Where your favorite blogs come alive
C - Blog Posts
❛ you’ve broken me. all i can think about is you. ❜ (sugimoto at ogata)
a piece of you for every piece of me.
pain is what he feels first. like the first intake of breath at birth. second comes remembrance, the recollection of moments fluttering in repetition: the arrow, razor-sharp cuts on his face, the vacancy, sugimoto’s voice calling his name and grounding him to reality, to life. ogata’s chests heaves in a desperate attempt at regaining full consciousness and control of his body, limbs gone weak with misuse and the feverish haze blurring every corner keeps him nauseous enough to remain pressed to the makeshift bed.
his throat goes dry, voice rasp and low like sandpaper. “enough.” is all ogata manages to say.
there’s something… something odd in the words that made ogata’s hair stand on end. he’d felt this general unease before: bile accumulating in his mouth, the chill of a ghost in-passing, crawling through their feet.
they’d faced the ruthless winter in Hokkaido, storms that devoured everything that crossed their path. rampaging wolves, ravenous, a wounded beast with a mouth covered in fangs. sugimoto isn’t so different from it. he’d sunk his teeth deep into flesh, rip apart anything that made him hungry enough, and in that manner, ogata could find a strange affinity for whatever this static was, between them. but anything beyond that mirroring ambition — for the gold, or the appetite for destruction —, turned every passing second into a reminder that he should’ve killed him, that he should’ve made sure that sugimoto wouldn’t come back and root himself in the back of his mind.
the warmth of sugimoto’s body half-pressed against him floods him with unnerving, pristine clarity: their proximity, the way silence seems so loud and piercing when all he can hear is the pounding in his head, sweat gone cold.
he can smell sugimoto, the scent of blood and deer innards, the scent of a monster, the same as he is.
not this, what he’s pretending to be, what he’s pretending they can be as though the mere hint of normalcy can strip away every sin that keeps him awake and haunted.
the asymmetry of sugimoto’s scar comes into clear view, air gone thick and heavy; ogata’s hand moves by reflex, wrenching sugimoto’s jaw away from his face, gaining him the opposite effect: sugimoto is wide awake, eyes flashing gold in the dark, arm pinning down ogata with as much ceremony as taking down cattle.
ogata laughs, mirthless, head thrown back and eye rolling back to his skull, delirium and exhaustion ebbing at the dregs of his consciousness.
“i said enough. i don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but creeping up on people in their sleep is foul play even for someone like you.”
words drag on sluggishly between rasps and morphine, what’s left of it in his system, weak. it’s not as threatened as it is pitiful, the mournful cry of a wounded animal. ogata attempts to focus his attention back on sugimoto’s scars, his amber eyes, the crease of his eyebrows drawn up in confusion. this is what he prefers, this is what he knows best. anger is easy, predictable. “we’re not in the trenches, i’m sure you can ask someone a little more lively to take care of your needs for you. unless this is the kind of thing you’re into.”
@lustraveil
*
day bled into night, unusually warmer than the previous days, making it easier to smell the humidity off the soil and grass within the first minutes of darkness. it’s the perfect combination to make insects of all kind drop their guard, like now.
suguru stands below the lamplights, only a step away from the vending machines and his face is lit with the artificial lights but he doesn’t mind the reflection. his attention is focused on his palm, which lays open in the air as he watches a big, brown moth land on its surface. a piece of its wing is missing - bitten off, more like. the little thing struggles to even reach a vertical line with them, before they collapse back at its sides.
this place is full of broken things, he thinks.
sorcerers were a rare breed and so much rarer it was to make them submit to the rules and formalities of jujutsu society as it was. yaga’d been vocal about it, just the right amount to keep them aware, but leaving out any personal bias that could put him in a bad position with the higher ranks. they pulled boys and girls from across the country, the dregs of sorcery, until they filled up the classrooms with the bare minimum attendance. he figured they brought Haibara from the countryside, judging his accent. Nanami? he supposed a witch or two could be traced back in the family tree. if the letter came now, he doubted it would convince him the same way it did back then.
bitterness coats his tongue in a dull flavor. his fingers curl instinctively and the moth is crushed beneath. it’s late when he notices, the creature resembling pieces of torn paper, no hint of its previous nature. suguru clicks his tongue and wipes the remains lazily against his pants.
he hears more than he notices footsteps coming from behind. he’s pulled from his position before he can do anything about it, ‘ satoru? ’
stale air is replaced by a familiar scent, the solidness of a body pressed against his back and satoru’s arms are fast to wound around his waist. needy? probably, but he doesn’t mind. his gestures have the petulance of a kid whose favorite toy has been returned to him, though he knows satoru’s attachment has more depth to it than ownership. suguru’s head tilts only slightly, until he can make out the messy hair haloed by the moonlight.
