#inverteds

[mukagenborn-archive]

@inverteds

九 綱 __It wasn't something as determinate as irritation, no; The pitfall that surfaced in his throat as soon as any of his excess senses could determine the lack of energy before him wasn't born of anger. It was the lack thereof, the recollection of having felt so damn good about it, all the way to not feeling anything at all. Which was dramatic as hell, who cared? Wait, yeah, that had been the problem. Connections and influence, being the head of the rival clan, being the one to put the guy down the first time(And being the only one capable of doing so irrespective.) all availed him access and privilege to a certain caged beast. It wasn't like he didn't get it, after seeing the miracle that was left behind, knowing full well the... amazing ways that top three employed their tactics - taking a different name didn't really help, eh? That sucked, all of that sucked. But all that stuff he really didn't want to think about wasn't why he was here. "Yo. Think you're up for at least a little advice? I've got a kid that swings like a truck, but no Heavenly Restriction! He was like that from the start, even my eyes can't figure it out! Weird, right? I'd have him train with the others, but he's supposed to be dead for a little while."

[cursedfell]

quietly takes gojo's hand in his.

the  moment  toji’s  hand  finds  his,  satoru’s  world  crumbles  in  the  most  exquisite  way.  it’s  not  just  a  touch—it’s  the  universe  shifting,  folding  in  on  itself  to  make  room  for  this  impossible,  fragile  connection.  toji,  who  has  always  been  the  jagged  edge  against  satoru’s  untouchable  force,  moves  first,  his  hand  crossing  the  boundary  that  no  one  else  dares  to  breach.  and  satoru,  for  all  his  power,  for  all  his  infinity,  is  helpless  against  it.  his  breath  catches,  and  for  a  fleeting  moment,  the  vastness  of  his  existence  narrows  to  a  single  point  of  warmth  in  his  palm.  toji’s  touch  is  unyielding,  steady,  but  it  burns  like  the  sun,  slipping  past  the  barriers  satoru  spent  years  convincing  himself  were  impenetrable.  it’s  grounding  and  disorienting  all  at  once,  as  though  the  axis  of  his  being  has  tilted  and  left  him  weightless.  the  warmth  bleeds  into  him,  seeping  into  places  he  thought  would  remain  cold  and  hollow  forever.  it  is  not  the  touch  of  a  blade  or  the  pressure  of  a  burden;  it  is  something  softer,  something  freely  given,  and  it  wrecks  him  in  ways  he  cannot  name.

satoru  feels  his  heart  lurch  in  his  chest,  a  stuttering  rhythm  that  threatens  to  unmake  him.  his  infinity,  the  ever-present  shield  between  himself  and  the  world,  slips  away  like  a  silken  thread  unraveling  under  toji’s  touch.  he  doesn’t  fight  it.  instead,  he  lets  it  fall,  lets  the  fragile,  trembling  parts  of  himself  rise  to  the  surface  as  he  curls  his  fingers  around  toji’s  hand  in  return.  the  grip  is  hesitant  at  first,  as  though  he  fears  holding  on  too  tightly  might  shatter  the  fragile  moment.  but  toji  doesn’t  pull  away.  his  hand  remains,  firm  and  unwavering,  grounding  satoru  in  a  way  he  never  thought  possible.

satoru’s  face,  so  often  pale  and  untouched  by  emotion,  flushes  with  a  warmth  he’s  unprepared  for.  it  starts  faintly,  a  soft  hue  creeping  across  his  sharp  cheekbones,  but  it  quickly  deepens,  blooming  into  something  unmistakable.  the  blush  spreads  like  spilled  ink  on  parchment,  coloring  the  stark  canvas  of  his  skin  with  a  rare,  fragile  humanity.  it  feels  foreign  and  yet  inevitable,  as  though  the  warmth  of  toji’s  touch  has  sparked  something  dormant  beneath  the�� surface,  something  satoru  himself  didn’t  know  existed.  his  usual  composure,  the  effortless  mask  of  untouchable  strength  and  cool  detachment,  falters  under  the  weight  of  it.  the  color  betrays  him,  speaking  volumes  where  his  words  cannot.  it  is  not  the  flush  of  embarrassment  or  mere  attraction—it  is  deeper,  richer,  as  though  his  very  being  is  responding  to  this  moment,  this  connection.  the  contrast  between  the  pale  ivory  of  his  skin  and  the  blossoming  pink  is  almost  poetic,  a  visual  echo  of  the  shift  inside  him.

