಄.—The Tougyo Verse unfolds during the events of Shibuya, where Getou's soul repossesses his body and quarantines Kenjaku's presence as a Curse. The story diverges from the original canon and culminates with a new resolution.
After the series' conclusion in the setting of Jujutsu Kaisen, the story progresses into a crossover with the world of Final Fantasy XIV.
The Tougyo Verse exists as an adventurous 'afterlife' for Getou and Gojo.
಄.—Getou Suguru is the primary muse featured on this blog. He serves the role of the Warrior of Light in the FFXIV narrative and is also the heir to the ancient legacy of Azem the Traveler.
಄.—I write a headcanon-based Getou from birth to adolescence, a canon-compliant Getou from adolescence up to December 24, 2017, and a blend of headcanon & canon compliance from October 31, 2018 — & onwards. Interactions on my blog will be at various points in this single timeline, rather than divided into separate, isolated verses.
಄.—My muse is panromantic, demisexual, polyamorous, and very selective.
⬩➤ PRIMARY SETTING — FINAL FANTASY XIV.
⬩➤ PRIMARY PLOTLINE — Getou & Gojo are incarnated within the world called "Hydaelyn" where their journey together continues. Reunited with many of their friends and family, they construct the Jujutsu Academy, and invest in educating aspiring adventurers and esotericists, including those who attended Jujutsu High. Getou divides his time between teaching and adventuring, working in tandem with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.
This setting is post-jjk canon, supports ALL crossover interactions!
⬩➤ SECONDARY SETTING — JUJUTSU KAISEN; 11/03/2018 - 12/24/2018.
⬩➤ SECONDARY PLOTLINE — Getou's return during Shibuya inspired a number of other changes and survival stories. This setting is limited to the events of the Tougyo Verse from November 3rd, 2018 - December 24th, 2018. Following Shibuya, for 51 days, Getou worked as a fellow teacher in the school with Gojo, preparing students for the ultimate challenges ahead.
JJK Canon Divergent Post-Shibuya. Predates crossover interactions.
•⋆⃟ SECONDARY MUSES — JUJUTSU KAISEN.
⬩➤ All JJK muses are also available for FFXIV crossover interactions! Sadly, character slots are limited by server and my free time, so I only have some characters made in-game, including Getou. But for threads, this whole list applies!
•⋆⃟ SECONDARY MUSES — FINAL FANTASY XIV.
⬩➤ My FFXIV muses are from Getou's universe by default. However, I might make a TENUOUS effort to write FFXIV NPCs for other WoLs, Azems, etc. This will require a lot of brainstorming and it will depend entirely on whether the chemistry between them checks out. If I can't vibe IC with your WoL, I'll still send headcanon asks and the like, but I probably won't continue interacting IC.
During Getou's journey and the trials therein, other characters and their worlds become involved in the overarching storyline, expanding the Tougyo Verse. To account for and accommodate an ever-growing number of friends, bonds, and the newfound stories that entwine them with each new encounter - the multimuse lineup was established, and new muses continue to be added to the list.
Typically, I will write Tertiary Muses by request only.
•⋆⃟ TERIARY MUSES — ONE PIECE
•⋆⃟ TERIARY MUSES — YU YU HAKUSHO.
•⋆⃟ TERTIARY MUSES — TRIGUN: STARGAZE.
•⋆⃟ TERTIARY MUSES — KAIJU NO. 8.
•⋆⃟ TERTIARY MUSES — WITCH HAT ATELIER.
•⋆⃟ Quick Guidelines:
• 愚者に死を • Dᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏᴏʟ • Stay respectful towards fellow muns, writers, communities, & individuals. Observe essential roleplay etiquette! Act like a 🐒 and you get the 👹 curse. Don't run off with my writing, my artwork that I post, my concepts, or good faith. Do Not Feed any of my content to AI, or use AI to interact with my muse(s).
• 弱者に罰を • Pᴜɴɪsʜᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴋ • Please Do Not follow this blog or interact with it if you are under 18 years old. This blog will feature mature themes and spooky content, follow with discretion! My blog is saturated with untagged spoilers for both Jujutsu Kaisen and Final Fantasy 14 (and probably other series, too.) Peruse and interact with that in mind.
• 強者に愛を • Lᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴏɴɢ • Asks, Tags, and Memes Encouraged! My inbox is always open. Feel free to turn asks and tagged posts into new threads. OC Friendly! Canon OCs, Fandomless OCs, Warriors of Light from FFXIV, are welcome!
🍍- how comfortable is my muse in their body?how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type?how important is being attractive to them?
಄—Answered here! For hours and hours!
🍅- how does my muse feel about plastic / cosmetic surgeries & procedures?is it something they have done or would do?do they mind if others do it?
಄—He has a very profound distaste for procedures, operations, and being unconscious, and/or out of control of his body. He's a very unwilling patient even under the most dire medical circumstances, so suffice to say there is no way in seven hells that he'd willingly undergo a procedure that requires him to be unconscious and cut into. The last 'procedure' he had done in the Tougyo Verse was the operation where Shoko removed Kenjaku's/Fandaniel's brain tissue and put his back in so he could be fully revived just as himself. He's just not fond of having himself surgically altered.
As a concept, outside of the trauma of being physically possessed through a posthumous surgical transplant, catch him feeling indifferent about this sort of thing whether in his past life (jjk) or after his reincarnation (ffxiv). Suguru is the type of person to assert a transformation or a new threshold of identity from within, and external changes are mere indications of this refined internal state. He wouldn't make an external change to himself and then expect that to change who he is or how he functions, so he wouldn't go so far as to seek cosmetic surgeries or undergo procedures to drastically change his appearance.
