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Uraume and the Homosexual Apocalypse Agenda

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     They decide they like pantsuits. But only in white, with wide legs. Jacket-only, with nothing underneath but bare chest and a couple silver necklaces. They like the way the fabric clings in all the right places, elevating them higher. Making them feel important. 

Boss shit. 

They think Master Sukuna will comment on their new look.  It's a drastic change from what they usually wear so it's natural for him to be a little confused. They expect questions. A slick little remark or maybe an appraising look. 

They don't expect him to not even glance up at all. They stand atop a building in Tokyo. He looks down below, at a familiar unruly head of ink black hair, as he often does these days. If the sorcerors are out, then Sukuna is not too far behind. Watching. A silent protector looming above like a god selfishly guarding his favorite creation.

For hours on end.

Uraume figure that they might as well jump right into business. They're busy nowadays. Procuring funds for the end of times is not an easy task, nor is creating a list of possible allies.

With a bow, they begin,

"Master, I found a base like you asked. An apartment in the Aoyama neighbourhood of Tokyo with top security, that can be made impenetrable to Jujutsu Sorcerer and humans alike-," They don't even make it through the introduction before they're interrupted. Sukuna's voice is light, but sure. No room for argument.

"I need you to find a venue Uraume."

"A...venue, sire?"

Sukuna straightens up. His hands are in his sleeves, kimono billowing in the light breeze. Still, his gaze is unshakeable. 

"A venue." He repeats authoritatively. "Preferably one that allows pets. See to it."

"...Of course sir." 

    Uraume does not question, because it is not their job to question. They straighten when Sukuna turns away, keeping their curiosity captive behind their lips as they watch the king fly away on a cloud of flames, off into the blazing sunset. 

Then they pull out their new 'Iphone' and try to figure out what in the world a 'venue' is.


    Uraume thinks that they will receive a compliment today. They have found a venue. A venue so grand and awe-inspiring the gods themselves would envy the halls. They've called the owners and confirmed that, yes, they allow 'pets'. Perhaps Sukuna is looking to tame great, hulking beasts of destruction so that they can ride atop them at the end of times. 

Uraume would like a wolf. Uraume does not say this, because it is not their place to make requests. But Master Sukuna has always known things without them being said aloud. So they are not surprised when they find the king with two of such kind. They sit underneath a cherry blossom tree at a park, one white as snow and the other black as night, running about before tackling Sukuna with loving affection and slobbering tongues. 

Uraume strides forward with a lightness in their step, Prada loafers sinking into the grass.

They only stop short when they see that there is another at the master's side. 

    Fushiguro Megumi is...an anomaly, but a harmless one. Sukuna's been intrigued by humans before. Each and every time they were bedded and done with, tossed aside like scraps at the end of a feast, like robes that no longer fit. There will be infatuation today and tomorrow, Fushiguro Megumi will be nothing but a distant memory.

The untucked corner of a page in the book of a god. 

"I found a venue sire. As well as the remains of the Great Dog Demon Inuarashi. We can resurrect him and start our plan to-,"

"Uraume, where did you find these clothes?"

"Sir?"

They rise up out of their bow, look down at their pantsuit, once again the purest of white, then over to Master Sukuna, who has set the wolves aside in favor of petting Fushiguro Megumi in his lap. The human doesn't look up from his book, simply lets long claws rake through his hair. Sukuna rips his eyes away from him to give Uraume an appraising look. 

"Where?" He demands again. Uraume knows from experience that there will not be a third time.

"...Saint Laurent," They reply slowly.

Sukuna looks down again. At the jacket. "I would like two made-."

Fushiguro Megumi shifts. The two share a look. Sukuna smiles. Fushiguro Megumi wears that same blank expression.

"One," The king amends. "One in pure white with gold stitching. The finest material they have. Leave the venue information with me."

Uraume hands over the folder. Stands. Waits. 

"About...about the plan sir? About Lord Inuarashi-,"

"My suit Uraume."

"Yes...yes, of course."

They go off to begin their task. It makes sense. In this new era, the king must dress to fit new ideas of power. There's nothing like dominating the world in a nice, brand-new pantsuit. Power clothes for power moves. 

Yes, it makes sense. 

(but they can't help but turn back just before they go, can't help but stare at how that same folder they worked so hard on is propped open in front of Fushiguro Megumi for his opinion, as if that of a sorcerer matters more than Uraume's-.)

They leave, a strange hollowness in their chest.


Uraume finds out that there is to be a wedding when they are tasked with printing and sending out invitations. They spend a long while, staring down at the cream-colored cardstock, where the black ink sinks into the paper.

