#there are so many wonderful feminine and/or long sleeve ones

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 3: Bubble Tea

“Hey.” Kyle murmurs, hand lightly grazing over your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. His palm feels warm on your skin and you unconsciously lean back into it.

“Hm?” You look up from where you were hunched over your phone - definitely not shopping for a new purse on company time.

“Gonna go pick up lunch f’the shop. Want t’ come with? I don’t think I can carry it all myself.” He asks. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at you. Relaxed and bright with that constant slight quirk in the corners of his lips.

“Oh! Yeah, sounds good.” You grin, standing quickly and grabbing your wallet out of your purse to shove into your back pocket. Might as well get something for yourself if you’re going out. “Where are we heading?”

“That poke place a couple blocks up.” Kyle nods in the intended direction.

You follow him out of the shop. The weather has begun to warm more. Still cool enough for long sleeves but the sun feels nice on your face as you trot up the street, speed walking to keep up with Kyle and his accursed long legs.

“Switch with me.” Kyle murmurs, hand flattening on your lower back as he steps to the road side of the sidewalk.

You snort, cheeks warming when his hand remains a few beats longer than necessary. “How chivalrous.”

He chuckles. “My grandad always said t’never let a lady walk by the street. Guess it stuck with me.”

As much as you want to tease him about playing into gender roles, you can’t lie and say you don’t like it. That it doesn’t make your heart patter and your stomach flutter. Growing up fat, you never really got the chance to be treated delicately. Femininely. Always expected to be tougher, louder, more masculine. It feels good. Healing, in a way, as stupid as it is.

God, your inner monologue is embarrassing.

The shop is smaller than you expected. Tucked away like many buildings in this downtown with a short, blue awning shading the teal colored door. It’s surprisingly crowded too, people packed in like sardines and filing in and out quickly. The inside is nicely decorated - a few tables off to the side that no one seems to stay at. They more so seem to act as a waiting spot until people get their food and head out. The menu board is shaped like a bright blue, wall-length fish.

“Ladies first.” Kyle grins, opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him, earning a pinch to your side in return. It’s almost strange how easy things are with him - with all of them. You don’t think you’ve ever been this comfortable around a group of men before. That would probably make you sad if you thought about it for long enough.

Kyle passes you a little clipboard with a stack of papers to customize your poke bowl and a small pen. He begins filling out three for the others, seemingly from memory. You wonder how often they come down here - if it’s their favorite local spot or just convenient. You look over his shoulder, snooping for the others preferences. Apparent Simon likes a lot of spice. Johnny, not so much.

Your eyes widen as you reach the bottom of your menu. “They have boba!”

“You want some?” Kyle grins.

You nod excitedly. Like a kid discovering a new candy. It’s been so long since you got your hands on some bubble tea - if you’d known they had it sooner you would’ve been in here nearly everyday. Then again, maybe it’s good that you didn’t know.

Kyle holds out his hand. You look between it and his face dumbly for a few moments, clutching your order in your hands before putting the pieces together.

“I can get my own!” You insist. “I don’t-“

“Price’s treat, love.” He snags the paper from your hands. “He always pays when we come here.”

“Oh. Okay.” You chew your lip. “I can at least pay for my drink, since it’s extra-“

He just waves you off and marches up to the register. You don’t miss the fact that he pulls out a very shiny credit card. So it’s not Price’s treat. It’s a company treat, eh?

Not that you’re going to complain. Free poke and boba is a dream come true.

Kyle takes your little plastic number, ducking to snag a now freed up table to wait at. They’re tall, causing you to scramble unceremoniously to get up in the heightened chair. You think you see him laughing out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as you face him he’s just sitting with that usual, casual smile of his.

One of the workers brings over your drinks in a little carrier, saying the food will take a minute longer. You’ve never been patient, greedily grabbing your tea and aggressively stabbing through the cover.

“When do you think John’s gonna let you do your first real tattoo?” You ask, kicking your feet under the tall chair.

Kyle shrugs. “He said soon. I think he’s waitin’ for me to’ be less nervous about it. Plus I need to find someone to do it on-“

“You can do it on me.” You blurt without thinking.

He eyes you. “Really?”

You nod excitedly. “I really like your work - at least what I’ve seen of it. It doesn’t have to be anything big. I’m perfectly happy with one your black-only flashes. That way you can start small.”

“I don’t know…”

“Plus, John says I sit real good. I’m not gonna wriggle and fuck you up.” You chew your straw absentmindedly.

“And what do you get out of this?” Kyle cocks and eyebrow, that slight, constant smirk only growing across his face.

You tap your chin. “Bragging rights when you get famous someday. I got the first official Garrick tattoo ever!”

A surprised laugh forces it’s way out of him, sending him into a coughing fit around the drink he was sipping. “Don’t think I’m gonna be that good, love.”

You reach out, resting your hand over his as a strange wave of seriousness overtakes you. “I don’t think John would take you on as an apprentice if he didn’t think so. Plus, you should hear how much he brags about you. It’s almost insufferable.”

There’s something in his eyes as he gives you another once over. It’s slower this time, dragging up your arm and across your features and back down your other arm, coming to an end where your hand lays over his. Kyle turns his hand upward, brushing his two middle fingers over your pulse point. It steals your breath, strangely enough. He hold your hand so gently, barely cupping it in his.

You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. For all Kyle’s honest and kind nature, he’s hard to read. That perma-smirk hides a lot more than you think you or anyone else realizes.

“Alright. I’ll talk t’John about it.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hand.

“Yah. You better.” You grin, leaning back in your seat just as the food comes out.

[ddarker-dreams]

Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

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

-Index-

April 1st, 2005. 

8:02 a.m.

-

You don’t get it. 

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

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

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

You go as still as a statue. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh. 

“Just a bit.” 

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

“Gonna come with?” 

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

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

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

“It’s almost like a ghost town.” 

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

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

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

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

You blink. 

“On… the first day…?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable. 

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

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

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

The creature continued to sip. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope you can befriend everyone. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dodging isn’t an option. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?!” 

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

You inhale shakily. 

“Never better. You?” 

He sounds chipper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan. 

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

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

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

How did he pull that off…? 

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

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

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

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

You make a face. “Eh?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was the most egregious part!” 

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You introduce yourself as well. 

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

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

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

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue. 

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

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

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

Any spell you were under withers and dies. 

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder what everyone else is like. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?” 

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

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?” 

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

“... Ah.” 

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

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

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

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

-

This has been the first proper school day. 

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

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

This guy really irks you. 

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

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

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

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

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“Need help?” 

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

“I’ve got it,” you insist. 

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

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

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

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

You stare at him.

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

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

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

You take a deep, deep breath. 

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?” 

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

“...” 

He stares at you.

You stare at him. 

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

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

“Wait, really?” 

“Really.” 

“Really really?” 

“Really really.” 

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow. 

“For you, madam.” 

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

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

Gojo gives a hearty salute. 

“Yes ma’am!” 

-

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo furrows his eyebrows. 

Geto blinks. 

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

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

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

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

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce. 

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

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

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

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate. 

He doesn’t. 

“Geto-kun, care to translate?” 

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

Geto trails off and clears his throat. 

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

You nod. 

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

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

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

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

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow, what a gentleman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” Geto hums. 

“He does?” You ask. 

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

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

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

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

Geto and Gojo exchange looks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clap to redirect their attention. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru.” 

“Hm?” 

“I think I get it now.” 

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

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

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?” 

“Are you?” 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What could be better than learning from the best? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Painfully so. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shiver. 

“... Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

This cuts and it cuts deep. 

Are you that incompetent to him…? 

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building. 

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

Leaving no room for you. 

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

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.” 

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

This is destruction in its raw, purest form. 

This is what it means to be the strongest. 

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant. 

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description. 

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

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

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hear a sniffle. 

Then a whimper. 

And a gurgle. 

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

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

All is still. 

All is silent. 

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain. 

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

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions. 

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.” 

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

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

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

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

The appendage plummets down. 

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

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

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

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

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

You dismiss your cursed technique. 

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

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

Is that really the only way? 

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up. 

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

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

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

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

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

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back. 

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

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

“Gojo—” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks. 

“Just a few sprains.” 

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

You exhale shakily. 

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

How does he know that? 

You’ll worry about this oddity later. 

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

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

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse. 

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

Seventeen sources? 

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

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

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

“Seriously?” 

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

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cursed Technique: Null.” 

Your ability is versatile if not simple. 

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

There’s an additional application beyond this. 

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

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

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

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

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood. 

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

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

That leaves the issue of cutting through them. 

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

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

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

Time to leap across. 

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

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

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two. 

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

Three. 

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops. 

…

So does your breathing. 

-

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

-

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design. 

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

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

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

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

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

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of suggestions?” 

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

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

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

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

You don’t think so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay. You can keep going.” 

The tips of his ears turn red. 

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

“I’m getting this over with.” 

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

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

“... Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

He nods without hesitation.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It stops you from shattering. 

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

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

… Is that what you meant? 

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

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

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage. 

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

-

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day. 

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

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak? 

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

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway? 

-

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

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

“Cute handwriting.” 

“Eek!” 

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

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

“Satoru? You’re back?” 

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

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning. 

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

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

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

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though. 

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

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

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

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless. 

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

“Welcome home, Satoru!” 

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet. 

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

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

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

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

(He holds up two). 

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat. 

“Funny girl.” 

“I learned from the best.” 

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

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

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

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

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

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch. 

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

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

“Even then.” 

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

“Most things are.”

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. 

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

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

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane. 

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

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

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

As for her history…

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

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

That sounds like your mentor alright. 

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

You point to yourself and he nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And that happy medium is…?” 

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

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

What is he, a member of the mob?! 

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

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff. 

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

“You’re impossible.” 

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

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

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

Wait, what? 

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

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

“But I did.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out. 

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder. 

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

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

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”  

-

December 23rd, 2017. 

8:02 p.m. 

-

You assess the man in front of you.

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

Or so you thought. 

“Are you hearing yourself?” 

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

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!” 

“I’m not laughing, am I?” 

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

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

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

“Is that genuinely what you think?” 

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

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

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

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

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?  

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

“... It isn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.” 

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean. 

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

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

“I know.” 

“... Could you?” 

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

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

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

He quickly abandons the farce. 

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

“W-What?” You choke out. 

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

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

He whispers your name. 

“You trust me, right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then do this for me, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

“And this is all based on a hunch?” 

“Mhm.” 

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

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth. 

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

Satoru ruined this assumption.

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

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

His explanation upon answering the phone? 

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

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

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

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

You close your eyes and smile. 

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

[natsuki-kibutsuji]

Woman with the moon in her eyes

Part II

Previous: part I

A beautiful sunrise spread over the valley; birds took flight from a nearby tree; the spiderweb glittered with droplets of remaining dew...

