#Cursed Spirit

[justjams7787]

Cursed spirit gojo

[shizuturnspages]

The Curse That Won't Bow

Synopsis: Yandere Geto with a Cursed Spirit Darling He Can’t Absorb

❥ Uncontainable Obsession: Geto has spent his life consuming and controlling curses, but you? You’re different. No matter how hard he tries, his Cursed Spirit Manipulation simply does not work on you. At first, it frustrates him—but soon, it fascinates him. You’re the one puzzle he can’t solve, the one being that defies his will, and that makes you his.

❥ Possessive but Gentle: Unlike the way he treats other spirits, Geto doesn’t see you as something to use or discard. He speaks to you softly, treats you with care, and ensures that no other sorcerer ever lays a hand on you. If anyone even thinks about exorcising you, they won’t live to try.

❥ Isolation as a Form of Love: Geto doesn’t trust the world with you. The higher-ups would want to study you, and Jujutsu Sorcerers would see you as an anomaly to be eliminated. So, he keeps you hidden, tucked away in his domain, surrounded by his other curses. He convinces you it’s for your own good—that only he can protect you.

❥ Threats Are Eliminated Swiftly: Whether it’s a sorcerer trying to “free” you or another curse daring to interact with you, Geto removes anything that poses a threat. He doesn’t even let you see the aftermath. You’re too special to be tainted by the ugliness of the world.

❥ Soft Spoken but Ruthless: He never raises his voice at you, never threatens you outright. But the weight of his words carries an unspoken warning. “I wouldn’t try to run if I were you. You wouldn’t like what happens to those who do.”

❥ Believes in “Mutual” Devotion: He wants you to want him. He never forces affection, but he subtly ensures you need him. He makes himself the center of your world, the only constant in your existence. And if that means bending your perception of reality? Well, it’s a small price to pay for your loyalty.

Scenario: You Try to Escape

The walls of Geto’s hideout were suffocating. His domain stretched for miles, but to you, it was nothing more than a golden cage.

You weren’t like the other spirits—mindless, obedient, waiting for their turn to be consumed. No, you thought, you felt, and most importantly, you wanted to be free.

So, when the opportunity came, you took it.

You had slipped past the curses that lurked in the corridors, avoided the acolytes that worshipped him. The night air was cool against your skin as you darted into the forest, your form flickering between visibility and nothingness. You had made it.

Or so you thought.

A slow clap echoed from the darkness ahead.

“You never fail to amaze me.”

Geto stepped into the moonlight, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. He wasn’t angry. If anything, he looked disappointed.

“You were doing so well, too.”

Your breath hitched as the weight of his presence pressed down on you. His power coiled around you like invisible chains—not binding you physically, but making you feel as if resisting was pointless.

“I—”

He tilted his head. “You what?”

You swallowed. “I just wanted to see the outside.”

A sigh. Not irritated, not cruel—just resigned.

“You know I can’t allow that.”

He closed the distance between you with slow, deliberate steps, and for a brief moment, you considered running. But the look in his eyes warned you against it.

“You belong with me,” he murmured, reaching out to cup your cheek. His touch was warm—gentle, even—but the unspoken threat lingered. “Out there, you’d be hunted. Used. Killed. But with me?” His thumb brushed against your skin, almost reverent. “You’ll always be safe.”

Safe. The word felt like a collar around your neck.

His lips curled into a knowing smile. “Come now. Let’s go home.”

And just like that, the night swallowed your freedom whole.

[cyzi4]

𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 (𝐩𝐭 𝟏?)

Silly little jjk tweets :D

Im gonna do more of these and I think ill do some with plot :p

[dumbgoondog]

Curse!Yuji Itadori - Prince of Curses

[lilacxquartz]

TO SAVE A BROKEN SOUL • suguru geto x cursed spirit fem!reader

ao3 link • masterlist • next chapter >>

summary: roaming around the forest as a neutral cursed spirit spirit, you stumble upon a temple, not quite knowing what sort of nightmare awaited you from the inside.

tags/warnings: dead dove, (upcoming) non-con, violence, yandere, reader insert, weekly updates, dark, multi chapter, horror

Chapter 1: Found

Wandering around the forest in the dead of night was essentially second nature to you. It was survival, plain and simple.

It was how you got by.

Moving from one point to another without a single destination in mind, never knowing where you’d end up next—that’s just what being a cursed spirit was; to be stuck in a perpetual state of endless, aimless drift.

Your journey was lacking direction and your benign existence had swallowed away any purpose you could have had. Regular humans would call this being a ghost, but it felt much worse than that.

To have no purpose, nor an escape.

And despite calling yourself a neutral entity, you stayed far away from human settlements, never daring to get too close. You knew better than to risk it. Accidents were inevitable if you lingered a little too close to people (or a little too long), so you simply didn’t gamble the chance to begin with.

It was easier that way.

It was safer.

The fine line of what separated you from being a neutral spirit and a malevolent one was very thin though, but could have been defined by how you fed. Rather than tempting fate with the potential of human flesh, you chose restraint, resigning you to either not feed at all or to keep your feasts confined to what you found within the forest.

(But the desire was always present; gnawing away at your gradually lapsing self control, clawing at your core—so desperate to let slip… waiting for that perfect moment.)

Sustainability wasn’t that much of a necessity for you otherwise. After all, you weren’t truly alive; at least not in the same way that humans (and living things overall) were.

But sometimes you couldn’t help but crave it. The scent and taste of human flesh—so sickeningly sweet and almost intoxicating—seasoned with the essence of their negativity. A delicacy so potent yet so forbidden.

In that aspect, you were always starving, but you also didn’t mind. The hunger kept your senses sharp which in turn, kept you focused. It was a bitter reminder of who (or what) you could become should you ever let it consume you.

So instead, you roamed. You wandered. You cruised through the trees not bothering a single soul, as a neutral, almost dormant being.

However, this neck of the woods that you found yourself within different somehow. Despite passing through it countless times before, you somehow never stumbled across this particular temple.

The realisation that you were treading on human property hit you all too late, noticing the structure only when you were halfway up a path of rooted stairs. Extinguished lanterns hung above, charred ashes escaping from the blackened wicks, swinging off of overgrown wooden beams that framed along the path.

At first, you thought that it was abandoned.

But just as you were about to take a step inside, intending to take refuge for the night…

…A sound froze you in place.

Footsteps.

