STILL LIFE | part 1 | choso x gn!reader
For one hundred and fifty years, Choso had nothing other than his eight brothers and the cold, oppressive darkness of the storage room in which they were trapped. Then, during his one hundred and fifty-first year, he met you. (Or: You're told to seal the death painting wombs that are kept in the cursed object warehouse. You come to love them instead.)
8.6k words of pure romance! warnings for themes of csa (implied and off-screen, not romanticized) and complicated family relationships. choso conflates romantic love with familial love bc his love for his brothers is the only love he's known for 150 years, but there is no actual pseudocest. also this is literally several thousand words told from the pov of a pickle jar; it's a really weird fic.
For one hundred and fifty years, Choso knew nothing but darkness and his brothers' voices.
Before this darkness, he'd known of his father. He knew of being wrenched out of his mother's body—her womb cleaved open, rotting from the poison of his blood. He knew of his father putting the malformed thing that was his body into a glass prison, preserving him in amniotic fluid. He heard his sire naming him. Kamo Noritoshi had a sick sense of humour, Choso learned. His mother's body decayed from her successive pregnancies, her flesh not made to bear such monsters, and her children were named after the stages of her decomposition: Choso, Eso, Kechizuso, Noranso, Shouoso, Tanso, Sanso, Kotsuso, Shoso.
It was after Shoso that their mother's body finally gave out, parched into dust.
For one hundred and fifty years, the nine of them only had one another. Choso only had the warmth of their cursed energy, the chattering hum of their thoughts, their terror as the shadows of the storage room pressed in on them. He could not blame them for being so afraid: children are naturally frightened of the dark. And just as naturally, he could not allow himself to be so frightened.
He was the eldest. He had to be brave for them.
He was brave for Eso, who loved to show off because he was so insecure. He was brave for Kechizu, who looked up to his two older brothers with wonder. For Noranso, whose soul trembled often with tears his fetal body could not shed. For Shouoso, who bickered terribly but loved tenderly. For Tanso, who always sought attention as a middle child. For Sanso, who was always annoyed with Tanso, but also always made up with him. For Kotuso, who had been the only one of them to be held by their mother, and now always longed for her touch. For Shoso, who was the most fragile-hearted of them all—the baby of the family, the one whom they all comforted most.
For one hundred and fifty years, Choso took care of them. Raised them. Nurtured them as best as he could from within his glass prison. Talked to them to distract them from the aching cold. Weaved them stories based on scant knowledge of the world inherited by their father's blood—visions of what it would be like to leave this place and feel the warmth of sunlight (how lovely that must be), listen to human music (whatever that might sound like), feel the earth of gardens beneath their feet (see the flowers fed by their mother's corpse).
For one hundred and fifty years, Choso had no one other than his brothers—
—and then, during the one hundred and fifty-first year, he met you.
The death painting wombs changed hands once before they entered their final home. Choso could see, with his half-formed eyes, sorcerers entering their dark chamber, letting sunlight flood through the open doors. He blinked slowly, unused to it. Were he a fully formed being and not an embryo, he'd have stood between the intruders and his brothers. He'd have used his blood to kill them all, maybe.
The intruders were curious about about the six youngest brothers. They were afraid of the three eldest—Choso most of all. They said they were ugly, pitiful things: abominations that should be killed out of mercy. What's an abomination, big brother? Shoso asked, and Choso did not have the heart to guess—although all nine of them could tell that in the eyes of these men, they were not fit to live.
The sorcerers used their techniques to shear at them, cut them, shatter them, but this was an exercise in futility. Choso's cursed energy shielded him, impenetrable, and Kechizu and Eso imitated him. They protected their weaker brothers. In the end, all nine of them were taken into a corridor hidden behind a thousand doors, and they were left alone for another hundred years.
It was there that you came to them. Choso's eyes were not developed enough to make out the details of your face, but he understood the lines of your silhouette: you were young, probably, with a straight back and energetic step. You had to stand on your toes to study the nine of them, and although he could not make out your features, he could hear your disgust when you said, "Yikes. These things are so grisly. And powerful. You want me to seal them?"
There was another presence beside you—taller, lanky, cursed energy enormous and oppressive. This man could not destroy the three eldest, but he could hurt the six youngest.
Choso felt his brothers tremble, but he stayed still. Watching. He had to be brave for them.
If either of you noticed their fear, you did not comment.
"Yup!" the taller one of you said cheerfully. "Please work hard!"
"You're kidding me."
"Well, how are you ever gonna re-seal Sukuna's fingers if you can't handle these things? They're literal fetuses, you know. I don't even think they're sentient. I'm sure it'll be just fine!"
"Cursed wombs are not fetuses."
"They're not really cursed wombs. Just read the notes on them, yeah? And figure something out by next semester. Megumi's gonna start collecting the fingers in the summer, so we're gonna need replacements soon. Chop chop!"
"Next semester? You want me to figure out seals for these things by next semester? Are you paying me? Like, paying me a million yen?"
"I can treat you to a meal sometime."
"This is child exploitation, Gojo-sensei. There are laws against exploiting students like this."
"You're a legal adult now!"
"Then this is a labor law violation."
"Hm… well, yeah. I'll buy you tickets to the next Megan Thee Stallion concert, though."
"Oh. Deal."