Natsuki saw a wonderful morning in a ceramic bowl full of water. This is what her blood demon art looked like. She could see everything at any distance in the water; it acted like interconnected mirrors. She had been trying to hide this ability from Muzan for so many years, especially since she had seen the heir of Ubuyashiki. Despite her situation, she remained loyal to the Ubuyashiki family to which she was supposed to belong. Everything she dreamed of died along with her humanity - starting a family, being a good housewife, helping fight demons. Even the sunrise she was just looking at was taken away from her because she would never feel those rays of sunlight on her skin.

Natsuki, full of frustration and disagreement with her fate, spilled the bowl of water with a sweeping movement of her hand.

"Heavens, calm my frayed nerves, give me strength" she said.

If she was going to spend forever here, she decided not to waste any more time. She could take advantage of the opportunity given to her; live as part of the Ubuyashiki family despite being a demon.

Natsuki was aware that there was something Muzan was looking for. He never said what it was exactly, but he worked diligently in the lab. She wanted to stop him. It no longer mattered how much she had to sacrifice.

Natsuki took a deep breath and started searching the closet for the best dress.

Soon after, she managed to dress up like never before since her transformation. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt very feminine. She chose a blood-red kimono made of the best quality material; while the right side was decorated with flying cranes. Her blonde hair was tied in a high bun, fastened with a hair needle with bells. She finished with a light touch of red on her lips.

Natsuki prepared a tray with a pot of matcha tea; she set down a cup made of the best foreign porcelain.

"Let's try to stir things up a bit"

She slowly moved towards the laboratory where Muzan was experimenting, somewhere deep inside Infinity Castle. As she walked through the halls, every door opened for her. Somewhere in the distance, Nakime could be heard playing. And with every step Natsuki took, the bells on her head rang; with each step, the doubts grew. It's the riskiest thing she tried in ages. One mistake and the demon king could stop considering her as his plaything. Not that she cared about life - not like this. The thought of missing the chance to help the corps terrified her more.

Before the last door, she felt Muzan's scent and his aura. Her cells reacted to the memory of the masculine scent she felt every full moon. Trying to control it, she shook her head and the door opened.

"I couldn't have expected a more unusual guest," Muzan replied, mixing the measuring cups without looking at Natsuki.

"Please excuse me for disturbing you, I've prepared some tea," she said, putting the tray aside.

Muzan looked dignified and elegant, as always. He wore a white long-sleeved shirt and a crimson vest, with black suit pants. Pink cat eyes peeked out from under his black wavy hair.

"We don't need such human things..." he replied dispassionately.

"We don't need a lot of 'human things', and yet..." she continued the topic, more eloquently.

At that moment she caught his attention, coming closer than she usually did without any explicit command. She ran her delicate hand over the vials and measuring cups.

One of the test tubes caught her attention on the counter. Its color seemed to differ from the rest; while most were red, this one was pale blue. Natsuki, without thinking for a long time, decided to take it to investigate further what Muzan was working on. Leaning fully on the counter, she looked over her shoulder at Muzan.

"Despite your fondness for Western novelties, I know you're old-fashioned, and we never completed our wedding duty..." she continued, trying to reach for the test tube.

"Is it so? I gave you freedom in this matter, considering the circumstances."

"Maybe my approach was wrong. I am a wife after all."

She heard a longer "hmm" from him. After a moment, she felt his hands on her tilted hips, slightly guiding her to spread her legs further. Muzan leaned closer to her, pinning her to the counter. His chest was close enough that she could feel him moving steadily on her back. For a moment, the thought that IT was about to happen passed through her mind; that together they became one.

Suddenly she heard a crash. When she opened her eyes, the test tube she wanted to steal was shattered under Muzan's hand. The blue liquid spilled and then evaporated. A moment later she felt Muzn's lips on her neck, kissing her lightly. It lasted a second.

"I can fulfill my marital duty, but I want more than that," he replied, and after a while he began to leave the room.

Before the door closed behind him, he added, "Stop thinking you belong to people who abandoned you a long time ago."

Natsuki slammed her fist on the counter. She stood up, full of dissatisfaction, and then she heard Nakime pluck the string of her instrument. In the blink of an eye she was in her room on her bed.

Nothing could have made her realize more clearly where the cage was - inside this bedroom.

[emotionalmotionsicknessxx]

Belated Valentine's Day Drabble

Erik/Christine, Meg POV, Fluffy as I get

"What a tragedy this is."

Meg crossed her arms as she considered the scene. Erik stood, sleeves rolled to the elbows, in the kitchen of his modest apartment. There was a considerable amount of flour in the mixing bowl in front of him. There was considerably more on his face and shirt.

“Don’t.” He said, lips pressed together in a thin line below his mask.

“I wasn’t going to,” She said, stifling the laugh and swallowing it. “This looks very...good.”

“Meg Giry, you are a terrible liar.”

“But a wonderful friend,” she piped in, traversing the tile floor in an attempt to see what, exactly, had gone wrong in the kitchen. “So I assume the soufflé was a bust?”

“They can be very touchy, yes,” he said, trying to dust the worst of the flour from his once-black shirt. “The humidity isn’t helping.”

“Erik, it’s February,” Meg reminded him. “And...” She pointed to the oven clock. “Your date will be here in an hour.”

It had been several years since her mother had called her asking for a favor; that her friend’s son needed a place to stay when he was in the city. She had said no, obviously - she wasn’t some pervert who was about to let some random man traipse around in her determinedly feminine space and get beard hair in the sink and God-knew what else. But then Erik had arrived three days later with the proof that her mother had ignored her wishes, and he was soaked through from the rain like some horrifying, sopping wet cat, and she could not leave him out there and the rest was history.

It was not a roommate situation that was without flaws; he was a composer, among many things, and this meant listening to the same three notes be plunked out in varying tempos until she thought her ears would bleed; he did leave the seat up, to her chagrin; and he was horrifyingly, constantly, simply always:

There.

She woke up, he was there, making coffee and beginning the same insipid melody. She got home from work, he was still there, several half-drunk beverages on the coffee table. She fell asleep to the sound of his tinkering at the keys, or typing away on his disturbingly out of date white MacBook, which seemed to have been modified to recreate the sounds of typewriter keys.

It was a day, not unlike this one, where she came home from a particularly challenging day of navigating the donors of the city opera AND her increasingly boundary-less boss, that she came home, soaked in a sheen of sweat from the packed train and bus, to find her kitchen upended, and Erik crouched in an unnatural way in front of her tiny oven. She had opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.

“Silence,” he said. “We need silence.”

She nodded, not bothering to ask why, or for how long, or for what reason. She tiptoed around the counter, only to find her socks soaked through in the dribs and drabs of thick batter, cold and squishing between her toes. She nearly gagged, but did not break her silence until she saw, with horror, every single plate, cup, and kitchen tool in the sink. On top of the soapy water poked out her KitchenAid, the bowl still attached to the mixer now sodden and submerged, the wire cheerfully greeting her from the suds.

“ERIK!”

The soufflé deflated that day, and the KitchenAid got thrown out, and Meg was determined to get Erik a Date™.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she reminded him as the two cake pans were removed from the oven. “She’s very kind, and I don’t know if they even are sweets people.”

“Who?”

“Christine. Erik, focus,” Meg held back the impulse to snap her fingers. “Do you even know if she likes chocolate?”

It seemed he did not consider this. “Who doesn’t like chocolate?”

“I don’t know, Swedish people?” Meg exclaimed. “Look, all I know is she is very sweet, and works in the costume department of the opera, and no one thinks ill of her, which at the opera is a miracle.”

She did not include that most people called Christine Daae, “odd,” or “always with her head in the clouds” or even “strange.” Erik was using a multitool to ice the cake. He could handle a little strange, especially for a girl who said yes to a first date on Valentine’s Day.

She set about straightening the living room, Erik’s compositions into neater piles. “Remember, don’t dominate the conversation.”

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Erik...” Meg warned. “No composing diatribe. No mansplaining.”

“I don’t mansplain.”

“You are a man, and you ‘plain,” she retorted. “And she works at the opera. She doesn’t need to hear you explain Puccini, she knows things.”

She stood, the living room straightened, the candles less...scattered, to see Erik, covered in flour and now icing, standing in the decimated kitchen. She sighed.

A shower, a brisk cleaning of a kitchen that would not hold up to her mother’s scrutiny, and one intercom buzz later, Meg was smuggling her take-out to her room with a blown kiss to a very startled, very rigid Erik. Every candle and then some illuminated the area around the piano, and Meg prayed to any God that would listen that he wouldn’t come on too strong. She crossed her fingers for good measure, and retreated.

That night, the tinkling of piano keys woke her to the most beautiful music. She fell back asleep to it, her dreams colored by the placid joy of the new composition.

She found him alone in the kitchen, standing over the espresso machine.

“So...it went well?” She asked, wriggling her shoulders.

Erik looked up at her, as though startled out of a reverie. “Yes, very well, in fact. We are getting married!”

Meg blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

[may--hawk]

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Anthony J. Crowley

Summary:

Aziraphale’s learned that Crowley hates being perceived directly. Like a snake in the grass he likes to sidle, to sneak, to slip, to avoid exposure. It’s the reason behind the dark glasses, the reason he drives so fast, the reason he never stays still, never relaxes. It’s hard, sometimes, when Aziraphale’s true form has so many eyes, and all he really wants to do is watch Crowley.

I.

Crowley’s eyes are lovely. Sometimes yellow, sometimes brown, often guarded, they move snakily - they dart, they track side to side, they stare, unblinking. And Aziraphale sees them so little. Still, Aziraphale supposes, it is Crowley’s prerogative. Aziraphale remembers when Crowley had first started hiding his eyes. It had been Uz, and Aziraphale had thought at first it might be a passing fad; Crowley was always so informed on the latest human fashions. Occasionally, Aziraphale wondered if he had invented a few himself.1 But as the centuries passed and Crowley’s glasses only grew larger, and darker, and hid his eyes more effectively, Aziraphale began to wish that perhaps, just once, he would take them off again.

And then perhaps his prayers - so to speak - are answered, because he and Crowley both end up, independently, at the Heian Court at the turn of the first century in what will later become Kyoto. They each have their own assignments: Aziraphale to influence a particular marriage, Crowley, apparently, to encourage the young women of the court to write books that will, he assures Aziraphale, lead to something called a live journal. Eventually.

One morning in the first month they find themselves part of the Court’s expedition to Mount Hiei to observe the snowfall; all members of the expedition are each to write a poem, and then present it, later, to the Emperor for his judgement. So the court sets off, a band of courtiers in brightly-colored over-robes, the women carried along in their carriages, hanging their sleeves gracefully out the open windows to whisper over the snow.

