him who was too wide awake now to even think about it.

The last thing he wanted to do was awaken the sleeping man and make things even more awkward. So, Megumi tried to gently push his friend away to simply rest against the wall. His first several tries failed, but on the fourth, success… briefly.

“Mmm,” Yuuji stirred without waking and shifted on his own to curl up in Megumi’s lap instead!

‘Fuck, my life!’ Megumi screamed in his head. Things just went from bad to a disaster!

Again, Megumi tried to shift the man away, but every time he tried Yuuji would whine.

“Stop moving…” Yuuji mumbled and wrapped his arms around Megumi’s waist, snuggling his face deeper into the man’s leg.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Megumi gritted out in a muffled anger. By now, his whole body felt like it’d been stuck in a furnace and was being roasted alive. Ugh! Yuuji had turned into a damn octopus clinging to its meal! And yet… Megumi had to admit the man was cute as he slept. Geez, he even smiled in his sleep!

Not much he could really do, Megumi exhaled in defeat. So, he did his best to turn off the laptop screen using his foot and shift it close enough to reach. He then grabbed it and placed it onto the nightstand next to the bed, leaving them in a darkened room with only the gentle breathing of Yuuji as any sound. Okay, fine! Megumi counseled himself. Just ignore the fact there’s someone attached to you and try to get some sleep. The faster he went to sleep, the faster the nightmare would end. So, he shifted his body to lie down, then turned over onto his side hoping Yuuji would also readjust.

And the man did, just not in a way Megumi wanted. Yuuji simply snuggled up to his back and weaved an arm around his torso like he was one of those giant stuffed animals you win at a fair! He pushed the arm away, but it sprang back into place.

Megumi screamed in his head. He was so tired… ‘just ignore it, ignore it, ignore it…’

The sound of birds chirping caused Megumi to rouse the next morning. Perfect, his torture was over, it was time to get up— ‘Why was the pillow so hard—’ his eyes opened in a panic as his hand felt the unmistakable sensation of muscle beneath clothing. Without moving an inch only his eyes shifted over and saw the outline of Yuuji’s body lying on his back and he was curled up against his side! ‘Oh, fuck!’

Fight or flight kicked into overdrive as Megumi sprang from the bed like a cat and bolted out of the room. Every nerve ending along his skin was on fire and his mind freaking out, praying Yuuji had slept through it all. ‘This is gonna be so awkward if— What the?!’

As soon as he made it out of the room, Megumi almost ran right smack into Gojo. The man had one hand on Megumi’s bedroom door and the other carried a cursed doll, like the one Yuuji had trained with to practice energy control. “What is that for?”

Realizing he was busted, Gojo slipped the doll behind his back. “Nothing. I was just gonna check on the progress.”

“Uh-huh…” Megumi’s eyebrow raised, instantly suspicious. “Well, let’s just check,” he opened the door himself and walked in. “What’s going on?!” He whipped around. “Are they finished?” Because his room looked exactly like he’d left it the morning before. And he meant exactly!

“Really?!” Gojo pretended to be surprised. “That was quick! Looks like you can move back in. Well, see you at breakfast.”

Gojo turned to leave but Megumi grabbed his shoulder.

“Oi! What the hell?! There was no construction was there you prick?!”

“Nonsense! They must’ve finished yesterday.”

Megumi narrowed a menacing glare at the teacher. “That damn doll was the one making all the noise, wasn’t it?”

“Um… no…”

“And you were about to plant it for a second day!”

“Of course, not! I’m just carrying it around…”

“You’re such a shit liar!”

“Careful Megumi, might wanna keep your voice down lest wake up Yuuji.”

“What do I care if he wakes up now?”

“He’ll find you missing and the bed empty and be sad.” Gojo grinned defiantly then took off in a sprint, cackling like a mad man down the hall.

Bastard pranked him! Megumi screamed as he took off after the man. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

#itafushi week #itafushi #itafushi fan fiction #itafushi fan fic #itadori yuuji #megumi fushiguro #satoru gojo #one bed prompt #fushita

[nitewrighter]

Of Blades and Broomsticks Pt. XIII

*heelies in four months late with starbucks and an update/conclusion to the current story arc* ‘Sup. Got sidetracked. Let’s do this.

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12

Witch AU on AO3

---

The witch hunter awoke in a cavernous hall, with the soft sound of lapping water. He wasn’t sure if he could call it waking up. He felt no sensation of his eyelids sliding open, rather, his vision seemed to clarify itself as his consciousness sharpened. His body felt a constant push and pull of interior warmth against exterior cold. He could feel something like a flame flickering in his chest, blazing against a wet, sinking cold that soaked in from the outside. The strength not quite in his muscles yet, he gave a glance down to the soft material he was laying on. He seemed to be on a mattress of soft damp dead leaves, set upon a high dais of petrified wood. He moved to get up.

His body got up, his head did not.

“What—-“ the word fell out of him, soft and horrified. It didn’t sound like his own voice, but deeper, wetter, more raking. His body swiveled around to look at his head, but since a headless corpse had no eyes, all Gabriel could see was the bloody stump of his own neck looming down on him.

“No—No….” more words escaped him. He had to get his head back on. Simple enough. His body seemed to respond to his will, mostly. Head back on. Pick up the head and put it back on, he thought. His body lurched forward but only managed to knock him (the head) rolling toward the edge of the dais. “No—Catch me—Catch me!” he said as the body lurched again and clumsily knocked him off and sent him bouncing and rolling painfully along the floor.

“I realize this must be very jarring,” a voice, feminine, clear, and deep cut across the still air of the hall, “But you’ll only make things worse by panicking.”

“What is this—!?” Gabriel managed to say before a clumsy foot from his own body sent his head rolling across the floor again, only to be stopped under another foot.

