💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋 From Gojo For Geto

*

day bled into night, unusually warmer than the previous days, making it easier to smell the humidity off the soil and grass within the first minutes of darkness. it’s the perfect combination to make insects of all kind drop their guard, like now. 

suguru stands below the lamplights, only a step away from the vending machines and his face is lit with the artificial lights but he doesn’t mind the reflection. his attention is focused on his palm, which lays open in the air as he watches a big, brown moth land on its surface. a piece of its wing is missing - bitten off, more like. the little thing struggles to even reach a vertical line with them, before they collapse back at its sides.

this place is full of broken things, he thinks.

sorcerers were a rare breed and so much rarer it was to make them submit to the rules and formalities of jujutsu society as it was. yaga’d been vocal about it, just the right amount to keep them aware, but leaving out any personal bias that could put him in a bad position with the higher ranks. they pulled boys and girls from across the country, the dregs of sorcery, until they filled up the classrooms with the bare minimum attendance. he figured they brought Haibara from the countryside, judging his accent. Nanami? he supposed a witch or two could be traced back in the family tree. if the letter came now, he doubted it would convince him the same way it did back then.

bitterness coats his tongue in a dull flavor. his fingers curl instinctively and the moth is crushed beneath. it’s late when he notices, the creature resembling pieces of torn paper, no hint of its previous nature. suguru clicks his tongue and wipes the remains lazily against his pants.

he hears more than he notices footsteps coming from behind. he’s pulled from his position before he can do anything about it, ‘  satoru? ’ 

stale air is replaced by a familiar scent, the solidness of a body pressed against his back and satoru’s arms are fast to wound around his waist. needy? probably, but he doesn’t mind. his gestures have the petulance of a kid whose favorite toy has been returned to him, though he knows satoru’s attachment has more depth to it than ownership. suguru’s head tilts only slightly, until he can make out the messy hair haloed by the moonlight.

‘  did yaga send you to find me? or are you that enthusiastic for conversation? both seem likely.  ’  he lets out

#me erasing the stitches so i can see my princess

mother

Ulquiorra’s jjk verse could be that he's a special grade curse born from the feelings of emptiness and void. souls of people who have been consumed by the void are the primary source of his energy. I'm assuming all the espada are special grade curses just like how they are the highest rank in their own verse. Anyways, will also be assuming that in this verse Aizen is still a drop out and recruits him along the other curses. this is not the main verse but a war that took place decades or hundreds of years before the main events, so somewhere between heian and modern day. His state in present jjk-verse is a dormant curse that has been affixed to a sword, just like his other 9 "comrades" and are kept in the hidden inventory at hq.

@chipen

YUKI OFFICIALLY ADDED!

Okay but can this actually be a thing??? Gojo just appearing out of nowhere all the time and either scaring everyone's muses or becoming witness to the craziest things ever coughs LG and CXS making out coughs and he's just there like 🧍

she's not dead , i can see her breathing . (Chrollo at Makima if you’re familiar with hxh!)

‘ are you familiar with blindness? ’ gaze inquisitive, never wavering. there’s no double intention in the topic chosen, though she finds the irony of it amusing enough to let the silence eat at the last syllables, her voice a lullaby in the empty space of the cathedral’s towers.

she moves away from the place where sword and arrow intended to pin her down — perhaps there’s something about buildings of this kind, always craving for a sacrifice. she notices a second scent, too, almost hidden by the soft cologne from his clothes. it’s barely noticeable, though desperately wanted to be seen, to be chased. makima’s head tilts to the side, spirals and his black voids meet in the middle. ‘ i’m talking about the essay. the author has long since passed away, sadly. but his work left an impression on me, when i first read it. i won’t bore you with the specifics, but i’d like to talk about the overlap in our situations. ’

the lights do little to help her, echoes satiate her curiosity and she calculates the proximity as she descends from the stairs, her gait slow and casting shadows, longer and longer the more her figure comes into view beneath the thin veil of the moonlight. ‘ you have correctly discerned that i wasn’t truly dead and by no stretch of the word. just like there is only one person who can see in a world of perpetual blank canvases for the rest of humanity. ’

‘ it’s an interesting work. the author died slowly from an incurable disease. ’ she dusts her clothes off, slowly braids her hair back, wipes the blood from her face. her attention never leaves him, and neither does his. ‘ disease is not something i know. or death. and it doesn’t seem like you do, either. can i know your name? ’

@lustraveil

send "let me see your hand" for our muses to compare hand sizes.

kogami vc: no

@sukareo