Aziraphale’s fallen behind, watching the humans enjoying themselves, watching Crowley, a little further ahead, up to his usual petty mischief. Crowley sidles around the senior court officials, whispering in their ears. What’s he’s suggesting soon becomes clear as they gather up handfuls of snow and stuff them into the women’s dangling exposed sleeves. Aziraphale hears feminine squeals and screams, and the women’s arms disappear back into the carriage, only to reemerge with triumphant palmfuls of snow. Splat. Crowley, smiling slightly at a job badly done, saunters back, slowly, to join Aziraphale.

“You are impossible,” Aziraphale sighs, raising his hand to his eyes to shield them from the sun, which is strong in the sky behind Crowley. He winces a little. He’s still not used to the blinding nature of snow in sun, has spent too much time in temperate climes. Besides, he’s still not sure about this whole snow thing. It’s cold, it’s wet, and its brightness reminds him of Heaven. Aziraphale must be making a face at this thought, because Crowley sighs, then, reaching up and taking his own dark glasses off. He holds them out to Aziraphale, snapping the fingers of his other hand, suddenly holding a new pair, even more stylish than before.2 Aziraphale steps towards him, reaches out to take the glasses and - stops in his tracks.

Crowley looks like a woodcut, a stark print against the white wide expanse of snow, all around them unbroken and blinding. His dark, black silk robes make him stand out from his surroundings like a blackbird; his hair, red and long and dark, spills loose and curling down his back in an approximation of the women’s style of the Court. Blood on the snow, sharp and present. And his eyes - Crowley’s eyes today are fiercely warm, soft amber, opaque and lovely, the dramatic black slash of his pupils and the whites of his eyes making them stand out like rare beads. Crowley’s mouth opens; he stops, frowning. His eyes flicker over Aziraphale, up his body, across his face, come to rest on his own. Aziraphale feels pinned, like a small animal of prey, and he makes a noise, a half-breath, and then the others, turning and seeing that they’ve fallen behind, call out, breaking the spell between them.

Crowley slides his new glasses on and Aziraphale does the same. It helps with the glare. It helps with - a lot of things, really. He finds he can watch Crowley, as they hurry to catch up - well, Aziraphale hurries, and Crowley saunters, and somehow they end up there at the same time.

Aziraphale’s poem, later, is simple and plain.3 It’s largely ignored in favor of the more objectively lovely or ostentatious poems - those about the moon, or plum blossoms, or green shoots, although Shonagon shoots him a sidelong glance when he reads it aloud. Crowley’s in the back of the room, arms crossed, leaning against a thin partition, and Aziraphale’s half-afraid he’ll fall through, but he doesn’t: the perfect balancing act. His face, under the new glasses, reveals nothing at all. Not for the first time, Aziraphale wonders what his eyes are doing, what they look like now. If they’re fixed on Aziraphale. He has that strange prickling sensation over his skin he’d had before that rather suggests they are.

When Aziraphale leaves the court behind, assignment satisfactorily concluded, Shonagon gives him a series of parting presents, on behalf of her household. Largely consisting of sumptuous robes of blue and gold silks, one robe in particular stands out: black and red, embroidered with golden stars, it is lovely, and very obviously not meant for Aziraphale. “Thank you,” he says to her, “It’s lovely,” and she only smiles, and flutters her fan, and darts a glance over to Crowley, who is, coincidentally, departing court at the same time.

Aziraphale has always meant to present the robe to Crowley, of course, but at first it’s a few centuries before he sees him again, and then Crowley’s a knight errant, and brings up that absolutely vexing argument, and so it slips Aziraphale’s mind. The robe is still hanging in Aziraphale’s wardrobe, carefully pressed between the others. It occurs to him, every now and again, that he’d like to see Crowley wear it. Crowley will be delighted - Oh, Shonagon, he’ll say, with that little smile he gets when remembering particular humans he was fond of. I remember Shonagon. Whatever happened to her? 4 He and Shonagon, Aziraphale remembers, had gotten on like a house on fire. Shonagon had always had good taste. The robe will look exquisite, of course, paired with Crowley’s unmasked eyes.

Keep reading at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54704443

[yridenergyridenergy]

2024/02/17 sukekiyo - Tsumetai Chinmoku live report (Day 2)

SETLIST

Houmonsha X

Gloss

The Hole

Mosaic Shoujo

Candis

Valentina

MOAN

Kuchi ni ringo

aftermath

Rongai na ikimono toshite

Kawattekuremasen deshou ka?

Scarlet

Tada, mada, watashi.

Hakudaku

Uso

Kokyuu

Margaret

I'll try to focus on the differences and what I had forgotten to include in yesterday's report.

The band's outfit were generally not only completely different from yesterday, but also from different references entirely, at least from what I could see. Takumi had his clothes from the MOAN music video, but Yuchi appeared to have bare shoulders with the partial long sleeves, so no trace of the puffy material that hid his skin in the previous photoshoots. No drooping pane of fabric behind his shoulders like yesterday, I think. UtA was definitely wearing something more square and formal. It reminded me of some of Japan's student uniforms, and he looked especially like a "bad boy" while wearing his guitar upside down during aftermath to focus on playing the violin-like instrument. His long hair was also styled completely toward his right in a vast mane. Mika may have been wearing the same black suit. As for Kyo, his outfit seemed like it was two pieces linked at the front of the abdomen, but there was definitely a large band of fabric missing which exposed his skin above his waist. He also had a long skirt with many vertical folds, and his hair and makeup were the same as yesterday. But what was most striking about his look was the sheer amount of pearl necklaces he had aroumd his neck and resting on his shoulders. It looked heavy as hell. Maybe it was literally the accessory he wore for Dir en grey's Ochita koto no aru sora PV? And hint for ranuunculus: it looked most badass overall when Kyo was bathed in red on his head and over his shoulders while white illuminated most of the lower portion of the necklaces.

Right away, it was clear that the mood for today's concert was different: Houmonsha X started and once again, very epic. I noted that Kyo dances tip-toeing widely left and right near the end of the song, while the music sounds like crawling and buzzing bugs, and he does this on a floor illuminated by collapsing diamonds, so it really gives the impression that he purposely plays along at trying to avoid stepping on the lights. Oh and at the very beggining of that song, Kyo crouched and swished his hips side to side, literally dusting off the floor. This time, Kyo sang the "Are those eyes scary? How are they scary?" in the demented way.

I don't know if I just didn't remember or if it changed, which will be a recurring theme in this report, but Gloss had not only the blinking alternating hanging lights, but big flashes of purple were projected from around Takumi's distance from the edge of the stage. Overall, it was a very emotional, but powerful and beautiful song that followed Houmonsha X's vibe well.

The Hole started next and my prayers for a different setlist were answered! It was so cool. The song starts with a video on screen with opaque red everywhere except one large hole left untouched, where Kyo stands. The hole grows progressively larger, in a corrupted way. It's so cool later when Kyo swiftly rotates from his left side to his right side, vice versa, along with the music, drawing a wide circle each time, and I think he gestured considering those options at some point.

Mosaic Shoujo! Another change from yesterday. Kyo waved his arm up and down wildly at us during "Ano hito janakyaya", only to retrieve his arm toward himself when wondering "How many more times?" Quite sure it was during this song that I noticed what move Kyo does to drop his knees repeatedly like in that Candis prologue that I gifed from the footage on Erosio. While keeping his toes on the same spot, he rotates his heels outward, like a lot of women do in Japan, which causes a drop and the motion has to be repeated to maintain balance anyway. Anyway, overall a very feminine demeanor.

Candis followed and I had at least thought of bringing my penlights this time. I noticed that on screen, dots of light made up a huge fake disco ball, at the beginning, but maybe I just missed that detail yesterday.

The medley of pop songs continued but it was a lot more seamless, less foreboding than that sequence had been yesterday. There was hope for less sorrow later, somehow.

Valentina was still just as perfect~

MOAN, why do you not have a penlight yet? Anyway, it seemed even cooler to watch Kyo make the song's gestures (pump up the ceiling, circle a finger around to come back to you; rinse and repeat but you never get bored of it!) while wearing that excessive layer of pearl necklaces.

Kuchi ni ringo, I forgot to mention yesterday that he kind of screeches the janai in: "Sono makka na iro janai" instead of singing it more with despair like in the studio recording. Confirmed that this is the song where the first floor is covered by an opaque layer of blue light. At the end, it's odd because while the lyrics say: "Ah I want a womb", Kyo moves the diamond shape formed by his fingers ouward in different directions along with the repetition of "hoshii, hoshii, hoshii", as though he in fact wanted to know who wanted it.

aftermath came and I definitely focused on UtA's badass pose with his right leg extended backward while he leans forwarf to play the violin-like instrument, allowing the guitar that he rolled to his back to resr on his leg.

The part during the session took place again today but the man appeared more assured now and was wearing a plain black long-sleeved shirt. Kyo also looked less stiff. He rested his left leg on his right one and I can't remember how his hands were positioned, maybe just on his lap, but that too was more casual than yesterday. Also, either I didn't notice because I was looking through binoculars then, but a zoomed-in projection of that scene plus Kyo's following improv for the instrumental session was played on screen. Maybe the video experienced trouble yesterday and only began working later?

For some reason, Rongai na ikimono toshite seemed to have a whole lot more projections than I remember it having yesterday. Not sure if they could whip up a new video in less than 24 hours. It involved not just fractals, but like an evolving kaleidoscope of structures like what you'd find in complex metallic beam structures on bridges. It helped to enhance the song's menacing and mysterious aura. And big, bright white lights get flashed toward us in time with the intense moments throughout the song.

Kawattekuremasen deshou ka? was the song that appeased my growing concern that I had misremembered or totally forgotten stuff from yesterday hah. The video played during this song was totally different. It features only large bubbles, like soap bubbles, of various colours. Each bubble was so large that it encompassed the entire band. In the first "Naze watashi dake honto no ai o shiranai?", I don't know if something was mispronounced or if I was too distracted, but it didn't sound like "honto no ai o", more like it could have been aibito? But the second one was sang as per the lyrics, so I put that behind.

Scarlet was the same as yesterday, with its imposing "I want you to kiss me" & "I want love" being the only two lyrics projected on screen. Maybe it's during that song's "Let's make the sound of love as I think of you" that Kyo slides a hand between his legs?

Tada, mada, watashi. appeared as much as a classic as yesterday. I think it's due to the bright lights being projected on us and the screen otherwise displaying very little, mostly just small lyrics in English at the bottom and shimmering white borders there and at the top of the screen, which may have been done with the intention of giving us the impression that the PV is being recorded live, that we're witnessing this historic moment.

There's a word shown vertically in red in the couple of seconds of suspense before the chorus. It's just hiragana but somehow I haven't been able to catch it yet! It might be "oyasumi"?

After a short break, Hakudaku started and I knew that the end was already upon us, too soon. Uso began without a single second of interruption too. And as the tradition goes, Kokyuu was played after those. There's always a very long pause before it begins, as though someone needs to regain their composure or something.