‘ did yaga send you to find me? or are you that enthusiastic for conversation? both seem likely. ’ he lets out
❝ yeah, yeah ⸻ they called me in for this. ❞
leone's arms uncross, expression disgruntled. he hates doing jobs for the school, but money is money, as long as they're not expecting him to beat up a damned grade 1 or worse on his own. but, that's what contracts are for ⸻ covering his pathetic ass so that this grown adult can be chaperoned while he does his job.
sorcerers are usually capable of conducting their own investigations, but there's no denying that when leone's cursed technique is useful, it's useful.
still, he's decidedly glad to be such a pain in the ass to the school in turn. he's known @vzmky since his unemployed days of sitting on stoops and drinking himself into a spiraling stupor, and as much as he's actually come to like his company, a special grade companion means a ridiculous job.
❝ you still carry that lighter around ? pass it here, will ya ? apparently, i'm gonna need it. ❞
💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋 from gojo for geto
the gentleness is only temporary.
lips that slowly caress his cheek, the ghost of fingers trailing down the length of his sleeves, a touch so experimental and comically innocent he just has to laugh. then, as if on cue with the humor, satoru dives in deeper, goes hungrily about it. greediness turned force: suguru walks back twice, back hitting the wall and he allows satoru the brief sense of victory before he rolls them back to their initial position.
‘ behave. ’ his voice is soft, chilling, a knife cutting through the silence of the night. he looks satoru up and down, taking in the sight as it is offered to him - lips coated in spit, flushed skin, expectant eyes and arrogant smile, confident that suguru knew what to do.
and he did.
suguru guides him close, guides him in.
their bodies are pressed flush in a second, fitting like they were meant to be and that’s how it’s been for a decade now. he splits satoru’s mouth open, thumbing at the edge of sharp teeth, forcing his tongue in. vaguely sweet, warm and wet, and it only got wetter and warmer the further he teased. there’s some biting, too, because he’s not used to anything that doesn’t hurt a little, a reminder that none of this is an illusion, that they’ll always return to this, to what they know best.
he shakes the thought, focusin on the sensations, feeding him, stuffing his mouth until he can’t go without air any longer and break apart. ‘ haa… needy, aren’t we? ’
‘ do something about that mask of yours. unless you want to keep it on, i won’t stop you. however… ’ suguru hooks a finger in, uncommitted, but teasing all the same, ‘ you’d do better getting on your knees. fits the looks, don’t you agree? ’
@chipen
❛ You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see. ❜ pspsp from gojo
@chipen // BOOK STARTERS VOL.56 CIRCE MADELINE MILLER
his eyes travel across the mountains on the other side of the glass, the wagons rattling with their metallic sound as the city retreats and disappears in the corner. rarely does satoru follow, busy as he is on solo missions, so between the growing mountain of curses disposed by his hand and perfection of his reverse cursed technique, there’s hardly any chance for their paths to cross for longer than a brief glance or a good morning, have you eaten? wave.
satoru’s voice lures him in and out of his thoughts.
frightened. i don’t think i’ve ever seen you truly scared. he doesn’t say.
‘ hah, isn’t that funny to hear. you’re a half-god yourself. ’ prodding at his ego is easier, so he goes for that, masking the tiredness weighing down his shoulders with a low chuckle, voice gone soft, ‘ …going in headfirst does little to keep pain at bay, that much is obvious. you don’t seem all that affected by it - the pain. might be part of being made of halfsies. ’
suguru finds the irony amusing, a sort of innocent arrogance that never fails to paint a smile on his face as he listens to satoru ramble on. this time, though, it leaves a bitter aftertaste. it’s partly distance — the division that separates a god from human, strength from anything broken —, the other bigger part is despondence and it’s getting harder to hide it behind the illusion of a fox-like smile. some days, his muscles don’t follow, frozen into an expression that he can hardly call indifference because the embers of something akin to anger linger.