The taller one departed. If they could properly breathe, all eight of his brothers would be sighing in relief—the looming presence was gone, the immense pressure of his cursed energy dissipated. They were all left alone with you, listening to the easy and idle melody of your humming. You were not weak, per se—Choso could sense that your cursed energy was just as vast as your mentor's—but there was something kinder about it. Something benign. Soothing and like it might lull him to sleep.
It felt warm.
For the first time in their long lives, Choso and brothers had human company.
Your presence was a stark contrast from their century and a half of existence. Gone was the constant darkness and terrible cold: the first thing you did when you began your work was complain about the temperature of their abode—'Does the Star Corridor not have central heating, or something? Ugh, I should get a kotatsu in here!'—and the second thing you did was drag in a space heater. It aggrieved you that you only had a couple of dim lights in the storage rooms—'Did the previous sorcerers who worked here have, like, night vision?'—so you brought in several lamps, too. You put up strings of lights—curious, new inventions that reminded Choso of his father's memories of festival lanterns. Fairy lights, you called them. Sometimes you flicked off every other switch in the room and kept only their subtle glow: For ambiance, you once explained to Eso. If I'm gonna be trapped here for fourteen hours a day, I might as well make it look nice—right?
This was probably your funniest habit, to Choso: you talked to him and his brothers. Or rather, you talked at them.
Shouoso thought you were crazy for this, but Eso was convinced that you were simply bored. The nine of them always had conversational partners in each other; you had no one but your inanimate research subjects. Choso thought privately that you also must have been lonely—sometimes your voice would sound wistful in a way that reminded him of Kotuso—but he did not mention it to his brothers. He did not want them to dwell on how alone they, themselves, were.
Well. How alone they were except for you.
Between your monologues—which his brothers greatly enjoyed, for they had never had such lively entertainment—you studied the nine of them carefully. You looked at Choso the most; he was your most powerful specimen, and he would be the greatest challenge to seal.
You chatted at them frequently as you worked, reading their own records to them. (Death Paintings? you said. What a creepy name! This Noritoshi guy sure was something! Oh, it's a Buddhist thing… hey, guys, was your dad a monk?) You fretted over Heian era textbooks that you could hardly read, so ancient was their script. (I can barely make out the kanji for 'curse suppression', you once whined. Why can't Granny Tengen just teach me herself, instead of forcing me to read this?! She's immortal, so surely she can spare some time for me!) You cursed out Gojo, whom Choso surmised was your teacher. You moaned that your school was working you to the bone, but at least research assignments on seals were better than missions, during which you were simply useless.
You complained often about your relationships and wondered aloud if you would ever find love or at least find someone who could 'blow out your back'. Choso understood what you meant by find love—this was a feeling engraved into him by blood, binding him to his brothers—but little idea of what your latter euphemism meant.
Choso did not mind it, really. His brothers were anxious every time you picked him up, but your fingers were always so careful, and your cursed energy was always so gentle whenever you probed him. I'm always afraid I'll hurt you guys when I do this, you once said quietly to Choso, almost whispering. I know you're a special grade object and I can't destroy you anyway—but, like, you're human too, right? I mean… you look like a human baby… you can probably feel pain like one too.
His younger brothers trembled. Are we human, big brother? they asked after you left, and Choso did not know how to respond. He felt inadequate as the eldest, then: shouldn't he have all the answers?
You studied Choso every day for several hours at a time. Your cursed energy ran over him, a soft blanket. Sometimes you held him too, and he could feel through his glass prison the heat of your touch: something utterly foreign to him. His brothers noticed it too, obsessed over it, yearned for it. Your hold was the warmest thing they'd felt in one hundred and fifty years of existence, since they'd left their mother's decaying womb.
They asked him if they should try to speak with you, too fearful to do it on their own—worried about what would happen to them. Wondering if you would be repulsed by them. Wondering if you would ask your mentor to come back and seal them immediately, or discard them somewhere dark and cold for the rest of eternity.
It would have to be him. Choso always had to be brave for his brothers.
The day finally came when you reached out to him with your cursed energy—and he reached back.
You drew back, speechless.
"Holy shit," you said. "You guys are sentient."
Time used to be an endless, crawling thing. In the darkness of the storage room, Choso had no way of telling how many sunsets had passed nor how many moons had risen. Aside from his father's memories, he didn't even really have a sense of what the moon looked like, and he'd barely ever caught glimpses of the sun. He and his brothers often longed to see both, but now that you were here, there was less of a need.
You came every morning at around ten—you'd brought in an analogue clock and explained to them how modern humans kept time, splitting the days into 24 sections—and greeted them as Choso imagined the sun would.
Morning boys, you said. You talked to them now—not at, but to—and addressed them by name, treating them like people. How are you doing, Eso? Having a good morning, Kechizu? Did you sleep well, Noranso? Are you playing well with the others, Shouoso? Are you happy today, Tanso? Rise and shine, Sanso! Up and at 'em, Kotuso. What should we do today, Shoso?
Did you miss me, Choso?
Yes, Choso often wanted to reply. All of us did. But he never said it aloud, not wanting to spoil his brothers' delight at your attention—their cursed energy tremoring warmly as they spoke in turn. You could not understand their words, of course, but you could feel that they were responding to you, and it clearly made you happy.
This fascinated Choso. The mere act of reaching for you with his cursed energy made you smile; he wondered what it would be like if he could instead move his underdeveloped limbs, grasp at you with his webbed fingers. But he was only a fetus, if even that—all he could do was tremble in his glass prison, listening to your laughter. The sound made him feel the way he did when he talked to his brothers about sunlight, music, and earth, when Kotuso talked about how gently their mother cradled his tiny body in her hands and begged Noritoshi not to take him away like all the others.