for  once,  he  does  not  try  to  hide  it.  he  doesn’t  reach  for  his  glasses  or  avert  his  gaze;  he  lets  the  warmth  claim  him  fully.  it’s  as  if  his  body,  usually  so  carefully  controlled,  has  decided  to  act  on  its  own,  responding  to  toji’s  quiet  strength  with  a  vulnerability  that  leaves  him  breathless.  the  blush  is  more  than  just  a  physical  reaction;  it  is  an  unspoken  truth,  a  quiet  admission  that  toji  has  reached  a  part  of  him  no  one  else  ever  could.  it  feels  as  though  the  vast  chasm  of  isolation  that  satoru  has  lived  with,  the  weightless  void  of  always  being  the  strongest,  is  being  filled—not  with  power,  but  with  something  far  gentler  and  infinitely  more  dangerous:  a  sense  of  belonging.  toji,  with  all  his  rough  edges  and  quiet  defiance,  chooses  to  reach  for  him,  and  in  doing  so,  reminds  satoru  that  even  the  untouchable  can  be  held.  the  warmth  in  his  chest  swells,  cracking  open  the  walls  he  has  fortified,  and  for  the  first  time,  satoru  lets  himself  be  vulnerable,  lets  himself  fall  into  the  moment  without  fear  of  the  world  slipping  from  his  grasp.  because  here,  in  this  fleeting,  fragile  touch,  he  has  found  something  far  more  real  than  infinity: 

a  connection.  a  choice.  toji.

[gravesung-moving]

🌴 ✨️

positivity meme! / accepting

send 🌴 and i'll recommend a blog i haven't spoken to yet but admire from afar

@inverteds and i only became mutuals recently, but the wayyyyyyy i EAT UP thomas's meta posts about toji already omg. his grasp on the character is so solid and i'm so glad to see another english dub enjoyer here on the dash (absolutely no shade to ppl who prefer the sub, i just. auditory processing made it easier and then i fell in love with the english VAs JKSDHKJSHDDS) i base my geto's voice and characterization on the dub too! that was a tangent, but i enjoy thomas's toji portrayal a great deal and am greatly lookin forward to plotting/writing :D

send ✨ and i'll recommend a multimuse blog

@chaoslulled hol....... my light....... my joy......... i owe her so many replies but i swear i am chipping away at them because i MISS OUR DYNAMICS!!! she was my intro to jjk rp, and truly i am head over heels in love with her portrayals of satoru, toji, and sukuna (curseless/yakuza, i haven't gotten to write with her canon sukuna yet but one day i will sink my teeth into him). seph, over on my other blog, is also head over heels for them but we . we won't talk about that they don't want to be looked at thanks. IUHSDFNKJSDFS but in addition to her canons, the ocs of hol's that i have interacted with so far are absolutely delightful. charlotte has wormed her way into the hearts of three of my muses so far and i adore her soooo much. dante and malachi both have such rich lore behind them, i really need to throw more folks at them (AND AMELIA. COME HERE PSPSPSPS) not to mention hol is such a kind and patient rp partner, i'm so thankful i got over my intimidation and started talking to her <3 much love. xoxoxo

[lustraveil]

“sometimes life deals you a bad hand, but you can still play your cards right and win.” / for mai or geto!

Mai leans back against the car, arms loosely crossed as she watches the dim glow of the city lights in the distance. It'd been week two working alongside him, and by now, they'd gotten to know somewhat the ins and outs. "Yeah? and what does winning even look like to you, anyway?" her tone isn't mocking, just, genuinely curious, really.

// @inverteds

[einshi]

i dont rp with people who gatekeep geto's hole

top geto disliker in my dms chat bring me my yaoi paddle

give me a reason why you DON'T rp with me.

[deniedpto]

"What's the point in earning money if you're not going to spend it?"

A sigh left his lips for a moment. Why didn't he spend money? He did, just not on dumb stuff. Books, good food, and nice suits are what he normally goes with. Half the time, it was just given to him because his one from was bored enough to do so. ( not that he liked it) but the point was, he was saving for something. To earn enough money to live somewhere cheap. Where he only had to earn a small amount each day and have enough savings to keep him afloat.

Not everyone would understand that.

Nanami couldn't help but sigh once more and looked at the older male. The question still stands.

"I spend on things I need, not what I want. Blowing through a paycheck is the last thing I want to do. It's silly and wrong to do." a huff. "Can't live a little if you have nothing left to live with."

Questioning Sentences, || accepting @inverteds

[psielapki-a]

@inverteds & the fate / continued

                    𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 ; eerie and creepy could potentially — well, not scare, but — fend off megumi's birth - giver, maybe? like that, unmei takes the seat in front of toji and smiles prettily ( the prettiest, least threatening she can ).

