Thinking About This Scene Again With Nanami Getting On His Knee To Talk To Nobara And Nitta

thinking about how 80% of Gojo's character is intrinsically connected to Geto's, you can't separate one from the other without taking away something fundamental. Teacher Gojo exists because of Geto, his speech manner is as it is now because of Geto's reprimanding, his only weakness is Geto, all his nightmares always take him back to that place 10 years ago, he killed the higher ups with Geto in mind expecting to catch up to him. It's always Geto.

Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.

Nobara is lesbian (the crowd boos, tomatoes are thrown at me) "she's right." (a voice in the back says, I look up and there he is. Sukuna in the flesh) "she's lesbian and she was mean to me."

what is ONE THING you like about the way i play my character?

do you think his hat suits him?

thinking about how aizen makes it seem like a complex thing that he "looks down" on everyone but when you boil down everything that he's said and done all that he really means is that he's alone. his character shares this detail with gojo and makima, the feeling of isolation that comes with the crushing weight of power that goes beyond your peers' understanding, perfectly summarized by "the night beyond the tricornered window" quote:

"…for instance, the flower is beautiful. but if you don't know the words flower and beautiful, not only will you not be able to see beauty, you can't even see the flower."

it's nearly impossible for him to properly form a bond with someone who's not even able to see him, not past him, not his power, not his reiatsu. to him the soul society existed in a reality that restricted him, a system to which he was only tolerable so long as he submitted to its rules, but once he paced close to the boundaries he's handled as a threat.

i don't think there's really any "redeemable" part about him because redemption comes with change, change is not stagnant and although he is restrained his nature can't really be changed. it's like asking a snake to cut its fangs so it can live among mice. there's no real belonging in there.

it's only among those of close-range strength to his that he might come to feel like he's among equals, the illusion of companionship and isn't that ironic? that the zanpakuto, shaped from his soul and very core, is able to shift the reality as we know it with our senses?

anyway i just think that no matter what there'll always be a divide bewteen him and others not from conscious action but the natural rejection to that which doesn't care to understand you.

❛  why is it secret? what have we to hide?  ❜ / jazz hands, gin to aizen.

🐝  *  ―  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺. // @chipen

a smile, ‘ it’s unlike you to reflect on such thoughts. ’

then, a pause.

secret is too simple, too vague. hiding is rash, leaves out too many openings for the mind, and isn’t it such a dangerous weapon, a man’s assumptions? it captivates him more than it sets the alarms, so he makes a show of considering it, head tilted up and eyes scanning the wide expanse of the night sky. 

‘ nothing at all, gin. precaution would be more accurate. there’s a timing for everything — every step, however little, serves its purpose. picture it as a round of shogi: pieces ought not to be used for anything else but what the rules have them predestined to do. ’ that said, his right hand reaches for the piece on the board, holds it between two fingers and examines its edges, worn out and slightly yellowed with time, each turn to emphasize his words as he continues, his voice serene, ‘ …they are the pieces. as for us… ’

sousuke places the rook back on the board with a tud. his attention returns to gin, sitting on the opposite side of the table, haloed by the lamp light and its golden gleam. his fingers lingered there for a moment. how ironic, that he revels in all the pleasure that the inadvertent misery of his comrades offers, letting it seep down into his core.

‘ are the pieces aware that they are being moved around? they aren’t. we are the players, gin. it’s not a secret nor are we hiding. unawareness isn’t equal to deception. does that answer your question? ’

sorry I beat the shit out of you I have a really big crush on you and I got nervous

You’re lonely too. / from nanami to gojo!

deathless ♚ sentence meme // @heartsbind

is it self-projection or have the sleepless nights become obvious?

satoru would love to make the bet, but even if his peers believe so little of himself and his emotional intelligence, sense wills him to keep the idea to himself. nanami looks tired - worn out, more like. though the other man has lapsed into silence, satoru started to realize that perhaps what he searched for, when coming here and speaking the observation aloud to satoru instead of continuing the avoidant game, wasn’t exactly a particular response but the company.

 ‘ nice observation, nanamin. ’ something tells him that he should laugh it off, brush away the tension. he doesn’t. instead he rolls his weight on two heels, hands in pockets. past and present entwine: the corridors, their old seats, a vacant room, white tiles in the cold baths. he’d underestimated the weight of solitude, the sinking feeling in his stomach and that the bigger the absence, the higher the leap. the world moved forward, earth continued its cicle, but the two of them had left some part of themselves behind, never to be retrieved. lost forever.

he tries not to think about it.

he tries not to be swept by the current.

kill me if you want.

 ‘ well, i can’t speak for the both of us, but it’s hard to imagine a sorcerer that doesn’t feel one bit lonely. objectively speaking, we’re a minority amongst the population. ’ a small laugh follows. satoru shifted from his position, his head against the wall, contemplative.  ‘ i know a thing or two about the consequences of isolation, so make sure to chat with me, OK? ( peace sign ) we can exchange line stickers. ’

 ‘ no one should feel alone. ’

"You're losing my interest and that's very dangerous." Usami to Ogata

interest came in many forms.

for the privates of the 7th division, interest could only be defined by the free-fall act of rebellion coiling in the guts of their infantry, the belly of it all. a less prominent interest, but existing altogether within the rows and rows of hungry men looking for recognition was, undoubtedly, the merciful caress of their first lieutenant’s hand.

like a kid searching for their father’s approval, soldiers lined up for morning call expecting to hear or witness first lieutenant tsurumi’s fanfare, the speeches that could go on for hours on end, basking in the sound of his own voice. ogata could almost see it, had wanted it for a while before he’d found something else - amber eyes, the asymmetry of a war-scarred face - to keep his rapt attention and stomach well-fed.

usami doesn’t seem the type who’d rather look anywhere else. their gazes meet, locked in place by the silent feeling of recognition: he saw in usami’s expression a familiar sort of necessity, the kind he’d found himself stepping back into every time he brought a dead bird back home, in ibaraki. whether tsurumi glanced back and gave usami the attention he sought for, that’s entirely up for debate. he doubted it would be any more different than appraisal, the kind that officers perform routinely with every new stock of mosin-nagants.

it’s only then that be becomes aware of the thickening smell of antiseptic, gunpowder and death. an amused smirk tugs at his lips, voice falling a few octaves, words slurred by the remnants of anaesthesia lingering in his system. “dangerous, for who?”

“prey animals don’t turn their backs to their predators. it's in their best interest, don't you agree?”

@muddsludge