Because his identity is so important to him, the vein of self-expression runs so deep that often little of it is indicated or influenced by his physical appearance - a sort of 'only the tip of the iceberg is visible' scenario. He has pierced ears and he'll change his clothes to suit his mood or role in a situation. And that's the most he'll do. Everything else comes from what he does, communicates, and stands to represent.
Still, he'll encourage his friends and loved ones to do whatever they choose in order to affirm themselves. He believes in the value of personal agency, and he'd be very supportive of someone's decision to use theirs in pursuit of self-refinement.
Caveat: if it was, say, his twins or one of his younger students? He'd be more involved and cautious on their behalf. He would be much more invested in personally examining the caretakers and professionals involved. Concerns about their safety, the risks, the expertise of the staff, etc would have to be assuaged, first.
🍇- how would my muse describe their childhood?how much has it impacted the person they are now, or will become as an adult?around what age did they or will they start to mature, and why?do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood?
಄—Suguru would define his childhood as a precious, yet precarious time.
He holds his earliest years in highest regard: he was a celebrated child. His parents were invested in him. They were never negligent, although their expectations of him ran high. He didn't mind answering their hopes for him with successes, though. Being exceptional was important to him, too. He was a bright and communicative boy who valued what he could contribute to his family and his community even from a young age. His earliest memories are filled with vibrancy and within a setting of natural beauty: tall trees and fragrant grasses, rough roads and glimmering streams. He lived quite freely as a young boy. Birthdays and holidays were common, expected, even. And because his hometown was still supported by agriculture and natural resources, the changes of the seasons were acknowledged with respect and celebratory traditions.
Suguru still holds onto those experiences, and considers them of utmost value. When it comes to celebrations and hosting events, few could match his enthusiasm and his ken for hosting. He cherishes get-togethers, relishes having his family and loved ones nearby, and takes any opportunity to make a special event out of a noteworthy moment in the lives his loved ones.
But because those memories are also tinged with the grief of what came to pass, later, he has a far more difficult time celebrating himself, or accepting when others mean to celebrate him. While he enjoys hosting others for special occasions, he can be something of an awkward guest of honor, himself - caught between wanting to reciprocate the goodwill and an underlying sense of guilt or self-restraint.
By six years old, Suguru was fully embroiled in the battle of the superficial innocence of youth and the impenetrable depths of the realm of the supernatural. He had realized that the creatures he'd seen up to that point weren't as fanciful and imagined as the adults in his life had reassured.
And he had begun to recognize their behaviors. They were human behaviors, after all.
Excitement. Hunger. Anger. Self-Awareness. Patience. Revenge.
Initially, Suguru tried to make them known - for comfort, for reassurance and protection. And he'd truly struggled with the accusations around him - that he was imagining them. As if he were creating them. Making them real. When people were hurt by Curses, or their effects, he would sometimes become lost in the possibility that he was, somehow, manifesting those creatures and therefore responsible for the harm that transpired because of them.
The instincts that came with his Cursed Technique were equally as fearsome.
The insight to analyze the Curse.
The instinct to condense the Curse.
And the impulse to consume it.
Curses were terrifying to witness. The taste was abhorrent. And his suffering was beyond the comprehension of all of his caregivers. Then he came to realize that his anguish was no longer prompting the adults in his life to protect him. In fact, they displayed even greater distress at being queried by his hardship. After all, in their mind, it was aberrant that a child would invent such grotesque fancies just to garner extra attention. Wasn't he coddled enough at home?
It was a small town.
'The older he gets, the more he acts out. Perhaps he's spoiled. Perhaps he was under-stimulated at school. Perhaps it's hormonal. Perhaps he needed more physical extracurricular activity. Perhaps he needed to be disciplined more. Perhaps he needed spiritual guidance.'
His parents turned to a local religion for support. It had a cold, archaic dogma that saw his already reserved and taciturn father turned brittle, intolerant, and openly disparaging of his family. It was the first time he'd heard his parents fight with each other so loudly.
Suguru sat against his bedroom door, knees curled to his chest. He had become a problem that needed solving. He was his parents' curse. This, he simply couldn't abide.
Shoving the bitterness down with the same will that his technique had taught him, he decided one day to stop mentioning it. He fixed a rosy smile and greeted his parents one morning, and everyone was content to continue from that point as though he had never been any other way.
'There was something bad in the water. It was making everyone feel poorly.
They must have fixed the treatment plant.
Well, you know how they put things off.'
People tended to assert problems and solutions for themselves, even absent any information. Or even in blatant opposition to information.
Curses still proliferated. He still swallowed them. But he smiled now, instead of crying.
He still didn't know why his body worked this way, but if he swallowed them up, then they couldn't hurt his neighbors, his classmates, or his parents.
The people around him were being hunted daily. But he could be the greater predator.
Interacting with people - even as superficial as it was, still came as a balm to him.
Even lies tasted less disgusting than a single tiny Fly Head. And so long as the people around him were safe and could smile when they saw him, he could justify his struggle.
He knew why he had picked it all up.
He just wanted to know when he could put it down.
Suguru's present development as a person takes into account his revival in Shibuya (within the Tougyo Verse) and the scarce two months he had to review and resolve his life up to that point, and his subsequent reincarnation into Etheirys.