You're cordially invited to the union of...

Suddenly, Fushiguro Megumi gains a certain permanence. 

The invitations are frozen over. The clerk behind the desk helping them fares no better. Uraume watches the light fade from his eyes, and wonders if the world needs to end in ice and fire, or if the gusts of winter could be strong enough to bring about the destruction of the world.


    When Sukuna calls upon them to have cake brought over in the dead of night, Uraume assumes that he is hungry, and thus makes sure to prepare an array of options. When they stumble into the king's chambers, it's with cake boxes dangling from each harm, weight pressing lines into their skin. 

"Sir, I've brought the delicacies as you asked for. There's a great many so perhaps while you indulge, we could discuss the plan to take over the South Pacific-."

And they come face to face with Fushiguro Megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi in a white terrycloth robe that is three sizes too big for him, smelling of jasmine and sweet figs, blinking at Uraume with his long, lush lashes and eyes cut from jade.

(they've never been this close before. surely not enough to smell him.)

He smiles. 

Uraume stares. 

"Did you bring the tiramisu?" His voice sounds like siren song, tugging Uraume in like those wenches at sea. They resist, averting their gaze when the glow of him gets too much. 

     "Tiramisu," Their voice is strangely hoarse all of a sudden. They hold up their right arm. "And dark belgian chocolate. Then there's the carrot here, and matcha." Their eyes flicker up.

(fushiguro megumi is still looking at them with his bright, bright green eyes. His lips are curled into a small smile. they're pink. his hand-with all its long slender fingers and pretty, well-manicured nails-comes up to curl over his shoulder and that only makes the collar of the robe slip more, exposing pretty, faintly-flushed skin.)

"A-And if that's not to your taste then I can go find another bakery-," It is 3 AM. There are no bakeries open around here. They'll have to fly to another time zone to procure another cake. "And get something else. Perhaps something sweeter? A-alltheseflavorsareprettybitterorsimplesothey'redefinitelyanacquiredtasteand-,"

"Uraume."

King Sukuna appears in one of the many doorways of the huge apartment. He's in his own robe, fit snug and wrapped tight. He glances between the two of them with knowing eyes. Uraume bows at once to make up for their transgression. 

"Sire. I brought the-."

"Good. Leave."

"Yes, sir-,"

"No."

Silence. They both look up. Fushiguro Megumi acts as if he didn't say anything at all. He takes the boxes from Uraume's arms, pads over to the table, bare feet tapping against the wood, and sets them down. Without delay, he opens one up at random and dips a pinky into the icing, before popping it in his mouth with a little, pleased sound.

The humming of angels.

Uraume has never heard something so sweet before. 

At their silence, Fushiguro Megumi blinks. 

"What? We can't eat all this by ourselves. That's wasteful. Stay, Uraume. I want to know which one your favorite is." 

   Uraume stays. Uraume is seated at Fushiguro Megumi's side, given tiny slices of delicate cakes and a cup of instant coffee, black with no sugar. They wait for Lord Sukuna to take a bite, who is waiting for Fushiguro Megumi in turn. 

Once the two have done the deed, they take their own.

     Matcha is familiar. Sweet, but reminiscent of days spent in a great palace, back when gods and demons alike roamed the earth. When chaos reigned, only giving way for a sliver of peace at dawn, a warm stone cup pressed to their cold lips as they watched the sun stretch its amber fingers into pink skies. 

But then the screaming would start and the ground would shake and there would be mortal men begging for their lives, parents offering up their children in supplication, and the deaths of those who would hardly be so much a punctuation point in the book detailing the history of the world. 

     Carrot cake is strange. It is displeasing to their tongue and offensive to their palate. Humans should never have been allowed to create such a monstrosity, a flagrant insult to the gods that gave them the hands to make things for themselves. They wonder, setting the plate to the side, if the divinities ever looked down at the beast that walked the earth and resented them for the monstrosities they've wrought. War. Carrot Cake.

The chocolate is bitter. It's almost metallic, even. It reminds them of blood, of how it would splatter against their cheek when they cut into the inner thigh too quickly and hit the artery-.

...They set the chocolate to the side. Perhaps Sukuna would favor it.

Tiramisu is the last.

Uraume likes tiramisu. They like the way it seems to melt on their tongue, taste divine and complex as the seconds tick by. Uraume has not had a home in a long while but this serves as a notion as to what it could be. Comfort. Not too sweet but not too bitter. Like an embrace they crave but have never known, the name of a forgotten lover in some distant time long ago.

Yes , tiramisu is their favorite. 

"You like it?"