Longing, he believed the feeling was called. This word was faint but evident in the blood he'd inherited: you filled Choso with longing.
He and his brothers all longed to see you when you were gone, even though it was no longer so dark nor so cold in your absence: you kept the fairy lights on for them whenever you left, and it was warmer now, too. I can't leave the space heater on, so I asked Granny Tengen to turn up the temperature in this place, you said. She asked me why and I told her I can't let my pals in the storage room get too cold at night. She thinks I'm, like, crazy for befriending you by the way—but Granny indulges me, you know? Anyway, let me know if it's too hot.
Their cursed energy bubbled with delight—not because it was warmer now, but because you'd called them your friends, and we've never made friends with anyone before, big brother, isn't this exciting? Choso could make out the blurry silhouette of your grin as they chattered.
As the days passed, you only made their world brighter. You asked them what they were curious about, and they buzzed at your every suggestion, so you brought back every piece of the outside world that you could. You showed them magazines—Tanso adored the comics, Shoso the Natural Geographic, Eso the high fashion photography. Choso liked images of flowers, himself, so you brought them plants next. First succulents—stubby little things, with a waxy surface and muted colours—and then a species called a money tree, with a twisted trunk and softer leaves. You brought in a lamp that shone bright with UV rays—you can think of it as a kind of sunlight, you explained—and all kinds of flowers, after that. You brought them orchids and gardenias and lilies, and you took the nine brothers down from their shelf so they could sit on the desk instead, surrounded by brilliant petals as you worked quietly beside them.
You know, you said one day, people say that plants like music. Do you guys wanna test that theory? So you brought in speakers after that, and for the first time in one hundred and fifty years, Choso and his brothers heard song. You cycled through countless pieces, explaining all the genres as you gauged their reactions. Shouoso liked classical; Eso liked heavy metal; Kechizu liked punk. You grinned when you put on something that sounded cheerful, fun, had your body moving to its rhythm and your voice in its thrall. Shoso radiated with delight, and you beamed at him. You're a city pop fan, huh? Me too. Let's keep it on!
Sunlight, music, earth: you had brought with you all the things they'd longed for, Choso realised. It was no wonder that they longed so much for you.
For the slow crawl of time was now a rhythmic, exciting thing, split into the sunrise of your smile and the moonrise of your farewells. It burst with colourful blooms and sweet melodies and warm touches. The ten of you spent months like that together, their days with you holding more beauty than all the past one hundred and fifty years combined.
Then the day came when you did not return.
Choso counted forty days before you came back to them.
You arrived ragged and wounded, gauze on your face, stitches on your hands. The death paintings had never experienced injury themselves, but Choso had inherited through his father's blood countless memories of carnage wrought by his curses. He could tell that you'd been close to dying in your absence, and his frail bones trembled as he envisioned your body in the death process, rusting with decay.
But you greeted them cheerfully anyway. Said all your usual greetings to his brothers. How are you doing, Eso? Having a good morning, Kechizu? Did you sleep well, Noranso? Are you playing well with the others, Shouoso? Are you happy today, Tanso? Rise and shine, Sanso! Up and at 'em, Kotuso. What should we do today, Shoso?
You turned to him last, and he imagined that your smile softened just a hint.
"Did you miss me, Choso?" you asked.
Yes. Yes, everyday.
The brothers were panicked about the state you were in. Their cursed energy pulsed frenetically in the room, anxious, roiling. You could not hear their cries, their questions, but you could tell anyway what was on their minds: "You're worried about me, huh? I'm sorry for making you all so anxious. Promise I'm okay."
The words relieved his brothers somewhat, but Choso knew you were speaking falsely. He could always discern when his younger brothers lied to him—Tanso had a mischievous streak, and Shoso had a habit of covering up his loneliness—so he could easily hear your deception.
"It isn't a big deal what happened," you said. "I went on a mission. It went kinda badly. And the worst thing was—I ran into my family while I was on it. But that isn't such a huge deal. Gojo-sensei got me away from them pretty fast."
The brothers went quiet, listening. You had never talked about your clan before. From the sounds of it, you'd been raised by your teachers—Granny Tengen and Gojo-sensei and a fellow named Principal Yaga—so they'd all assumed that your birth family were gone. But here you were, voice heavy as you spoke of your blood kin.
"I won't get into it," you decided. "I don't wanna burden you guys with it." Then you reached out, brushed a finger over Choso's vessel. "'specially not you. You're worried the most about me, huh?" Your voice bloomed with fondness. "You strike me as the responsible type."
It's my duty as the eldest, Choso said, even though you couldn't hear him. I have to care for everyone here. I'd care for you, too, if I could. If you'd let me.
"I feel bad," you continued. "This is just what I get for slacking so much with my research. A seal is just an inversion of a barrier, y'know? In both cases you're imprisoning something. Nothing gets in and nothing gets out. If I'd figured out already how to seal special grade objects, I'd have just applied the same principles to barriers against special grade curses, and, well… I wouldn't have fucked up."
You're trying your best. You should give yourself a break.
You grew quiet. Avoidant. Paced back and forth, studied the row of them. Your cursed energy quivered, heartrending.