Quickly snapping out of your daze, your innate response was to retreat in fear of being spotted. Not everyone could see cursed spirits, but you couldn’t afford to take that chance, knowing that in doing so, you risked compromising your very existence.

But you were all too slow.

A young girl had already caught a glimpse of you; her eyes locking onto your position. A wave of panic swept over you and without thinking—you bolted—desperate to fade back into the inviting darkness of the woods. Back into the shadows where you belonged. Away from the prying eyes of people, or worse, by the unforgiving gaze of sorcerers.

To be seen, to be even be acknowledged for a split second, was to invite danger and that was a price that you simply could not afford to pay.

In your rushed escape, your arm caught on a loose branch that tore into your marbled flesh. The wood cut deep, chipping away at your body like brittle stone. You seethed in pain, emitting a high-pitched whine as inky black blood spilled from your wound, trailing behind you and painting a dark path that led to your position.

You attempted to tune into the forest, to isolate whether or not someone was behind you; hearing the twigs that snapped underfoot like spreading wildfire closing in behind you in a stalking cresendo—they were right behind you—ready to close in at any second.

Your own nerves betrayed you, catching you off guard as your clarity soon became clouded with a surge of panic. Every instinct screamed at you to run in all directions at once, daring you to abandon all sense of logic and to give into your instincts, maybe even…!

But it was all too late.

They caught up to you.

(And whoever it was, they weren’t the least bit kind.)

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as strong hands clamped around your shoulders, wrapping fingers that dug into your flesh to keep you solidified in place. Such horrid pressure that radiated off of the assiliant that felt almost suffocating in how they grounded you. Not only did they manage to capture you, but they also have managed to have rootyou to the spot, sealing off your final window of escape.

Unable to say a word, you instead choked as your breath tore harsh against the air, feeling yourself be thrown backwards. More blood continued to pour as you tanked the landing impact, watching with unease as a tall figure caged you in. You remained statued as they pushed your body right up against the bark of the tree, demonstrating such strength that it began to crack and splinter.

Their touch felt unforgiving, despite the unmistakable scent of being human.

(So who was the real monster here?)

Your mind continued to scream danger, urging you to move, to do anything that didn’t result in remaining still. Every remaining instinct urged for you to fight back before your demise was met, before your existence was erased entirely, before—

“Trying to slip away so soon?” a chilling male voice asked, catching you in the midst of your spiralling thoughts. Their tone was cold, yet somehow deceptively gentle, only seeming to unsettle you further.

You couldn’t trust them.

Not with an introduction like this.

You faltered, your sights submitting to the looming figure before you. Your instincts continued to run wild as your mind warred with itself, begging—pleading—for you to get away, to please, please escape. In a last ditch effort, you tried to push past the man, clawing at his skin in a bid to push him away from you.

But in doing so, you only managed to piss him off further.

Before you even knew it—before you could even react—you were dislocated, struck down and dislocated.

Did he get a hit on you…?

Without a moment’s pause, you involuntarily slumped against the tree, your legs giving way. Your vision blurred as you desperately attempted to focus on the man before you, the moonlight just barely illuminating his face.

From what little you could make out, he could have been a shaman or perhaps even a monk. His attire was traditional, something you recognised as a religious garment.

A peculiar thought crossed your mind: since when were buddhist monks so violent?

He flicked his eyes to the wound you inflicted on him before meeting with your gaze again. “That hurt.”

Once again, you tried to back away, your words barely coming out to defend your cause.

“I-I haven’t even, I haven’t touched the temple,” you blurted out, your delivery barely coherent. “Please, just… let me go.”

You stared him down with an intense glare, hoping to challenge him into finding reason but instead all he did was mirror your gaze; leaving you pooling with confusion (and maybe even dread).

Maybe he wasn’t a regular human, but rather a sorcerer instead.

You really hoped not though, because then you would be in some serious trouble.

His eyes narrowed, his tone remained serious and cold as he spoke up once again, “So you’re admitting that was you lurking around the temple?”

Nodding, you scanned around the vicinity seeking an opportunity to exit, but there was none.

“I won’t come back if you let me go,” you promised.

However, the man didn’t waver. Instead, he seemed to be almost entertained(?) at your attempt to negotiate, as if your behaviour was oddly human to some extent given your status. “Bit of an odd one, aren’t you?”

He crouched down, extending a couple of pinched fingers to tweeze your chin and point your jaw towards the moonlight. You writhed under his grip, feeling unsettled by his invasive and unyielding stare.

“Quite pretty too,” he murmured with backhanded praise, “…for a cursed spirit.”

“Let go of me, I’ll leave and—“

“—hm?” he caught you mid plea. “Who said anything about you leaving?”

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” you asked, your voice carrying a hint of reluctance the longer you remained in his company. You weren’t naïve; you understood fully well what sorcerers were capable of.

What their jobs were.

“Kill you?” he mused, his expression remaining unreadable. “I could. I might. But for now, I’m simply curious about you,” he paused, taking a moment to admire your appearance once again, “so, why don’t you come with me?”

You shook your head violently, attempting to back away as far as you possibly could but he didn’t let you get very far, if anywhere at all.

Instead, he pulled you to your feet as he stood up, his voice adopting a threatening edge, “Let me rephrase that for you,” he leaned in just a bit closer, “come with me or I will exorcise you. Your choice.”

Feeling torn, you finally resigned your fate to the hands of the strange monk. Your stomach gnawed with furious hunger, begging for you to sink your teeth deep into his flesh as both a punishment as well as a chance to buy time to escape. Yet, there was something about him that at the same time that overrode such an urge, something that made you drop your guard around him at long last—and—against your better judgement, to even trust him.

So in the end, you gave in after all, choosing to follow him back to the temple.