                    ❝ never said megumi is a boy, ❞ the sorceress giggles softly, cheeks flushed with the faintest shade of pink. ❝ now that we know i found the right person, are you looking for a job, perhaps? ❞

                    no girl her age should be in a place like this, not as well dressed, not looking like she could be snapped in half without any effort by any guy in the bar. somehow, though, her eyes glimmer as she looks at her boyfriend's father & she seems to be genuinely excited to meet him... even if megumi himself would be against the idea ( if he knew, obviously ).

[darkmasterofdragons]

Inverted ballpoint pen drawing!! The first picture is what I drew and the second picture is the inverted final piece

[jasric]

Another one… just endless inspiration It’s so heartbreaking

[mukagenborn-archive]

@inverteds TEXTED: ( hc + ) first kill and its emotional aftermath? ∞ - Still accepting!

無下限__ His very birth strengthened the volatility of curses formed, so he was likely fending them off pretty young, especially if he didn't see anything wrong with cultivating Megumi's techniques when he was like seven. You can see curses? You can also be killed by them, so it just made sense. But we're probably talking about people, here. And there were plenty gunning for the kid's head, so it's real likely he had to get incredibly ok with potentially ending human life pretty young. It would have been easy, too easy, even the basic output of aoi could tear someone apart, which would have been horrifying. Not because he felt bad about taking out trash who would murder a child for money and the chance to be freely fucking psychotic, but because people were so fragile. Even other Sorcerers. Being able to take out anyone who he didn't like, but not wanting to be told what that meant, fueled a lot of his young life, nurturing a sense of isolation and otherness that was only really tested by certain people, and certain kids.

[gravesung]

[ RUB ] for the sender to tease the receiver through their trousers / etc.

( yakuza au, persnaps... you'd let a complete nobody touch you like that? and he owes you money? 😶 )

smutty action prompts | ACCEPTING.

❝ OH? LOOK AT YOU. HOW BOLD. ❞ BUT HE doesn't move to stop him. he doesn't grab fushiguro's wrist and pull him into combat, shed blood, body-to-body and blade-to-blade. this man who owes the geto clan millions of yen, who has singlehandedly ended the lives of so many enforcers that suguru has lost count. ( not that they mattered. he can always drum up more numbers, for the world has no shortage of desperate people with an eye for violence. )

instead, he lounges back and sucks in another drag from the cigarette perched between two long fingers. geto's clubs are full of rooms like this: dark, private, hazy with smoke and velvet. toji's heady scent slips into geto's tobacco and quince as his debtor leans close to palm him through the thick fabric of his trousers. a sound rumbles through his chest, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. either of them could make a move to kill the other at any moment. neither do. funny, after so many months of mutual brutality. ❝ fushiguro. ❞ the first word, his name, rolls from geto's throat as a purr. always the face of cool detachment. always, except the way his eyelids flutter at the grind of toji's palm is unmistakable. ❝ you certainly like to play with fire, don't you? ❞

[cursedfell]

happy birthday, blessing.

megumi  stands  frozen,  the  words  hanging  in  the  air  like  smoke  he  can’t  escape  from.  blessing.  it’s  his  name,  the  one  his  father  gave  him—a  name  he  never  asked  for.  never  wanted.  it’s  like  a  mark,  something  he  can’t  wash  off,  something  that  follows  him  like  a  shadow  he  can’t  outrun.  he  feels  something  twist  in  his  chest—an  ache,  a  flicker  of  warmth,  and  a  distant  yearning  that  he’s  never  let  himself  acknowledge.  blessing.  he  doesn’t  know  if  it’s  a  cruel  joke  or  a  genuine  sentiment.  the  truth  of  it  is  somewhere  in  between,  and  megumi  doesn’t  know  if  he’s  ready  to  face  it.

he  doesn’t  want  to  feel  it.  doesn't  want  to  feel  anything  in  response  to  toji.  after  all,  what’s  there  to  feel?  his  father  was  never  there,  never  stayed  long  enough  to  teach  him  what  it  meant  to  be  loved,  what  it  meant  to  be  his  son.  megumi  can  still  hear  the  silence  after  toji’s  footsteps,  still  remember  the  way  he  left,  disappearing  into  the  world  like  it  didn’t  matter  that  he’d  torn  a  hole  in  megumi’s  chest  when  he  did.  blessing...  it’s  a  cruel  thing,  isn’t  it?  to  say  something  that  sounds  like  it  should  mean  something  good,  something  whole,  but  really,  it’s  just  a  reminder  of  everything  megumi’s  father  didn’t  do,  everything  he  couldn’t  be.  it’s  a  hollow  thing  that  doesn’t  belong  to  him,  not  really.