"You're the strongest cursed object in the room," you said, and Choso knew it was meant for him. "I just—I don't have any other test subject, you know?" Your voice was tight, gutted, swollen. Shoso always sounded like this before he cried, and Choso wished he could comfort you as he always did with his youngest brother.
"Can you forgive me for trying this, Choso?" you asked. "It wouldn't be for long. I promise."
I trust you, Choso could not say. You could only stand there, weighed by silence.
"I wish you could talk," you said, your hand cradling him.
Choso wished he could too—and he longed, more than anything, to cradle you as well.
You spoke to Choso as you laboured over your talismans. He could not see what you were writing, but from the movements of your hand, he could tell that your brushstrokes were careful. Precise. Practised. "It's kinda annoying writing in such tiny script," you said, tongue clicking. "But I'm used to it. I gotta do it on myself all the time. All along my own torso and down to my navel—gotta write backwards looking in a mirror, too. Sucks."
You were rambling. It was not the easygoing, delighted kind of chatter that he and his brothers were used to; this was fervent, scattered, distracted. Whatever happened on your mission had frayed you, and now your edges were unraveling before him. Tanso got like this, often. Over one hundred and fifty years, all of the brothers had at some point—except for Choso himself, of course. He needed to be strong for the rest of them.
But you were as fragile as Shoso, right now.
"A seal is meant to imprison something. If it's a weak curse, I can put it to sleep, but with a strong curse, I can only cage it. It's—awful. It feels awful when I do it to myself. Makes my skin crawl. I feel like I'm rotting from the inside. I can't stand being touched, too—since, you know, nothing gets out and nothing gets in. I'm surrounded by people regardless, but it's weirdly lonely anyway."
I know. I could sense you were lonely.
You picked up Choso's vessel, thumb stroking the label that bore his name. Distension. An ugly title for an ugly creature, something that everyone over a century and a half had wanted to kill. But your fingers trembled as you wrapped your talismans around him, and he could make out through the glass and amniotic fluid the way your lower lip was trembling. You held him like was precious—not a curse, but a treasure.
"Promise I won't let you stay lonely for too long," you told him. Your paper seals wrapped around his glass prison, blocking out all your lamplight and flowers and the music you had left playing for Tanso to help calm him as you took away his brother. Cutting Choso off from all the sunlight and life you'd brought into the room.
The world went dark.
Choso felt like he was sleeping, blanketed in silence and warmth. It wasn't unpleasant. But then that blanket began to suffocate him, his slumber dissolving into nightmare. He was in a void without sense, scent, sound, taste. He had no touch, either—and just a year ago that wouldn't have mattered to him, as he had never touched anyone in all his years of living anyway, but after feeling your touch, this was nothing short of agony. He was drowning in a hell without sunlight, music, nor earth.
Without his brothers. Without you.
You'd said it wouldn't be for long. If he waited, he'd be freed. But as time continued to crawl beyond this solitary space, an itch bubbled up inside Choso's body. How many minutes had passed? How many hours? Would you leave him there for days, weeks, months, years? Would your teacher return and take him away from you? Would you be sent on a mission and killed? Would his brothers be taken away in the meantime as well, would they be sealed by another sorcerer, would they be subjected to the tight grip of this hell? Would they feel the violent whip of electricity as they pushed and pushed and pushed—
Choso was fighting.
The seal—the barrier—resisted him. He pushed and lashed out with his cursed energy, but the seal retaliated—lacerations in his little body, blunt trauma to his aborted skeleton. Even in this insensate place, he could somehow feel pain. But he could not stop pushing at his prison walls, desperate to see light, and with each attempt to break free, he only wounded himself more.
Blood seeped into amniotic fluid. Poison converged into needles, rained against the walls. The glass trembled and nearly shattered, but stayed intact with the binding spell you'd placed upon it. Choso was not affected by his own blood, of course—but he was in so much pain that he felt like he was. He felt like he was rotting, festering, screaming, and then—
Light. Warmth. Flora. The talismans peeled away, and your face appeared before him. Fueled by panic and the sharp release of his cursed energy, his eyes were suddenly strong enough to make out your eyes in the sunlight you'd brought into their world.
You were very beautiful, Choso noticed. And you were crying.
"I'm sorry," you said. "I'm so sorry."
It's fine. I'm okay. But Choso realised you were not only talking to him; you were also speaking to his brothers, tears pearling as you placed his jar back into the shelf. The eight of them were wailing, and even though you could not hear them cry, you could feel the grief radiating from them.
It's okay, Choso said immediately. I'm okay. Your big brother's alright. There's no need to worry.
His siblings calmed. They buzzed with relief, but you either did not notice or you were not comforted by it.
"I'm so sorry I took him away from you," you said, voice very small. "You've always been together, haven't you? It must have been very scary."
It was, Eso said. But you returned him. That's all that matters.
Big brother was happy to help you get stronger, Kechizu reasoned.
I still can't believe you did that, Tanso ground out, tearful. What a horrible person you've turned out to be.
Choso shushed him. Be kind to them, little brother. They meant no harm.
"You love each other very much," you observed. "I don't think I could separate you all. I'm going to talk to Gojo-sensei and tell him I'll find some other way to replace Sukuna's fingers. I'll make him understand."
The group of them signed in relief, except for Choso. He'd intuited already that you would not be cruel enough for such a plan.
"I read in your notes that you were all birthed from the same woman," you continued. Your voice was frail. Choso watched you carefully. "That makes you brothers, right?"