“Is that any way to talk to your old friends, Gabriel?” A tall woman with short-cropped red hair  stooped into his view. She picked up his head and held him at eye level smiling at him.

“You…” Gabriel started.

“My dear Witch Hunter,” she said, tilting her head, “Gotten ourselves into quite the mess now, haven’t we?”

“What have you done to me?” he demanded.

“What have I done to you? I wasn’t the one who beheaded you, and it’s not my magic flowing through your veins binding you to this… form. I just…” she gestured, “Cleaned some things up. You’d probably be some horrible amalgam of man and gourd unable to even walk if it weren’t for my intercession.”

“Man and gourd…?” Gabriel said quietly as his body finally managed to make its way to the red hared woman and his hands flailed out.

His head was not his head.

It was rounder, smoother, warm to the touch. The redheaded woman managed to push past his clumsily grabbing arms and set his not-head on his neck stump, where it stuck with a sick wet “shluck” sound and swiveled as he took in more of his surroundings. The whole hall seemed to be made of the same petrified wood as his dais, and there was a throne at the head of it, flanked on either side by an intricately carved fresco of the Green Man with water pouring out of both of their gaping open mouths. Well there was the source of the sound of lapping water, at least. Gabriel’s hands went up to feel at his not-head again.

“Mirror,” he said.

“Come,” the red-headed woman hooked her arm in his and lead him over to one of the fountain frescoes, which, it turned out, were pouring out into two unsettlingly still dark pools on either side of the throne. She motioned to look into the pools of water, and he got down on one knee to look at his own reflection.

His head was not his head.

His head was a pumpkin. A pumpkin carved with cruel eyes and a wide, sharp and mocking grin.

“I did the best with what I had on hand,” said the redheaded woman and Gabriel suddenly sprang up and picked her up by the front of her loose linen tunic.

“What have you done to me!?”  He roared.

“You’ve already asked that, and I’ve already said,” the woman remained perfectly calm with her feet about two inches off the ground, “You were beheaded in a field, but somehow you perished with the flame of creation on your person. This would bind your life to your corpse, so I made sure your corpse was actually…. viable.”

“Beheaded in a….” the memories came rushing back to Gabriel. The witch at the stake. The column of fire in the square. The green vortex and the nightmarish mass of black tentacles that emerged from it. The blazing-winged figure and the green dragon tumbling from the sky. The witch, still with those blazing wings, staring him down, and the bite of the demon’s steel, cold and sharp and deep.

“The witch and her demon…” Gabriel said softly.

“A true witch?” the woman suddenly snickered and Gabriel shot her a glare, “Forgive me, but I was wondering when you’d stop burning hapless hags for brewing pennyroyal tea and actually go toe to toe against a right and proper sorcerer. Now if you don’t mind—-“ she swatted his hands off of her tunic and landed neatly on the floor, “I’m willing to ignore that slight because I know humans to be unfathomably stupid when they’re emotional. You would do well to remember that I am not your enemy, and that you would be very, very foolish to make me an enemy.”

“Why keep me alive?” said Gabriel, looking at his hands.

“I’m not the one keeping you alive,” said the woman, walking away from him and alighting a golden sphere on the tips of her long fingernails, “You are enthralled to whomever is bearing the flame of creation.”

“The witch,” said Gabriel.

“Until she dies or releases you, you cannot die, Gabriel,” said the woman, “And if your supposed ‘mistress’ is not even aware you’re alive… I’d consider that very useful, wouldn’t you?”

“So I need to kill her,” said Gabriel.

“Not a very creative type, are you?” said the woman, “You can’t die, Gabriel. Think of what you could do with that.”

“This existence is cursed. I will not suffer any second more of it than I must,” said Gabriel, “Do not think I will have any more dealings with you, either. Our…”

“Partnership?” the woman suggested.

“Our briefly mutual interests were long ago, and when I was younger and more desperate.”

“Yet they served you very well, as far as I recall,” said the woman.

“Just get me out of here and I will find my own way,” said Gabriel, now angrily pacing around the hall, looking for an exit.

The redheaded woman sighed in exasperation. “You continue to be a killjoy,” she muttered, then stepped up next to him and put a calm hand on his shoulder, “You’re alone in this world now, Gabriel. You’ve seen your reflection. You’ve seen what you’ve become. If you truly intend on destroying this witch, do you think you can do it walking the earth as a man?”

The pumpkin head swiveled toward her, those glowing yellow eyes boring into her.

“What do you get out of this?” asked Gabriel.

“Same as always—-I don’t like competition,” she said, smiling, “And if there’s someone bearing the flame of creation walking the earth… well, I find that very interesting.”

“This isn’t a game, Moira,” Gabriel snarled.

“That’s what people say when they don’t know how to play,” said Moira with a smile, “I look forward to working with you again, Gabriel.” “Hmph,” Gabriel glanced off, “‘Working with me again.’ All you ever did was give me a rock.”

“And what a useful rock it was,” said Moira, “Now tell me, where is my adder stone now?”

———

On the ramparts of the city walls, Pharah tossed the rock with a hole in it up and down in her palm restlessly, looking out over the tops of the pines and having half a mind to see how far she could throw it. It didn’t feel exactly right to hang onto it, but somehow she felt like leaving it or throwing it away would be worse.  Four days had passed since the Witch and her demon had made their escape and while the slightly burning sulfurous smell still hung in the air, most of the town was forced to return to its work. In spite of all the horror and reality seemingly uprooting itself in the span of the few days of the Witch’s capture and escape, there were still fields to till, still forge fires in the smithing district to keep, still guard rounds that needed posting, and a whole lot of rebuilding that had to be done. Several days of searching the surrounding areas of Adlersbrunn for the Witch Hunter had only yielded a bloody spot in a pumpkin patch. There was no body. Pharah wondered if seeing the body would improve the situation by at least giving the townspeople some closure over the Witch Hunter’s fate, or if it would stamp out whatever last few embers of hope remained.