but  there’s  something  else  too.  something  fragile,  buried  deep,  like  a  sliver  of  hope  trying  to  press  through  the  cracks.  megumi  hates  it.  hates  the  way  his  chest  aches  with  it.  a  part  of  him—just  a  small  part,  a  part  he  doesn’t  even  want  to  acknowledge—wants  to  be  seen  by  toji.  wants  to  be  loved,  wants  to  believe  that  maybe,  just  maybe,  there’s  something  there  beneath  all  the  years  of  abandonment  and  distance.  but  he  can’t  admit  it,  not  even  to  himself.  the  words  happy  birthday,  blessing  linger,  and  megumi  swallows  hard.  they  make  him  want  to  run,  to  bury  himself  in  the  silence  of  his  thoughts.  his  hands  are  shaking,  his  fists  clenched  so  tight  he  feels  his  nails  digging  into  his  palms.  the  feeling  swells  inside  him,  a  storm  of  confusion  and  bitterness  and  something  too  soft—something  too  painful  to  let  himself  feel.

toji  stands  before  him,  a  figure  from  his  past  who’s  never  quite  been  father,  never  quite  been  anything.  the  years  between  them  are  filled  with  ghosts—memories  too  painful  to  examine,  too  raw  to  touch.  megumi  has  spent  his  life  hiding  behind  walls,  behind  armor,  convinced  that  distance  was  the  answer.  but  now,  here,  in  the  quiet  weight  of  this  moment,  he  feels  exposed.  the  silence  stretches,  thick  and  suffocating.  megumi's  fingers  curl  into  his  palms,  and  he’s  suddenly  aware  of  the  beating  of  his  heart,  rapid  and  chaotic,  in  a  way  he’s  never  felt  before.  there’s  something  inside  him  that  screams  to  say  more,  to  demand  an  answer,  to  ask  why,  why  he’s  here  now,  offering  something  as  fragile  as  a  birthday  wish.

but  he  doesn’t  ask.  he  can’t.  his  words  are  stuck,  caught  in  his  throat,  tangled  in  the  mess  of  his  feelings.  he  wants  to  reach  for  something,  some  thread  of  connection,  but  it’s  too  elusive.  his  chest  feels  tight,  like  he  can’t  breathe  properly,  like  the  weight  of  his  father’s  presence  is  too  much  for  him  to  bear.

blessing.  he’s  never  been  able  to  decide  if  he  feels  cursed  by  his  father  or  if  it’s  something  he’s  always  secretly  craved—this  small,  fleeting  acknowledgment.

“thanks,”  when  he  speaks,  it's  soft  and  hollow,  barely  a  whisper  between  them.  it  feels  almost  like  a  lie,  like  a  thin  veneer  to  cover  the  trembling  of  his  heart.  his  voice  cracks  slightly,  and  he  hates  it.  hates  the  vulnerability  that  spills  out,  the  way  his  emotions  betray  him.  the  sting  of  it.  the  longing.  he  doesn’t  know  what  to  do  with  it.  doesn’t  know  what  to  do  with  blessing.  it’s  there,  hanging  between  them  like  a  thread,  fragile  and  delicate,  and  megumi  can’t  look  away.  his  body  betrays  him  before  his  mind  can  catch  up.  before  he  can  stop  it,  his  feet  move,  the  distance  between  him  and  toji  shrinking  in  a  way  that  feels  almost  impossible.  it’s  instinct,  a  brief,  rare  moment  of  allowing  himself  this.  this  thing  he’s  never  let  himself  want.

without  thinking,  he  leans  in—just  slightly,  his  forehead  pressing  gently  against  toji’s  chest.  it’s  not  a  hug.  it’s  not  anything  grand.  but  it’s  enough.  enough  to  feel  the  steady  rhythm  of  his  father’s  heartbeat,  enough  to  feel  the  warmth  of  him,  even  if  it  doesn’t  last  long.  the  sound  of  it,  the  solidness  of  his  presence,  fills  the  space  between  them.  he  allows  himself  this  one  thing,  this  moment.  it’s  a  quiet  surrender,  a  moment  of  tenderness  he’s  never  known  how  to  ask  for.  he  doesn’t  look  up,  doesn’t  meet  toji’s  gaze.  he  doesn’t  need  to.  he’s  not  asking  for  anything  more  than  this.  just  the  weight  of  his  father’s  chest,  the  small  brush  of  affection  that  he’s  never  been  able  to  give,  never  been  able  to  receive.