this time it spills, briefly, not enough to stain the room but just enough to rekindle the conversation, words rasp like sandpaper, ‘ what does it take to make you into a God, then? the fear, having something that scares you to death, or wanting it more than anything else? you don’t have to answer, i’m just wondering. ’
❛ wall. to pin my muse against a wall ( yuki and suguru, perhaps ? )
@gokunoban // 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑴𝒀 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑹𝑬 .
his limbs flinch and his breath is caught in the narrow space between their mouths, like a spell or a curse he swallowed halfway through a dry throat. desperate, frantically looking for the exit - these weren’t the kisses of two lovers but two drowning bodies.
the smell of antiseptic fills his nostrils, giving him a sense of deja vu: half-eaten corpses, tears that have long since dried, blinking lights on the ceiling. time and chance has brought them to this place, though his mind stayed behind and that’s probably why her smell and the shape of her hips against his body feel all too familiar. sorrow is for the mourners. all those who become hollow can only pick stones and throw them into a well, waiting patiently for the bottomless darkness to greet them back. foreheads pressing, she’s the first to pull away.
suguru remembered, then, how much he likes her eyes.
brown, shaped like a pair of almonds ready to take a bite of. being looked at that way - like a case study and a pet - should anger him, make his stomach twist. hazed by the narcotics and swept by a current, logic forsakes him. the very core of his being is replaced by something else entirely and it’s warmer, sharper, heavier in his stomach. it’s mostly impulse what makes him search for a place around her waist, bring her closer to him.
‘ came for a visit? or has my execution date moved closer? i wouldn’t mind being killed by you. ’ fingers tangle themselves between long strands of blonde hair, follow its course, a curtain that is lifted for the spectators, ‘ red becomes you. ’
🫂 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
Jujutsu Kaisen 2nd Season - 15
headcanon about geto's sexuality:
Geto will love anything that loves him. he's a deep well where anyone can throw rocks but will never hear them hit the water. it doesn't stop them from making a wish tho and he's welcoming of that, doesn't deny them. I wouldn't exactly call him bi because although he does reciprocate advances and his body has the biologic reactions any man would to stimulus, I don't see him actually genuinely feeling attracted to women, he just happens to sleep with some of them because they love him. he's only ever been attracted to one person in his youth and that is Gojo, because he is Gojo, not precisely because he was a guy, so he isn't really gay either. i'd say he's somewhere on the ace spectrum, unlabeled. there has to be a deep connection for him to begin to feel the embers of a feeling and isn't it funny that the only person who he's ever been truly open with is Gojo? sad to think, and also cruel on his part in a way, but that's how his heart and mind function .
@vzmky
' you're not an exorcist, '
nor akuma, nor any other monster she was aware of. bloodied candles float in the air, their victims scattered across the ground in an almost unrecognizable mess. they accused her of being some kind of cursed spirit, whatever that was.
being called names hurts my feelings
they were weak, not even lasting a few minutes against her. they were no exorcist, otherwise they may have tried begging once they learned who she was. this other one however had the unmistakable stench of blood, and their smile was all but merry.
' you positively reek of death. were they friends of yours? they weren't much fun. will you be more fun than they were? '
' well they're not with anyone anymore. '
a giggle before she fully turns to the other, eyeing him up and down, fingers locked behind her back as she steps closer in an almost childlike way. not a hint of fear or even weariness as he stand before her. it was clear who she killed mattered so little to him; perhaps he was even thankful.
' you're right, how rude of me. but to be fair they called me a mean name. '
and i needed an excuse to have some fun i just wish they lived a little longer
she giggles again and spins, the cloth of her dress almost suspiciously clean as she stands upon bloodied concrete. though she was curious as to what exactly they meant by calling her a cursed spirit, it ultimately meant nothing to her. her attention has already switched to the one before her, and she was already far more curious about him.
' it doesn't take a lot to notice when someone is more than what meets the eye. i've got a knack for reading people. '
their dreams. ambitions. fears. none is safe from my eyes
' i've been called plenty of things before. a heartless monster, wicked witch, the devil incarnate, and every other hurtful name you could think of. '
a pause as she smiles, her childish nature showing itself.