His brothers forgot your betrayal, suddenly. Their energy grew warm and fond and excited. Yes! they chorused. We're brothers. We love each other. We only have each other. Choso's the oldest, you know. He's been taking care of us this whole time. Thank you for giving him back, thank you for giving up on your assignment—
But you could not hear their words. Perhaps you mistook their noise for mourning. Your voice swelled with pain, eyes squeezing shut.
"I'm sorry." Your voice tremored. "I have to go."
Your silhouette fled the room. Choso regretted his tiny, malformed body, wishing that he had hands that could reach you. He'd grab your wrist, pull you back. He'd anchor you there and tell you it was alright if you wanted to cry.
But all he could do was sit there, on that shelf—longing.
You did not open up to the nine brothers for quite some time after that. You returned as if nothing had ever happened, bidding them good morning as usual, bringing them new flowers and magazines. The younger ones were relieved by your cheer, but the older ones couldn't be fooled.
I'm worried about them, big brother, Eso said. I think they're still bothered.
Choso agreed. He could see the signs of someone obfuscating sadness, like Kotuso often did. Shoso, too, often became embarrassed of how often he cried. He didn't like to be babied now that he was older, but Choso couldn't help it: he was the baby of the family, and Choso had to take care of him most of all. Choso thought that if he were a full person, with a human form, he'd like to treat you just the same. Your voice sometimes quivered in a way that made it feel like you might break at any moment; Choso longed for hands with which he could catch the pieces.
You splintered a little bit in front of them, one day. It was after a rare two-day absence. You came to them with new flowers, apologetic, and held the pot close to them so that they could see the blooms. Choso's blurry vision was filled with a brilliant, red crush of petals.
"Carnations," you said. "They symbolize familial love. I saw them and thought of you guys." Your lips curved, a gentle slope. "You care about each other so much. Sometimes I'm a little jealous of you, you know."
Why would you be jealous? Choso asked gently. What happened? He wondered if you could tell that they were abuzz with curiosity, because you continued—voice subdued, smile waning.
"I have a brother too, but I don't have a very good relationship with him. He's a lot older than me. Doted on me a lot when I was young." You laughed a little. "Actually, he always worried after me—you kinda remind me of him, Choso."
But I wouldn't have turned my back on you. Why did he stop caring for you?
"It's kinda my fault that our relationship is so bad now." You looked down, fingers running through the blood red of your carnations. "When I was little, someone put themselves inside me. Another family member." You shifted back and forth on your feet; Choso wondered, for a second, whether you would turn heel and run again. "When I told people, my parents reacted very poorly. It was a big deal, y'know, a scandal—we're supposed to be a noble jujutsu family, and all. Though I think most jujutsu clans are kinda messed up anyway."
Choso thought of his cruel father, his decaying mother, his brothers who'd been trapped in darkness their whole lives. And he did not completely understand your modern idioms, what you meant when you said someone had been inside you—but he thought it must not have been too different from how Noritoshi Kamo planted rot inside his mother, placed nine curses upon her womb. He could not imagine someone inflicting such horror upon someone like you—someone who brought sunlight and music and flowers to beings whom the world viewed as aborted monsters.
But if your family were of the same ilk as the Kamo clan, then Choso understood completely.
It wasn't your fault, he told you simply—just as he'd been telling his brothers their whole lives. It wasn't their fault what Kamo Noritoshi had done to their mother. It wasn't their fault that she'd been cursed to die.
"Anyway, everyone in the family had a falling out because of it. My mother thinks I'm a liar, and my father blames me. He got so mad, he placed a fucking curse on me." You snorted, voice edged with such bitterness that Choso hardly recognised it, coming from you. But then you lost that sharpness, words soft and uncertain. "My brother's just sad about it, though. I don't really give a shit about my parents, but I miss my brother a lot."
I'm sure he misses you too, Choso said immediately, instinctively. You did not look at him.
"When we were little," you said quietly, "he told me he'd always take care of me—but I guess he'd been lying."
Choso could not understand it. He tried to imagine himself in your brother's position—you, his youngest sibling, another small and scared thing looking to him for guidance in a dark and cold place. How precious you would have been to him. How close he'd have held you to his heart. How much he'd have vowed to protect you, just as he'd vowed to protect all his brothers, and how he'd keep that promise until death.
I don't understand your brother, he said plainly, and his siblings all chorused in agreement.
"Anyway," you said, stretching, "it's all in the past now. Gojo-sensei got me out of there and Granny Tengen and Principal Yaga took me in. They're kinda my family now." Then you tilted your head, eyes gleaming with fondness. "And I have you guys, too."
Yes. You will always have us.
The thought came to Choso, unbidden, inevitable: if he were a full human, if he had a mouth with which to speak to you and hands with which he could hold you—then he, too, could have been your family.
Once, Choso and his brothers saw you weep.
From their father's memories, they understood what it was like for a fully formed human to cry, though they had not themselves experienced it: their bodies were not developed enough to shed tears. It took them all a moment to recognize what was happening.
Something was different about your cursed energy today: they were all intimately familiar with the pulse of your emotions, so they recognized it instantly. Beneath your usual warmth, something dark was stirring. It felt like rot, like decay. Like them.