At first, the idea of a 'second chance' during the events of Shibuya seemed too rare and too vital to mishandle. But even after their sacrifice the following December, he found himself reunited with Satoru in a new time and place. Then they were once again restored after the battle of Carteneau, and Suguru began to understand something very intrinsic to his path: it wouldn't end. No matter what choices he made. No matter how many times he fell. Through one means or another, he would come to and he would be expected to move forward. It was impossible to trace how many times he and Satoru had reincarnated throughout the eras, nor how many more times they would do so. And upon Etheirys, because of the nature of his incarnation, the density of his soul, and the plenitude of aether, it was wholly uncertain as to whether he or Satoru would ever have another childhood. Their bodies had been constructed by Ancient creation magick, after all. Summoned. Not born. It could be that they would always inhabit their present state, from death to incarnation.
The futility of endlessness, and the hope of it: both facets weigh equally in Suguru's mind. As his former life begins to feel further away, it becomes even more important to him to venerate his childhood, and impart to other young beings the shelter, respect, and joy that he was offered, had experienced, and later longed for.
In his mind, childhood is a wealth of both great and tiny discoveries, it is the mysterious intensity of a child's emotional landscape from delight to utter turmoil, and it is a raw potential that must navigate limitations of flesh and know-how in order to flourish.
He has no wish to return to his own childhood, and he has made a clumsy sort of peace with the twists and losses of his former home, and the innocence it yearned to preserve in him. To pay his respects to that bygone time, place, and self - he offers his part of the school in Etheirys, where the young and aspiring can find a sense of home, kinship, and acceptance. As an adult, and one who survived a sorcerer's childhood, that is his great privilege to extend.
I'm answering this one separately because it broaches some headcanon topics that I've wanted to reference for a little while and I ran out of room on my carrd now's a good time to get it started.
🍍- how comfortable is my muse in their body?how do they feel about their height, weight, strength, and body type?how important is being attractive to them?
Three lifetimes' worth of answers:
಄—Childhood to his first death; including canon compliant events
(02.03.1996 — 12.24.2017)
He was always an outgoing, physically active child, but after his innate technique began to manifest, his perception of himself changed drastically and painfully. His Cursed Technique, and the instincts it prompted for activation offered only harrowing experiences, and he did not have the lifeline of other sorcerers to support his awakening. His family could not understand what tormented their son. And he struggled to suppress the traumas that followed him into adolescence while he strove to protect his neighbors and loved ones from the otherworldly threats that hunted them like sheep.
To contend with his sense of self-revulsion and bewilderment over his body's capabilities, Suguru reinforced what he could understand. The more fragile his heart felt, and the more confused his thoughts were, the harder he pushed his physical form to compensate for the vulnerabilities. He utilized the rural terrain of his hometown as a training ground: the steep mountainside, empty roads, deep rivers, and undeveloped woods were a natural gymnasium. Running, climbing, increasing his endurance, developing a greater pain tolerance, and so on, Suguru built up strength, coordination, and heightened stamina over the course of late childhood and early adolescence. It was quite the traditional approach, but it provided an effective foundation for the martial art forms he would later master.
By the time he was in his teens, Suguru's aptitude with his Cursed Technique was refined enough to catch the notice of the sorcerers affiliated with Jujutsu High.
When he was scouted and enrolled, Suguru's entire regard of himself was transformed. The trepidation that had haunted him for almost a decade finally ebbed. His questions had answers. His suffering had a purpose. And the horrors served a greater good. In his own mind, he could almost obfuscate what his ability did to him by focusing on what it could provide for others. By putting the terrors and violence within himself, like a vault, it meant there would be less of it in the world, fewer harms brandished against innocent people. It seemed logical to endure it, and as he was introduced to Satoru and Shoko, Nanami and Haibara - youths who also shouldered burdensome capabilities, Suguru could nearly convince himself that this was a strong and acceptable way to live.
As he matured, he became more aware of, and adept at achieving a balance within himself. Because he had to detach from a sense of revulsion in regards to his technique, the taste of curses, and his part in self-exploitation as a sorcerer, he invested further into what he could find worthy and appealing. His physical condition was well-managed, and he threw himself headlong into his study of martial arts and combat proficiency. As his enemies were housed inside of him, he needed to feel as though he was strong enough to contain them. Even if his technique would likely be unaffected by his physical aptitude, acts of self-affirmation were vital, load-bearing stress mitigations.
A great deal of Suguru's early battlegrounds were symbolic. His uniform was customized to suit his tastes, and he kept his hair long and to his liking, because it was important to him to execute a sense of self-agency in every element he could, to leverage the weight of all that had been foisted upon him by chance, birth, and circumstance.
This need to make his own choices whenever he could in regards to his physical being would persist into adulthood, for better or for worse. Following the murders of Riko and Kuroi, his sense of strength was diminished in concert to the depths of his anguish. He could no longer perceive his body as the shield that protected himself and others against the putrefaction and malice of the world. And in exchange for much of his sense of his humanity, Satoru had become that shield, instead. Alone.
Whether he was present or absent, people died. Young, innocent, and irreplaceable.
'Special Grade', his ID card read, yet he hadn't solved anything, hadn't saved anyone.
It hadn't meant anything for those whom he most wanted that strength to matter.
After Haibara was killed, and as the losses piled thus higher, he grew further from himself. Curses dwelt inside and outside of him as his days were slowly emptied of people he loved. He became unable to separate his sense of identity from death.
He was the world, itself: flawed, filled with corpses and curses and unrealized promises.