Pharah had her hands full just keeping the townspeople calm—-nerves were frayed, an anger and a fear hung in the air. The sense of helplessness was collective and inescapable, and it stung her all the more deeply since she was guard captain—-it was her job to keep the city feeling safe, and she couldn’t do that. Half of her guardsmen were pushed far past the point of exhaustion with their numbers depleted by the attacks on the town, and her fatigue had ebbed only a little as time passed on from the whole incident. Lord Von Adlersbrunn was hardly being a help at all—-with the involvement of Junkenstein, a craftsman under his own commission, the people’s faith in Von Adlersbrunn’s judgment had all but dried up and he could hardly take counsel with his circle of the town’s nobles and clergy without everyone shouting over him. A great many people left the town, heading west for warmer weather and hopefully fewer witches and demons—away from the shadows of the Black Forest, but for many, there was no where else they could go.

“You are the guard captain, correct?” a weathered voice spoke and Pharah caught the adder stone and quickly pocketed it.

“Can I hel—-Your grace!” Pharah turned her head and then quickly bowed it as Bishop Petras walked toward her, “I—Yes. I am the Captain. I am at your disposal, your Grace—”

“You need not worry with such formalities,” said the Bishop.

Pharah cleared her throat and raised her head. “To what do I owe this audience?”

“I take it you already know of Sir Gabriel?” said the Bishop.

“I was the first one they reported to,” said Pharah, “I’ve sent out one last search party in case there was anything more, but with my guard stretched out as thin as it is…”

“Of course,” said the bishop, softly, “He spoke rather highly of you in his reports to me.”

“I abandoned him,” Pharah said, looking down, “I couldn’t—-“

“I know,” said the Bishop, “There was no abandonment—-you are a guard captain before you are a Witch Hunter. I understand that much.” He looked out over the surrounding farmland and forest past Adlersbrunn’s walls, “We set out to destroy evil and alleviate everyone’s fears, and yet we feel more helpless and surrounded by evil than ever thought possible.”

“So what do we do about it?” said Pharah.

“I’m afraid protocol demands that I go to the Vatican to report this incident and pray I don’t get laughed out as a madman and pray the people here won’t think God abandoned them in my absence,” said the Bishop, “As far as your path… this city will always have need of a guard captain, but I feel it is worth asking ourselves if we will ever truly feel safe knowing what’s out there now.”

“Your Grace?” Pharah said his title in question.

“There were very few people in Sir Gabriel’s line of work that I felt I could trust….I feel whatever path you choose, though, I can trust you. Take care, Guard Captain,” said the Bishop, walking off. Pharah watched the bishop disappear down the stairs to the city gate where a party of several guardsmen awaited him along with his own horse. Pharah watched as the Bishop and his contingent rode off away from the city, then pulled the Adder stone back out from the interior of her doublet.

“What’s out there…” she said quietly closing her fingers around the stone.

The prison cells within the castle were all but unguarded with how stretched thin the city guard was now. She grabbed a torch and walked by the one guard posted, heading down several stone steps into the dark. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find in here—all she knew was that in the span of 2 nights in this prison, the Witch had gone from paltry fireballs to massive columns of demon-summoning flame. Holding up her torch aloft, she looked into the now-empty Witch’s cell—-Small, depressing, with naught but a pile of hay for a bed and a bucket for a chamberpot. She looked down at the floor—there were a few drops of blood next to the iron bars of the cell, but nothing else. No sigils drawn out or anything. Pharah felt the weight of the adder stone in her pocket, then slowly pulled it out and held it to her eye and gasped softly. Through the little hole in the stone, all sorts of burning symbols and writing in a language Pharah could not understand glittered like embers on the walls, ceiling, and floor of the cell. The script didn’t look like it was written out in a human hand, but rather it burned itself into being. Unthinkingly, Pharah pulled open the door to the cell and stepped in for a closer look. As she drew closer, she squinted at the script and wondered if her senses or her belief in the adder stone were betraying her, or if the cuneiform-like symbols on the wall really were reforming themselves into words. She brought the adder stone down from her eye, but the writing was still there. The Witch Hunter used the stone to train himself to see what others could not, Pharah thought to herself, Could I do the same?

Seek me if you have the sight, they read. Seek who? The Witch? The Witch seemed hardly eager to have anyone follow her out of Adlersbrunn, riding off on a dragon and everything. Pharah remembered a steady gaze of two amber-colored eyes with slitted pupils. Not the Witch. The Woman. The Dragon. Neither and both. Pharah’s head fogged briefly—-a mess of panic-distorted memories rushing around her yet coming to a head a the same time, but in all that mess the image of those eyes burned into her mind and kept her fixed in place. The rush of memories seemed to fade itself out to a thrumming, hissing whisper.

What’s out there? her own voice whispered in her head.

Seek me if you have the sight, the writing on the wall answered.

Pharah extended a hand toward the writings on the wall and felt a heat coming off of them, still the extension of her hand pressed steadily onward, she wasn’t sure if she would even notice if it burned her—-

“Y’know, you shouldn’t just go walking into cells,” a deep but warm voice spoke behind her and snapped her out of her haze.

“What—What?” her head jerked up and she turned on her heel to see a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair in a black hat, arms folded and leaning one shoulder against the cell bars.

“I said ‘You shouldn’t just go walking into cells’—‘specially with your guard spread thin as it is. Some miscreant could waltz in and then just up and shut the bars on you, then wouldn’t you feel a damn fool?”

“I—I’m guard captain. I’m investigating,” said Pharah, turning her attention back to the writing, but finding it wasn’t there anymore.

“So I heard—-the guard captain part, not the investigatin’ part,” said the man.