Unaware of all the dark plans that he had in store for you.

~~~

this is part 2 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[colourstreakgryffin]

Sukuna × Venom!reader

Ooh… interesting indeed! We’d make quite the cool Cursed Spirit so let’s try this out! I can imagine Sukuna would enjoy a Venom! minion quite a lot

Sukuna Ryomen- Goopy Parasite

Venom

Venom’s the name of one of the most vile brutal difficult Cursed Spirits known to sorcery-kind. Even Gojo Satoru himself struggles with handling this being, it’s goopy, it’s acidic and it won’t tolerate physical contact and just regenerates instantaneously… it simply won’t let sorcerers exorcise it… so, it’s a infuriating headache to all races, except it’s fellow cursed spirits

Especially to the King of Curses, Sukuna Ryomen himself. He had been dormant for hundreds to thousands of years so he had never been able to catch up with what his own slaves have been doing to the lowly race called humans. When he was finally freed by a simple fifteen year old boy, Sukuna had been granted a new opportunity to dominant the world as he desired eras ago

Sukuna could hear and see everything the boy did, some of it was enough to boil his blood, some of it made him dose of. The rare 5% that piped his interest changed the tortuous hours being trapped in the mind of some beefhead wroth it. Sukuna hears about you. The Venom, one of the most complicated cursed spirits for the sorcery clan to face off

And he immediately perks up in wonder and curiosity over this cursed spirit. He’s never heard of such entity, he’s never heard of the idea of a measly cursed spirit taking his mantle as unbeatable and difficult to face down. Sukuna wishes to know of this cursed spirit and see what he can do with it

Dispose of or create his minion… he’s looking forward to making that decision

Luckily for Sukuna after learning about this valuable information he keeps floating shallowly in his regal mind for a while, the boring mission Yuji was sent onto with his little friends, got significantly more intriguing when he sees through the teen’s eyes that what he wanted most has come to him on a silver platter

You. You’ve arrived at his feet! The Venom itself, in all your goopy mighty tall pitch black glory. Stretchable big jaw dropping further… you’re one of the top Special Grade cursed spirits. That fact makes Yuji and his little posse terrified, Sukuna can just sense those pathetic feelings and it amuses him greatly

Sukuna’s plan is getting closer and closer to him every second he watches this movie of a real life situation played before him on basically a big screen from his threatening sharp bone throne, dark blood red eyes following every movement you make

All of them heavy and brutish, almost caveman-like, as you don’t express much mercy. In-fact, you’re already throwing around Yuji’s little friends like they are mere toys to you since in your mind, they are trespassing on your territory and your territory is this entire planet

Sukuna smirks amused, he hasn’t seen such a good feeding session in years on end now. You’re beautiful and he has decided whilst watching how simply overwhelming you are as an opponent to the fellow despised sorcerers. He shouldn’t waste time and energy killing a creature this useful, he can just make you serve him as your King

Sukuna can only really watch from the sidelines through Yuji’s eyes as the fight rages on rather violently, in the most delicious way. Yet, this fun doesn’t last forever since it’s almost like fate and the cosmos above wants you to make contact with him, since you already strike with your durable sharp claws at Yuji when basically throwing both his little friends into the ground as if they are bugs to be squashed. The perfect moment for him

The mere moment you swipe at Yuji’s face to try blind him, Sukuna triggers his power to transport anybody he desires into his body in that second or two… mainly being cursed spirits, and through a speedy tunnel of flashing lights. You go from trying to paint the walls with Yuji’s bodily fluids to being stood before the King of the Curses

A King that looks thrilled to see his target stationed and defenceless before his towering throne made of the calcium of his past victims, though continues to contain his emotions openly and expresses a more neutrally sadistic charm. His red locked on the tall muscular black parasite before him

Sukuna doesn’t wait for you to speak, he speaks up loud and proud with the expectation that you’ll listen to your King as you should. He knows you, based on the attitude he just studied previously, don’t do things such as reason and basic thinking. You fight and win recklessly, you don’t plan as you don’t need it at all. You can maim all your victims by merely smashing them into surfaces until they turn to red mist

“You’re the special little animal I’ve been hearing so much about~”

Sukuna can see the way you look visibly stunned in either amazement or fear. Whatever you feel, it doesn’t concern him. He’s concerned about convincing you to join his side and serve him as he demands and he can pay you handsomely for doing so. He doesn’t worry about the potential chance he’ll lose you, he won’t

You yourself silently listens when standing upright from being in the middle of your vicious attacking position, rolling up and looking with big sharp white eyes at the King of Curses as he speaks both calmly and condescendingly. To you… it seems this King thinks of you as a dumb animal

And Sukuna does. He does think of you as a mere dumb animal, like some gorilla of raw strength but whilst that is… suitable. He prefers your much more terrestrial capabilities, the ones that form you into a beast nobody can truly land a hand on. He wants that as his own, to be under his thumb loyally

“Now. Listen to me, my lovely little black widow. I want you to work with me, be my right-hand little curse and you’ll get a rich future in favour of helping me dispose of this brat and his brats~”

Sukuna doesn’t pull any punches or just pull out bullshit. He straight up tells you his desires and arrogantly believes you’ll obey him, since he has far too much to offer back. Only a real fool would say no to this King and he doesn’t believe you have that little of brain. His quiet yet calm judgement is burning through you like a fire as he waits surprisingly patient for your response

Sukuna was genuinely surprised that you could speak fluently and it made him more interested but nevertheless, he doesn’t comment the thoughts that cross his conscious as you pipe up with your gravelly very monstrous voice. That he owns you his side of the offer, that’s all you say. However… he knows what you mean

You’ve accepted his offer, you just want to make sure he isn’t lying to exploit you. Sukuna wants to exploit you but he also isn’t that cheap of a sly bastard, he’s more exquisite than that. He’ll pay you back and if you’re still of worth by the time, he’ll decide if he is to keep you alive or not. You may be mighty but you’re a ant, compared to him

Sukuna nods pleased as he speaks as pleased, expressing his pleasure at your positive response and he does, once again, rather pet-ify you by speaking like you’re just his obedient little dog. He’d have pet your head and coo if he was any closer, but he also decides you’re not deserving of his love bombing

You need to do more work for him, take care of those brats from the outside and help him gain his own corporeal form. Until then, he’ll give you all the love you could desire

“Good little one… I knew I could rely on you~”

Sukuna praises proudly and content but yet his seductive sleek voice has no true meaning in it, he doesn’t view you as anything but just a simple useful tool but he also knows he cannot use you as a tool. You’ll fight back against him and he can’t afford that, he needs servants to devote themselves to him and his resurrection

