#limitlessscion

[saiakv]

cosplay with @limitlessscion

[drippingheart]

How did it come to this point? Where the drying of tears and approaching the god-boy's room felt like extending an olive branch? The same friends who formerly held no qualms leaving the toilet stall open while pissing or making a sudden, three in the morning appearance into each other's rooms with either gossip in tongue or snacks in hand were tiptoeing on glass. At least . . that was how Getō Suguru's felt. In an instant so much changed. A blink and a child was dead. A blink and happiness was shattered. Suguru came out of the ordeal with nightmares of a bullet annihilating a girl's head and an X-shaped scar to forever mark his weakness, only to stumble into another dark hallway of death and disgust.

Suguru had comforted Nanami Kento who was, frankly, more fed up with jujutsu and existence than on the verge of tears; the onyx haired teens warm shoulder completely ignored. Next Ieri Shōko's indifferent bluntness, a trait which paved for a fast friendship, grated his already fragile psyche. He felt as raw on the outside as his esophagus. Suguru needed . . Suguru needed . . God, he needed some semblance of familiarity and comfort to act as a salve for all the wounds he carried. He wanted to cry and be told it was okay to do so. Moreover, he wanted his old friend back to grieve with as two close souls should have.

Foolishly he forgot that GODS did not sympathize with mortals. Gojō Satoru's @limitlessscion looked tired, certainly, but only that. Had the ivory haired prodigy avoided sleep for nightmares of their deceased friend haunted him, or was he too preoccupied demolishing every curse with a flick of his finger? Suguru wanted to scream. He wanted to pull out his own hair and that luminescent white of Satoru's. WHY COULDN'T HE REACT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON? Suguru bit his lip so hardly it drew ruby-red blood instantly, and he dropped his head down swiftly in order to hide the signs of his anguish and fury.

── ❛ Of course I AM. He was my friend. I need to honour his memory. ❜

Like it was the most obvious thing. The most human thing. The onyx haired teen's guts were clenching and threatening to spill over. Unkempt hair was tucked behind his ear as a weak ponytail further loosened its hold until all midnight hair spilled like putrid tears; he didn't bother doing anything about it.

── ❛ I was planning on speaking with his mother, too . . and making plans for getting appropriate outfits for us all. ❜

Satoru likely had three sets of appropriate funeral attire. A sad notion on its own, but Suguru only saw the bitterness of his entitlement. He slammed his palm against his own thigh, and it was anything but subtle, yet he used the harsh movement to shut away his malicious thoughts. He sucked on his bottom lip until the taste of blood dulled.

── ❛ You should really come, Satoru . . . ❜

continued from here .

[vartouhix]

@limitlessscion liked for a starter

Jangmi’s eyes scanned over what she’d written, trying to figure out what else to put in her confession, or how to edit it to make it less likely that the recipient would cringe while reading it.

Suguru,

I want to confess that I really like you. I think you’re so kind, brave, and smart… not to mention handsome… and so many other things, too. You’re honestly my ideal type… I wanted to ask if you would consider getting to know me better to see if maybe you’d be interested in being my boyfriend…

She zoned out a little as she sat on the bench thinking, fingers loosening enough on the folded paper she held until a particularly persistent breeze carried it away out of her hold. Jangmi gasped, jumping up from her spot to follow after the paper–a love letter to her crush–as it blew across the track field. “W-wait! Come back!” she cried.

[gehtuo]

“sensei.”

[antishaman]

He'd been stuck in a limbo for an unknown amount of time. Suguru sat on smooth, cold hard concrete. Barefoot, loose fitting black sweater and sweatpants made from extremely thin fabric. A thin and fine thread wove all over his body with a strong enchantment connected by the veil that shrouds him, stripping the prisoner of cursed energy, and therefore use of curse manipulation and his technique. Severely wounded after his battle with Yuta, it was no wonder that his capture was so easy: staggering on feet, an arm missing.

Fear is the reason Suguru was still breathing. There are several who very much wise to see him six feet under, but because of his unique case, no one can saw for sure what will happen to the four thousand plus curses that he's ingested. If they were to all unleash at once it could be devasting. His collection ranges from weak spirits who cower at the scent of something stronger than they, to strong curses that would put up a difficult fight. As much as the higher ups desired to enact Suguru's death penalty in full, they were wary.

Instead, he would serve his punishment in exile. Deep beneath Jujutsu Tech there's a small arena that was used to keep the most volatile of curse abusers from ages long past. Time wasn't a factor behind this veil. Suguru wouldn't starve to death and he wouldn't be permitted to leave. If he got too close to the veil, the string would incinerate him.