Yesterday, I must have used the binoculars at this point too much, but I noticed that way above his head, the video projected involved scenes of isolation. For example, a lone strawberry shortcake, clearly to celebrate something, first left unattended on a table. Then the chair and the table are empty. A woman appears, followed by an older version of herself. She's beautiful, but nobody else shows up around her. The cake is cut and consumed, in part.

Kyo sang the ending, and I was expecting him to leave like yesterday, a wet kind of dry after uttering the softest: "Kanashimi wa owaranai dare no tame?", but he surprisingly held onto his mic stand, although stepping out of the pink LED line to the side a bit. Seconds of silence until... Margaret started! Some mercy. That song, although its lyrics are sad, counted as an "un deux" in this context thanks to its uplifting melody.

The credits were rolled on screen while the band performed.

Kyo left before the song's last few notes were played, essentially immediately after the last lyrics. We were less shy to start clapping after Margaret was properly finished, compared to yesterday at the end of Kokyuu. It was the instrumental of Zephyr that was played tonight as the other members left the stage. Mika peeked at us from atop his drums but I don't think he waved like he did yesterday, so it might have been a prompt to wake us up and start clapping, yesterday hah.

Three times during the concert, there was a weird, faint sound like "woaaan" at the end of songs, which was super obvious because we were all quiet. I didn't hear that at all yesterday. Maybe it seemed to coincide witn Takumi dragging his chair toward his keyboard to adjust his distance from it?

So far: man, I've rarely heard bass and drums hammer at our very molecules this much. Every single one of Yuchi's notes is a tidal wave crushing straight through us.

Now, which of the two setlists, or a secret third one, will the 20th have?

[thethirdromana]

Romana II's costumes, rated

Most screengrabs from the BBC image gallery, all opinions from me.

As seen in Destiny of the Daleks.

What a costume to open on. I love this. I love that it reminds us that Romana - even this younger-looking, more playful Romana - remains the Doctor's equal, being his costume, but pink. I love the details - the necklace, the white shirt with the pink pinstripes, the weird high-waisted pink trousers that we barely see, and the first of many outstanding pairs of boots. Above all I straightforwardly love how good this looks. Pink is undeniably Lalla Ward's colour. 10/10, setting the bar high.

As seen in City of Death.

So this costume has a very sweet backstory behind it. Lalla Ward hated wearing school uniform, and thought that the little girls watching Doctor Who might feel better about school if they saw a favourite character wearing the same kind of thing as they had to wear. Which is adorable. And then she got heaps of letters from pervy man. Which is... less so. 3/10, for the thought?

As seen in the Creature from the Pit.

I could either get a decent photo or one that showed the whole costume, so I chose the former. You're not missing much in the bottom half, it's a sort of floaty Grecian affair with a wide belt. They seem to have dressed Lalla Ward as Mary Tamm for this one. Her hair looks pretty, though. 5/10.

As seen in Nightmare of Eden.

This is it, this is the worst Romana costume. There's a sort of institutional vibe, like it might have been sewn from prison curtains. Every decorative detail - the massive bow, whatever's going on with the skirt - makes it worse. How did they manage to make Lalla Ward look so drab? And it looks at least a size too big for her, too. 0/10.

As seen in The Horns of Nimon.

This is more like it. It's clearly a fox-hunting outfit, which in the UK has connotations that are... let's just go with problematic. But Romana doesn't hunt any foxes in this episode, as far as I can remember, so I think it's OK for me to like the costume. Which I do. 9/10.

As (not*) seen in Shada.

Yes! Some people have faces that belong in a particular era, and doesn't Lalla Ward have such an Edwardian face? No wonder, then, that this is such a wonderful costume. I want to wear it myself, and then spend a day lounging in a punt with a good book. The only danger is that I would try to eat the trim on the hat. 100/10.

*because it never aired.

As seen in the Leisure Hive.

Apparently the Edwardian look was so good in Shada, they decided to do it again? This time Romana appears to be in an Edwardian boy's sailor suit. As an aside, I love how her costumes switch back and forth between historical men's styling and traditional feminine dresses. This costume is more fun than flattering, but I like it. 7/10.

As seen in Meglos.

This costume is... a lot. I mean, even next to what Lexa's got on, it's a lot. There's actually so much texture on this, I can't fully make out what's going on, and that's before we get to the world's largest sleeves. I think this is one of the few times that it feels like the costume dominates Romana, which is a pity, because I would otherwise be on board with the Henry VIII vibe. 4/10.

As seen in Full Circle.

I wish I had a decent-quality full-length photo of this costume, because it includes a long red skirt that's quite fetching. I enjoy the contrast between the military jacket and the dainty lace shirt. Red is a good colour on Romana II. 8/10.

As seen in State of Decay.

Another one where Romana is essentially in historical male drag, in the kind of outfit you would expect a gentleman to wear in the country. Only she has her hair down and it's all carefully fitted to Lalla Ward's figure, so it barely registers as GNC. I think that's a really fun costuming decision, and also I want this outfit. 10/10.

As seen in Warriors' Gate.

A disappointing costume to end on. I mean, it's perfectly nice. But if I decided that I wanted to dress for the job I want (Time Lady in E-Space) rather than the job I have (middle management) and rocked up to the office in this, I doubt anyone would register it as unusual. Which makes it rather less exciting than most of the other options on this list. 5/10.

Now I just need to see if I can track down an Edwardian lace dress.

[sanfangirl-cynicalromantic]

Hiccstrid Drabble | Regency AU

Astrid smoothed her dress as aggressively as she could manage - the closest she could get to expressing herself without throwing a tantrum in front of the entire party. Her father, standing next to her, threw her a subtle apologetic grimace, but Astrid didn’t acknowledge it. As if that would make her forgive him. She was furious. Her parents had always supported her independence, allowing to pursue less feminine activities as long as she could also conduct herself like a perfect lady in society. She knew she was privileged, not just as a lady but because her father was probably the best Lord in society who loved his wife and daughter and valued them instead of viewing them as breeding stock for stuck up heirs like all the other men in the court. Now she wondered if his betrayal would have hurt less if he had never allowed her to grow accustomed to having a say in her own future in the first place.

“It’s for the best,” he’d said in an attempt to comfort her. But it wasn’t. She didn’t want to have the only way to improve everyone’s life be to marry and put all her assets into another man’s hands. She cared about the people her father was tasked to look after, and would work alongside them if she had to, but why should she have to sacrifice herself for them? She had tuned out everything her father said after that. The only thing she knew about this foolish newest suitor was at least he wasn’t older than her father, and apparently was richer than all her former suitors combined, which was what had made his offer irresistible.

She refused to dance with anyone else while she waited for her father to introduce her to her doom. She knew that this was being overdramatic, but marriage and spinsterdom were the worst fears of every lady in court. Personally, she preferred spinsterdom. Anticipation crawled its way up her throat every time she thought she saw a man begin to head towards them.

A door to the side of the ballroom opened and a young man stepped through. Who was he? Clearly he didn’t want his arrival to be very noticeable. He tugged on the cuff of his left sleeve as he looked about the room for someone. She looked away just before his eyes passed over her but when she dared to look up again realized with horror he was making his way over to her. A quick glance at her father’s face confirmed her deduction.

He was tall and lean, with an expensive red waistcoat and golden buttons - small golden buttons, not the oversized glittery ones other lords wore as if they couldn’t stand to not boast about anything. Personally, Astrid was of the opinion that the bigger the buttons, the more men were compensating for something, but of course she’d never voice such a thought out loud. His trousers and boots were black and his vest a dark brown brocade of some sort, and he walked with the slightest limp, barely noticeable. His longish red-brown hair was slicked back and combed carefully, but she guessed that when untamed it would look almost shaggy. His jaw was pleasantly sharp and his nose a little big. He was a little on the small side in terms of shoulder width but his eyes - large, blatantly green orbs set above high cheekbones - were the nicest she’d ever seen. Many ladies were envious of Lady Heather’s rare sharp jade eyes, but this lord would put her to shame.

He reached her father and shook his hand with a friendly smile. “Lord Hofferson,” he greeted him. “Lovely to see you again. You are looking well.” His voice was nasally, she noted, but not unbearably so.

“Lord Haddock, you seem to be in even finer health than when I saw you last,” her father returned gallantly. “Please allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Astrid.” Astrid forced a bland smile on her face.

“Miss Hofferson.” Lord Haddock greeted her with a wide smile and an appreciative gaze. She wanted to hurl but allowed him to place a chaste kiss upon her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

She let her smile turn into a simper. “I wish I could say the same about you, my lord,” she said, her voice too sweet for her ears. She heard her father’s sharp intake of breath beside and bit down the threatening grin. Her suitor either would either have not heard her at all, not deeming his almost-wife’s answer important, or perhaps be (hopefully) offended.

The lord said nothing for a moment, simply regarding her. She allowed a smirk to break through and refused to break eye contact. She would not submit. Was he so slow he didn’t understand her? He looked intelligent, but maybe it was just his distracting green eyes. He smiled pleasantly, but there was a hint of something else that made Astrid draw in a breath. Goosebumps prickled along her arms.

“And I wish I meant what I said,” he replied. Astrid’s jaw dropped and then snapped shut at the smug audacity on his awful face. He bowed low in mockery and made to leave.

“Dance with me,” she ordered. She would not allow him to get away with having the last word. This - whatever this was, this interaction - was not done yet. She held out her hand limply, daring him to take it.

His eyebrow rose in what wouldn’t have been amusement if he knew what was good for him. He took it, and after a nod from her father, led her to the dance floor.

[flowerycoffin]

Small Hazbin redesings

Wow, wonder how long this many-parted project will go.

I need to go back to drawing again and expand my creativity a little bit, so I came up with trying to redesign hazbin cast with first one being Vaggie.

If you want to read what I wanted to do you can go under the cut.

Let’s start from idea itself - Vaggie is a moth demon, with fiery temper, good skill in weaponery and feminine presence. Her design is the best one in my opinion so I haven’t changed much. The only problem is not having enough moth features.

When it comes to moth theme I didn’t done it well - I like the idea of wing-shaped hair so I added it, making Vaggie be covered by this. The pattern on a dress and colours are heavily inspired by Grammia (tiger moth) and stocking by Rheumaptera Hastata wings pattern. I also wanted overal shapes to be puffy and flowy just like moths being fluffy winged puppies. I really like bow so I kept it, but gave more lepidoptera-like shape and pattern. What I don’t like though is flowing X-eyepatch, so I made it be covered in hair and moth-shaped.

When it comes spear I tried to keep balance between dangerous and girly with front being pointy and sharp, but end fan/feather shaped. It’s also shorter than canon weapon to make it easier to hold it near yourself and use during fight. The scar on a brow is added to show Vaggies agressive nature.

As for an outfit I was inspired by white goth aesthetic and subculture (very feminine with a spice of dark, gothic symbolism making very good mix for her as a character) as well as Salvadorian traditional dresses (they are very flowy, reminding me of moth wings). As I said before, I was aiming at puffiness so of course - big, puffy sleeves, flowy dress and comfy shape mixed with showing slim arms and legs and waist, just like moth having dumpy body and sticky limbs. The hair are wavy, because I saw that most salvadorian women have wavy or curly hair.

