Oh Btw I Also Write Geto In Case You're Interested Writing Something There Too -> @vzmky

🐝  *  ―  𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛  we'll just have to make do.  ❜ ❛  come on, it'll be fun.  ❜ ❛  wait, where are we going?  ❜ ❛  you can't be here. go now!  ❜ ❛  it's just a dream, a stupid dream.  ❜ ❛  don't be afraid. i'm a friend.  ❜ ❛  i can't stand up. what should i do?  ❜ ❛  now listen, i'l tell you what to do. if you stay here, they'll find you. i'll distract them while you get away.  ❜ ❛  you have no choice if you want to survive here ... and save your parents, too.  ❜ ❛  why do i need a weakling like you?  ❜ ❛  trembling, aren't you? still, i'm impressed you made it this far.  ❜ ❛  what a pain. you're gonna pay for this.  ❜ ❛  keep your wits about you. if you need anything, ask me.  ❜ ❛  hey, are you okay? don't fall apart on me.  ❜ ❛  listen to me. i'll promise i'll save you.  ❜ ❛  what did you expect after all that rain?  ❜ ❛  i'm gonna get there someday. i'll get out of here for sure.  ❜ ❛  i was just coming to wake you up, look!  ❜ ❛  what should i do? he'll die!  ❜ ❛  what's so funny? wipe off that smile.  ❜ ❛  don't do anything stupid until i get down there.  ❜ ❛  you see, someone i really care about is badly hurt. i've got to go right now.  ❜ ❛  this is our little secret. if you tell anyone ... i'll do the same to you.  ❜ ❛  what are you going to do? he needs help.  ❜ ❛  becoming a sorcerer's apprentice is dangerous business.  ❜ ❛  well, getting there is one thing. getting back's the problem.  ❜ ❛  [name], i promise i'll be back. please don't die.  ❜ ❛  don't you understand? it's love.  ❜ ❛  what took you so long? this is a total disaster!  ❜ ❛  what do you want? you can tell me.  ❜ ❛  what, you're still alive?  ❜ ❛  you still don't see it? she's played a trick on you.  ❜ ❛  since when do you talk that way?  ❜ ❛  you held this, and nothing happened to you?  ❜ ❛  i'd like to help you, but there's nothing i can do. it's one of our rules here.  ❜ ❛  but can't you even give me a hint?  ❜ ❛  everything that happens stays inside you ... even if you can't remember it.  ❜ ❛  see? you have a talent for this.  ❜ ❛  [name], i no longer blame you for what you did. but be sure to protect this girl.  ❜ ❛  will we meet again somewhere?  ❜

thinking about how kogami must've felt alone all this time, like time would pass and he'd never be truly seen, all that comes with it, and he'd probably resigned to make do with the world he had at hand but the catalyst to his switch into discovering aspects of himself that hed never thought existed was no other than makishima and even after he's long dead, kogami still invokes his ghost because that's the only person who's ever truly understood him, and by killing him kogami sentenced himself to that cycle of isolation

satoru could decide to ignore the sarcasm in her voice, but something about ending the exchange that way felt more pleasing — to his ego anyways.

‘ these don’t come for free, you know? ’ to emphasize his words, a finger flies up to his forehead, tapping the surface twice.

what curse had befallen them, satoru wasn’t sure of. but it’s unequivocal that something in the air shifted since that time, when twos changed into ones and the empty space by his side bared its fangs right at him like a cheshire smile. the memory of it haunted him, the lashing out, the refusal to admit that there was nothing he could’ve done to prevent it, that even if she’d spoken the words before everything came crumbling down his hands alone wouldn’t be enough to sustain the damage: suguru’s back, swallowed by the crowd, lost among the dark shapes and beyond where satoru could reach.

since that time…

and maybe before that, too, because he’s never known how to handle her. 

he could hear the engines working inside the vending machine. through the blindfold, there’s hardly anything that he can see but he imagines what it’d be like: fluorescent lights snaking around their shapes, eyes that gaze straight at him as they’d always done, unafraid, unyielding. that is strength, too. his thumb presses lightly at the rim of his soda can, traces along the rim,  ‘ sorry, sorry. i didn’t mean anything bad by it. just a thought. we haven’t always met eye to eye — no pun intended, so it’s hard to tell what’s exactly going through that mind of yours.’

he follows up with a lighter tone, hoping to divert the attention from the pulsing tension building up his spine since the question left his mouth. ‘ don’t think too hard about it, unmei-chan, ’ a smile, wide and amused. returning the favor is polite, even more so when he was so kindly addressed by her.