Suguru wouldn't truly reclaim his sense of self-worth again in that lifetime. He would deny his own happiness until his death, unable to reconcile exchanging Riko and Kuroi's future for his own. He would never forgive that Riko, with her brimming hopes and love for life, had died, while he had been spared just because of the nature of his Cursed Technique. He would never accept Satoru's rebirth as the pinnacle of living sorcery, when he deserved so much more as a person.
Out of self-condemnation, his faults as a broken shield, Suguru would instead wield himself like a spear against the system and its benefactors, in defiance and vengeance on behalf of the young sorcerers who had been exploited and murdered in service to it. He wanted to see the world reborn, released from its corruption and its avaricious hatred, purged of Curses and the non-sorcerers' ability to birth to them. He had accepted that the price for such a revolution would be his self-worth, his humanity, in turn. But he couldn't fathom forgiving himself, anyway.
It wasn't until the end, when Satoru quietly confided that he had never doubted his friend's worth, that for all the blood between them, his trust had never been in question. He knew Suguru's heart had been too pure to endure the thorny grays of the world; his idealism, while it had been strong enough to build a path between heaven and earth that they could share, that same strength had entombed Suguru in the memory of the day they had all died inside of Tengen's barrier.
Satoru knew that sorcerers tended to die more slowly than others.
Suguru had been dying for a decade, trying to make up for being killed.
Satoru wanted him to know that nothing had ever really changed for them. Nor would it.
And between life and death, Suguru laughed, feeling a glimmer of absolution.
And in that moment, his soul felt the lightness of self-acceptance.
It had less to do with the body, save that the body would never forget that moment - even in death, even in resurrection.
಄—Revival in Shibuya to the end of the JJK setting of the Tougyo Verse
(10.31.2018 — 12.24.2018)
On Halloween night in Shibuya, the moment that Satoru had addressed the body that belonged to Getou Suguru, it was as though it recognized itself from the cells, out. From the heart, up. Absolute sovereignty over Curses once imbibed: that was the grace of the technique carved into his being. And Suguru seized the opportunity to reclaim his body with utter impunity. He didn't entertain hesitation or guilt for even a moment. Cellular memory served as his will, imprinted from a lifetime of carefully cultivated self-awareness. His soul took time to become fully reseated in a corporeal existence, but because he had died as a cleansed soul, he was divested of the weight of bitterness and lingering grievances. His emotions came not from a mind reeling from trauma, but a heart that had already been saved.
His regard towards his body during this time was interesting: for a few weeks he functioned as a prison for Kenjaku (ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ˢᵒʳᶜᵉʳᵉʳ ᵖᵒˢˢᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᴬˢᶜᶦᵃⁿ ᶠᵃⁿᵈᵃⁿᶦᵉˡ, ᵘᵗᶦˡᶦᶻᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᶦⁿᵍ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉʲᵒᶦⁿᶦⁿᵍ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ⁽ᵗʰᵉ ⁷ᵗʰ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶦⁿ ᶠᶠˣᶦᵛ) up until Gojo was released from the Prison Realm in early November. Around that time, Mei Mei and Larue recovered the cerebral matter of Getou Suguru that Kenjaku had preserved with jujutsu and his expertise for placing sorcerers' cells in stasis. Following this, Suguru agreed to undergo a procedure to remove Kenjaku's tissue and restore his own, instead. (ᵀʰᵉ ᵇʳᵃᶦⁿ ᶠᵒʳᵐᵉʳˡʸ ᵏⁿᵒʷⁿ ᵃˢ ᴷᵉⁿʲᵃᵏᵘ ʷᵃˢ ᵖʳᵒᵐᵖᵗˡʸ ᵒᶠᶠᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᴿᶦᵏᵃ ᴼʳᶦᵐᵒᵗᵒ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵘʳᵗʰᵉʳ ᵃᵘᵍᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᴼᵏᵏᵒᵗˢᵘ ʸᵘᵗᵃ'ˢ ᵗᵉᶜʰⁿᶦᵠᵘᵉ.)
Under Shoko's care and with the support of his allies, Suguru survived the ordeal and recovered in time to work alongside Gojo in the days leading up to the events of December 24ᵗʰ.
During this time, Suguru saw his physical body as valuable, as uniquely his own, and as a vital bridge connecting himself to his and Satoru's future, however far it could reach, and however far he could go with it. Even when advised about the risks of removing Kenjaku, Suguru emphasized that he wanted to be remembered for his tenacity, and his devotion to those he cared for. He wanted his contributions to outweigh Kenjaku's machinations, and while he didn't bother with a sense of redemption or forgiveness from those who still harbored anger towards him, he wanted demonstrate that a person's life took the shape of their convictions, and regardless as to how the world might seek to label or define a person, their truth was something known from the inside, and it couldn't be taken or changed no matter who sought to end or exploit it.
Suguru's relationship with his body was largely neutral and symbolic at this time, as he aptly felt that his time was borrowed. He sought to make meaningful impacts in his circle without becoming enmeshed with living among the others again, knowing intuitively, that it wouldn't last.
಄—Incarnation into Etheirys to present, in the FFXIV setting of the Tougyo Verse
(12.25.1571 — 07.--.1577∞)
Now we arrive at the verse present, and the more direct answer. Suguru is very comfortable in his physical body these days. It took him about two weeks to fully acclimate to the differences between what he knew, and his incarnation. His technique is familiar, but it is kinder to him. Or perhaps he's kinder to himself when he uses it.
Because of the method of his reincarnation, and the aether that facilitated it, he has some physical traits of his kin-by-incarnation: the Viera race.