Pharah narrowed her eyes at the man. “Who are you?” she said, stepping out of the cell to look at him in the torchlight.

“You heard tell of the Witch Hunter’s apprentice, haven’t you?”

“Gabriel said he had an apprentice, yes,” said Pharah.

“…Just the apprentice part? No… ‘failed apprentice’ or ‘disgraced apprentice’ or ‘excommunicated apprentice?’”

“You’re excommunicated!?” Pharah took a step back, realized she was stepping back into the cell, then sidestepped and grabbed her torch from its sconce.

“Only officially,” said the man with a shrug, “In terms of purity of soul and intention, why, I would rank myself among the most—-“

Pharah held out the torch warningly to maintain a distance between the two of them.

“…pious,” the man finished, looking at the crackling torch.

“I think you should leave,” Pharah said, furrowing her brows.

“Look, I’m investigatin’, same as you,” said the man, “Let’s start over.” He extended a hand, “Name’s Jehoshaphat Maccrea of Helsing. Folk who find that a bit of a mouthful call me ‘Jesse.’”

Pharah remained holding the torch between them rather than extending her hand.

“I know what happened to Gabriel,” said Jesse.

Pharah looked down.

“Well, I mean I heard. Doesn’t seem like anyone can say for sure what happened to him, but we can all agree it was nothin’ pleasant. Now, we didn’t part on the best of terms, and I’ve been hunting a quarry of my own, but I owe it to him to see closure on all of this.”

Pharah broke her sight away from the cold stones of the floor to look at him.

“You’ve seen some shit too, huh?”

Pharah pursed her lips. “Depends. Would you call a terrible red demon ‘Some shit?’ Would you call a dragon woman in a column of fire ‘some shit?’ Would you call a horrible purple creature with--with---with a face that looks like a mass of slugs ‘some shit?’”

“I’d categorize it under a ‘helluva lot of shit,’ rather than ‘some shit,’” said Jesse, “It was a lot for me to take in at first, too. But you get better at it. And you---man, steady as a rock. Lot better than me when I was starting out, too--”

“Wait---Starting out---No. I’m not ‘starting out’ on anything---” Pharah started.

“I mean--you don’t have to,” said Jesse, “But I know there’s two kinds of people who come out of a mess like this: There are those that stick their heads in the sand and pray for their lives to go back to normal, and there are those who know it’s never going to be normal again, and choose not to be helpless.”

“I’m not choosing to be helpless, my city needs me!” snapped Pharah.

“...So you still feel helpless,” said Jesse.

“Just because I---!” Pharah started but then caught herself and fumed, “What are you suggesting, exactly?”

“Not suggesting, offering,” said Jesse, “I think you want to see whatever evil that attacked your town brought to justice. You want closure. You want to see your people safe. I think the best way you can do that is by coming with me and hunting these demons down.”

“So I should just drop everything and tag along with an excommunicated witch hunter,” said Pharah flatly.

“Just ‘hunter’ is fine. Turns out there’s a whole lot more scary things than witches in this world,” said Jesse.

Pharah maintained a steady glare.

“You want me to be more honest?” said Jesse.

“Usually the preference is that people be as honest as they can with each other,” said Pharah, frowning.

McCree snorted. “Trust me, Miss Guard Captain, people do not prefer that,” he said with a smirk before catching himself, “I mean--” he stopped and cleared his throat, “To be frank,” he said, pressing his hands together in front of himself, “I know if I go up against any of these things alone, I will die. If you go up against any of these things alone, you will die. You knew when to call it so that the whole town didn’t go down in flames. These things we’re going to fight? This isn’t a battle you rush into. You gotta play the long game and you gotta learn. I need someone who knows when to call it. All you need is someone to show you how to flick holy water, and you’re gonna get that down real quick from the looks of you.”

“You don’t want a student, you need a partner,” said Pharah, looking off.

Jesse made a finger gun at her in confirmation. “Or.. y’know you could organize guard timetables for the rest of your life and pray this magic shit does’t drop itself on your head again. Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Pharah quietly set the torch back on its sconce.

“I’ll give you a night to think about it--I’m staying at the least-burned Inn in town and leaving at dawn. Meet me at the city gates if you’re in,” he said, turning on his heel and heading out of the castle prison.

Pharah frowned as he walked off, but she felt her fingers nervously running across the adder stone in her hand.

What’s out there? it seemed to ask in her mind, What’s out there?

---

For Mercy, seven days among the cultists passed in the blink of an eye. Rather, it was 2 days spent more or less sleeping the whole time, making up for the exhaustion of prison and near-execution and near-death and using far more magic than she had ever used in her entire life. After 2 days of sleeping, the third day was spent eating---The cultists’ food was salty, yet comforting, favoring snails and mushrooms. The fourth day was spent getting over the sickness of eating so much so fast on the third day, which proved a severe shock to her system. The fifth and six days were spent more or less getting acclimated to Zenyatta’s temple, which, she learned, was a fortress carved into the stone of a mountain with a hidden entrance. They had to earn their keep, to an extent. It turned out the stab-happiness of the cultist made her work as a healer invaluable. She was able to get clothes as well, purple robes, like the other cultists, which were surprisingly comfortable, and the temple to Zenyatta was a very safe fortress in and of itself---dark, certainly, but safe. 

Genji had told her that the cultists were very dangerous and quote ‘stabby’ but Zenyatta had assured them all that the schism had finally ended, and furthermore the cultists all struck her as very polite. Certainly very.... fixated on Genji’s master, but perfectly polite. It was surreal for her, not having children throw rotten vegetables at her, not feeling a glare at the back of her head, having people make eye contact with her and speak with her eagerly and interestedly in her studies and observations, being able to read and practice her magic as if it were as perfectly normal as hanging laundry on a line. She was accepted as perfectly normal among the blood cultists, and made a point of enjoying herself so long as she had the chance to. 