Those green eyes are too bright. Bewitching, stealing the words from their tongue and breath from their lungs.

"Ah, um, i-it's very good."

Megumi smiles. Something in Uraume's chest thaws out, ice cracking as it goes.

"It's my favorite too." He says in that soft, silky way of his. He's a gentle creature, this human. One that drifts through the world as if he's not a part of it, as if he's afraid to muddle things up too much so he keeps his hands to himself, clutched over a shoulder or wrapped around his waist.

"Do you want wine? I think we have Rosé."

"I-,"

Heat. Searing heat. Lord Sukuna looks upon them and for a moment they are transported back a thousand years, back to an era of death and destruction. Calamity, Uraume knows, starts with a simple glance. The slightest aggravation sparks the flames of disaster. 

"I'm fine," they say. "Thank you." to be polite. 

"Well I want wine." Fushiguro Megumi gets up. There's the clatter of his fork against his plate. The soft taptaptap of his feet against the marble floors as he goes towards the fridge. The heat hasn't faded. 

"Uraume."

"Sire."

"If you look at him again I'll-,"

"It's a little pricey" Fushiguro Megumi sets the bottle on the table. Even in the night, the glass glimmers, pale pink color the same shade as his cheeks after a single glass. "Gojo introduced me to it. He buys it in bulk. Just imports it all the way from Beaujolais-,"

Uraume looks up. They can't help it. Like how moths look to the light, humans look at fires and legends look to the stars.  This is how they look to Fushiguro Megumi. He is something bright and unattainable, lest they destroy themselves reaching out for him. 

"Uraume."

"Sire."

"Get them. From Beaujolais. I want a hundred barrels of this rosé."

"Sukuna, that's overkill-."

     Their eyes are lowered just enough to catch two of Sukuna's hands encompassing one of Megumi's. They hold it like it's something precious, like it is their tiramisu, an unearthed longing so deeply rooted that it's impossible to sever from the soul.

"We will have them, love." The King says, a low coo. "I'll conquer France if I have to."

"Leave the French alone."

"Uraume," They look up. If Fushiguro Megumi is heaven, then Sukuna is hell. All four of his eyes burn like the pits, the promise of eternal damnation swirling in their depths. "You should go. 100 barrels."

"Sir."

They know a dismissal when they hear one. 


"Sire, I must speak with you."

Uraume drops down from a cloud laced with ice and snow. They step onto the rooftop, Prada loafers gleaming in the wake of a blazing pyre. Sukuna sits in a chariot of fire, watching the mortals down below. Fushiguro Megumi is there in the streets, fighting curses with his wolves at his side. 

Uraume knows better than to look, but they still bring risk to themselves by resolving what they are about to do. They kneel, because all good supplications begin with a show of respect. They wait, because patience is virtuous, and skill greatly valued by the king. 

They try to calm their quivering heart, to freeze it over once more so that it is still inside the nook of their chest. And yet, it still beats ever onward.

"Speak, Uraume."

"I have concerns."

"Then state them freely. Have we not always been honest with each other?" Scarlet eyes flicker to them, without heat, but not without a strange scrutiny. The tone is light, fatally so. "Or has that changed?"

 They begin under that gaze, not allowing their voice to waver. 

"1000 years ago, we aspired to take over the world. We took the island of Yezo, and then ventured into the mainland. Before That Day, we were set to take on the world. To seize it all and burn it all down and rebuild anew in your vision of what it should be. Due to your nature, and the circumstances of your birth-,"

Heat . A great and terrible heat. The first sparks of hellfire at nipping at their clothes. Uraume presses on, refusing to look up to meet it. "The curse of your bloodline, I always knew that you were destined for something beyond my own comprehension." They lick their lips. "Things have changed now. With the arrival of the Fushiguro boy, you have-."

"I have seen the world."

They fall silent. Sew their lips tight in preparation for their own beheading. The King speaks as though the night itself is his audience, tone weary from weight, a wisdom that only accompanies age clinging to each syllable.

 "I have seen battlefields ripped asunder and razed by the gods. I have seen the madness of mankind and heard their serpent songs as they bite each other's tails in that unending cycle of destruction. I am not bound to this earth, nor this life, as I've seen what lies beyond it all and yet..."

Time passes. It could be another eternity they spend there, listening to what was once Edo become Tokyo become Whatever-Comes-Next. The humans chitter on. 

Uraume decides to be daring.

"...And yet?"