Because of how closely he resembles their kind, he is often mistaken for a natural born Viera, with nary an extra glance given to his ears which are more vulpine in shape. Those who have never seen a kitsune wouldn't make the connection, after all. And there are far more places where Viera are common than foxes. Nonetheless, the intrepid and the learned often give him a twice-or-even-thrice-over. Fewer are those who press for a bit of explanation. But his body was manifested through a spell to create a vulpine familiar, and so his physical construction represents this blueprint. Because of his unnatural rebirth, his unique biology is something of a mystery and a fascination to his ship's doctor, Nalza Yulza.
He has no qualms about his appearance, although he was mildly surprised to find out how varied the sizes, shapes, and physiques the varying races of the world are. He still stands at a robust 6'3" but to his relief, most structures, vehicles, and doorways are designed to accommodate Elezen, Au Ra and Roegadyn who frequently grow to 6'10" or more. He enjoys a lot more spaces, clothing, and access at an "average" global height, than he could comfortably enjoy as an outlier height in modern Tokyo.
His frame is more lean than he used to be, by his own standards. But he can still wring out as much strength as he needs, whether the situation is as domestic as moving his daughters' furniture, or as dire as a deathmatch with an Elder Primal. He has no complaints about his composition or his physical capabilities. And his metabolism and capacity still increase through the age-old methods of training: practice, precision, discipline, repetition and refinement.
Being considered attractive is something of a priority, but only in so far as it matters to his own sense of self-definition. In an abstract sense: he is valuable to himself, and so like any other valuable investment, his appearance must be well-cared for.
But that is for no one else to attempt to manage or define.
He would accept it if people admired his work and his accomplishments more than his physical appearance. And it would irritate him to be pursued for being attractive by someone who didn't give a damn about his values, efforts, or dreams.
He can be polite in most situations, but he detests superficiality.
Suguru prefers to seem approachable and he wants to influence situations to suit his goals, and dressing for that purpose will seem appropriate to him. But if he wanted wear something for his own reasons, and his colleague told him to do something different, not only would he not change, but he would also think a little less of his colleague.
As an example, he grew his hair long because he felt that it softened his features - sharp, even when full of artificial serenity. And combing it distracted him from thinking about the way that Curses felt when they slid against his teeth. Then it became something of a comfort, a mark that time really had passed. His hair grew longer, and so he knew the days weren't really repeating.
Even when he was his most inconsolable, it was too long to neglect entirely. So if nothing else, he had to invest at least as much care of himself as it took to prevent the feeling of a limp mop on his neck.
It became something of a ritual. And later, his twins occasionally played at hairstylists with it. Their tense laughter and the knots he had to untangle out of it later were both part of what he enjoyed about growing it long. Even in Etheirys, he leaves it mostly down and grows it out.
But! If a love interest asked him to cut his hair, attesting to how much 'better' he might look, he simply would not, no matter their reasons or the consequences of turning them down. He would rather be in possession of himself and live to define himself as he pleases.
Do his efforts matter? Does the world reflect his existence? Has he touched lives in a meaningful and beneficial way? Did he assert his strength in a way that honored himself and benefited those who will follow? These questions must be answered first, and then he'll worry about where his appearance ranks in the minds of others.
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水魔法__[ drink ] - it's the worst herbal mixture. Probably for headaches. //For Getou!
಄—Kindness. Compassion. Friendship. Ostensibly, the gesture seemed rooted in benevolences such as these. But he could smell the acrid tincture percolating from where he stood. The fumes wafting from the pungent mixture made his eyes water, and his tongue felt like a clay brick left to bake in the sun in the middle of summer. And he hadn't even touched the cup, let alone sampled the tea. If he could even call it tea.
'Qifrey. Is this revenge? For all the times I've teased you? For the nicknames?
The unsolicited stress that I visited upon you even as I assured it was all for your own good, seeing that branches and boughs were kept at bay?'
Now, headaches were a very real concern these days. The Echo was difficult, if not outright impossible to harness or manage. And prophetic and retrospective visions alike had the unpleasant side-effect of vision loss, migraines, and even blackouts - however fleeting. Say nothing of the tension headaches he inflicted on himself, staying up too late reading, researching, training, or otherwise industriously pursuing his work to the detriment of his own health.
It could have been consideration.
It could also be a liquid rebuttal of his very existence.
Getou reached for the drink with some trepidation, claws coming to rest in little clinks! along the cup's fragile surface.
❝Thank you! I see you're delving into medicinal concoctions freely~.
Have you found some herbs here that you can use in place of the flora that you used before? Or are these all new recipes?
Ne, you wouldn't be using me as a test subject now, would you?❞
It couldn't taste worse than a Curse.
It couldn't.
水魔法__It was a near replica, each brick and thatch born from a memory that could recall the minute scratches in stone, the scent of burnished wood, the smallest crack in a counter. It was almost comical that he had no recollection of himself in any iteration of a lifetime; This had been the one preference he knew for a fact, which was why he insisted that his Watchful Eye still recreate the same hall leading to a separate house, even if they rarely used it that way. He'd say it was for their apprentice's sake, of course. He had been absent for the past hour, and could be found standing in the recreation of that office-like space, directly on a glowstone tile. The illumination from the spell cast both him and the searneedle wand he held loosely in a gentle light, emphasizing an overly fond expression. __𖣂 //for Olly! goes into ur room and is weird about ur stuff__𖣂
𑁍—He preferred the common room. He preferred the warmth and the chiming of little voices and busy pens scraping across dutiful pages. He liked hearing Qifrey dote and fret and instruct the most stubborn quartet of witchlings to ever wear caps.