Last of, I would like to talk about my other inspirations which are older designs of Vaggie - it’s sad to say, but the newer the design, the less she looks like a moth (not counting the newest one). At first she had a cape, fur and nice hair making her look a bit like a moth, but than Vaggie started looking just like typical young adult with weird skin colour. The current design looks… nice (??) but the only hint telling us that she have something from a moth is her hair shape which is not much. The first one, the one with darkest skin tone and white hair and design from a pilot are my favourites so I tried to incorporate what I like the most in them into my redesign. Weird that at some point Viv kinda forgot, what she wanted Vaggie to be.

I know that mine didn’t ended looking like something I really wanted. I was thinking about giving her antennae ears or bow, but as I recall correctly, it’s male moth feature so… I also have same problem as Vivziepop - I feel like I gave too much details

[castle-dominion]

c3x18 one life to lose

Is this a porno...? Who killed Sarah? Interesting music & scenes... Martha <3 Operate a sponge? Speaking of hair? Why did he say it out loud? Does he usually? Martha come! Do smth productive! She's so right. MR: Richard darling, you are neither trained nor professional.

A writer! Why would anyone want to kill a writer? KB: Oh castle, so many reasons Castle where did that even come from? There are only three reasons to commit a murder. Yo that's a really cool death tbh. Axe severed the spinal cord & then her lungs filled with blood & she drowned??? That's insane! Why does lanie sometimes have a one hour window & today have a four hour window? Lanie <3 CSU has already been in?

Lanie is good, I mentioned how annoying they masculinize & feminize beckett but lanie is literally a mortician/undertaker/coroner/medical examiner/doctor/pathologist dealing with bloody murders, smelly bodies, & she is still the most fiery, sexy, feminine woman around.

Esposito are you flirting? Wow she's flirting right back. espt don't u have a gf? & isn't she right there with a dead body? (just had a fanfic thought: lanie asks to have sex in a coffin, mirroring ryan's previous exploits) KR, softly: Dude JE: Dude KR, firmly: Dude. Hastings: Ditto KR: You also drew a bubble bath & listened to some John Legend? Wow these two are fighting KR: Can we get back to sarah (the literal murder victim) for just one more moment? Look at eachother sus (clipping)

This one's eyes are vibrant. Castle you're an author you MUST know what shippers are. Hun why would u sue the city like that Castle that could be true, except for how dramatic you made it. Tone it down a bit & it sounds legit

Who made the board there? The murderboard guy? Set design <3 I like beckett's scarf. See more, it might be a typing thing.

FCL she died. The american spelling is interesting Yes! Wait no Wow fans. I wonder how ABC would react if we sent a bunch of axes to them demanding our ships get together. (The most popular noncanon ship is rysposito obv so the axes would be sent for them ig.) She calls her parents by their first names? W/e, good for her Mmm stirring coffee.

RC: You know whenever you say the word soapy I conjure up images KB: Castle focus RC: I am KB: On our suspect RC: Oh (clip)

I feel like the writers are sending a message to us the fans... *runs away sus after denying that she was a fan* Let her watch her shows b'y! (they're always making her some hot tomboy muscle car loving gun slinging detective & making her secretly feminine uwu totally lying. Like girl. Don't force her to be masculine in ways that don't fit her, don't force her to be feminine in ways that don't fit her, just let her be a well rounded person.)

RC: That was completely different, that was for research! JE: What was for research? KB+RC: Nothing JE: >:| KB: RC: JE: *shrug, but annoyed* M is murder. She put her appointment for her own murder in her thing (won't clip)

I love the way he says "hey. beckett." & costume update: Esposito has a normal brown long sleeve with a collar; beckett has a nice dark grey vneck longsleeve; castle has his usual, the shirt is grey & I don't see any pattern on the jacket; & ryan has a smile, a tie (red & blue, dark), & a jacket that has a pocket on the front, I love a good breast pocket, this jacket has lapels (& obv he has a pin) but the material is smth I'm unclear on, esp with the pocket, & then he's also wearing a sweater or a vest or smth. (I guess I could snap a pic)

Weird. RC: "Tell us you were alone, it will make arresting you that must easier" It doesn't sound like him. Rick u also know a lot about temptation lane. Also r u texting ur mom?

Did the writers design this episode so we stop talking about rysposito & start talking about esplanie? Wow. Also I don't like esplanie. Esposito is his last name & lanie is her first. It should be esparish. Mother.! Martha their inside source. I'm love. RC: o_o MR: Onscreen RC: *phew* MR: & off RC: 0____0 Holy crap only three weeks & that already happened! MR: gotta go *pushes her boobs up* (dsjkljfsd martha is so great, I think I might clip this)

Oh. I thought beckett was so "omg" bc she was getting a script sneak peak, not bc it was a murder motive lol.

Espt my dude you are in a relationship & like you JUST SAID she is a murder suspect. But I have to admit, watching him wave his hands to get castle into the observation room is rly cute. (CLIPPING) (Cute fistbump too) Lmao chiquitas bananas JE: No. As in the telenovela. I used to watch it growing up with my grandmother. Ok 1- I love how he says telenovela; whenever I speak a french word in english I anglicize it, but when he says a spanish word in english he keeps it spanish. 2- did you grow up with your grandmother or did you watch it with your grandmother when you were growing up? 3- You just said that out loud. You just. Said that. Out loud. Is that smth you want ppl to know? I think it's fine but I'm shocked you thought so too. (but idk how much to clip) It depends on how the system views itself. I have a friend+ who I consider one unit (therefore "a" friend+) but not one person (hence the "+") & it is in like a billion polyamorous relationships within itself, & is also polyam outwardly. With a lot of ppl it isn't out as a system. It dates outwardly as a unit (I think) but is also in inward relationships as I said. On the other hand, I've seen a system where a fronter is dating a fronter from another system, but the other alters within the system are not dating the other system('s fronter). It really depends. Also, you remember this episode?? & you're defending it so do you actually like it or?

Definitely writes death scenes for all the characters. She probably didn't write it all that night tho... Wow language

Just a fur coat. Yeah TV is hard. Writing, writing fast, filming, filming rushed... I wonder what it was like for the team to make this ep

Why is espt telling her abt ryan's findings?

Beckett using castle's writer powers to get out the info XD see he does come in handy! Castle did u lie? Meh it doesn't need to be a lie. Organ harvesting!?

Wow she's very disguised lol. Also does she have segmented heterochromia?

Ten grande for a pair of earrings? How often will you even wear them? Ryan probably wrote notes that cheesy! Just like he read eat pray love! KB & RC: *talking about the case, samebrain* KR & JE: *look at each other* *KR gestures up at them* KB & RC: *standing closer* KR: Do you two practice this when we're not around? :)) (& then espt is looking at em & ryan shuts the case of earrings right in his face) (cliping)

RC: Just trying to keep you on your toes Weird way of saying uniform. Like he was going to say uni but finished the word. Why do we have a scene looking at ryan & espt there? All they do is look at each other. Hi sweetie, is gram there? I need to talk to her. Idk why I like this line sm, i think it's just that it's a representation of family Yeah that's martha.

Castle just kicked down the door!! He actually does love his mom! The actor's version of "show me your golf swing" & it's what like frickin foreplay?

This episode is different. I think. Maybe not. I think it's neat how she says detectives ryan & esposito out loud like that. It's different. Wow. Really is an actor huh. Hey yk what good for him get a movie role. Plagiarism? No the mom. Stage left was honestly not a funny.

Costume update: I love castle's jacket Seperately was implied, castle.

The dress. & the shoes. .. Ooh & the purse! Martha already read thru the script?? NO WHO? WHO MARTHA, WHO?

Hamlet vibes. & there's the hamlet quote. KB: "We already know who the killer is so u'r wasting my time," -Me (won't clip) It's a soap opera, I had to honour the form. I like seeing the TV soap filming of this. & castle mr big dick moneybags famous writer got them to film it lol. Castle mouthing along. Woah a warrant much? yk that's valid but not a valid reason to kill. Castle it COULD HAVE BEEN HERS you ruthless drama queen.

Costume update: Castle is normal, coat & jacket are two shades of brown (but the jacket also has stripes); ryan is wearing a printed dress shirt, tie, sweater (long sleeved vneck, yk, typical dress sweater), & also has a grey coat; espt has a dark dark violet shirt with a black+purple tie; beckett has a feminine striped jacket. I love when stuff that is traditionally menswear is made into women's clothing. It has that masculine professionalism but that elegant femininity. RC: There are no shortcuts in writing KR: Nope but there is to our favourite bar. I found a new route that will get us to the old haunt in 8 minutes. (to espt) You up for a beer? *claps* Come on, *points to castle* I know the owner. (lol that's adorable & it means they actually attend the bar & he tried to find a shortcut & wants to go out with his coworkers/friends, & the little smiles on all of them) & then their three way fistbump thing (clip)

That's a big envelope. Aw he cares abt her even if he teased her. Ah he got it for her to buy her secrets. Aw that's so sweet, honestly! Also fun fact about beckett she got her tonsils removed. People are out there living without their tonsils or without their appendix. Crazy. Josh <3 Hun answer the phone before he hangs up.

Wow martha. Love her. He just shudders XD

not too many good clips, that means I'll be able to fast forward thru this ep, getting my funnies through the subtitles at double speed

[muu-kun]

💬 + Suwwy

Send Me 💬 + a Name and My Muse will Talk About That Person / Accepting / @tximidity

There was no recollection of what he stated the last time he'd spoken about the raven, or even to who'd been rambling on about to, yet even if he had, who was to say they'd have prevented him finding hopefully more to go on about?

Sometime during his trip out of state, the blond had engaged in a conversation with a mutual shared between himself and Sully, which of course had been none other than Neff. Not that anyone would have found that surprising on account of the fact he went around speaking about her word as if it were law instead of ever giving benefit to his own. That and how he really wasn't all too.. popular on the front of having people reach out to him through texts. At that point, only she did. Definitely up on his list of people he wished spoke to him more just to even have the indication that they liked him was Sully, yet he remained far away from being in the business of informing them of that fact.

Nevertheless, it wasn't too important who he had spoken to, and rather what he'd stated in the first place. Shared on his part was the fact that the man simply did not wish to entertain his anxieties any further, and instead was opting for the position of being the take it or leave it type. That he had rather been so unforgivingly himself that only the most genuine of individuals would have been able to survive his company. Which.. yes, he had to take on the risk that there were going to be losses made. They'd have certainly missed, whoever they would be; however, how really different could mourning the departure of someone else be from how he'd already done for the many before them?