He guessed it's been around a month since his sentencing. Maybe a little bit less. It was always dark every which way he turned, but he could see the faint glow of where the edge of the veil was. There wasn't anything else to do down there except breath and be alone with his thoughts.

Suguru was wondering if his family were still alright. News of his capture would've been spread quickly. What about his sentencing? Would it be the lie that he's been executed?

Inside of the veil, he couldn't hear or smell anything that would come from the outside. Not that it'd matter much. Inside the veil though... he could hear footsteps. And he didn't have to turn around to know who those belonged to.

"... Should I feel honored that you decided to visit?" Not cynical, not venomous. But, genuine curiosity.

@limitlessscion

[titlacahuans]

Staring up at him, unimpressed.

@limitlessscion // X

[moonflowe]

@limitlessscion ( cont. )

Shoko's eyes took a moment to adjust, it was bog standard at this point. A new pair of glasses meant she'd try them on, once her eyesight had adjusted she hummed looking towards the brightest source of light she could finda hazy midday sun.

"well, they're pretty effective for your own needs; not total darkness but definitely some nice lenses, what's the prescription?" she took them off just as carefully as she had put them on, gently adorning her friend's face with them.

"they don't slide as much either, hopefully you'll get a few less migraines, though you might want to tighten the lens part cause it seems the screws that connect the frames and hold the lenses are a little loose, specifically on the left.

[drippingheart]

Broken but not dead. Broken but not — He should have been roused from sleep by the hands of Mimiko and Nanako. Little giggles of encouragement mixing as warmly as the morning's sun, working better than any medicine to eliminate the nausea and migraine of another long night. Blood, sweat, and tears for a better future for his daughters and all of those cast aside like garbage by humans and jujutsu elders. Blood and sweat, plenty of it, but there were no tears to be shed as Getō Suguru was instead roused by the agony of a body that was best left dead. Fools. The elders would live and die to see their regrets through . . or had it been Gojō Satoru's @limitlessscion pity which would be the doom of them all?

Throat was almost completely void of moisture, but Suguru laughed — a dry and pitiful thing which ended up producing more discomfort than villainous intrigue. Oh, he should have been dead. No, he should have won against the fight with the mere child and claimed what would grant him assured victory in the war. Suguru no longer felt like chuckling. In his decrepit mental state, the defeated man drifted between rage and melancholy. Plush pillows and silk blankets should have been enveloping him. A freshly brewed cup of tea waiting in the hands of Suda Manami. Arms should have been knit close around the bodies of Mimiko and Nanako, but wait . . Oh, he no longer had two arms to embrace his daughters if he was to ever see them again.

── ❛ Mmmf. ❜

With vision obscured by blood matted hair, more dirty-brown than onyx at that point, it was the sorcerer bonds choking his limbs which made him realize the gravity of his loss. On the precipice of death, and the elders still bound him like a common criminal. Suguru's ego was certainly inflated, but there was no chance in heaven or hell he could produce a single ounce of fight, bonds or no. The excessive bondage did nothing to quell his ego. Nearly dead and they still considered him that much of a threat? Again Suguru groaned; flesh against sandpaper in sensation.

Why wasn't he killed? Why was he still alive? They intended to parade him around like some grotesque message and really aim to cut any fiber of self-worth. That was what jujutsu elders did after all — either treated sorcerers like pawns to use at their will or garbage to put at the curb. Suguru was both in this instance. He had never hurt this badly before not even in the aftermath of his defeat to Amanai Riko's assassin. The cockroach had been cruel but an efficient killer; this chaining of an armless and nearly dead man was, simply, sadistic.

Had Ieri Shoko been brought in to stave off death? He couldn't imagine his former friend stopping just there; she would likely desire to see him dead and not suffering or completely healed. Suguru was not actively bleeding, but he was certainly not healing either. Just a piece of mangled meat left to rot. Nevermind the comforts of his grandiose compound, all he wanted was to lie down and have the layers of blood washed away from his face. With both ankles and one wrist bound, he was forced into a constant kneeling position.

Kami, how he hurt everywhere as though every cell in his body was pricked with a nail. It ached. It throbbed. He should have died. Should have . . the pain was so strong he did not think he could return back to unconsciousness, yet he had to pry his eyes open once again. Stomach eating away at itself and desperate thirst were only indicators of the passage of time. Otherwise, he was still forced to kneel, still covered in blood, and still fucking exhausted. Days, hours, weeks. He knew nothing. Had he any moisture left, he would have shed a tear or two in longing for the presence of his daughters. Suguru had already been defeated. How much more did they want?

starter for @limitlessscion