Never once moving from his comfortable position upon his throne, he already had fulfilled his duty with you and doesn’t need you in his domain anymore but he won’t let you leave without reminding you that you cannot fail him. He will find you if you dare, behave and you’ll get as many sorcerer to kill and eat as you want

Waving his hand to you as a ‘fair well, my new friend’. You respond with a simple surprisingly cute noise of interest and acknowledgment. You usually don’t like to work with others but then again… you are before a cursed spirit far above you and if you just give him what you want, you’ll get more victims to put your hands on!

Before you’re sent off, back to existence, by Sukuna’s will. He gives off another little comment to drill into your head firmly you’ve basically made the deal with the devil but he honestly couldn’t sound and look more bored. Not really because he is bored by you, but because he’s gonna be bored having to watch the best and his posse part from you like cowards

He’s always looking forward to seeing you again

“Don’t fail me, my little black widow ~ I’m watching you. Make me proud and you’ll get Gojo Satoru’s head to devour”

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Five different perspectives on Nanami Kento.

Tags: Angst, humour, mystery, character study.

Warnings: canon-typical violence.

"I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful‚

The eye of a little god, four-cornered."

~ The Mirror, Sylvia Plath

Yoshinari remembers that day well. Even now, decades later, his team leader's near-panicked expression stands out with harsh clarity in his mind. Yoshinari had just mentioned that he hadn't finished the analysis due that afternoon because he'd been struck down with a bad bout of flu. Whirling on his heel, the team lead had really let fly with his irritation.

"But we had an agreement! You were to complete the analysis the day before yesterday! There'll be no excuse at all for us walking into that meeting unprepared!"

"But sir ... I had a lot to catch up on that evening. And I - "

"I'm done with this conversation! Come up with something, or explain to the chief why you couldn't finish your basic tasks on time."

Left standing in the empty hallway, Yoshinari had let frustration, anger, self-pity and helplessness wash over him, bitter as a brackish tide. Nobody ever listened to him. Nobody ever understood how the demands of this job couldn't be humanly met unless he practically lived at the office. Nobody cared what his state of health was. Nobody -

"Are you all right?"

Hastily wiping off the corner of his eye, he turned to see none other than Nanami Kento standing in the doorway leading from the hallway to the main office floor. Nanami, whose reports were always turned in on time. Nanami, whose suits were never rumpled, whose clients never complain, whose presentations were always meticulous, who never spilled a drop or wasted a crumb when he ate -

Tamping down the rising envy and resentment for the tall man standing before him, Yoshinari sighed and embraced the inevitable. It isn't Nanami's fault. Nanami is simply doing the job, like the rest of them. He just happened to be a lot more competent at it than most. 

"I'm a bit ... under the weather, that's all. There's a meeting this afternoon. I won't be prepared because I haven't had time to get the quarterly analysis done."

Nanami watched him in silence. Yoshinari continued, chest feeling slightly less heavy as he vented to his quiet companion.

"I just wish ... that we were given more value, you know? We're not robots. We're people. And sometimes, we ... I can't get all my tasks done. I just wanted ... some understanding. That's all."

Yoshinari realized just how petulant he sounded the more he spoke. His voice trailed off, and he avoided the other man's gaze. What must Nanami think of someone like him? Did he pity him? Was he annoyed by him and his complaining? Was he indifferent, like everyone else? It was hard to tell.

Nanami never lost his composure, never expressed strong emotion, never seemed anything other than cool and detached. He must think that someone like Yoshinari was worthy of pity and contempt. Nothing more.

Without waiting for Nanami's reply, Yoshinari turned and made his way to the elevators, trying to focus on the client briefing lined up (and not the humiliation and reprimands he'd have to endure later.)

The humiliation never came, though. Walking into the meeting that afternoon, Yoshinari was met with the huffy, slightly startled demeanor of the team leader when he was complimented on his 'sterling work', handed a steaming cup of coffee and patted on the back. He sat through the rest of the meeting in a daze, mind still struggling to grapple with what had occurred.

When he got a chance, he snuck a look at the analysis that supposedly came from him. There, in the phrasing, the layout, the orderly sequences of figures and the in-depth breakdown of each element, he recognises the hand of Nanami Kento.

When the meeting was over, he tried to find Nanami, to thank him for that unexpected favour. A part of him was beginning to take the assistance with a pinch of salt; what did Nanami expect in return for this?

When he eventually spied Nanami, he paused, the report crumpling slightly in his hand. Coat draped over his chair, tie cast over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up and chair reclining, Nanami's hollowed eyes and sharply-defined cheekbones were covered with a white handkerchief, the marks of exhaustion clear in his bearing.

Many years later, watching his grandchildren chase each other around the darkened trunk of a plum tree, a soft, secret smile finds its home on Yoshinari's face as he remembers that day. He glances up at the delicate blossoms, pushing their heads insistently into the fresh bite of a new spring day and wonders if Nanami ever had grandchildren of his own.

Warmth. Kinship. Command.

When Master calls me out, I recognise the tug and relentless pull into another place. This place. This world of scent and colour and sound, where I am given form.

My Master's hands smell of paper, freshly cut apples and grass. They are firm and familiar as their fingers run through my fur. Sometimes, Master brings us out of the other place without urgency, simply to keep us at his side.

Megumi.

That is my Master's given name. He is dark in spirit, light of foot, and his mouth seldom curves, like the other humans. But when we are all together, pack, bodies curled up and sharing warmth, Master's eyes are like a distant lamp, flickering softly.

The white-veined one names my Master as Megumi. He is the one with power like a great summer storm, sweeping with acrid sharpness across the senses and scorching the unseen world in his wake. His hair is white too, his spirit leaping from one focus to the next, lightning and laughter.

The white-veined one is trustworthy. He is pack, but even though Master trusts him completely, he makes others nervous.

And then, there is the Blademaster. This one is almost familiar. He is like Master in many ways. He smells of good food, old leather and the sharp tang of polished metal. His power is an underground river, swift and subtle, rising to a well-controlled roar when he calls upon it.

The Blademaster avoids pack. He likes to sit alone on the benches at sunset, sometimes, with his food in an oval box at his side. He stares a lot into the sky. Only he knows what he sees there.

The sky doesn't hold much interest for me, but the smells from the Blademaster's box always call for attention. He has meat in there. And cheese. Sometimes, if I press my nose into his hand, he shares his food. It is good food. It tastes better when he offers it out of his own palm.