Coinciding with his renewed life policy of being an uncontained version of himself was also that of major changes regarding his wardrobe. He'd found that the items in his closet that were meant for "men" -- aside from those essentially gifted by, or stolen from, various male presenting friends of his-- failed to spark joy. Hence the extensive amount of donation bags to accumulate from his decision to part with a high quantity of apparel. As well as that of the many, many trips to local thrift stores looking for what companies would have regarded to be "women's" clothes to fill up the empty space.

Why had he cared to do something like that in the first place? That was an easy one. Truthfully, the only people in his life who had ever made him feel like even the most grotesque aspects of himself-- feelings, or actions-- were lovable, or who had been there for him either with support right then and there during highlighted moments in his life, or with genuine care when sharing about them years down the line by being an openly loving person to have the wonderful opportunity of unpacking with were women. Adorning himself in articles inspired by femininity simply just made him feel more.. bonded with those women-- again, those being Neff and Hannah especially-- and therefore somewhat safer in situations where while, yes, he may not have been able to have them right there with him to work his way out of something, at least he could have on his person plenty of things to remind him of them enough to remain calm and collected throughout any rising conflicts.

Worn over his slender frame as he seated himself next to someone not like that all, but also knew of Sully well enough to at least not be ranting to a complete stranger, was that of what he believed to have simply just been a frog designed rain poncho instead of an article of clothing intended for cosplay. It had been missing the sleeves when he'd found it in the Spring coats section of a secondhand shop, yet him being none the wiser meant he had nothing to be upset about. If anything, he actually liked it very much as something he could have worn over a coordinating pair of leggings and thermal long sleeved top to stay warm in the last remaining days of winter flowing into Spring. And of course worn completely atop all of that as an extra layer as coolness took over even more in the evening was none other than the sweater reluctantly given to him by Sully himself. He'd been bringing it around with him for a while, yet that would mark the first time he actually utilized it for what it was intended for instead of making it out to only be a blanket. Or a wubby, as he called it.

"I'm guessing you is here, because you want to know how come I am a bratty boy to Sully. Well, I'm too sleepy for that. And also.. I already said me side enough times without anybody ever making it all better, so I don't know what be making you think that I think saying them to you would make it the any different!!"

There was a lot of bold sass erupting from a man who kept tiredly rubbing at his eyes with the oversized sleeve of an article of clothing so kindly offered to him by the individual he was still pouting about.

"If you are big and have muscles.. Can't you just be the boss and tell him that-- No, nevermind.. I don't think I feel anything the very serious that you would need to let him know 'bout it. Plus, me and Neffie already talked about Sully today, so.. so anything that I was be feeling, I already know was a something valid. That means I don't need an anything else with it, but thank you the anyways for trying to give space just in case!!"

A positive mood swing that time. Much better.

"Though.. If I had to wish for one thing he knew, it would be that I'd like it the better if he smiled more when he visited me. You know, just like he does with his face when he is spending time with somebody he likes to be around? You must get lots of smiles when you be spending time together. I bet that is a wonderful thing. I hope that it makes you feel like a beautiful person, even if you is one with lots, and lots of muscles.."

So sleepy.. Still, he could hang out for just a little bit longer with his new friend.

"I hope.. When he finds out I'm healed, it will be the right amount of compensating for being the little looking me to have him go back to the way he seemed to like spending time with me when I had the masking man body me.. I'd really rather not make me take testosterone to make me a man looking like you, but.. If it meant he would like having me around more, I'll do it.. I've spent the whole life that is mine being an ugly, bad thing, but.. when even somebody that is the most like you looks at you like that, you know you messed up.."

[dezangofashionzone]

Lovely and Classical Ankara Long Gown Styles

Ankara, which originated from West Africa, has become a popular fashion trend among young women. From its vibrant colours to its bold patterns, Ankara long gown styles have emerged as a wardrobe staple for many stylish ladies. Whether you’re looking for something chic and modern or something romantic and classical, we’ve got you covered with these lovely and classical Ankara long gown styles. Keep reading to find the perfect style that fits your personality, taste and occasion!

Ankara long gown styles

Ankara long gown styles are a magnificent way to show off your unique sense of style. These beautiful dresses are perfect for any formal or informal occasion, and they come in a variety of colours, patterns, and designs. Whether you’re looking for a stunning dress to wear to a wedding or you simply want to turn heads at your next dinner party, Ankara long gown styles are sure to make a statement. There are endless possibilities when it comes to styling an Ankara long gown. If you’re looking for a timeless look, opt for a classic silhouette in a solid colour. For a more modern take on the style, try an Ankara print in a bold hue or an intricate pattern. If you really want to stand out from the crowd, go for an unexpected design detail like ruffles, lace, or beading. No matter how you choose to style it, an Ankara long gown is sure to make you look and feel your best.

Ankara long gowns for special occasions

Ankara long gowns are perfect for special occasions. They are elegant and stylish, and they make a great impression. Whether you’re attending a formal event or a casual get-together, an Ankara long gown is a wonderful choice. There are many different styles of Ankara long gowns to choose from. If you’re looking for something simple and elegant, a “little black dress” style gown is a great option. If you want something with more of a statement, try an Ankara print gown with bold colours and patterns. No matter what your style, there’s an Ankara long gown that’s perfect for you. When shopping for an Ankara long gown, it’s important to keep in mind what kind of event you’ll be wearing it to. A formal event will require a more sophisticated look, while a casual event can be more relaxed. Once you know where you’ll be wearing your dress, it will be easier to find the perfect one. If you’re searching for the perfect Ankara long gown for your next special occasion, keep these tips in mind and you’re sure to find the perfect dress for you.

Ankara long gowns for plus-size women

When it comes to Ankara long gowns, there are so many gorgeous options for plus-size women! Whether you’re looking for a dress to wear to a special event or just want a beautiful new addition to your wardrobe, these styles will definitely turn heads. If you’re wanting something with a little more coverage, this first option is perfect. It features a high neckline and billowing sleeves, while the fitted waist flatters your curves. The print is also lovely and classic, making this dress appropriate for any occasion. This next dress is shorter in length, but no less stunning. The ruffled hem adds a touch of femininity and romance, while the fitted bodice ensures that you’ll look your best. This particular style also comes in several different prints, so you can choose the one that best suits your taste. For something truly unique, this last dress is sure to stand out from the crowd. The bold print is eye-catching and vibrant, while the cutout shoulders add an unexpected element. This dress is sure to turn heads wherever you go! Conclusion Ankara long gowns are simply beautiful, timeless pieces that can be worn for any occasion. Whether it’s a wedding or a formal event, these styles will make you look absolutely stunning and fashionable. For more inspiration on how to style your Ankara long gown, take advantage of the variety and creativity of these looks – there is something out there for everyone! With this diverse range of styles available, we are sure you'll find the perfect one that fits your needs and makes an unforgettable statement. Read the full article

[rpdolfo]

The most preferred comfortable outfit for any occasion. Best women's jumpsuits online store in USA -Urban Jonty

As one of the leading Women’s fashion brands, we are a big fan of jumpsuits but I know, We are not alone when wondering at times what makes this women outfit the most Versatile. Professional & Comfortable attire for every Modern-day woman.

There is a broad range of women's choices evolved like palazzos, midi, short skirts, long skirts, bodycon dresses, etc. If we talk about a high-level comfort zone of clothing, then the existence of a jumpsuit is visible and it is very popular amongst today's generation. Buy the best women's jumpsuits online store in the USA only at  www.urbanjonty.com.

Let’s take a sneak peek into the World of Jumpsuits what makes this attire- "Women's only Love"

Jumpsuit, a dress in which the top and bottom are attached. People call this single-piece or one-piece dress too. Jumpsuits are available in different styles and patterns too. Nowadays this is designed in two pieces(separate top and bottom) too.

Fit for all Weather Conditions

If you are thinking that Jumpsuits are only a perfect fit for any specific weather conditions. Then you will be amazed to know that this attire is available In different types of fabric. Thus making it wearable in different climatic conditions You can carry this outfit on a hot “Sunny Day” or a Breezy evening of a “Fall”, and you once add this with a “Woollen overcoat”  over a Roll-Tab Sleeve Shirt and Ankle-Tie Pants Set  and be ready to face the cold at the break of winters. Buy the best women's jumpsuits online store in the USA only at  www.urbanjonty.com.

Fact Check ?

 If you go to the decade of 1919 for its amazing history. You would be amazed to know that firstly a jumpsuit was made for paratroopers to jump from a plane. This was designed just like boiler suits at that time. This was named ``Jumpsuit" because of its purpose.

In the decade of 1970, jumpsuit was a unisex outfit. With the changing trends, the launch of the jumpsuit changed and it became available in different types of fabrics and exciting patterns and designs.Buy the best women's jumpsuits online store in the USA only at  www.urbanjonty.com.

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The Women inside you would always go for an attire that would allow the space that would allow your body parts to fit in within a comfortable space. A Jumpsuit is just that one attire that allows a lot of space for all the essential body parts, So that any occasion never becomes awkward for you .

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From Official Meeting to an outing with your Honey-bee, It transforms into a from a Professional attire to a Sassy and Boisterous outfit if you just go down easy with the top buttons

Did you Know ?

With passing time, the evolution of a jump suit was in progress. At the time of world war 2, it was used as per general needs then in the decade, it was brought into the lime-light by some of the prominent American designers. At last this amazing outfit got its limelight as it first appeared in "Vogue" September 1964 as a public fashion trend to everyone. www.urbanjonty.com is the best store for women's jumpsuits in the USA.

This was presented by Guy Laroche and Irving Penn did its amazing photography. After that this became a popular trend within a short span of time.

The Comfort it Offers for the people who adorn it

Now comes the comfort of wearing this outfit. People are more inclined to their comfort level when it comes to choosing any new trend in the long run. So, designers kept all this already in mind and made this outfit more amazing by maintaining its comfort level as high. This is one of the reasons for its popularity. —**The main reason behind its trend is its slim cut and fitting style. www.urbanjonty.com is the best store for women's jumpsuits in the USA.

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[hypno-kk]

need more cute masc summer qr designs -_-

[fatuifucker]

first stream: your perfect doll!

[art cr: kuroume_1024 on twt]

dom trans! streamer! scaramouche x sub fem-sex reader (no pronouns used for reader but mention of boobs for both parties)

SUMMARY = kunihiko is about to make his debut as scaramouche! hope everything goes well!

WARNINGS = please view the sucker series masterlist for the full warnings! smut, use of the word “cunt”, recording, thigh riding, hint of self-harm, scara has nipple and navel piercings, scaramouche is called kunihiko in this au, ooc scaramouche

W/C = 2k

A/N = thank you to my wonderful beta readers @boba-is-a-soup, @saikiscleansink and @artiepooh for giving me advice for this fic! Also!! Reminder there is a poll at the end that will determine the content of the next chapter!

“Good day everyone,” She says with a polite smile, hands clasped right in front of her, reminiscent of that aristocratic princess trope you see all over anime. “My name is a 06ScaraBalladeer but I’m known as Scara.”