@einshi's   gojo   satoru   &   the   fate   /   prompted

❝ are you afraid of me? or of yourself? ❞

                    𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳,   𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳,   𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.   and   this   is   exactrly   why   it's   all   so   scary   —   or   rather,   should   be,   if   something   wasn't   wrong   with   and   within   her   —   the   lack   of   response   for   things   considered   fear   inducing,   whether   unnerving   by   nature   or   happening   at   random.   startled?   of   course   unmei   will   be   if   something   jumps   in   front   of   her   face,   but   that's   the   best   there   is   and   ever   will   be,   or   so   she   thinks.

                    should   she   share   that   with   satoru,   though?   besides,   how   can   she   be   scared   of   anything,   ever,   with   the   strongest   sorcerer   as   her   ally?   if   their   allyship   ever   comes   to   an   end,   too,   she's   oh   so   safe   —   geto   on   the   loose,   his   activity   well   -   known   within   religious   communities,   untouched   by   gojo's   hand.

                    ❝   you   speak   as   if   i   already   am   afraid   of   something   ;   as   if   there   were   only   two   choices,   too,   ❞   the   younger   muses,   tilting   her   head,   more   than   likely   reading   between   the   lines.   no   sarcastic   remarks   follow,   &   she   scoots   closer,   teetering   on   the   edge   of   infinity.

                    ❝   something   on   your   mind,   satoru   -   senpai?   ❞

                    the   honorific   is   spoken   so   innocently,   hopefully   feeding   the   other's   ego   enough   to   hear   the   reason   behind   his   inquiry.

thinking about this scene again with nanami getting on his knee to talk to nobara and nitta

it may be obvious by now but ulquiorra has never experienced any sort of attraction nor does he have an interest in others, he always runs cold and indifferent, his apathy to the world a tell-tale sign of what he represents which is death by emptiness. so anyway, though he's incapable of loving or wanting anything the way humans understand it, he does feel hunger, is prideful, the greed he feels is that resembling of beasts though he acts like he's separate from such primal instincts but at the end of the day he is a hollow through and through.

@cursedfell

What? Want me to thank you?

ゴールデンカムイ 北海道刺青囚人争奪編 GOLDEN KAMUY 2: The Hunt Of Prisoners In Hokkaido

🫂 i slide u teacher suguru for ur student suguru. 😔😔

there’s been stranger leaps in time and reality while fighting curses. yes, they are vicious, crueler than the harsh reality of knowing that no matter how many he swallows, there’s no end to them. still - the sound of his own voice, coming from somewhere different than his own throat and seeing himself reflected in eyes that were his own but, at the same same, belong to someone else is an unholy union of familiar and strange.

suguru’s mouth runs dry, and when his mouth opens to speak, he’s immediately silenced by the sensation of long limbs and a solid frame cradling him in the narrowed space of a… hug. hands come to a halt, unable to invoke a spirit or ghost. the smell - everything about the man screamed this is me, he is i, and i am what he was and despite it all, suguru leans into the touch, whether by instinct or need.

he doesn’t realize when his hands begin to tremble until the man reassures him that it’s alright, that there’s no reason to be afraid.

fear? that might be it.

suguru is no stranger to the sickening feeling, its taste as he downs it through his throat. smallpox, imaginary scares, local deities; suguru has spend many a night tormented by the musty stench of their power, the memories that belonged to many and none to him. but there’s something about the hollowness that comes with the embrace, like a nightmare that’s suffusing with the first rays of sunlight as morning comes. there’s a wrongness in there, so profound and it seems to reject the man’s presence, so it slithers away through the space between his fingers until it’s all gone at last.