The Blademaster's hand is bigger, rougher around the fingers than Master's. He is an experienced warrior, and he has been in many fights. The scent of it is on him, in ways that cannot be disguised. He carries the smell of old wounds, of battles that etched away at the parts of him than leave no visible scars. 

Sometimes, his pain is great. Those times, he needs pack, even if he doesn't know it. I find him, at his bench. Even though he has no food, I sit with him. His fingers in my fur are different, but warm, like Master's.

We watch the sky together.

It's the bustle of the lunch rush that brings him suddenly into her mind; tall, broad-shouldered, imposing in his dark, pinstripe suit. She's seen many, many salarymen enter her establishment over the years, but none quite like him.

He'd seemed hard, humourless, exacting, a man of substance and character, whittled away bit by bit by the hundred inconveniences and troubles of everyday life. Her attempts to cheer him up always fell flat. Her jokes landed like stale bread on a food critic's plate.

"Hey, Nanami! Good to see you! Decided to loaf around on your lunch break again?"

"How am I loafing?"

"Ah, that was just a pun. You know. Because you come here to buy sandwiches."

"Do you charge extra for the puns? Because I'm not paying for that."

"Wow. So cold ... "

And on another occasion:

"Hey Nanami! Knock knock."

" ... "

"You're supposed to say 'who's there?'"

"Who's there."

"As a question, not a statement!"

"Does it matter?"

"Fine. It's doughnut."

"Doughnut who?"

"Dough nut enter the shop without checking out the specials!"

"Please just give me the sandwich."

Ah, those were good times. Maybe he did appreciate her silly attempts at humour on some level. She'd never know.

Sometimes, she wonders if she shouldn't have asked him for help. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut about that pesky stiffness and pain in her shoulder joint. There was no way she could have known what would happen next.

She recalls, with perfect clarity, the sudden change in his demeanour. The subtle straightening of his posture, the focus of that intense honey-brown stare, the way he'd looked at and past her, as if glancing through some secret window into an unknown she could never fathom. And then, he'd raised his arm, swung it in that swift, decisive motion, and her pain disappeared in a matter of seconds.

She still wonders how exactly he'd accomplished that. Was he a spiritual healer of some kind? She couldn't think of an occupation less suited to someone like him. All the same, she was thankful. She'd even packed a free almond croissant and coffee with his sandwich the next day, kept aside for the lunch rush.

Except, he'd never shown up. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that. Nanami simply disappeared from the normal routine of his life altogether.

Of course, she made some enqueries. She was somewhat concerned, considering how sudden his absence had been. What if he'd overworked himself enough to end up in hospital? It wasn't unheard of.

His work colleagues, some of whom also frequented the bakery, told her that he'd suddenly up and left. Handed in his resignation and promptly disappeared.

She'd never heard from him, ever again. It wasn't that she was upset or offended. Customers changed their whims daily. But with him ... something about it concerned her. What would prompt a creature of habit, like Nanami, to suddenly change his routine? There was probably a perfectly sound explanation for it, but it worried her all the same.

After all these years, even now, as manager of her own small dessert shop, not far from the original bakery she'd served at, she'd never taken the casse-croûte off the menu.

It would remain there, for the day he might come through the door once again, and she'd say it, just like she'd rehearsed in her mind so many times. 

"Welcome back, Nanami. The usual?"

Pain. This is all that she thinks, all that she feels. It is all-consuming. It isn't like the time she broke her finger after a particularly bad fall when she was ten years old. Not even like the wound left when her mother died; gaping, raw around the edges, on display for all that looked her way.

This pain was, somehow, even worse than that. Pain that twisted and tore through the fabric of her, agony piled on agony, neverending. It stretched beyond her, into a night of unknown horrors that she had no means of comprehending.

Something was very, very wrong with her body. This much she could tell, even as she wove in and out of consciousness. The sense of change to her own form, of being maimed in some fundamental sense, was so strong that she wondered how she was still alive.

His hands. So cold. Pain beyond imagining. She doesn't want to enter that forbidden entryway in her thoughts. Someone did this to her. Someone made her helpless, controlled her. Turned her into this grotesque travesty of a living thing. She should feel furious, that this had been done to her. But she doesn't have the capacity for anything but pleading, begging for a swift release from this torment.

Something is shifting around her now. She cannot even brace for the agony, because there are no known muscles for her to do so. Her body feels like a shapeless, amorphous mass that changes according to the unknown puppeteer's will.

Now, she feels the brush of fetid air on her flesh, the dank, mossy wall of some subterranean feature, a dizzying sense of being propelled at high speed through a narrow space.

Someone is moving alongside her, dodging, weaving. Not the puppeteer. Another. Their movements are swift, strong, filled with a measured grace that dances around her striking, flailing limbs (if they can still be called such) with dexterity. She tries to fight back against the overpowering will, to stop any harm coming to that person. It is futile.

Another shift, her body stretched in another direction. And - oh! Air! Damp and rank in scent, something like a sewer, but never more welcome. Her senses had been cloaked, due to the current nature of her body, but now, she was aware of eyes, ears, nose, a budding mouth that opened in a soundless cry for help.

He heard her.

He was standing over her, feet braced on her alien form. A man in dark glasses and a suit, a strangely patterned sword at his side. The sensation of the strangely blunt blade cleaving her flesh as she hurtles at him is weighted, some kind of energy behind it.

He can cause damage to her in this form! He can ...

But her mouth doesn't work the way it's supposed to. She can't beg him, can't plead with him to end this abysmal existence that only serves as torture. The terror, anger, frustration and hopelessness have no channel by which to reach the outside world any longer.

No! Please! Help me!

Wrung from dregs of her despair, a single tear forms at the corner of her existing eye, rolling down the distended, distorted skin.

Is this it? Is this all she can summon?

But he sees it. His hand is reaching down, towards where she lies, helpless beneath his feet, helpless to the whim of another. His thumb is warm, so warm, as he strokes beneath her eye, dashing away the trace of the tear.

In the moments that follow, before her consciousness finally descends into blessed, blessed darkness, she memorizes the feel of that touch, the last thing on this earthly plane that she'll ever know.

For all her suffering, let it never be said that she hasn't known true kindness.

Gojo and Namamin. Side by side, they're day and night. Yuuji can see that, and often delights in it. He thinks about it now, as he brushes his teeth, one hand carding absently through the tangles in his hair.