Still, Genji was... protective.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” she said, as she stood waist-deep in the temple baths.

“You didn’t see these cultists before,” said Genji, sitting cross-legged with his back to her, “They’ll tear you apart as soon as look at you. Don’t have your firstborn with any of them, they’ll probably eat it.”

“Don’t have my what?” said Mercy running a sea-salt smelling soap bar along her skin and attempting to scrub the smoky smell from her skin.

“Your firstborn?” said Genji, “You know---our contract?”

“Ooohhh that firstborn. No, certainly not going to have it with any of them,” said Mercy.

“Good to know you have standards,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Mm-hmm,” Mercy said mindlessly, dipping her head beneath the water and running her own fingernails along her scalp as the soap foamed off her skin and floated on the surface of the water.

“So you’re keeping watch?” she said, looking over her shoulder.

“Clearly,” said Genji.

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m naked?”

“I’m a demon,” said Genji with an eye roll, “You could be naked every waking moment of every day and it would hardly make a difference to me.”

That earned him a splash of water at his back.

“Hey!” he turned around to snap at her, caught sight of her sweeping her wet hair off the back of her neck and then quickly turned around again, his face burning, “I mean I don’t see things through human eyes. Magic colors my vision. Shifts what I see---you remember what happened with that sigil back when the city guards were chasing you.” 

“Ah, so what does the great demon Genji see when he looks at me?” said Mercy, wringing out her hair.

“A light---or maybe a flame?” Genji said, leaning back and relaxing a little where he sat, his back still to her, “Something like one of those...Flame, probably, but a little one... Small, yes, but bright and flickering and steady.  At once illuminating and causing night-blindness with its own radiance.”

Mercy had stopped scrubbing this point and drew a string of wet hair back from her face, staring at Genji in silence. 

“Also magnificent breasts. But that goes without---” that last comment earned Genji another, harder splash which left him completely drenched.

“All right. That, is a slight I cannot permit, Witch,” said Genji, getting to his feet and turning around.

Mercy splashed him again.

“Do you want to start this?” he said, taking off his mask and revealing his scarred face, “I told you, I was born---”

“’In storm and lightning and water,’” Mercy said, mocking his whispery gravitas, “Yes you like bragging about that very often.”

“It’s not bragging if you can back it up,” said Genji, putting his hands on his hips.

“So back it up, Genji, Demon of the North Wind,” said Mercy, flicking droplets of water against his face.

“You back it up, Witch Mercy, Bearer of the Flame of Creation,” 

Mercy calmly took ahold of the front of his black tunic.

“...you wouldn’t,” said Genji.

“Witch,” said Mercy with a smirk, before yanking him into the bath with her. 

#gency #Witch Mercy AU

[ayellowbirds]

Whoops, I sure did miss a day of actual writing, and more in terms of updates. Lots of family stuff to deal with, but here we go! The home stretch for NaNoWrimo, now.

Want to support what you’ve been reading? Here’s a Paypal donation link for my household, and here’s my Ko-Fi link. Want to just go back to the last update? That’s right through this link.

And now:

The 10th of Vernary, 5647 CC

Cypora had not formally met Caracosa Grandee. Of the “surviving” inhabitants of the dungeon, the undead easily accounted for the largest single group. One might have separated them out into different types, but they themselves did not seem to bother with it; Scoloaster, the Widows, and Qurra had acted as representatives, with many of the rest keeping back to the places they’d hidden from adventurers.

Caracosa was among them, and the reason was immediately apparent; her head had been separated from her body.

Adventurers were very insistent on categorizing non-human and near-human beings according to form. They had published all kinds of manuals and compendiums of monsters, breaking things down in terms of types and subtypes, special abilities and different classes. They’d gone so far as to follow the Icarian trend of identifying the many shapes nehashim took as different kinds of “dragons”, “wyrms”, “drakes”, and wyverns”.

The fact that Caracosa was an undead woman who carried her head separately from her body and wore bits and pieces of a cavalrywoman’s uniform would have seemed to them to be clues that she was something other than a mere zombie—never mind that many adventurers were zombies themselves, and often rode horses or retained grievous injuries from before or after their death. That she possessed magical abilities would make matters worse.

“So someone decided there was something called a ‘lich,’” Licoricia explained, holding Caracosa’s head in her lap, braiding the woman’s hair. Cypora couldn’t decide whether it was the very faint blonde hair that some people had in childhood but grew out of, or just whitened by undeath. “Which near as I can figure just means someone who chose to become a zombie, using their own magic. And they figure any zombie with brains to talk* who knows a bit of magic must be one.”

“And anything different from expectations is high status,” Cypora groaned, realizing what this meant. “So they would have made you a special target if they knew you were here.”

“You don’t know the half of it, honey,” Caracosa replied. While her head was in Licoricia’s lap, her body was seated across from her, tinkering with a crossbow. “They decided there’s some kind of extra-special lich that’s just a skull with no body, so even though I still have my looks, one of them apparently spread the rumor that’s what I am, on account of I put the whammy on them and they didn’t reckon my body was my own. You’d think they’d see a bodiless head and a headless body and make the connection.”

“Adventurers are stupid, quick to make judgements, greedy,” Shiaroc hissed from where she lounged in the grass near Cypora, sunning herself, “and well-armed. A bad combination.”

“Which is why I started keeping the crossbows, and where I got’em,” Caracosa said. Her body—still plump from life in a way that was preserved by undeath—was attired not in the stereotypical talisman-covered robes of a baal shem or sorcerer, nor the somber garb of a typical witch. The old revolutionary uniform she still wore from life was refit with straps and hooks laden with quivers of bolts and tools for maintaining the weapons, as well as making it easier to draw and fire them. “That mauseoleum where I’ve been staying, it’s got this one sweet little alcove up high what serves as a vantage point. I can set my head up there all pretty and watch and wait while my body is ready in case any ‘venturer busts in, or just keep everything nice and ready for action.”