She’s perfect. Just the way you envisioned her. Her long, straightened hair sweeps over her shoulders, the pristine appearance matching with her raven black and mulberry dress. Your eyes drift to the subtle rose in her cheeks, complementing her porcelain face and her innocuous smile. With a girl as endearing as her, it’s easy to be enraptured. The chat is already filling with comments. Good things, fortunately. Calling her cute, complimenting her gothic lolita style and princessly demeanour. 

“This pretty doll has awakened, been blessed with life to walk among the mortal folk. Rejoice, for I shall purify your tainted hearts!” Scara raises her arms for dramatic effect, pausing for a moment before covering her mouth with her sleeve and giggling. “Or something like that. I saw a friend of a friend do something similar and I wanted to try it out.”

Drama; it serves as an effective juxtaposition to a modest face. It keeps viewers on their toes, riling them up with excitement.

Scara crosses her legs, returning her hands to her lap. “Now you may be wondering, why is a weak and frail doll like me on this wretched realm called the internet? You see…I couldn’t help but be curious of what lies in this nerd haven. But now I see…” She crosses her arms, furrowing her eyebrows. “You all need to be punished! Punished really thoroughly!”

Jeez, it’s only her debut and her chat is already filled with thirsty masochists.

“But it’s okay, I know you all need love too. And who better to give you both than me: the prettiest, most adorable doll in the universe?” she giggles. “I want to spread my love and punishment to as many people in the world. Which is why you all need to subscribe to me so we can all have tons of fun together. One day, I’ll see a million of you with me, and that’s a promise! I have a lot to learn but I hope to meet you all!”

—

As soon as the livestream ends, you switch off your phone and walk to the bedroom. The door is left open and no one is in sight, though the sound of running water gives you enough of a hint to where he’s gone. The PC is still on, its screen set to the Twitter front page. You make yourself comfortable on the chair before scrolling through the page. You lift your head upon hearing the sound of the door shutting behind you.

“Fuck, I’m shaking.” A masculine voice speaks up. “Scara finally debuted after we spent so long mulling over her. Ha, I knew keeping my trashy lolita outfits would come in handy.” He smirks as he wipes his wet face clean with a towel.

His sharp voice contrasts the sweet feminine tone of the streamer. Short indigo hair instead of Scara’s long lavender locks. Without the identical black and mulberry dress, even you wouldn’t have guessed that your boyfriend Kunihiko leads a double life as Scara.

“Your tweet received a lot of likes and retweets too,” you point out as you scroll down the timeline. “We’ve reached one thousand subscribers.”

He frowns. “It’s not enough,” Kunihiko mutters bitterly as he adjusts the long, purple wig on the mannequin head. “I want more people to fawn over– no, to worship me. I need one million of them by the end of this month…or else…”

He mumbles the rest under his breath. You tilt your head, worry starting to cloud your brain upon noticing his darkening gaze. It vanishes as soon as you notice it, replaced by a devious glimmer. 

“And you,” He slams his palms on either side of the chair. Indigo hues exude seduction, inviting you in with the sweet yet musky scent of his cologne. He speaks in a whisper; his warm breath fanning your face as he draws out his words. “You’ll get me there…right? You’ll make Scara the biggest streamer in the world. Won’t you, my perfect producer?”

Enchanted, you cup his cheeks, your words coming out in a trance. “Of course. I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“Good.” Kunihiko presses his lips against yours, guiding you to the bed. “It’s too early to sleep so let’s celebrate my debut.”

“How so?”

Kunihiko laughs as he undoes the corset of his black dress. “Oh, (Name). If you have time to act coy, you have time to take off those shorts."

At first, you couldn’t move. You stare. Only stare even as the heat rushes to your face and brain, watching him peel off each layer. Little by little, he reveals more and more of his porcelain skin. Your eyes diverge from the dried lines on his thighs to the navel piercing on his belly, the near purity of his fair body an irony, knowing the debauchery you both have and are about to commit. Your breathing ceases when he unclasps his bra, the shimmer of the silver jewellery sending your mind further into disarray.

“God, I love it when you look at me like that. I hate it as much as I love it, but I hate it more when you’re being so fucking slow.”

It’s only then do you process his order, sliding off your shorts and drifting your fingers to your pussy. The moment he tosses aside his last piece of clothing, Kunihiko pounces on you like a predator cornering his prey, immediately burrowing his face into you like a starved animal. The rough contact of his nose rubbing against your clit and his tongue moving up and down your slit forces you to curl into yourself. Your legs wrap around his neck as you moan and beg for more, only for him to stop all of sudden. His expression twists to a scampish one, eyes lifting to meet your baffled expression.

“Did you think I was going to eat you out?” Kunihiko repositions himself behind you, his arms scooping you by the inner side of your knees to keep your legs open. “I don’t mind, but didn’t you promise me something else?”

You hold your breath, feeling a lithe finger ghosting down your body. “Y-yes, Kuni. I got too excited.”

“Hm I see you’re very excited. Look," Kunihiko circles his finger around your clit, pressing on the little nub. "It's sooo swollen. You're making me jealous."

The scent of sandalwood and cherries permeates your nose, the strong yet gentle fragrance blinding your senses. His touch steals your breath away, left behind only a hungry wail as you slur your next word out. “Jealous?"

Wetness touches your ear, and you flinch. The cold metal of his nipple piercings grazes your back as he rubs his chest against you. In a split second, his finger enters your hole, eliciting a gasp out of you as he mercilessly fucks your soaked pussy.

“Jealous because you're being touched so intimately.” Kunihiko's arms trap you and you’re left squirming in his grasp as he gropes your tits and nibbles on your ear. “But it's fine, you can repay me later. I don't give a damn about getting off as long as you're telling me how good I'm making you feel."

Despite his vulgar words, his tone conveys nonchalance, like this is routine for him – well, technically it is — like he isn’t knuckle deep inside his lover’s cunt. In comparison, you have to withhold a meek whine when he inserts a second finger into your hole, stretching your thin walls through a scissoring motion.

"Fuck (Name), get my phone."

Hazily, you stretch over the bed to pick it up, intuitively flipping the camera around and pressing record. "H-haah…Kuni," You position the phone to your entrance, getting it close enough to pick up the sloppy noises before trailing the device up your body and back above your head again. "Kuni, it feels sooo good…Kuni is fucking me so well! I lo— a-ah!"

Your voice dies into helpless moans when your boyfriend slips a third finger, aggressively pumping them in and out of you. "Go on, move your hips against me. Tell the camera who's making you feel this good."

"Kuni! Kuni, Kuni, Kuni!" you scream his name, a glob of drool rolling down your chin down your neck past the valley of your breasts. "I'm Kuni's slut! I looove getting fucked by Kuni! I want to cum all over Kuni's fin— aaaah!"

In the midst of pleasure, you don’t pay attention to the phone sliding out of your grasp. Kunihiko thankfully notices it, grabbing your hand to keep it steady and moving it back down to your cunt. With his other hand, he spreads your lips open just in time for the camera to catch you squirting all over the bedsheets. He rubs the juices into your pussy even as your thighs continue to twitch, your eyes following his hand moving the phone to your face. Without giving you a moment to calm down, he stuffs his drenched digits into your mouth, forcing you to lick it up.

"Get your boobs in view," he orders, pushing your wrist back. "Smile for the camera.”

Kunihiko ends the recording and takes a couple more photos at several different angles. He grins in satisfaction before his lips morph into a frown at the mess. "Ugh, should have made you cum on the floor instead." Kunihiko lies on the bed as he swipes through the photos. "This shit is kinda hot though. If we set up an OnlyFans for you we'll probably get rich."

“You said you don’t want me to sell my body online.”

“Yeah, and you know why,” he scoffs. “You’re the normie out of the two of us. If you become a degenerate then we won’t be able to continue living in this god-forsaken society.”

“Shall I clear the bedsheets or do you want me to touch you first?”

He thinks for a moment before getting off the bed and dragging the gaming chair to the mirror. “Deal with it later. I want to ride your thigh.”

You frown but move to sit on the chair. “I’ll have to clean this up later too.”

“The pictures are worth it.” Kunihiko splays his legs before sinking onto your thigh, wasting no time in moving. “You know, (Name), you’re lucky you’re both cute and useful. Not just your body, I mean you as a whole.”

His searing heat burns your skin, staining it with his fluids. His mouth falls open, chest heaving with steady pants as he ruts against your thigh. Red blooms across his cheeks, his expression contrasting his actions when he turns the phone to the mirror and taps the record button. He captures your chin and shoves his tongue inside your mouth, shutting his eyes as he moans for dramatic effect. “Fuck, (Name)...I fuckin’ love you so damn much.”

Your heart races at his words. Your body shivers as his hands trace your body, holding onto you as if you would run away if he let go. Magnetised, you nibble on his bottom lip as you push his slender body against yours. “I love you too, Kuni.”

He stops the recording and you both part to gaze into each other's eyes. Deep indigo irises declare a yearning, a satisfaction, a fondness. An attachment. His smile displays euphoria comparable to being drugged as he tosses away his phone to focus on planting kisses all over your face. You hold him and whisper affirmations into his ear while he keens into your touch.

“(Name), you won’t leave me.”

“I would never.”

He laughs dryly. “Yeah. Of course you won’t.”

You open your mouth. Upon seeing his resentful expression, you close it again. You let him continue to roll his hips against your thigh, letting him find pleasure in your body.

“Oh yeah, some people sent me superchat money. What should I use it for?”

[Your answer]

[yridenergyridenergy]

Sukekiyo live report [2023/02/16]

Five years to the day since I last saw sukekiyo! 20+ hours on planes and back to Canada tomorrow, just to attend this special show; I just had to!

It is extremely difficult for me to remember what moment goes with what song. Had I attended more sukekiyo concerts more regularly, there might be more stuff that would have stuck out as being associated to a song, but it's only sparse details. All I remember in general is Kyo dancing in so many various ways, caressing his face, messing up his hair, etc.

Overall, it was literally a blast pop party, exactly like I wanted it! Epic from beginning to… almost the end, as the official setlist closed with 'aftermath', which I find boring to begin with but it really dampened the mood. The only thing I can say about 'aftermath' is propos to Kyo for the high chorus, but it also looks weird when you don't sing like the studio version and that the screen displays your younger self in the PV mouthing stuff differently.

Anyway! 'aftermath' aside, holy hell! For five years I have been simply blasting sukekiyo's songs in my car every other weekend, the hype building for each song as I sang along with them. So hearing those beloved melodies pouring from the stage was epic! I was super into each beat from the start, while the crowd stayed immobile for the first half. But I had checked the website and no rules were listed other than concerning the virus.

Everybody walked on stage and the crowd was dead silent. What also made it really awkward was that there seemed to be quite a long delay between each song of the set, and that was done in complete silence, no clapping even.