Gojo operated on a certain wavelength Yuuji had been attuned to since the very beginning. Nanamin, less so.

When Yuuji really thinks about it, it reminds him somewhat of the recipes his grandfather taught him. Gramps's house was one run on self-sufficiency. There was never an excuse for slacking off.

Gojo was like the spicy miso ramen he'd learned to make, the one with the specially crafted chilli oil and the perfect ramen egg for topping. A wash of heat, scorching the tongue and throat, a burst of flavour that somehow lingered long after it had rushed past your teeth like a flashflood. It entertained, it sustained, it left you feeling warm and energized.

Nanamin was like bread.

Now, Yuuji wasn't crazy about bread. He was more of a rice-bowl kinda guy. But the baking of bread was something he'd never quite managed to get the hang of, to begin with. His grandfather eyeballed ingredients, kneaded with rapid, dexterous fists, added an extra pinch of salt here, or a splash of milk there, depending on the type and texture of bread he wanted. It was as if Gramps could envision an end product that Yuuji had no concept of at all.

Namamin had been just as difficult to gauge in the mixing bowl of Yuuji's experience. Practical, rule-following, collected and proper. Spontaneity could take a hike, as far as Nanamin was concerned. Not the kind of man to pretend to be dead and then hop out of a box when you least expect it.

Ha. Anyway.

Bread. That's the analogy he was going with, and the one he was finding increasingly appropriate.

Pulling on his uniform jacket, Yuuji felt the familiar tug and rumble of hunger ascend from his stomach. He tied the laces on his signature red sneakers and grabbed his backpack, heading for the Tech cafeteria for breakfast.

Thinking over it further, bread was ... a staple. It was not to everyone's taste. It was simple, filling, a great companion piece for more flavourful ingredients. And hellishly difficult to bake correctly. For Yuuji, at least.

Yeah. Bread. It was a good comparison.

Turning the corner, Yuuji nearly ran right into the current occupant of his thoughts.

"Ah ... Nanamin! You're here early today!"

"Good morning, Yuuji. Please be careful. I have a cup of hot coffee here."

Falling into step beside the stoic sorcerer (uninvited) Yuuji decided to share some of his thoughts, an uncharacteristically serious expression adorning his face.

"Nanamin, there's something I've been thinking about."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. If I had to compare you to a food, it'd be bread."

A silence meets this statement. Nanami takes a sip of his coffee. Undeterred, Yuuji continues.

"Like, I love a good katsudon, but when it's midnight and I've been training hard, and I wake up all tired and my body's all sore ... I just go make a sandwich, ya know? Even when Gramps was in hospital and I used to get back from school, and oh, yeah, I sometimes forgot to buy groceries ... there was still bread. Just a loaf, there on the counter. And it didn't matter if there were no other ingredients to cook with, or anything, because you can't go wrong with a fried egg on some fresh, crispy toast. Ahh, yeah. The best."

Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.

"Itadori ... is this your way of informing me that you find me reliable?"

"Huh? Oh ... I mean, yeah. But that's not all."

"It isn't?"

"Nah. 'Cos I baked bread with my Gramps, see? And it was hard to get right. But I did, at some point. And it felt ... great. And I never got it wrong again. And Gramps is gone now, I know. But when I miss him, kinda, baking bread helps me remember what it was like having him around."

Having said his piece, Yuuji folded his arms behind his head, marching peaceably alongside Nanami, lightly humming the theme song to the latest show he'd been watching. Nanami was now looking down, into his coffee. He didn't take another sip. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter than usual.

"I like sandwiches. Trying different fillings is something of a hobby of mine."

Yuuji nods, a light grin forming on his face.

"I can tell."

"Having said that ... I'm partial to fried chicken and beer on a Tuesday afternoon. It ... reminds me of when I was younger."

"Whoa. For real?"

"Yes."

"But Nanamin ... isn't fried chicken and beer the kind of thing you share with others?"

"It is."

"Hmmm."

Yuuji appears to give this some serious thought, before slapping his fist into his palm as an epiphany strikes.

"But wait! Let's get it together next time! I won't drink the beer, don't worry. I can get a soda or something."

"What - "

"And we can order the MegaBox deal that also comes with a medium pizza and cheese croquettes!"

"Yuuji - "

"Oooh, I'm so excited! I wonder what their pizza base is like? But hey, Nanamin, I've gotta run ahead. Maki-senpai's training with me today and she'll kick my ass if I'm late. See ya on Tuesday!"

All thoughts of bread firmly shelved for the present, Yuuji trotted further up the corridor and through the sliding doors of the cafeteria, pausing to wave at Nanami as he left his line of vision.

Yuuji doesn't get to see the small smile that temporarily eases the harsh lines of the sorcerer's face. It is fleeting, gentle, an echo of a smile he'd worn for another, long ago.

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

[almaadst]

Still posting my 2024 sketches (￣▽￣)" I have some random ones like this where I have only one drawing of someone from a specific series so I can't even post it like a sketch spread lol So here's Hanami from JJK - I love everything about them ヾ(≧▽≦*)o Other: Commission info Gojo, Hoshina, and Billy Sketch dump

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!

[choso-onii-chan]

I just remembered something: we know that Kenjaku injerted his/Noritoshi's blood into Choso and his siblings in their fetus state and later aborted them and, somehow, preserved their souls and made them into cursed objects. But how can they use their cursed techniques later, when their former bodies are gone? I personally have the theory that Kenjaku used their bodies as base for them being turned into cursed objects, like Sukuna's soul was sealed within his own fingers. It just sucks that we don't know ANY details of how this works.

[cutest-livv-bean]

🍻💀𝙳𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝙼𝚊𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗s

Ok, but If this mf was drunk, it would be a TOTAL disaster...

∙He would drink whatever they gave him without hesitation.

∙He wouldn't stop drinking on his own, you'd have to remind him of that lolllll, otherwise there would be no end.

∙Not to mention the fact that he would barely listen to you under the influence of alcohol 😂XD

∙He's just thousand times more childish than he already is 💀...You have to be patient with this big a$$ baby.

∙The more he drinks, the more he can't stay on his feet..

∙You have to keep an eye on him all the time.

∙He becomes more emotional.

∙Clingy af!!! ... At random moments he would cling to you like a koala and whine about how much he loves you XD

∙King of getting the party started and entertaining people.

∙His mouth just wouldn't close, he wouldn't stop talking, joking or laughing.

∙Comes up with a stupid ideas and does them, and then it always ends badly XD

∙Arranges "Drinking Games " - mostly board games (with shots of vodka)

∙He wouldn't sit still.

∙Seriously, to keep this BAKA indoors in the condition he is, he would have to be chained ;-;

∙He would like to go out drunk and "explore the world" and when you want to stop him, he will cry xd

∙When you are alone with him he gets a bit naughty, and exceeds your limits😈

∙But before the passion begins, he falls asleep on top of you, from drinking too much leaving you with " -_- " face xD