it’s  brief,  fleeting.  a  touch  that  feels  like  it  could  vanish  just  as  quickly  as  it  came.  but  for  the  first  time  in  a  long  time,  megumi  allows  himself  to  feel  it.  just  this  once.  then,  as  quickly  as  it  came,  he  pulls  away.  the  moment  breaks,  and  the  walls  go  back  up,  locking  away  everything  he  doesn’t  know  how  to  hold.  his  hand  brushes  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  he  steps  back,  swallowing  the  strange  lump  in  his  throat.

“gojo  is  going  to  be  bringing  cake  by.”  a  pause.  “…you're  welcome  to  have  some,  if  you  stay.”

[oc6lar]

❝ no wonder they don’t like you. ❞

zeros like him , come without warning . only his voice does alarm the strongest ─ and makes his chest throb . a scar that feels fresh , as if it's still bleeding , painted across his pale chest . flesh that nothing had harmed before but the inverted blades . he's seen toji around here a few times , a contract that had his name on it and despite gojo insisting they shouldn't let the bastard out of the cage even for the smallest things . they let him out here and there whenever they need help with a curse or a sorcery problem ; flesh shield , flesh weapon , if you will . a weapon that can still run his mouth ─ satoru finally turns to him . his students left the sidewalk complaining about how the mission was a little too hard for their level , panda kept telling the others gojo sensei was trying to kill him or something , to which satoru found himself grinning at . it's night time , most restaurants are closed , one is still open and toji sits on a booth that's placed outside the place . stares back at satoru's blindfolded eyes . the younger lets a small smile play on his lips , a vein popping on his sharp jaw before lips part . ‘ don't they ? no wonder you're wider now you eat like a pig . ‘ an unnecessary comment , brushing aside the one about his students . how ironic it is that gojo satoru of all people should teach teenagers ── the strongest sorcerer , the worst teacher . the scar on his chest throbs again , he walks to the table too eats on and sits across from him . the fabric of his blindfolds get quite harsh after washing them , it itches , bony fingers scratch under his eye . ‘ did they take you out on a walk ? where's your leash ? ‘

[michelangelowept]

@inverteds *

PFF. AS IF.

“like i need it.” should he be gutted to realize his pay is probably substantially disparate from his by-the-books peers? he's never been bothered to look. “nah, you took out a much heftier sum a while ago.”

yet satoru gojo looks cool as cool is. posture at half-rest, like a magazine cover too aloof to beg you to pay for it. like he's the one who'll be collecting bag all the same. last time they faced off, his eyes were out and holy. now they're trimming fushiguro down at closer angles, at stranger odds. he's got an irritating feel that he's suddenly the mother in a child support battle, and he's going to end up on one of those dumb judge-whatever shows.

“i oughta thank you. dying was ... ” ecstasy. heaven. blinding. binding. his lips quirk. he reels back in a stretched leg from where he's reclined on the bench. “well, you know. and it looks like someone already thanked you for me.”

whoever the hell decided other people get to moonwalk back from death?

[b0kksu-gone]

       CHEAP BEER && CIGARETTE SMOKE, the scent sticks to his skin as the cool night air gains him a sense of normality. A singular brow that raises, “Really, you’re horrible at seducing guys” he couldn’t speak, a basket case of emotions, tightly bound && willing to set off like a hurricane. A frown that turns into a childish pout, kitsune udon, thick && chewy enough to sink his teeth into. There must be an irony or a morbid joke to eat with the same soul that once nearly extinguished the light within the fabled legend, a modern day deity that bared his fangs && claimed what was his inheritance. Violence in the midst of enlightenment, he shouldn’t think of this right now, not when the sugary sweetness of ramune coats his tongue.

        “This is lowkey, even for you” thinly veiled insults, quick jabs, in the end he was still a pedigree brat trying to understand the peculiarity of a world that did not see him as one or even on a tier of their existence. Each quip becomes subdued there was no pointless in relentlessly bickering, even if it brought him a sense of joy, to flirt with a flame that could engulf him, it was an adrenaline high none could contend with only to fall short of disappointing. “I still don’t understand you, the amount on my head could set you for life, in truth, you’re not the only person who tried to kill me @inverteds” yet, there was a difference, Toji almost succeeded - almost being pivotal.

                                        “Why call the hit off? God Slayer has a nice ring to it”