' but you can call me road kamelot. and who i am? who else but one of gods chosen disciples. who are you mister? '
❛ the only path that’s left for me is forward. ❜ ( kenjaku & teacher!geto? )
shared brain-bits let him know where @hharau’s proclivities lay. it explains the taut line of his shoulders, eyes turned dark, unbridled with fury - he wonders if geto knows, not the extent of everything but instinctively understands that what ties them together isn’t mere cursed energy but the flow of something more sinister, vicious.
by way of introduction, kenjaku had traced a single line across surgical wounds, calling for geto’s attention, smiling through bared teeth, and said: ‘ does it bother you? or why are you looking at me as though you’d seen a ghost? ’
it gained him little, all things considered, but he did always enjoy a gamble, much more so when the rewards came in floods: a glare, violent jabs and despair; anger he knows how to work with, easy to map out. he remembers farmers, their housewives, kids and their friends, all of them fell into patterns, led by their hearts and not reason and things became simpler, weaknesses poorly disguised. humanity doesn’t change: then and now, it’s all relatively the same, and suguru geto he’s come to understand more than anyone alive - the ones who mattered anyways.
it takes a moment for kenjaku to part his lips, smile fading into a displeased frown. what is that supposed to mean?
‘ ah, i see. that is exactly like you. ’ words echo, he feels something perilously close to affection, like watching a house plant grow, or a pet; it brings him closer to inspection, the way that, although their faces are copies of each other, the skin lacks blisters from rot that’s carelessly swiped away, or the pallid undertone of a body that has once been lifeless and brought back to roam about the earth. it puts a new smile on his face, lighter, but ever-present.
‘ you must pardon me but i haven’t the faintest idea what that entails. or rather, it doesn’t matter. mutations between dimensions are rare, but not impossible. the path forward you’re talking about exists solely for you, though i doubt it leads anywhere beneficial for someone who’s technically a storage of cursed energy. don’t get me wrong, it’s an excellent ability, otherwise i would not be here. ’ the gesture beckons geto to watch him, head to toe, expecting appraisal. he gets the opposite. kenjaku shrugs, tongue darts out briefly and playfully.
‘ its only drawback, i daresay, is the price that comes with it. there’s flashier deaths than self–immolation, in the literal sense or not. i suppose you’ve overcome it, for now. i’m not entirely convinced, though. ’
back to more serious things I think that aside from gathering curses during exorcism in his cult, geto also uses the properties he received from his sponsors as donations and turns them into shelters or any form of charity organization directed to nonsorcerer population because that way the negativity constantly circulating those places becomes curses or at the very least guide him to where the curses are gathered.
the use of a charity institution was a choice not from the kindness of his heart because he has no love for ordinary humans, it's a fiscal strategy so he can launder money for the expenses needed during his travels across the country in search of said curses for the upcoming parade.
❝ you feel misled; you were promised victory. ❞
song of achilles rp starters // @inverteds
extremities go limp, gravity's pull coming from all directions as his back flattens perfectly against the wet soil. mud clings to his hair - he figures it’ll be a hassle to wash it off the tips when he gets back, if he makes it back at all. the man’s heel buries deeper into his sternum, a heron’s hungry dive into the water, pressing the last mouthful of air out of him.
victory is one thing. success on the mission meant keeping riko alive, make her choices worth it and all that came afterwards. but this? this is worse than loss. if suguru didn’t know better, he might interpret it as the hunter’s reticent way of pointing out his failures, of calling him weak. the snide in his sharp eyes tells him a different story.
‘ promised is a strong word. it doesn’t matter at all to you, does it? save your pity for the ones who want it. ’ voice flat, careful. the perpetual calm is replaced by asinine courage: lying there, beneath his foot, nothing about his stance cautions for upcoming danger. it’s pitiful, the quivering in his throat treacherous as spring ice. his eyes narrow, preparing for whatever that’ll become of him after this:
‘ you don’t need to worry about it. worry about that luck of yours running out before the pay out for this hit and kill does. ’
his expression becomes inscrutable, looking him dead in the eye, before everything turns dark.
there’s only black water beneath, a cold and grasping undertow.
and then, nothingness.
[ VISIT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house for a casual visit. oh no mr cult leader geto....gojo visiting
the dregs of cursed energy warn him first.
second comes the overwhelming intensity of his presence, like the roar of a waterfall that splits sky and earth in halves. satoru carries it like it’s his nature, like he was born and raised for exactly this. blessed, in a way. flawlessly human, greedy.
he feels the eyes on his back before satoru has fully stepped into the room, listless and uncaring for decorum. the tatami that should’ve given out under his weight and signaled of his approach remains static, free of contact and it’s obvious that satoru hasn’t deactivated limitless yet. suguru doesn’t turn around, hand idly bringing closer the flame to a candle, painting the room in an array of golden hues.