∙Then you have to somehow get out from under him and put that baby to sleep..

∙But almost every time you manage to turn him over, he wakes up and demands more alcohol XDDD:

-Go to sleep Mahito! You drank too much!!! -Wut areh u talkeng bout! I didn't dreenk anytfing tnigh! Letsh open wineh 😠

∙You don't sleep almost all night because of him xD

∙In the mornings he usually has a huge hangover,he happends to vomit🤒

∙You take care of him

∙In the end he apologizes to you for everything and thanks you for being with him🥺

[jugger-heads]

disaster curse [mainly the fave]

[marstothestarz]

Domain Expansion: Where you go I go

I love mahito so much😔😔there aren't enough scenes of him being pathetic to sustain me

[dumbgoondog]

CURSE!RYOMEN SUKUNA - KING OF CURSES

[lilacxquartz]

— ALL EYES ON YOU —

prison realm (cursed spirit form) x gn!reader

plot: tasked with retrieving the prison realm nothing could have prepared you for what it truly was — a/n: some lore and interactions, final part will conclude with some yandere horror — masterlist • ao3 • part 2 of 3 • < previous chapter • next chapter >

Chapter 2. Observation

The journey back was not without a great deal of tension; the cursed spirit trailing behind you like an unwelcome shadow, breaching your personal space in a way that could almost be considered parasitic—from the way it latched onto you—ever silent and unsettling.

You brought it back to your boss, expecting to be free from the burden of delivering it, from being around it for a second longer, but then you were denied that right.

“What is… this?” they asked, eyeing the being up with clear confusion painted across their features.

When you couldn’t form a response, however, Kenjaku paused, unsure how to process exactly what you had brought back. They sent you out with the task of retrieving the prison realm; an object, the final remnants of a monk, and yet, you had brought back a whole being.

“It…” you finally managed to choke out, “it was an object when I entered the room,” you continued, “but then something—I’m not sure what—activated and it became… whatever this is.”

Kenjaku listened and blinked as if bewildered, but also, fascinated. In all of their years of studying and working with jujutsu, they had never quite seen something to rival this. Their mind raced with all sorts of questions and possibilities as they considered the potential idea that the way cursed spirits are born have since then evolved from what they knew.

Just as they turned their back from the prison realm, however, you had already managed to quietly slip away, hoping to pack your things and leave this unsettling situation behind before they both realised that you were gone. For some reason, it was much more of a pressing issue for you to avoid whatever it was that you had awoken while in Tengen’s territory, than it was to confront your own boss - and that was with knowing exactly how they could be when not amused, too.

In the background, as you shoved things roughly into a bag, you could hear them interrogating it, maybe even bargaining with it. The results from what you could make out, though, seemed to come out flat, which was especially evident from the sigh that left Kenjaku’s lips from the moment they walked back into the room.

“What a pain,” they muttered to themselves, pinching the bridge of their nose between their fingers, slowly allowing their eyes to drift and meet with you again. “...What are you doing?”

You gulped. “R-rearranging things?”

Their gaze narrowed. “You’re leaving - why?”

“I’m not sure why, but, I-I just feel… uncomfortable around that… thing,” you hesitated as you tried to put your thoughts into words; you couldn’t quite shake off what you felt around it before. Most people and cursed spirits alike all adapted to your technique if you set the right intention, this creature, however, infiltrated it, it felt like, which left you feeling less than ideal.

Kenjaku nodded as they considered your stance, but they didn’t take your attempted retreat as an acceptable answer. For them, it was rather a matter of figuring out why exactly a cursed spirit would be acting this way, and what exactly it had done earlier for someone once reliable to be hesitant of their work. After all, never had such a problem with you before, so for that reason, they pressed the issue.

“Why?” they simply asked once more, repeating themselves.

You took a deep breath as you considered the cause of it all. It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to begin to explain this whole situation, but it was rather the part that you couldn’t quite believe your own thoughts. The cursed spirit, the prison realm, whatever you could call it—definitely had eyes for you, didn’t it? It wasn’t all in your head. The way it trailed after you like something with magnetic focus, or how it could easily bypass your cursed technique, left you feeling at best, unsure about it. You seldom felt unsafe in the work you took on, but that interaction you had with it earlier? It made you feel afraid.

Therefore, in your attempted explanation, you chose to focus on the details, rather than to scramble forward with the whole picture.

“I… believe that my cursed technique had messed with it,” you revealed with a start, taking a moment to pause and to think about your next words, “I had the intention to set myself as an ally, but perhaps this thing doesn’t understand the concept, even if it does seem to be intelligent enough. It started to see me as something else…? I don’t know what though, or how to properly describe it, but, I simply didn’t feel safe around it and even now…” you added as you trailed off, shuddering as you faced the direction you felt pressure radiating from, “I can still feel it staring at me, I can feel its many, many eyes on me and I—”

“—you’re overthinking again,” Kenjaku cut you off, growing annoyed as they stifled your nervous habit; something that they had always found a slight bit annoying, especially so given that your technique called for a certain level of calm. They remained quiet for a moment before pressing on with an idea in mind. “I’d like to try something, if you’d let me.”

You warily looked back at them while trying to calm down, getting a bad feeling about this already. “Try something?” you asked, hoping that your interactions with that thing could be minimised, and yet, you had an inkling of a feeling that it was headed the opposite direction.

“You’re not going to like it,” Kenjaku confirmed, watching the hope in your eyes briefly shatter in betrayal, thinking that you were being a little dramatic, “but, I want to observe this interaction—this bond or whatever—that it thinks it has with you.”

“Observe…?” you asked, not expecting an answer, something that they didn’t give to you regardless. Working for this person was either easygoing and a smooth ride, or it wasn’t. The worst parts of your career were when they couldn’t shake a curiosity off, leading you to have a front-row seat of their descent into madness as they tried to process what exactly they were dealing with. For some reason though, for this particular case, you had a dreadful sort of feeling that it would be a quick notice—for a reason you couldn’t quite explain—leaving you feeling uncertain once again.

You tried to rationalise it as maybe the cursed spirit in question takes orders from who activates it, but in that case, why would it try to get as close to you as it did? You highly doubted that, as a result of it tethering itself to you so tightly, that it would fulfil its mission of capturing the six eyes user. The very way it regarded you with intense focus alone, let you to believe that you were the person it intended to trap instead. Another possibility drifted into mind following that notion, that perhaps, this sort of form was never meant to be triggered to begin with.