1 o'clock in the morning: the sun lamps were off, the carnations sat quietly around them in the dark. You stormed into the storage room, slamming the door shut behind you; the dim, golden fairy lights chased shadows across your body as you moved. The brothers were on the table that night—you'd left them there intentionally, because you'd realised that Eso enjoyed being surrounded by your flowers—and they could see you fully as you sunk into the floor, curling into yourself. Your face dropped into your hands; your shoulders trembled. You were in a state of half-undress, Choso noticed. A smear of black seals ran up and down the midline of your torso, all the way down to your navel.
It felt like you were cursed.
A fist slammed on the door outside. The force shook the walls; Shoso and Tanso trembled, although Choso was not worried for any of his brothers. He would use his cursed energy to shield them all. It was you for which he was concerned: someone was following you, someone with significant cursed energy. If Choso were a full human, had a mouth with which he could speak to you and hands with which he could protect you—then he would tell you that it would be okay, and then he would use his blood to pierce whomever was making you cry.
But you seemed largely unbothered by your pursuer. "Fuck off!" you yelled at the door. "How the fuck are you even here?"
"I'm not leaving you alone!" someone yelled. A man, Choso guessed, though it was hard to tell from the timber of their voice.
"Yes, you are. If you don't, Master Tengen's gonna kick you out. It's their domain."
"I don't give a shit about Tengen!"
"Too fucking bad!" you retorted, and sure enough, Choso felt the air shift and fold around them, the atmosphere shuddering as Tengen worked her sorcery. This entire room—the entire Star Corridor, as you often called it—was under her protection. She rejected intruders, hiding the space away from danger. When you were little and running away from your clan, you'd intuitively sensed the safety of her barrier and snuck your way into her abode, where she'd found you weeping.
I always feel safest here with Granny Tengen—and with all of you, you'd told them once. You'd smiled at them fondly, eyes lingering on Choso longest. I always feel like Choso is watching out for me.
It's my job as the eldest to watch out for everyone here, he'd said at the time.
But now that a threat had shown itself, Choso felt absurdly useless. It was Tengen who acted: the barrier rippled, and the man outside was cast away. You breathed a sigh of relief, and then you drew your knees to your chest, making a noise that might have been either a laugh or a scream. Maybe a sob. Choso listened quietly, counting the seconds between each of your breaths.
Are they hyperventilating, nii-san? Kechizu asked, worrying.
Give them some time, Choso said, stolid.
You calmed yourself, eventually. Breathed in deeply, rubbed your face. Kept your eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry you had to see that, guys," you mumbled. "I'm sure it was unpleasant."
It was Shoso who replied: Don't apologise. We're just glad you're safe.
Yes, Choso said. You can always come to us.
And you can always talk to us, Eso added.
Perhaps you understood them. You trembled as you studied them, fingers ghosting glass vessels, one by one.
"I was dating that person," you said. "It was going great, but—well. My father cursed me, remember? I've sealed it well, but whenever someone tries to put themselves inside me, the curse activates. I keep it contained in my body, but it's quite unpleasant. I can never enjoy it, and it disappoints people."
There was that idiom again. Inside me. Choso remembered the suffocation of being sealed, the violence he tried to inflict on his walls. He thought of the way his blood poisoned his own mother's womb as she carried him. Did you feel like that, when things were placed into your body?
"My father will never remove this curse. My brother could do it, but he won't consider it. He doesn't want to go against his family."
But you're his family, Choso replied, and it was only then he fully understood your situation—
Your brother did not see you as his family. All of your kin had rejected you, severed the blood that tied you together. Now all you had were your three teachers and a collection of aborted curses.
Choso's heart was a tiny, malformed thing—but it ached for you. Ached so deeply that he felt it in the marrow of his bones.
"I've always," you confessed, voice low, "wanted to fall in love. I like to tell myself I someday will, and someone will love me back, and then it won't matter that my family doesn't love me, you know?" A noise left your throat, and Choso's heart trembled. "But I'm starting to think it won't happen. I can't get close to anyone with a curse like this."
That's not true. You can always be close to us.
You stared at Choso for a long time, and he wondered if you could hear his words.
"Do you think," you asked suddenly, "I could hold you, Choso?"
Of course.
You picked him so gently. Pressed him close to your heart, and he could hear it beat as blood pulsed through its chambers.
Then he heard you.
Choso heard you, with his delicate, barely-formed ears, crying softly. Felt with the fragile barrier of his skin the curl of your cursed energy around him, lonely and grieving and wanting. His fingers—tiny, useless things—twitched, longing to wipe away your tears.
He thought once more about what it could have been like had he not been aborted and forced into this glass prison by his father. What it would be like to have a full-grown body, however distorted and cursed it may be. If Choso had arms that could hold you and hands that could reach you, he'd draw you close to him and let you cry into his pulse. And he'd tell you that he loved you—the kind of way he loved his brothers, the kind of way that would make him die for you, the kind of way you'd always wanted to be loved.
The kind of way you'd always deserved to be loved.
Not too long after that incident, the brothers were torn away from you.
Mahito came to them, human-shaped and cruel-hearted. His cursed energy did not have the warmth of yours; it was ugly and unsettling and left something crawling beneath Choso's skin. He did not like the inhuman touch pressed upon his glass prison; he liked it even less around Kechizu and Eso. But they were stolen away by him anyway, and then they were incarnated, one-by-one, into the bodies of full humans—bones cracking, sinew and muscle reshaping, poison coursing through their veins. Their minds were rewired with their brains, inheriting the sense and knowledge of their stolen fleshsuits.