‘ i expect you to come by earlier. what’s the drawback? ’ he blows the match, smoke crawling up the air and diffusing close to the ceiling. he follows its trail for a millisecond, turning around to find satoru standing a couple strides away from him. suguru smiles at him, ‘ is someone following you? ’
he needn’t wait for a response, knowing any spy would’ve been taken care of before even approaching the boundaries of his temple. instead he covers the terrain, narrowing the space in-between, so close that he can sense the inviting warmth suspended in the atmosphere and something else, too, like sun-bathed skin, damp with sweat. his head tips slightly to the side, chin lifted up as he examines satoru’s face, in search of anything new. a few weeks worth of absence turns the mind into a swamp. it takes him only a moment to discern the signs of sleepless nights, albeit patched up with RCT. what does it say about him, that he can tell the lies apart from what is true, even after years of being on opposite sides?
he breathes an internal sigh of relief when satoru doesn’t mention it, pretends that he doesn’t notice the flash of concern in his frame though he waltzes smoothly through the surface, fingers tracing the hard lines of satoru’s jaw and collar-bone.
‘ you look tired. ’ is all he offers.
it’s all satoru needs to hear, he supposes. for old times sake.
for a long time, they haven’t needed the other. waking up to the waning wonder that this is how it’s going to be for the rest of their remaining years on earth. though selfishness calls them back, swimming straight towards the hook. satoru’s arms unlace the knot of his gojo-kesa, silk and string coming loose, undone. the hiss of fabric follows until it’s all pooled on the floor. suguru’s eyebrows rise in wonder. ‘ ah - desperate, aren’t we? you were being followed, after all. you could’ve telported. the fewer ways they have to trace your movements, the better. why show them? ’
suguru devours the distance, step by torturously slow step, lips parting to whisper next to satoru’s ear, ‘ are you the jealous type? ’
@cursedfell
would've really liked to learn what geto's parents were like. from what we know about the power distribution in sorcerers world, that a boy was born with cursed spirit manipulation catalogued as special grade, it means that either a powerful sorcerer or an aparition can be traced back in his bloodline but there's never any mention of it, unlike the rest of the cast who are either grouped in the kind that belong to a clan or the descendants of powerful entities, like yuta for example.
however in regards geto's bloodline or origins we have nothing, which only makes me assume that his existence is an anomaly the kind as gojo's birth, which is said to have destabilized the carefully mantained balance in the world. curiously, geto was born after gojo, can't be said to come from any special clan or family and yet his ability at one point was on par with gojo's own and their fates entwined in a manner that his very existence handicapped gojo's overwhelming power. fate works in funny ways so i think that in order to keep the balance in check again, life, the fods, fate, coincidence, whatever almighty power there might be, it created geto, the dark side of gojo's moon.
think of a young boy disconnected from the spiritual world as sorcerers know it, an ordinary human who upon gaining consciousness he realized that he's able to see what others can't and not only are his eyes unveiled to the creatures roaming in the shadows, he's also able to consume them, to dominate them, to make them hurt when he wants to wound others, what exactly does it take for him to realize it and when does he do it? Who was the first person that he hurt, what did the first ingestion taste like : vomit, garbage, a wet rag? we really know very little about geto and yet he's still a constant presence in the narrative, the ghost that's constantly at the corner of your eye or clinging to your back. thinking hard about this tbh
❝ when there is greed, there is hope. ❞ ( from manami <3 )
‘ men who live by the waterfall cease to hear it, ever heard of that phrase? ’ is what he offers, fingers idly skimming through the pages.
the monthly statements are a formality, mostly managed internally. numbers tell no lies — numbers are exact, constant, always true to what they represent, unlike the humans that arrange them in fine paper and leather folders. suguru gives a last glance at the paper and turns his attention back to her, ‘perhaps i’ve got playing the pious deity to these monkeys down to a fine art so well that i no longer hear them complaining about their diminishing shares. ’
the view outside is painted in dull oranges, perfectly content with being swallowed by the quick-spilling dark of the night. there’s always been a mean air about her, too. as if cut by the same razor, their sharp edges complemented each other in funny ways. the carpet snaps shut in his hand, back pressed lightly against the windowsill.