I was on the right side so I couldn't tell you much about Mika or UtA, but Yuchi was wearing a pullover (orange?) and he had very dark and thick lipstick. Takumi's braids were light coloured, so all the stage colours were reflected on his head. As for Kyo, he wore a long black dress with puffy long sleeves. He had a black collar/choker on top of that, unless the separated line was connected to the dress in the back. He had no tights underneath, as we could notice when he crouched with a leg spread in front of him during one of the songs, lingering there for a few seconds. Otherwise, what kind of struck me was that he had a black lacey glove on his left hand, whereas he tends to wear a glove on his right one with Dir en grey, because that's always where he holds the mic. It was kind of odd in that context to see Kyo's tattoos on his right hand, especially as it somewhat contrasts with the feminine outfit. Always wondering to what extent that was intended. And Kyo's haircut was similar to the one he had in Liquefacio, which I loooved!

Before the concert started, the background music was actually audio excerpts from some Japanese drama shows. Not sure if anime or live. It seemed like they were old, from the previous century, so I don't think that many in sukekiyo's fanbase knew what it was. One of the female characters sounded super distressed at some point, like she was getting violently victimized. Not that later segment, but the overall idea of the drama shows featuring mainly female characters is important for something later in the show.

Onto the detailed stuff!

The show started with Scarlet, but actually there was an instrumental prelude to it with a similar melody, just no drums I think. Because as you know, studio Scarlet starts with a BANG. In fact, quite a few songs had preludes to them, and in some cases the sounds were different enough that I wasn't sure what song would be coming up, or if it was a "session" even. But all in all, those new extended intros were always sweet and appreciated! Maybe it made up for how there was no smooth transition from one song to the next.

Kyo sang Scarlet with such passion. I remember him sensually sliding a finger from top to bottom along the rose lights on his mic stand, around the beginning of the concert as well as in a second song.

Then it was En, which was of course epic! Kyo struggled with some of the choruses sang in high notes though, but that seemed to improve in the second half of the show.

I can't remember much from 'kisses' other than having the certainty that Kyo danced a lot, most likely one of the sensual times. Oh, actually, I had made a mental note that for a song called 'kisses', Kyo did some huge hip sway twice amd that was the focus instead.

Kisses ended and Kyo said: "Ai de gomen nasai", or at least it sounded like thar but the "gomen nasai" was kind of jumbled up into two syllables only, somehow. And then began Hakudaku. At this point in the show, people were still really immobile and quiet, so it was the whole band being passionate, especially Kyo, and me vigorously nodding my head to the beat.

Oh, and then my neck got no rest at all because beauty Mozaic Shoujo's notes began playing, but I think this was one of the songs where the introduction left you wondering if your favourite song (one of them anyway) was really going to be the one played next. The PV was projected in the background during it. During the chorus (Ano hito janakyaya, ato dore kurai), Kyo started vigorously pointing right, centre then left (from his perspective), bending his arm and extending it toward us with each word, not just to act the lyrics of "not the right person", but it seemed like a real wakeup call for the crowd. Like SLAP, Kyo wants you to gesture with him! Look alive! He was so into it.

After that, aoguroi hysteria came and for some reason, despite it not being a pop song, out of nowhere some fans raised their hand during the chorus. I can't remember them doing so in 2017 and 2018 when I last saw it performed.

Furesaseru, honestly I don't have any vivid memories from that song. The chorus is intense as it sounds, but other than the lyrics being projected, that's it. Maybe it was during this song that Kyo faked puffing a cigarette, gesturing and exhaling, while the screen showed slivers that could kind of be interpreted as smoke.

Oh but then, Aishita Shinzou! I think it was at the beginning of that song that Kyo was sighing sadly in the mic before the first notes were played. He (or the character he was acting) gave off this very "clingy" personality, due to the way he sang some of the lines. It sounded lyrical, romantically needy, and he went left and right on stage for both instances. To conclude the song, Kyo's last couple of syllables were uttered as a cry or a long, loud exasperation, bending backward as he did so. Then, it looked like he continued the motion of lowering his mic even though his body wouldn't bend any further backward, so from where I stood, it was like he shoved the mic in his mouth in disgust and finality. I wish I knew the lyrics, but they must have been relevant.

I don't recall for which songs specifically, but today's concert undid sukekiyo's reputation for impeccable music. I had known the band's musicians to sound just like the studio recording on stage, which made me really admire their professionalism and expertise. But tonight, it was definitely not just Kyo improvising, and sometimes that made the instrumentalization sound honestly off track.

Oooooh my beloved Valentina was next! I had never seen it live, even though it has existed for quite a while. Upon the first notes, those of us with the penlights pulled out our Valentina stick (although a couple fans took out the Candis one, which had been explicitly prohibited as they are different tints of pink too). I am so glad I bought them on the resale market, I would have felt so left out. It wasn't clear at first, as fans seemed shy and kept the pen light low until the chorus, but it seemed obvious after the first chorus that it could be left up the whole time! It's crazy how Kyo builds a connection with the crowd during this song. Is it just the pop-style gesture? He seemed to stare at us with wider eyes full of expectation, like he was concentrated only on this connection.

Dorothy was a cool pop song to prolong the mood. I was really into it, but I think most fans' arms were weak at this point. Was it in this song that Kyo was dancing left and right? There was also one song in which he did the Sustain the Untruth dance, but before he did that, he turned toward the left side of the stage and did kind of a Russian (?) dance, like crouching a bit and extending one leg, getting up and then alternating with the other leg? It looked a bit funny but Kyo was just doing whatever he wished.

Candis came, I think again with an extra intro, but we pulled out our Candis penlights (again, a couple of fans pulled out the wrong one, probably the same who had confused Valentina earlier). I guess there was a lot of dancing from Kyo, as the song demands!

Shiryou no ariana, I think there was a "session" at some point before, or after? In that improvisation, the band was playing music but Kyo faced the back of the stage and he said stuff as if he was answering someone on the phone. In my opinion, it sounded like the clingy girlfriend, as he was saying "hayakuuu" a few times near the end. I have a complete blank right now about the rest of the one-sided conversation, other than "Sou desu". Anyway, for Shiryou no ariana, the feed from the camera of the back platform was projected on the screen veil, but at first Kyo used his right-side mic so he was shown only on a third of the screen to people who were on the left. But he changed to the central one soon. It's always interesting to hear how Kyo screeches or sings the line that he then distorts and repeats for the rest of the song. From what the camera was showing, he was really focused.

Next was Sesshoku, and there were two special aspects about this song other than its traditional robot moves: Kyo sang the DOPE parts way not with a low pitch of voice, but mostly high-pitched at first, and I think he was shouting it in the second segment. And when Sesshoku ended, the projection displays rectangles like a piano's notes falling continuously while there were sounds like a horse's footsteps or something like that playing. And if I'm not confusing with a different song, it was then that Kyo pointed to lights in the projected video, which transformed into butterflies. And somehow, he knew when some butterflies would be animated to kind of break off or have a wing torn apart, as he seemed like he was pinching those rather than pointing. This went on for a while.

Honnou okotowari, it was less sensual than it had sounded to me, but judging by how I remember a lot of hands being up during this song, I guess it was then that Kyo started doing quite a lot of callouts for the remainder of the show. The traditional request to break our necks, the "Can you hear me?", etc. Oh, the calls for "Tobeee!" (jump) were very rocker. The "Cease to speak" and "shut down" were especially intense as well, with Yuchi's backup vocals. I have a vague recollection of Kyo pointing to us during those lines, maybe in reference to how we couldn't speak in the venue?

'Creeper' was full of fist pumping too! At this point, I'm not sure what song it was, but Sesshoku was over and yet Kyo danced into somewhat of a violinist position and he started swinging his left arm across his right to the notes of a certain string instrument, really mechanically and staring absent-mindedly somewhere in front of him on the ground.

Waizatsu then came on after a short break and by now, everybody knows how Kyo expects us to act during this song! It's been obvious since 2017 and at least the crowd responded accordingly. I don't know why, but the last Creepshow part was so intense. During the line about barfing, Kyo literally made a sound as though he expelled something from his mouth. He sang everything but the choruses way freeform, walking to each side of the stage with a crazy expression. It seemed so odd to see him super stoic behind the veil that showed the PV's shot of "Best of all time" or something similar with fireworks. Like dude, especially on your birthday, I want you to know that you deserve any award possible!

Next, Sharara! I think Kyo was more and more demanding by this point. It sounded like one of the high-pitched moments in the song was really a "sharara" rather than the increasing long note that it sounds like on the studio recording, just before the heavy part at the end. As far as I remember, Kyo was intensely headbanging around this song.

And then… Yeah, 'aftermath'. That whole atmosphere we had built, painstakingly in the case of Kyo re: fans not moving, came to a screeching halt real quick.

Kyo left while the song was not really finished, without saying his usual "Oyasumi", so we expected that it wasn't the real end. The other members finished 'aftermath', then Yuchi left and he was halfway out of the stage when finally we started clapping. On his way out, Takumi made exaggerated moves at the spot where Kyo stood, almost as if to mime that there was something/someone missing or that the spot was ready.

We clapped a lot, even though at first the announcer told us that it was over. But the guy with the big no-camera no-phone no-mic/recording sign wavef it in front of us again, so we kind of knew to stay, if there was still something not to record.

(I don't know when else to mention this, but I saw that UtA pointed at his part of the crowd a few times, as though to say that a person got it.)

Not too long after, the four musicians came back and we clapped even louder/more people joined in when Kyo walked back. He did a little MC at first, as though he wasn't sure what to do, but he thanked us, to which we responded by clapping even more vigorously. They played Kō mo Chigau Mono Nano ka, Yōsuru ni, and considering that I don't like the album remix, it honestly sounded more like the cleaner version of the demo? It was intense and everyone was into it, but as it finished, Kyo started saying something like something went wrong, that he hadn't done something, while passing a hand through his hair to mess it up more. So the band redid the last segment of the song, with Kyo screaming more intensely and moving more too. But once again the part ended and it was like he wasn't satisfied but played dumb wondering what was missing. Then the crowd actually broke the rule and people cheered, with one guy especially cheering on something Kyo said that made him reply teasingly (with fake offense/frown) that the guy was dumb, to which everyone laughed. And the last part of the song was played once more, Kyo being one notch more intense even, headbanging deeply. Before the last notes were played, he quickly turned, said "Bye bye" and dropped his mic on his way out of the stage unceremoniously. The other members finished with improvised rock to end the set with a bang. As Takumi later exited, he once again made wild movements at the spot where Kyo left his mic, as though offended for the poor little thing. All of them made gestures to their heart in appreciation for our energy tonight.

And with that, we were promptly kicked out of the venue by two staff members. That was truly it.

(And thank goodness there are larger parts at the tip of the penlights, because if I hadn't been gripping them hard, my intense swinging would have thrown them right at someone's head or even into the veil in front of the stage!)