Whether he was sore-neck-deep in his work, or lounging on the sofa as a reward for working his neck into the shape of a shepherd's crook, he preferred to do so nested somewhere within the pleasant clamor of the Atelier's other residents. And he had even more liberty to do so, here.
Here.
Cautiously, mentally, he examined the concept. Such a simple word, yet if he'd attempted to explain it, Olruggio worried he'd bite into all the wrong points, marring the truths with fears and clumsy guile. Behind them, the world turned on, made safer by their absence. It was a perplexing, bittersweet notion, and one he wished to comb over carefully with Qifrey, sometime.
For now, though... he was just running headlong beside his best friend, into adventures every bit as reckless and astounding as those of their apprenticeship days.
When Qifrey had wanted to reinstate the atelier, he hadn't hesitated to lend every long-held skill (and several new ones) to see it done. New magics, new stars, but some things were the same. And he was still dizzy with gratitude for that, to properly doubt any of it.
They had so much time to make up for...
Some questions could wait.
And some answers had already returned to him.
So while he preferred the common room, it was missing two things: one, the casting implement he needed, and two: Qifrey, the one who was supposed to be leading the little witchlings' studies. He couldn't very well work and then doze off to the saccharine tones of glyph primer practice if there wasn't practice being held.
That's what brought him to his side of the atelier. And in his under-utilized quarters, he found both.
Arms crossed over his chest, he watched Qifrey from the doorway - a door he rarely, if ever bothered to shut. The longer he watched, the hotter his ears felt, observing Qifrey observe the wand. His countenance was so peaceful, so affectionate and unburdened in that moment, Olruggio's chest tightened until his throat grew sore.
If for little more than the chance for Qifrey to know such genuine contentment, to feel a joy, and revel in the mysterious allure of their timeless entanglement - it was worth leaving any number of worlds behind, no regrets and no doubts to be had.
Suddenly, he became entirely self-conscious for watching Qifrey's candid fondness, and he shifted to his opposite foot, to make it seem like he'd only just walked up. Without anything suitably deflective or reassuring prepared, he just made a claim on the wand.
❝You can borrow it after. I need it, first. I have an idea for a self-propelling tree-swing for the girls, but I don't want them to just launch themselves to the moon by enthusiastic accident.❞
水魔法__While he would never say that anyone was distinctly like another, there were certain similarities in temperaments when it came down to things like learning or connectivity. Keeping that in mind, the offering he presented to the Jujutsu Academy student was genuine and sans pressure; An inkwell, pen and parchment, a smile, and a cant of the head. Anyone could do magic, and while there was no denying her capacity, more outlets for creativity was never useless.
"Your 'cursed tools' are similar in principle to a magic gadget, but wouldn't it be fascinating to be able to imbue your own with the effects you wanted, even without the capacity to manipulate energy?" __𖣂 //for Maki-san!
𑁍—Maki studied the touring instructor askance, with all the intensity of a browsing hawk at altitude. Just before her silence grew sharp enough to draw blood, she shifted her attention to the drawing accoutrements.
❝...that Baka-mekakushi... too many eyes and too damn big a mouth.❞
She grumbled, knowing full well that Gojo would have been the one to regale the equally snowy-haired witch of her Heavenly Restriction. Maybe he'd thought it fair game, since he had answered the full number of her cynical inquiries about the bespectacled teacher.
The essence of a person remembered, and the flesh conformed to the edict written into her very soul.
In this world of floating islands and sleeping dragons, it wasn't aether that was locked beyond her reach. It was the force they called dynamis - the power owed to emotions. Just as Cursed Energy was formed within the body through the conduit of negative emotions and lived experiences, dynamis was an energy that answered to passion: whether aching and desperate or replete with conviction and brimming with hope.
No matter what she thought she was feeling, she couldn't even brush against its presence. Her Heavenly Restriction was interpreted as an overabundance of aether - the vital force that composed the physical world. Her vitality, senses, stamina, strength, and aptitude for manipulating her own body's metabolic functions were as she remembered. A pinnacle of human capability. But she couldn't so much as make an Elpis flower blush. Just as with her prior experience with Domains, she was no more or less than a stone.
A structure. So incredibly human in her potential that she had become something else.
Maki had felt a pang of dissatisfaction for only a moment.
Why would she be different here? And why would it possibly matter, even so?
If she had only way of existing no matter the time or place, then grieving about it was senseless.
She'd unnerved her share of enemies, too, Ascians no less - who were discomfited by the effusive aether her so-called sundered form both produced and contained, nigh comparable to memories of pristine skies and hooded academics.
Ever since the star was sundered and all that history lamented, dynamis was more or less essential in the manipulation of spells and enchantments, since concept crystals and invocations had far less energy available in present day, than in ancient times. 'Intention' and 'focus' is what they usually attributed to spellcasting. But trying to conjure a spell's effect with no emotional presence or will and the spell was no better than a fireball hurled by the shambling zombies that skulked around the Thanalan wilds.
She surveyed his hands subtly, her eyes moving quicker than a flicker of candlelight, measuring their composition to her own.
She wasn't envious of those to whom magic answered. She was just curious.
And to her satisfaction, Qifrey didn't have hands like garden spiders, like someone she knew. Even at a glance, Maki could see fingertips that had known the roughness of countless sheaves of paper, of hard work, dark ink, and mortal peril. His nails were short, imperfect, in service to his craft.
...their hands weren't so incredibly different...