When Choso laid his eyes upon his Eso and Kechizu, he knew this: human society would never accept them. The jujutsu sorcerers would hunt them down—curse them, shear them, shatter them. Call them abominations, just like they once had in that Star Corridor. What's an abomination, big brother? Shoso had asked then—and now Choso knew.
He had to carve out a place in this world for these abominations—his perfect, beautiful younger brothers. He was responsible for them. And he had to be brave for them.
"That cursed spirit, Mahito," Choso started, "his vision of the future is convenient for us. We'll help him realise it."
Eso and Kechizu were softer-hearted than him. They did not like the idea of killing humans, Choso could tell. Both of them shifted uncomfortably, thinking.
"But nii-san," Eso eventually said, "they wish to make enemies of those Jujutsu High students—the ones from the place we were kept. That would include…"
That would include you.
Choso had already considered this. Had thought of you the moment he'd been incarnated, in fact. He thought of your music and sunlight and flowers, the lights you strung up for him and his brothers, the songs you hummed for Shoso, the photographs you always showed Eso. He remembered the way your heart beat against the glass barrier separating him from you, the way your body trembled, how he could do nothing but listen to you cry. He now had arms that could hold you and hands that could reach you, and it pained him that you were not within his grasp.
You would never be within his grasp. Mahito had told him so, soon after incarnating.
"When you took us from the Star Corridor," Choso had asked him, "were there any sorcerers who tried to stop you?"
"A couple of orderlies," the spirit had replied, blasé. Cruel. "They were easy to kill." Then he'd given him a curious look. "Why? Did you know them?"
"Not well," Choso had replied, carefully neutral. "I was only curious." He had kept you protected from this cursed spirit whom would have disdained you—tried to leave the memory of you behind, tucked away in the Star Corridor where you'd always felt safest.
But he still held onto you—thought of you everyday. It was inevitable. Whether he was feeling the sunrise on his skin for the first time, or breathing in the fragrance of carnations in Shinjuku Gyoen, or wandering the streets of Roppongi, listening to the bright melodies you used to play for his youngest brothers—he could not help but think of you. Even as he consorted and plotted with the very spirits who had killed you, he remembered the rhythm of your heart.
He still longed for you.
"When the humans and their hypocrisy are finally erased," Jogo declared one day, while they were all recuperating in Dagon's domain, "the world will be better for it."
"I still think we should keep some around to hunt for sport," Mahito said. "It's fun to watch them struggle."
Choso looked down, studied his fully formed fingers, his empty palms. The sun shone down on him, and the sand was warm between his toes—but all he could feel was a relentless, oppressive cold.
For one hundred and fifty days, Choso grieved.
As soon as he'd been born into this world, his loved ones had died: first you, then Eso, then Kechizu. All of you were cleaved away from him, leaving him incomplete. But he could not falter, even though you were gone: Choso was still the eldest brother, and he still had so many younger brothers to attend to. Noranso, Shouoso, Tanso, Sanso, Kotsuso, Shoso—and now Yuji.
Yuji, who was so strong yet tender-hearted, deep in his own grief. Yuji, who was the youngest and most fragile of his siblings by far. Yuji, for whom Choso had to be strong.
The two of them wandered the wreckage of Tokyo with no one but monsters for company. Yuji had no wish to return to his friends in Jujutsu High, and it meant that they were utterly alone. Sometimes during the night, as they slept in the ruins of some abandoned apartment without heat nor light, Choso stared into the pitch darkness of Shibuya and felt like he was once more on the shelf of that storage room.
"Are you still there, little brothers?" he once murmured half-asleep, instinctively. And he heard no chorus of little voices—yes, nii-chan, we're here—but Yuji snored loudly, and Choso felt himself relaxing anyway. He had Yuji, and someday when he returned to the Star Corridor, he'd have the rest of his brothers, too.
But when the sun came up and he opened his eyes, he heard no cheerful good morning, did you miss me?—and nothing could chase away the ache he felt after that. He would never hear you talk again. It scared Choso, the idea that he might forget what your voice sounded like—or Eso's, or Kechizu's. Sometimes he laid awake the whole night, trying to remember the timbre of your laughter, sometimes thinking about the sound of your tears. He heard Yuji talk in his sleep during those moments, calling out for a Kugisaki, a Nanamin, a Junpei—thinking of his own loved ones, thinking of people whose voices had also been erased.
For one hundred and fifty days, Choso and Yuji lived alone in the world, grieving their loved ones.
Then, on the one hundred and fifty-first day, they met you.
It was a human who led them to you.
He was a civilian. Some scrawny, starved teenaged boy who'd been wandering the hellscape of Ebisu with his little sister. The two of them had been separated at some point; by some miracle, she had survived on her own for several days, and he'd managed to find her again. He'd been waylaid by a massive curse, which Yuji had handily blown back with his fists, letting Choso deal the finishing blow with his piercing blood. The boy came readily out of hiding afterwards, but the sister remained cowering under the debris. It was Choso who coaxed her out. He'd crouched down, assured her that no harm would come to her, then patiently waited for her to crawl out. Yuji stared at him, his surprise visible as Choso managed to calm the child down, but Choso himself felt perfectly at ease. He'd been dealing with scared children his whole life, after all.
"Refugee camp?" Choso asked.
After several rushed bows, the boy begged the two of them to escort him back to some refugee camp he'd found. They frowned even as they walked him and his sister, uncomprehending.