‘ well, diminishing is too generous. they weren’t getting any more than what they deserved as creatures at the bottom of the food chain. scavengers like them did always make for greedy little things, and this cult is run precisely because their ambitious bellies are filled with misguided faith. so on. ’
‘ it’s rare for you to point it out in that way, however. ’ suguru’s gaze is bold and unflinching, peering up from beneath the veil of dark bangs and shadowed by the setting sun. it’s in that moment that all truth is stripped bare, he thinks, because the otherworldliness of the room pushes him further into honest curiosity: ‘ am i thinking too much, manami? ’
@koseigu
[ INTIMIDATION ]: sender, in an effort to frighten the receiver by invading their personal space, sits in their lap to try and inspire discomfort or fear in them.
( 😶 )
strangely, all that suguru can think about is his teacher — yaga, sunglasses that are too thick for his features and oddly fitting, shoulders firm as his stance behind the desk, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. his voice was steady, too, when he’d explained the special grade tag in his credentials: they are sorcerers whose powers are equal to an army’s worth of men.
curses can be domesticated and trained for occupation, is what he meant. they can be trained to replace military weapons, make good use of their partial invisibility and viciousness like the unpredictability of nuclear waste. he remembers the grave look in yaga’s face, the hard set of his brows when the aged voices spoke behind thin paper-like curtains. though only their shadows were visible, suguru could feel the disdain in the way limbs shifted uncomfortably, as if wiping away the stench of cursed energy that came with him.
it made him feel powerful, an ego boost, of sorts.
he doesn’t feel it now.
satoru did always say that brutal force worked the same as cursed tools: power that can’t be controlled spills in all directions, but the strength that can be contained within a body can cut through any fabric of reality.
suguru steps back and that’s when he realizes his mistake: a foot behind means a switch in balance, his core is in a different place and toji makes use of this pause, diving in, wild as a boar. suguru is knocked backwards, feels knees around his torse and his head hits the ground with as much grace as a ragdoll. it takes him twice as many blinks to clear his vision, to find toji’s sharp teeth bared and hungry eyes glancing down at him.
provocation is the cheapest trick, yet it never fails to inject him with displeasure. amber-tinted eyes look back at the man above him, challenging, ‘ got you wanted? move. i don’t make it a hobby to have older men sit on top of me. ’
@inverteds
still in awe at the constant flow of posts using the same line of "sorcerers aren't heroes in the story" to somehow diminish geto's actions throughout the series which, albeit born from reaching a breaking point after exploitation and misuse of his ability as well as the circumstances in which both he and gojo were forced to grow up into fine killers, it remains true that he killed more than a hundred of people indiscriminately (how convenient it would be that he only chose those who were "culprit" of mimiko and nanako's lynching, right? because there was a reliable way for him to know it right? there wasn't. it was indiscriminate killing under the assumption that not a single soul was free of sin), the murder of his parents who, as implied, were non-sorcerers as well and in order to add value and weight to his point, he considered their status as family didn't exempt them from sharing the same sin as the people in the village: by being ordinary humans they are bearers of cursed energy and their negativity would invariably end up being consumed by him, or the curse would consume someone else, someone like haibara, who was weaker, could be anyone but a sorcerer like him. and the treatment of every other non-sorcerer that he´s come across in the series.
i've mentioned this before in a different blog but i bring it here too: there is no possible way in the main timeline where geto will choose anything else but his goal of total erradication of non-sorcerers, because as a person who needs a purpose, who needs something to live for, the dawning realization that he'd wiped out entire bloodlines in a single night, the emptiness gnawing at him from within, made him seek for something that would justify his actions and he latched onto the first thing that he knew: the only way to prevent curses from being born is either to erradicate cursed energy from humans or the humans themselves. he chose the latter, so it ended up becoming a fundamental part of his identity, giving it up means giving up on himself altogether, it means that leaving everything behind, leaving his one and only best friend behind, the school, his comrades, the killing of his own family, all of it held no meaning at all and he needs it, he needs it to mean something, needs his existence to not have been that of a machine grinding meat for the higher ups to feast upon, that maybe this way he can have the liberty of acting upon his own desires and not those of others who only benefitted from the sacrifice of others. he turned his fangs back at them, and they hated him for it, but he hated himself more because he knows no other way to defend himself from total failure and meaninglessness.
so basically, while he is a victim of a corrupt system, just because sorcerers are not exactly heroes or molded to be saviors, it doesn't mean absolution: at the end of the day, even those who were also victims of the same system did not arrive to the same conclusion. his actions are entirely his own, it's the path he chose. he doesn't wish to be forgiven, he doesn't think to force others to follow. does the snake ask for the mice's forgiveness? does it expect it? it does not, it is hungry, it doesn't know any other way to eat but this. and would you tell the mice, the snake is misunderstood, it is hungry. would it make sense to them? silly metaphor because animals hunt by instinct but truth remains relatively the same: he knows what he can do and what his strength amounts to, and he makes conscious use of it, unrelenting. you can't exactly categorize him as anything else but what he is: a curse. the worst curse user.