Maki tried to keep the intrigue out of her voice even as she met his offer halfway, pointing her index finger in a half-measured warning,
❝I'll give you an hour. If you can hold my interest for an hour, I'll consider taking your classes for real, Megane. But if it seems like a waste of time, I'm cutting you loose.
And just so we're clear, this test run is just between you and I.
If I even come to think you went off bragging that you got me to draw a bunch of circles, I'll replace all your magic ink with ikasumi.❞
無量__[ reload ] for Thancred! //gayly enchants your bullets
⇢ SILENT ACTIONS THAT SAY ALOT PROMPTS
𑁍—Sweat bit at the corner of his eye as if the ambient heat itself had teeth. Lightning lashed from the heavens, and punctured the earth below without warning or the convenience of a pattern. The whole region was in a chokehold of levin, but no matter how saturated the field was with aether, it was a locked door as far as it concerned him.
His body remembered the feeling. Remembered the purpose. But even the rock he was crouched behind could ostensibly manipulate aether better than he could at present. A small price for a second chance, but one that reaffirmed itself to him constantly.
One of his targets - a malfunctioning warmachina in the distance, began cruising his way. He wouldn't avoid the clash; that was the whole reason he was there.
The greater extent of the region's crisis had been resolved, but it that didn't mean all of the trouble was past. Now they were sorting out the little reports; the personal tragedies.
As he took down the aerostat, a part of Thancred's heart ached for Erenville, especially the longer he was out assisting the workups and rescues of those struggling with the dangers across Yyasulani. The once-tranquil region was ...it seemed utterly ruined. The sky was dark, filled with storms, and the air felt as electric and poisonous as a live battery. Losing one's home was hard enough. Being able to return to it, and seeing what it had become... that was the kind of grief that would keep a man from ever deciding on place to call home again.
Well, that was his perspective, anyway. Erenville was young and willful, maybe even more stubborn than himself.
The aerostat machine fell silent, and beyond it, the rest of them hummed in acknowledgement that the ranks would need filling. He slipped behind the giant rock again, allowing the overcharged minerals to conceal him from the mech's sensors.
All morning he'd been putting defective machines down, dissuading levin-hyped beasts from overrunning settlements, and ensuring that the sparse flora that did somehow manage to grow could be safely harvested by the locals. Now It looked like an entire warehouse of the aerostats had gone haywire. His cartridges were nearly spent. He could manage something, probably. Solving it by himself wasn't impossible.
But annoying?
Could he say annoying without sounding selfish?
Sudden, and it was very sudden, movement to the left of him brought his thoughts to a halt as he reached to intercept the finality of the motion. But relief followed recognition as his awareness caught up to his eyes.
❝Gojo! You really couldn't be troubled to use the linkpearl? I didn't even know you were on the way! Actually, let me back up, I sound terribly uncharitable when I'm really and truly glad to see you.❞
Gojo had arrived in his uncanny swiftness, and he was already making a decent inventory of the cartridges Thancred would need for the gunblade. Even within Sharlayan, there were few who could claim such peerless, deft skill with the arcane, but Gojo manipulated aether as though it were as physical and malleable as cloth.
His talents were a balm to any crisis, and even just the sight of him was genuinely reassuring. But there was also an undercurrent of pressure to his presence - the feeling that he wasn't someone satisfied by the edicts of fate. He couldn't shake the impression that Gojo could, and would bend heaven and earth to his preferences, if he ever felt truly motivated. He didn't want to make the comparison lightly, but it was something... potentially analogous to having a Primal standing in on one's behalf.
Not that he wanted for something like that. It was just admittedly exhilarating to fight beside the otherworldly sorcerer. He felt like he could push a little harder, but that he wouldn't have the right to perish even if he so chose. In fact he had some experience getting back up when he very much did not expect to do so.
High stakes. Very intense friendship.
And if Gojo was there, then Getou was likely nearby. And the number of lives sheltered between the three of them was far greater than himself, alone.
A weight lifted from Thancred's chest. It was good to have good allies.
He grinned rakishly and gestured towards the field,
❝Only all of them left. I'll let you back me up since you're such sporting help.❞
[ fix ] sender comes up to receiver and fixes their collar and/or tie (Sanji)
⇢ SILENT ACTIONS THAT SAY ALOT PROMPTS
𑁍—He'd caught sight of her approach, and a current of delight flickered across his features. His expression brightened, and his posture aligned to hers within an instant, like a sunflower attuning to the surest path to sunlight. His expression promptly lost its guard, and a smile unfurled, wide and welcoming.
Before he could query her thoughts, she broached closer and tidied him up: his tie was still loose from when he'd sought relief from the heat and humidity of a stringent dishwashing regimen. The confections that had seen those dishes to the sink - rather, the joy and anticipation of being able to serve them up to his treasured nakama - was always worth the work, of course. But in his eagerness to distribute the little dessert cups, he'd neglected to readdress the tie.
Had it been anyone else, Sanji's pride certainly would have felt it. Careless. Slovenly.
And had he been anywhere else, the misstep would have left him no peace.
But Melody hadn't tacked a rebuke to her motions, and the trust between them quietly mended the infraction to his otherwise impeccable presentation. It was important to him to provide nothing short of his best, standing beside his crew as a picture of reliability and easy confidence. Sometimes he got ahead of himself though, and sometimes he got caught up in the moment... but he could hardly feel discouraged at present. In fact, it was more like a blessing merely disguised as a blunder.
Balancing a platter of pastel dessert cups in either palm, he couldn't do much but attend her care. His grin slipped into a sheepish asymmetry, and he leaned down to accommodate her reach.