“But there’s problems with that, too?” Cypora prodded, unsure of whether to face Caracosa’s body, or her head. She opted for the latter.

“Well, yeah,” Caracosa sighed. Cypora could see her chest rise out of the corner of her eye, while her nostrils flared. The magic of undeath was a strange thing. “Seems like, last time around, that little one with all the scars had enough brains to make the connection between my head and body—even if they ain’t connected—and then took that in the wrong direction. Started telling other adventurers something about a ‘headless horsewoman’, on account of I suppose he knew enough about the revolution to recognize one of our dragoons. No respect for veterans, huh?”

“You were high ranking?” Cypora guessed. She didn’t know much about uniforms from battles that were fought before her birth, especially in ‘armies’ that consistend of countless local forces hastily banded together and attired according to the whims and budgets of their leaders and members, but Caracosa’s remained in excellent condition.

“Major under Lieutenant Colonel Chouraqui herself,” Caracosa replied. Her body made a salute, the raised fist that was the old standard of revolutionaries. Even Cypora had heard of Chouraqui’s Witches, the light cavalry regiment whose surviving members had founded the College of Witchcraft at Rackham. Veterans of the revolution loved to tell stories about the literal flying soldiers, a band of women who not only attacked the Icarian forces with both magic and guerilla tactics, but spat in the face of Icosan chauvinism.

It wouldn’t have been appropriate to ask her how she wound up in the dungeon, Cypora figured. Maybe another time, or if she volunteered it. “How would you feel about leading, again?”

Caracosa raised an eyebrow, and Cypora felt Shiaroc shift behind her; a glance confirmed she was sitting upright at attention.

“I don’t want to assume,” Cypora began, “but you probably heard that we figured out there are a lot of dead still hanging around. For whatever reason, the rephaim seem to hang heavy around the dungeon, and we’re hoping to find a way to bring a lot of them back. To recover the losses from the adventurers, and to rebuild.”

“We can talk a lot about that, honey, but you said something about leading,” Caracosa said. “You don’t mean just leading the dead out of Sheol?”

“No,” Cypora said, shaking her head. “When I came here, I said I wanted to be a queen in name only. I want to make sure people are being represented properly in the dungeon, and that decisions are being made that will benefit everyone, instead of just an overlord. The face we present to the outside world is one thing; we can bluff about me being a great queen of evil and ruler of monsters, but the dungeon’s still barely getting by with those who made it through the last attacks.”

“And the stone bird being gone makes that harder,” Shiaroc added. “It would have crowed as soon as Cypora became overlord. Every day we sit on our tails, we wait for adventurers to decide now is the time to come, to attack and take what little we have left.”

“So you want me to organize the dead,” Caracosa said, pulling the threads together. She set her crossbow on its hook at her hip, and reached out for her head, taking it out of Licoricia’s hands. “And bring more of them back.”

“Are you up for it?” Licoricia asked.

“Might be, on both counts” Caracosa answered. She shifted her head into the crook of her elbow, and started counting out on her free hand, “there’s things I’ll need what I don’t have, though. First, the Widows will need to agree to it, and Scoloaster, when she gets back. They’ve got respect, here, and they’d make for good counsel.”

Cypora nodded. “Jayyida suggested you for it, actually. I think you’ve got her and the others; and I can’t speak for Scoloaster but I think she’s game for anything if we make it exciting for her.”

“Second,” Caracosa stuck up another finger, “we’ll need resources. Raising a whole bunch of the dead from rephaim ain’t cheap, even just zombies. And maybe you’re hoping to bring some back alive?”

“I have to admit,” Cypora said into her hand, palming her mouth in embarrassment, “I hadn’t figured that out. Is it possible?”

“It depends on how much we recover in that run Ella, Scoloaster, and Linny are making,” Licoricia said. “From what I remember, the price to bring someone back seems to vary a bit; adventurers usually pay a kind of average rate that balances out, and the guilds pocket what’s left over for a profit by saying they’ll, you know, make up the difference on someone more expensive, the next time.”

Shiaroc huffed.

“That’s about right, and you can’t always predict who’s going to cost more,” Caracosa sighed. “The angels of the dead will set prices according to things no mortal alive or dead can known, and The Holy One has final say.”

She counted out a third finger, and then a fourth. “But I’ll name my own prices. Before I go anywhere in the world of the dead, I’ll need someone to fix my head to my neck. And if I’m bringing anyone back?”

She curled her fingers into a fist and thumped it against her chest.

“Then I’m getting my own life, too.”

* The prevailing stereotype among adventurers was that a zombie who was in one’s party was just a person waiting on a resurrection, and that a zombie encountered in a dungeon was a hostile monster to be reduced to small enough pieces that they passed on. This often led to fights between adventuring parties, and was the main reason that so many zombies wound up as a part of dungeons in the first place.

#Cypora’s Guide to Cementing Your Rule As An Evil Queen

[half-italy-half-austria]

Werewolf ideas

Brought on by this post, but I go far beyond clothing in this.

I have a thing where I made up (or perhaps just grouped together, idk) several werewolf species that have different properties, however I’ve really only focused on one, so I’ll do the basic gist of three and pretty much all of the other one.

One species only transforms on full moons, which causes clothing to get ruined if they don’t get naked beforehand.

Another can transform at will (even during a full moon) and their clothes sort of “go with them” during the transformation and come back when they enter human form.