(Because what exactly were the chances that a cursed spirit could manifest out of a cursed object?)

You paused once more, stilling in your footsteps as they led you to where they were containing the being. Your hand rested on the surface of the door, not quite daring to push inside, yet not running away from the task at hand that awaited you. Kenjaku didn’t intervene, simply observing you from a measured distance. The way you both approached and interacted with the prison realm, was too part of their study in perceiving its relationship with you, after all.

Again, they were your employer for long enough that they knew your quirks and habits for long enough. They knew exactly the sort of things that would make you nervous as well as what you would or wouldn’t lie about. An example being, that you would always claim to be under the weather if they were to assign you to a mission that involved even the slightest amount of combat, so they adapted, leaving the retrieval and stealth missions up to you instead. You were useful where you thrived, so if this thing posed an issue to you, they would therefore have no problem in pulling you out.

Kenjaku thought this much too, as they anticipated the interaction, that if this was more trouble than it was worth, that they would simply reassign you to deduct just how big of a potential counter threat they could potentially face come autumn. If the prison realm had a mind to imprison you instead, then that wouldn’t do either, given its conditions. It wasn’t that they cared about your wellbeing, but rather, that they still had use for you and an interference like this, would be more trouble than it was truly worth.

Finally, though, you pushed the door open, revealing a dark room devoid of light and the creature standing in the corner. What was interesting to you, was that it didn’t go back to its object form after being left alone. You could just about make it out from the dark space, its skin just vaguely reflecting the light from the hallway. It was sickly pale and almost rotten in appearance, further feeding into your unease.

You flinched as it snapped its head towards you, walking back into your boss who quickly steadied you by the shoulders, warily facing it head on as its eyes snapped open, focusing right on you. Slowly, it cracked and popped its joints as it made its way towards you, extending its arms to reach out and touch you, but not quite make contact—largely because that was right about when the intervention occurred.

Kenjaku’s own instincts and understanding with this sort of development were admittedly just as new as yours were, but they used what knowledge that they did have about the object in question to study it for just under a minute—not allowing the full sixty seconds to complete. They figured, though, that since you weren’t fully distracted nor focused on anything else but the prison realm at hand, that the conditions weren’t being met to begin with, but something about the whole interaction left even them, feeling off.

In the meantime, you had just about managed to lock your sights onto the whole form of the creature that loomed over you—unsure where exactly to look—as all of its eyes were on you. You let out rolling, shuddering gasps as you tried to retreat from it, feeling thoroughly afraid, with your technique not having a single effect on it any longer—if it ever had.

Kenjaku pulled you out at the last second, right before it could connect its twig-like finger to touch your face, quickly sealing off the chamber within a flash.

It took a moment for you both to compose yourselves after.

“That… was interesting,” they muttered more to themselves than to you before taking a step forward, slightly pushing you off to the side, “feel free to take that break if you wish - I’m going to attempt to reroute its focus - it has a job to fulfil, and I’m going to make that happen, one way or another…”

“You’re not going to sell me out to it, are you?” you warily asked.

Kenjaku scoffed and kept a tight tone as they responded to you, “No, but it might yield slightly and do its job if it understands that it could potentially gain access to you,” they considered, “I haven’t heard of cursed spirits forming a connection with humans before - outside of vengeful spirits that is, so whatever it thinks it has with you, should be utilised rather than completely dismissed.”

You were about to reply, but then they continued, leaving you standing with your lips slightly parted.

“It does make me wonder though, that if it’s a cursed spirit in this form and if it potentially takes on the six eyes user, then what if… I could absorb them both using Geto’s maximum uzumaki - what a glorious betrayal that could be,” they considered, “would that be a way of obtaining the technique, or would it be the same risk posed as the potential of me taking over his body all the same?”

You tilted your head at that thought. “It’s an interesting thought, but I thought you couldn’t take over Satoru Gojo due to the immense amount of power from the technique alone - isn’t that why you made an effort to eliminate such potential users, given that it would be a hard counter?”

Your boss narrowed their eyes, not seeming too pleased at the reminder, clearing their throat as they stifled down their ramblings. “I suppose not then, but if a person is trapped within a cursed spirit that can turn into a cursed spirit, then they might as well be part of it,” they added, “a curious thought experiment at best,” they smiled, hoping that you would catch on and see the appeal.

“What about everyone else that was trapped within it though?” you considered.

Kenjaku blinked, coming back to themselves for a moment, the wonder slowly fading from their eyes as they were forced to be realistic for a moment. “Ah, that’s a consideration that I hadn’t thought of…” they admitted, “though, perhaps that could be something for me to look further into after everything else is underway; I’d hate to undo my own progress…”

They then turned towards you before backing away again, pushing the door ever so slightly open but not the whole way outward. An eerie chill passed by you as this happened, but you thought nothing of it for the time being.

“Pack what you need for a couple of nights away,” they instructed, returning their tone to something that carried authority, seemingly concluding what they dismissed as idle small talk from just moments before, “book a hotel closeby, though, I’d like for you to be reachable if there’s any new developments - I’ll handle this situation for the timebeing… one way or another.”

You nodded, taking the journey back to where you were before, returning to pack your bag. The chill seemed to follow you, but you wrote it off as a draft, returning your focus on leaving the building as soon as possible.

Something about the room you were in felt especially suffocating, however, as if it had suddenly become smaller than it realistically could have been. You felt watched too, and a certain coldness crept up on you, causing you to freeze and to whip your head back to process the dread that was abruptly facing you.

That… thing… the prison realm, was staring right back at you and you couldn’t move beyond changing directions. You were left frozen, unable to talk and unable to run.

A memory flickered through your senses as you considered its history and usage.

“One minute is all it takes.”

Your heart sank to your stomach as you were forced to process this.

(How long, exactly, has it been standing there?)

(Surely not for a whole minute?)

[dustbunnylair]

In honor of 4th of July for all of the Jjk fans!!

i am no editor plz forgive me for this is trash

[annalavellan]

(⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)