At this proximity, the uptick in his heartrate was to be expected - he wanted to reciprocate her sweetness with all the sincerity in the world! The pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket called to his nerves like a sirensong: 'play it cool, keep it together. She doesn't want you howling thanks in her face no matter how keen and perfect her little fingers are, and no matter how skilled she is at putting the grace back to your suit.'
❝Do you like cherries, Melody-san? I made you one before I asked - these are Cherry-Amaretti Fools.❞
Sanji glanced towards one of the pretty pastel pink dessert cups. Smooth, dreamy and creamy, each cup held a cherry-blended custard-like filling, crowned with a glistening tower of airy whipped creme. There were enough prepared to indulge everyone, and Melody had been no exception!
❝Don't take the name as a disservice to their quality, either~ they're pretty clever for a dessert that doesn't soak up a lot of ingredients. They're named for the word 'fouler' - to press or crush - the very tenderness that pureed the cherries in the recipe. Almond biscuits, custard, a minimum of three different types of creams, very dressy.
What do you think? Tempted enough to test one out?
Eh, of course I'm going to tell the blockheads that they're called fools because they feed fools. So don't tell them otherwise.❞
He cast a wink her way as he angled one of the serving trays down for her to peruse.
"You might try deep-frying 'em, next time. The curse orbs. Roll them in some powder sugar, maybe."
಄—❝You're being serious, aren't you? Like this is real advice? An actual suggestion. Out of concern?
...I'll give it a try - for you.❞
There was such a perilous possibility that Zoen meant it; that she was lending aid to the long-standing issue of the taste of apparitions, as he subsumed them. If the advice had come from Satoru, he would have assumed it to be sardonic, and would have called *him* 'a deep fried ball of powdered sugar and carnality', in retort. And given the self-same crown of tousled ivory and tendency towards indulgences they had in common, the jab would have hit home cast Zoen's way, as well. But.
Zoen didn't spend a lot of time prying into the affairs of others. Idly socializing was a currency he didn't often spend, especially when it didn't necessarily promise a thrill in return. It was more like she really thought she'd cracked the lacking flavor profile of eating Curses: make donuts of them.
A mild wave of fatigue brushed along a nerve somewhere along his temple.
Still, he'd humor her for now. And hopefully, it didn't spin off into anything more troublesome.
PROMPTS FOR SILENT ACTIONS THAT SAY A LOT
* i wrote these with the implication that the sender doesn't say a word before they perform the action. adjust as necessary, send 'reverse' for the reversal of the prompt
[ tug ] sender tugs receiver behind them during a tense moment
[ pull ] sender pulls receiver out of harm's way at the last second
[ tuck ] sender stares at receiver and quietly reaches up, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind receiver's ear
[ yank ] sender yanks receiver closer to them, ending up in semi-suggestive close proximity
[ steady ] sender grabs receiver's arm to steady them before they fall over
[ walk ] sender moves around receiver and walks closest to the street as they travel down the sidewalk, keeping receiver away from any potential danger in the roadway
[ untied ] sender drops to their knee and starts tying receiver's shoe for them
[ spoon ] sender lifts a spoon towards receiver's mouth, encouraging them to eat
[ trace ] sender traces receiver's lips with their thumb
[ pin ] sender pins receiver to a tucked-away spot in the shadows to avoid being caught
[ neck ] without a word, sender dips down to receiver's throat and kisses them soundly
[ handheld ] sender slips a hand behind their back and grabs receiver's fingers as they stand behind them
[ carry ] without asking, sender takes receiver's heavy bags from them and carries them
[ lock ] sender and receiver lock eyes across the room
[ drink ] sender brings receiver a drink and holds it to their lips, insisting they take a drink
[ reload ] sender reloads receiver's gun for them in the middle of a fight
[ shelter ] sender uses their body to shelter receiver from an explosion or attack
[ carry ] sender picks up receiver and carries them off the battlefield and into a safe spot before running back to the fight
[ toss ] from a secret hiding spot only receiver and sender can see as they avoid an enemy, sender silently gestures to receiver to toss them (their gun, something valuable, etc.)
[ stairs ] sender offers out a hand to help receiver ascend or descend a staircase
[ cover ] sender covers receiver's eyes so they don't witness something gruesome
[ fix ] sender comes up to receiver and fixes their collar and/or tie
[ shake ] to convince receiver not to do something, sender hastily shakes their head from a distance
[ watch ] from a distance, sender taps on their watch to show receiver they're running out of time
[ i'll go ] sender gently pushes receiver back, taking charge and insisting they will handle the dangerous task
[ reach ] through a locked gate, sender reaches for receiver's hand
[ ship ] as receiver's ship takes off from the planet, sender waves to them from the ground and watches them leave
[ protect ] after someone threatens receiver, sender rushes over and gets right in their face to protect them
[ punch ] after someone attacks receiver, sender rushes over and punches them in retaliation
[ nip ] sender playfully nips at receiver's neck
[ knuckles ] sender kisses receiver's knuckles in a polite gesture
[ squeeze ] sender gives receiver's butt a playful squeeze from behind
[ danger ] as an all-powerful receiver is about to lose control of their powers and cause massive damage, sender finds their eyes and tries to talk them down
[ goodbye ] without saying a word, sender approaches receiver and kisses them goodbye
[ wipe ] sender wipes a tear from receiver's face
[ location ] without saying anything and giving away the surprise, sender takes receiver to a secret spot
[ hold back ] sender has to hold back receiver from attacking someone
[ game ] sender lets receiver win a game they're playing
[ shower ] sender joins receiver in the shower they're taking