"And yet Fushiguro Megumi interests me. There is another world within him gone unexplored. There are new cosmos in his eyes and mysteries within the shadows of his palms...." Sukuna clenches his own fist, stares down at where the point of his nails digs into his palm. There are no mysteries in his own shadows, only the promise of an ending. "I wish to see it. All of it. All of him that he is willing to show me. If this world burns in an apocalypse of lightning and flame, then so be it, so long as Fushiguro Megumi is mine."

He turns to them then, scarlet eyes ablaze.

"Until we are wed, there will be no moves made. You can start the end of times after the brat gives his best man speech." 


It is so. They are wed. Uraume watches from the front row beneath a veil of black. Their eyes are hidden but through the thin gossamer, they can see where Fushiguro Megumi's slender hands intertwine with the king's larger one, held as if they are fragile things.

They suppose they are. Humans are fragile. Fleeting life. Ephemeral auras. 

The evanescence of Fushiguro Megumi makes something turn in their gut. There is a coldness anew, but this winter is different from the last. Before, the ice around their heart was indifference.

This is fear.


"Ah, Uraume."

They turn, lips still wrapped around a forkful of tiramisu cake. 

Fushiguro Megumi is beautiful. Fushiguro Megumi is a bride. Groom. Whatever the other humans would like to call him. Uraume has never cared for their little labels. 

(they get the feeling that fushiguro megumi is the same.)

He strides up, alone for once. Sire hasn't left his side all day but now, the king is in a heated debate with Zenin Mai-the cousin- about the cons of inbreeding and that is a debate Uraume refuses to even lend an ear to. 

Not when Fushiguro Megumi is walking up to them, satin white pants swishing with each step. He shed the jacket but kept the veil, white gossamer attached to a crown of gold, nestled off-kilter in his mussed dark hair. 

He walks with intention. With those magic eyes lined with kohl, looking at them as if they are a friend.  He looks younger. A true twenty-two instead what seemed like eternities weighing him down. Strange, for a jujutsu sorcerer. Such levity won't last long. Dawn will come and fragile Fushiguro Megumi will risk his human life to save his kind from curses once more. 

Sukuna will be there, watching. 

Uraume will...where will they be?

"I'd like to thank you."

Uraume sets their fork down. It clatters against the plate. 

"There's truly no need-."

"No," Fushiguro Megumi's hands are as soft as they look. Resting on their wrist as they are, delicate  and light, warm like an embrace, nostalgia like tiramisu cake and an extravagant luxury like imported rosé. 

Uraume does not breathe. 

"You've done all this work for us, and I know you didn't sign up to be a wedding planner but...I-. We appreciate it. Appreciate you, and everything you do. Um-," 

Fushiguro Megumi bites his lip, as if unsure of what to say. Uraume rescues him at once. 

"You are a kind person."

     Uraume throws themself into the hole of social ineptitude. What an odd thing to say. The thrumming in their veins only forces their jaw to unhinge and words to flow out, sliding off his tongue like water droplets down the rabbit ice sculpture.

"You are too kind. I hope that everything is to your tastes. Did you notice the dog treats I had set aside for Kuro and Shiro? Ihopedthattheywouldlikethemeventhoughththeyarewolvesandshikigamieven.theydon'tneedfood-."

"I know you and Sukuna had your plans before...well, before me-," The time before Fushiguro Megumi has ended. "And I hope you don't resent me for-,"

"I could never resent you."

"Oh?" Fushiguro Megumi flushes prettily. He's intoxicated, as most of these humans are. He looks into his empty glass a little too fondly. A little too pleased with himself. "That's good. I...I was hoping that, um, well we could be friends. It'd be good to be friends. You could help me deal with that guy."

That guy. The King of Curses. Sukuna the two-faced spectre who once razed villages to the ground, who once ate the flesh of his fellow man with great relish, reduced to an off-the-cuff 'that guy'. The madness of this human.

Fushiguro Megumi holds calamity in his hands and he doesn't even know it.

"Friends," Uraume finds themself saying. "Yes, I would like that." They are surprised to find that it is true.

  Fushiguro Megumi smiles at him, and they suppose that this is the apocalypse they've been waiting for. The end of a world where gods and curses walked the earth, forcing fear into these tiny, delicate mortals, and the beginning of a new era. A bright, rosy-cheeked, green-eyed dawn filled with Fushiguro Megumi's shy smiles. The promise of tiramisu cakes, the barking of dogs and uproarious laughter of humans and curses alike when the-king-who-would-be-emperor hoists a Zenin over his shoulder and spins her around till her sister comes to her aid.

There is no lightning splitting the earth. No screaming women and children. The blood of men does not stain their hands and yet...and yet...

Winter is gone. Spring comes.

They have another bite of tiramisu.