The third (which is the one I’ve fleshed out the most, so it’s really the first but whatever) is called Lupus Grandifauna, mainly because the people who fall under that category (males specifically, though females are no less imposing) get REALLY huge during a transformation. I based “grandifauna” on the term “grandiflora,” which is a cultivar of roses that are known for having large blooms. In human form Grandifauna men range in size almost as well humans, however the amount of above average sized men is much larger in quantity. Grandifauna men may also experience what I’ve called equilibrium, in which they may have been of average human size (or smaller, or bigger, or really anything) at one point, but due to an increased number of transformations (i.e. frequently transforming when not under a full moon), their height and musculature increase. While the transformations under a full moon may contribute to equilibrium, they will not have such a drastic effect as excessive transformations at will. Put simply: More big doggo=bigger manno. Grandifauna fall under the category of being able to transform at will and also being forced to transform on a full moon. Just like the second group I mentioned, when they do it at will, their clothes get preserved in the process, but their clothes can potentially get wrecked on a full moon, just like the first group. Grandifauna are humanoid from the knees up (about 3/4 the body minus the head, which is, you guessed it, a big wolf’s head) and possess the lower hind legs of (Shocker!) wolves, as well as having humanoid hands tipped by large claws. The structure of their legs allows them to stand upright like bipeds as well as sit, lie, and run like quadrupeds. Male Grandifauna are beasts with a massive, densely packed musculature coursing with extreme brute strength, whereas females possess long, graceful bodies capable of much higher agility and movement. While females on average are physically weaker, their strength is not something to misjudge, especially when combined with their high speed, mobility, and greater stealth capabilities. Males, despite their size are experts at stealth as well, but to a lesser degree. While a male may be able to silently track a herd of deer, the female is often the one to invade and kill off several before the herd notices, that way the male will still have a share should he not catch enough for himself.

In the case of equilibrium, I have a character who, in wolf form, is 10 feet tall standing upright and about 700 pounds, which is massive even for a grandifauna (they average 7.5-8 feet) and in human form he’s 6'5" and 300 lbs. Before a certain plot development he was 6′0 and 210 pounds, and because he began frequently searching for something in wolf form his height and weight increased, his transformations actually becoming so frequent that even his wolf form increased in size.

The fourth group is like the second, but they have an additional trait which is that the brightness of the moon affects their speed, full being the fastest, and new being the slowest. Other than that, there isn’t much of a difference.

In addition, there is a fifth group of werewolves known as the “Moonless,” which is a nice way of saying they can’t transform. The Moonless have to wear half moon necklaces depicting the First Quarter (the half moon before the full moon) to indicate their status in their communities. In old times the moonless were persecuted for being “essentially human failures” (ouch, right?), but modern communities are much more accepting of them. However, some still hold prejudice toward them, which is why they are given more security in the community than others due to the fact that they are still frequently attacked by members of their own kind. In the past, Moonlessness was thought to be a curse from the Moon Goddess, but modern science determined it was brought on by a rare gene. As mentioned before, the Moonless are essentially human, meaning they heal at the same rate and have the same average body temperature. They really are no different from humans aside from the fact that their blood doesn’t register as human on a DNA/blood test.

There is also Induced Moonlessness, in which an individual goes to the local witch/magical family (witches/sorcerers and all that jazz often get along well with werewolves) and buys a necklace or other piece of jewelry that catches their fancy (watches, rings, etc.) that is enchanted in a way that suppresses the wolf form, whether it be forced transformations under a full moon, or transformations brought on by those unable to control their emotions (read: rage). Induced Moonlessness is indicated on said jewelry by a Third Quarter moon, which is the half moon after the full. Some choose Induced Moonlessness of their own volition, whereas others are forced into it, usually because they have poor self control, criminal backgrounds, or both (instead of jewelry, which can be removed, the witch curses the individual.) Those with Induced Moonlessness still retain their accelerated healing rates and higher body temperature (around 105 degrees Fahrenheit).

As for reproduction, children (commonly referred to as pups) can be conceived in human or wolf form by way of sexual intercourse. It is believed a child is likely to be a better wolf when conceived in wolf form by its mother, and especially so on the night of a full moon. Conception in werewolves is the same as in humans, meaning it can take a few hours or up to 5 days for the egg to become fertilized. Should conception occur before the end of the full moon, the mother may be unable to transform into a human until after giving birth. Gestation is also the same as in humans: 9 months (about 40 weeks). Should the mother be unable to become human again she is often brought to an area of the community made specially for her and other expectant mothers, wherein they receive fresh meat and groomings from caretakers. Contrary to popular belief, most werewolves retain a large portion of their mentalities in beastly form, however mothers may become territorial and only allow mates and trusted friends into their areas. Mothers in beastly form will often give birth to a pup at night, after which the pup changes into an infant in the early morning. Other times both will retain beastly form until the child has been weaned off suckling the mother’s teat. Giving birth on the night of a full moon is considered good luck.

This leads us to imprinting, of which there are two kinds: child to mother and mate to mate. Child to mother imprinting happens when a newborn “latches on” to its mother as its primary source of care until it can move and (to a small degree) hunt on its own. The parents still have to watch over the child, but it can’t be considered fully defenseless. In some cases, children may imprint on the wrong mother and find difficulty adjusting when informed that the person to whom it has become so attached is not, in fact, its actual mother.

Mate to mate imprinting is when a werewolf feels an inexplicable connection to another (usually werewolf) individual, which results in them seeing that person and that person only as a mate. Very rarely will a werewolf imprint on another who does not reciprocate, which can lead to violent outbreaks and even acts of murder. Such behavior leads to the instigator being shunned, forced out of the community, cursed with Induced Moonlessness, or a combination of the three. As each community is different, they often welcome those who were forced out of others, but still take precautionary measures depending on the individual’s past. Should a werewolf lose a mate (by death, most commonly), they often find life difficult to continue, to the point where they may take their own lives or go live out their lives in isolation. Imprinting can also be extremely dangerous if one of the mates is abusive. In the worst situations, because the victim and the abuser have both imprinted, it is effectively impossible to get them away from one another, and attempting to do so may wind up in several deaths, including that of the victim, should the extremely possessive abuser become enraged. Due to a rise in mental health and welfare concerns, community members may ban together and perform an intervention to send the couple to counseling.