‘ …am i wrong to guess i messed up - or will, at some point? ’ he makes a light-hearted joke. ‘ that won’t happen. or it shouldn’t, as long as you tell me exactly who you are and what made you come here. ’

@trelonkan

@lustraveil cont. // kogami shinya

mourning over casualties that have not come breeds bad habits. 

the thing is a vice: a man’s mind wanders, wonders; it’s precisely men like gino who are susceptible to the mercies of a general force that is brutal and unkind. some called it regret. kogami associated it more with the gut feeling of impending confrontation, the thrill of a foxhunt. maybe he’s not wrong, maybe he’s doing all of this for himself, but it’s not a lie that every time he rolls that name on his tongue, sasayama’s face comes to view. the taste is dark and sour, like vinegar and unlike the pale hues that mirror the devil’s own appearance. makishima. makishima. makishima shogo.

kogami feels his own hand tighten around the handrail, eyes coming shut on their own accord as if to keep him isolated in the eternity of these impulses, itching to take control. but not here.

a sharp tug at his thoughts and he’s back in the moment, cold breeze signaling the end of autumnal skies, reminding him where he stood, where he is at present. reality shatters whatever spell he was under, and, vaguely dizzy, kogami rips his gaze away from the darkness. another drag from his cigarette, smoke filling his throat, his lungs, any part of him with the capacity to harbor it and toss it back into the night like a ghostly whisper. he desperately wished he was better at hiding his true thoughts - make it less evident to the prying eyes of the people he knew and knew him in return. it was a weakness. his greatest.

‘ you’re not entirely wrong. i might be doing this for myself. some nights i lay awake, thinking about what the last thing sasayama saw could be. was it the knife used to rip at his flesh? or was it the chemicals used to preserve all his components like the poor attempt of a puppeteer? no matter what, the images come one after another like an old movie. i can see it and i can hear it. it’s not something pleasant by any means. it’s not something any human being ought to live with. ’ 

what could he possibly say to excuse himself after this? 

that he arrived late, back then, because that is how fate had it prepared for them? 

that he took that turn on the street because a larger force willed it? 

it’s not so poignant a narrative, this is merely the byproduct of someone else’s cruelty, the loss of morality when morality is defined by a bunch of binary numbers and rainbow scales. and in a world such as that, where punishment befalls those who are left to the whims of a machine, he ought to learn to produce his own knives. perhaps the city of the future will fall back on reservists, the dregs of society who daydreamed of living by the blade, by their raw desires, a world where they can see the whites of their enemies eyes before they bury the sharp edge on their throats should they wish to. a second lie, then, it would be to say that he didn’t hope for a violent end like this. 

perhaps apologies would come later. perhaps he wouldn’t need them.

the fragility of impermanence. there’s barely anything left of his old life that he could call his, excluding gino and the rest. he’s sinking in quicksand, knows that better than anyone else. he releases the cigarette from the entanglement of his fingers, crushes it under the sole of his soe. he should walk away now — not from here, the physical, but from the path to execution that he’s been making for himself, instead of clinging to the shallow strands of hope that makishima might be closer to his grip than he’s ever been before, that he could’ve reached this point before had he done anything differently.

resentment isn’t something that he can easily escape. he could run all he wanted, but sasayama’s presence would always be there, haunting and everlasting, boring into the back of his skull in silent judgement.

he turns around, elbows on the rail, head tossed back to once again drink in the fresh air, ‘ i’ve spent one too many nights agonizing over what to do and this is the conclusion i’ve reached. you want me to promise you something but i can’t give it. i’m sorry, gino. ’

hey so if you see a guy with a red mullet + braid, sunglasses, long black coat, a foreign accent, has a perpetual 🤪 on his face —- he’s trying to get at the crazy cult man ur in love with and should die

what do you mean another guy is talking to suguru? what does he look like? HEY stop running!!

@hourdive