"Who was able to get a refugee camp running here?" Yuji frowned. "The place is overrun with cursed spirits."
"Amazing, isn't it?" The man had barely escaped death, but he was cheerful as he spoke of this sanctuary, carrying his kid sister on his back. Choso smiled at the sight: he'd have done the same with Tanso or Shoso, were they here with him. "Someone set up this huge barrier around an apartment complex… not even the biggest and scariest curses can get past it; they just get fried. Kinda like a bug against one of those electric flyswatters." He glanced at Yuji. "I think the person running the place wears the same uniform as you, actually."
"A barrier?" Yuji paused. "Must be my upperclassman."
Choso could not help it: he found himself thinking of you again. Hoping. Logically speaking, there'd have been no way you'd have escaped Mahito—he'd killed all the orderlies in the Star Corridor, which must have included you. Between your research and looking after Tengen, you spent fourteen hours a day in that place. But maybe—maybe—you had been sent away that day, and maybe you'd have been kept away from Shibuya during all the slaughter, and maybe—
"Oh," the boy said, "here it is!"
Choso felt the veil before he saw it. Recognized it.
Yuji walked up to it, oblivious. He rapped his knuckles on the barrier, which lashed out at him with electric fury. He did not flinch, but Choso knew it must have stung: seals are an inversion of barriers, and he could still remember the violence of being sealed by you. Yuji glanced at the mild burn on his hand, then nodded.
"Yeah, this is definitely my upperclassman's work." He shifted, frowning at the dark curtain before him. "I won't be able to go in past this point, so you can just head on in without us."
Choso paused. "You'd be denied by your classmate?"
"Not intentionally. Senpai's barriers never let any cursed spirits in and have extra resistance against special grades. And, well, with Sukuna inside me…" Yuji looked down. "Actually, it could be that they wouldn't want me around anyway, after everything that happened. We should probably get going."
Choso's feet were rooted to the ground. He found himself unwilling to move, even as Yuji turned to retreat. His little brother's eyes were on the ground, head low, and it looked nearly like he was about to dart away and hide, but—
"Itadori! Itadori Yuuuuji!"
Someone came running through the pitch darkness of the veil, nearly tripping as they stopped. They were panting, dripping sweat, looking on the verge of hyperventilation, but they nearly dived for Yuji's arm, catching him by the wrist. Their features were hidden, and their voice was so hoarse from yelling that it was hardly recognisable.
But Choso remembered the silhouette that spent months talking and laughing with him and his brothers, and he thought—hoped—
"Senpai?" Yuji said, bewildered.
"Don't you dare leave!" you—or Choso hoped it was you, his longing so deep that it nearly ached—wheezed, glaring at him. "Megumi will kill me if I let you go! He's been trying to find you for weeks now. Why'd you run away, huh?"
His younger brother's expression crumpled. "You know why, Senpai. I mean—you must have heard the news, right? I can't go back… I'm a—"
"—you're my kouhai," you interrupted. "I don't wanna hear it 'til after you've showered and had something to eat. Come on. Let's go inside."
"But—"
"No buts. Seriously, you reek. I know you're going through a lot right now, but you have to take care of yourself. When was the last time you ate a proper meal?"
Yuji went quiet for a long time. Stared at you and asked, "You sure?"
"'course. You're always welcome with me. Any of your friends, too." You peered around his shoulder, met Choso with a keen gaze, perceptive. Most discerning sorcerers would be wary of Choso; he felt more like a curse than a human to anyone who studied him carefully. But you seemed unconcerned anyway, stepping forward and peering at him not with caution, but with overt curiosity.
Choso felt the warm, tender touch of your cursed energy, and he knew.
He reached out with his own cursed energy—not on decision, but on instinct—and your eyes went wide.
"Oh," Yuji said. "Sorry for not introducing you. This is—"
"Choso?" You stared at him, pupils dilating, irises bright. He recognised your eyes, even though they were no longer so sad. They were still beautiful, after all. "You're Choso, right? From the Star Corridor? Special grade, born in the Meiji era, oldest brother of—"
"—nine," he finished, and his lip trembled. "And you're—"
Arms around his neck, a body slotted tightly against his. Choso nearly stumbled back from the force of your hug. He returned it without thinking, with arms that could finally hold you and hands that could finally reach you, and he felt your warmth directly against his beating heart. You laughed as he wrapped himself around you, almost screamed when your feet left the ground, and you were still beaming when he finally put you down.
"Did you miss me?" you asked, glowing, and after countless days of longing, Choso could finally say—
"Yes."
end part 1
thank you for reading pickle jar fic!!! every word of this was a struggle alsdjflsdj it is definitely a departure from my usual writing style that I don't believe I liked rip. some notes:
the death paintings are a series of nine paintings in buddhist art depicting the stages of decay of a woman's corpse. I chose the title "still life" because it is sort of the opposite of a "death painting" in name, often featuring things that are literally alive (e.g., flowers).
the reader's weirdly detailed and traumatic backstory is setup for the romance in part 2, which strongly contains themes of familial relationships (that is, of course, the crux of choso's character!). I didn't love the info dump of their backstory; it's not my usual style, but it was kind of unavoidable with how this whole thing was written from choso's pov and how the reader kind of treats of him as a therapist to vent to. please forgive me... mea culpa
I do not know when I will get around to writing part 2, but trust and believe it is a happy ending filled with romantic nasty sex. i don't know what canon is, choso and the reader will get their life of romance!!!