"hey, been meaning to ask — " well, not so much ask as accuse, but toji isn't one to show his hand immediately. he reaches a pinky into his ear and scratches at the canal, flicking dry wax off in a direction that is, most graciously, not his fellow instructor's . . . even though the thought does cross his mind. "you absorb my cursed spirit, @vzmky?"
although geto is popular with people due to his looks and performative charisma, he isn't the type to sleep around or to even invite others to have intimacy with him. though he knows when others want it - mostly nonsorcerers who join the cult, his distaste towards them is so great that he rarely uses the attraction for his benefit more than necessary. he only offers enough benevolence to be sought for, needed, wanted, gives them a taste of salvation through the exorcism and nothing else. and with sorcerers like him it's not much different because depending on their personal views about the power distribution, geto will decide whether they're allies, a threat, a bump on the road or the likes. mostly they are just a bump on the road he doesn't need to take care special care of save for the ones associated with the college and those he keeps at an arms length not out of fear or shame but because they used to be his friends and colleagues at one point and he'd rather not spill their blood, unless they make him.
point is, he's not one to seek sexual relationships and is more on the receiving end of flirtation, which depending on his mood and necessities he will turn down or pretend they weren't there. rarely does he indulge in it, his inner turmoil always comes at night and he spends more time reminding himself that this is what he wanted, that everything has meaning, so his sexual appetite is kinda washed out.
❛ fervent . to have sex with my muse after a fight . :^) stsg
@cursedfell
chained together in the throes of fate, willingly or not, this is where it always takes them. company is less burdensome when neither of them speak about it, about the decades long since faded in their own side of the puzzle. unfitting pieces worn at the edges, though he wonders sometimes if they were even meant to blend in to begin with?
suguru watches quietly as satoru’s breath halts, the intake that comes afterwards, like the first breath of a drowning man who’s reached the surface. desperate, kicking at the void below his feet. he likes that kind of desperation, reminds him that maybe he’s not entirely on his own, that he, too, wants this just as much as he does. suguru’s yukata falls with a hiss to the ground, knee pressed on the mattress’ edge and his weight guides satoru closer when it bends under his body. he crawls, hair cascading in black strokes. it should feel threatening, knowing what he can do, what stains his record and places him a galaxy away from satoru’s own heroic presence. satoru is a savior and suguru’s long since resigned to be the false prophet. his body aches where satoru’s been unkind: the blows, an elbow to the rib, a curse thrown back at him. it’s familiar, just like every one of their sparring is.
do they even need to pretend that they’ve been stalling the inevitable? satoru’s been tasked with his execution, and suguru… suguru knows what it takes to turn limitless off, to make his guard drop and every necessary word to pull him in to his arms. it would be so easy.
but it isn’t.
suguru swallows through a dry throat, tongue flitting out to lick at the falling blood from his nose as he brings himself closer to satoru. “are you happy with this? i lost, and this is what you ask for? how does it make you any different from a perverted old man.”
there’s no real malice in suguru’s words, though neither does he make it sweet for him. it’s a courtesy, really, that he’s speaking to him at all. or perhaps he likes this, belated punishment for having left everything behind and no look back or goodbyes. satoru’s grip comes faster than he can avoid it — no, it’d be a lie to say he didn’t see it coming, that his heart hadn’t raced with expectation. his head is shoved violently between satoru’s legs, face only a thin line of air away from his hardened cock.
suguru glares up, meeting satoru’s concealed blues and the irritating expression that’s saying well? what are you waiting for? wordlessly.
satoru knows… of course he does. keeping the black bandage above his face - as if he’s preventing suguru from enjoying himself a little too much, like the mere notion of eye contact would be intimate enough to transform this into anything different than what it is. suguru hisses through his teeth, before licking up a wet stripe across his length, moving north, until his lips and mouth wrap tightly around its girth. he’s mean enough to swallow him whole, making use of his lack of gag reflex to his advantage and enjoying the gasps and groans that satoru’s fighting fiercely against.
