⸻ ( Fushiguro Toji )
He is hers before he is anybody else's. Even if they love him with every ounce of their souls for an entire lifetime, it will never be as much as how she loves him in a single day.
( jujutsu kaisen ) • 2023
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✴ ( 1997 )
If any gods are left in this world, they must surely have taken offence to her birth. There is no other reason she can think of to have irked them so. Defiance runs in her veins after all and she can only laugh when she subverts the will of heaven and makes a mockery of fate with her pale hands. Of course, she plays an imitation game to the dissonant song of anarchy. She can't blame them for despising her so when she can so easily attain the holiness of godhood with a flick of her delicate wrist.
Yagyu Toa has seen more than she wishes she ever has a right to; that she wishes she could erase from her mind like chalk on board. To draw a veil of stygian shadows over her eyes so she doesn't need to collect any more gruesome memories that haunt her still. But being a member of the Yagyu, an antiquated branch family of the esteemed Gojo clan, offers her little choice in the matter. Sorcery is all she has ever known and is a life she will never escape from. Not when her sacrificial flesh has already been strung up for offering on their altars of vanity.
It's no wonder then that she notices him in one of her usual midnight haunts, surrounded by the acrid scent of smoke. Her hazy dark eyes meet his, the colour of wilted blooms in the throes of autumn's touch. The taste of honeyed oak whiskey swirls on her tongue, skin illuminated by the red lanterns of that dingy gambling den. Mahjong tiles lie sprawled across the green felt of the square playing table, hungry eyes following each suit thrown onto its surface.
His smirk is marred by an old scar that refuses to fade, that he wears like a badge of honour to the travesties of this unfair world. So what, she thinks, they all carry their own scars and demons. It's not his devilish looks that catch her off-guard ( though she has to admit he is certainly not lacking in that department ), but the familiarity of it. She tries to rack her mind for a scrap of information, a fleeting memory that can make sense of her predicament, but there is none.