Small notes:

All of my species might possess a recessive gene that causes immortality. Some may get it, others may be carriers, and some don’t have it at all.

Werewolf communities (mine, at least) are very accepting of LGBT+ people. It’s generally believed all members of the pack are important (by most, ‘cause there’s always that one asshole.)

Thanks to @shawnlenore because I just randomly stumbled across their post someone had reblogged and subsequently spent a few hours writing this. It doesn’t really go with the post, but the post inspired all this stuff I just wrote, and I’m normally a very silent person online, so I want to thank them for making me want to voice my ideas for the first time.

I’ll put a link to the post here at the bottom, too. Just in case.

If anyone wants to use these, please ask/credit me.

And thank you to whoever took the time to read this, because it turned into something much longer than I thought it would be. You’re cool, and you get a nose boop.

#werewolves #my post #my ideas #long post

[crystalline-mutt]

I wrote a LoliRock fanfic. This was sitting on my computer for a few weeks. Finally decided to post it.

This is set after the Season 2 finale. No warnings for this one, but it’s a possibility in later parts.

They found him amongst the ruins of the dark temple, pinned beneath a pillar of black crystal. He didn’t fight back when the King himself seized him and locked him up in the very dungeon cell he’d been incarcerated in for over fifteen years. Not a word was spoken during his trial, no vows for vengeance were uttered from his thin, scarred lips, and when he was sentenced to life of imprisonment, there was not a single attempt to escape.

There was nothing.

For three weeks, Gramorr spent his days – and nights – wrapped up in cold silence, staring blankly at the wall of his cell. He didn’t eat, drink, or even shift. The guards were sure he didn’t sleep either.

“He’s scaring the new recruits, Sire, and the other prisoners,” explained the guard Captain. “Won’t eat, won’t drink, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sleep either. If he keeps this up, he’ll likely end up dead, Your Highness.”

Seated in his throne in Ephedia’s throne room, King Erfan was a strong, stoic figure before the Captain, despite the fact that he was still recovering from his imprisonment (Gramorr was not one for keeping his captives well-fed). Brow creased in concern, he inspected the scroll that bore similar reports from the Captain’s subordinates.

“Has he not spoken?”

“No, Sire.”

The King’s frown deepened. “Thank you, Captain. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, Sire.”

As soon as the Captain was out of the throne room, Erfan rose out of his throne and left the room via one of the castle’s many bolt tunnels, part of a network that had been installed generations ago; one he’d spent his childhood exploring every nook and cranny with Aria and…

He inhaled, the old, dusty scent of the dim, crystal-lit tunnels bringing back bittersweet memories and nostalgia. Maybe Iris would have liked exploring them, had she grown up here. Maybe she would have played Hide and Seek with Auriana and Talia, or used them to sneak into the kitchens and convince the cooks to allow her sweets and pastries between meals. Perhaps she’d have dashed into the throne room in the middle of Royal Counsel, bringing some relief from the endless complaints of Council members and Ephedia’s citizens, or even snuck into the Royal Mage’s study and got him to teach her magic or watch him become enraptured in explaining the details and technicalities of spells, or whatever else he was studying at that moment.

Such wishful thinking… He sighed, knowing that it would never be. Looking ahead, he realised he’d made it to the dungeons without realising. Of course. He’d frequented it many times during his adolescence, mostly because he’d been dared to do so.

They’d brightened up since Gramorr’s dominion. It was no longer dark and crumbling due to lack of upkeep. No rats could be found lurking in the damp corners of the cells, and the mould that had previously been crawling up the walls was gone.

Now, there was light and security. The walls were no longer falling apart, and the rodents had been relocated. Beds had been put in the cells, and the whole place just seemed more… humane.

There weren’t many prisoners down here. Just a few of Gramorr’s lackeys, a petty criminal here and there…

But they weren’t the ones he was here to see. Steeling himself, he strode down the hallway to Gramorr’s cell.

He found the dark sorcerer sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall. He didn’t look very intimidating, dressed in a loose white tunic, long shirt and brown pants, blond hair matted and greasy, hanging limp around his shoulders. The sinister, intoxicating aura of dark magic that had once choked the air for miles around him had diminished to a mere tingle that soured Erfan’s breath if he got too close

“Gramorr,” the King of Ephedia began.

The sorcerer didn’t even twitch.

“Is something the matter?” Erfan continued, quietly passing through the bars of the cell door. The perks of being King. “The guards tell me you’ve been acting… off.”

Still, nothing. Erfan felt concern nagging at his chest.

“You were my friend once,” he said quietly. “I understand how that may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me. And to Aria.”

Cautious, he stepped closer until he was stood directly in front of the man, looking down at him.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Why did it end like this? What happened?”

No answer.

“Carnelian…”

Not even the slightest hint of acknowledgement. Disheartened, Erfan knelt down in front of him, looking past the curtains of hair that obscured his face.

Dull red eyes looked straight through him. Gramorr’s face was still a mess of purple scarring, smeared with an assortment of healing pastes and ointments, twisted and marred into a visage of pain and corruption that likely would never fade away. His cheeks were sunken, eyes half-lidded and vacant, as if he wasn’t aware of the world around him.

“You’re worrying me,” Erfan murmured, rising back to his full height. “Please. Try to eat something when the guards bring you your food later.”

Nothing. He left it at that, asking the guards to let him and the Queen know if anything changed.

#lolirock #lolirock fic #the mutt writes #lord gramorr #gramorr #the king of ephedia #king erfan