hands press around his head, sinking him deeper and his nose rubs against the trimmed hair of his underbelly. sweat runs down his spine, brows knitted together in concentration. he can’t perceive the world as satoru does, so he plays his cards right and uses the angle of his bobbing head to have a long, direct look at satoru’s face, contorted with pleasure, the fine features distorted into animalistic desire. suguru likes being the cause of it.
and he has two choices: either he allows satoru to ride out his pleasure in his mouth, or he can pull himself off his leaking cock, make him beg for it. satoru will snap for it but the reward is a risky prospect. suguru is in no mind to think any better outcome, so he opts for a third unlisted option: his mouth opens near the tip, hand working on milking every last bit of satoru’s cravings, eyes locked with his, through the bandages, and even deeper than that, where he knows there’s a connection, coiled deep into that pretty skull.
“come on, satoru. just come already.” he croons.
"odd? mm— stupid, yeah." disappointing news, of course, but toji can't say he's surprised, as much as he would've loved to hear about a youthful misstep in his own favor. he clicks his tongue against his teeth, aural shorthand for it can't be helped, then shrugs, mouth turning a smirk at its corners. "oh, i'm aware. that little fact is the only reason why you're still alive right now, remember?" a pause. toji's head tilts, his eyes maundering over the amused array of suguru's vulpine features, as though recalling something pleasant himself. "or maybe you don't. i gave you one hard kick in that pretty skull of yours."
❛ all you can say are pretty lies. ❜ hi :)
he could let it pass, leave him waiting. he could summon one of the most vicious curses and go. he knows what should be done. he could do all these things, too. he really should. and yet, as he stands on his feet, hands carefully arranged inside his sleeves, all that suguru can conjure is the signature smile of a deity that’s taken pity on his followers.
the impulse seems to abandon him. “that you consider them pretty at all is a personal gain, don’t you think? but isn’t it for the listener to decide? truths and lies are all subjective. if the intent to conceal information is conscious, that can be called a lie from the speaker. but what if the other person believes it?”
there’s no traffic, the road is empty. worn out with use, suguru assumes the busiest hours must be at dawn, or the early stages of the afternoon. the absence of sounds from passing cars makes it all the most eerie, misplaced within the space of time. his attention travels from the winding roads and towards the pitch-black tunnel unfolding and twisting beyond their sights just a few steps away from them. it feels like facing the gaping mouth of a snake. it looks like nobody ever comes here at night.
“you were right. there’s a presence right down the tunnel. i’m surprised that only three of your men have disappeared, the nature of this curse is ravening, but i guess it’s no strangeness that you haven’t reacted negatively to it. familiarity? maybe.” he throws a side glance at Vein, shrugging a shoulder. “i’ll take a look. stay there or come with, it’s up for you to decide.”
@burntpa1ace
“ never understood why you were such a book worm, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to put this one down. ” it’s a nasty habit of vein’s to touch everything in liu xiao’s dorm when he enters. he’s a collector of high class trinkets and designer goods. anyone with a keen eye would be attracted to all he’s got. this Shakespeare hardcover has his eye. “ you never told me why this one draws you in so much, guess one day I’ll know, ” crimson red eyes twinkle in humor. still so much he was learning about liu xiao. “ my heartbeat. you hear it, don’t you? what can you gather, from someone like me? ” to lx 😏
“did you know, there are people who can lower their heartbeats to the minimum?” he says thoughtfully.
which wouldn’t be that much of a problem, he thinks, if they weren’t weaponized for warfare or spies. when vein made his way to him, liu xiao remained seated on the couch, his eyes falling briefly on the black tea at the table. he feels more than he sees the approach, vein’s silhouette distorted by the rippling surface of dark-tinted liquid. he doesn’t need to look up to know he’s smiling, all sharp teeth and confidence. he liked that about vein.
“you are faring well, if that’s what you’d like to hear.” praises are earned, he supposes, and vein has done more than enough for liu xiao to allow him this much. “manipulating heartbeats is not impossible, it can be done with training, but asking for a reading when you are prepared for it makes for poor evidence of self-control.”
when he looks up, his eyebrows raise in an apologetic gesture, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose and the brief connection between gazes holds up for as long as his finger taps lightly on his crossed legs, echoing the rhythm as he hears it: steadfast, in the beginning, but it picks up around the moment where vein’s attention becomes captured, two predators measuring each other from the limits of their territories.
watching for a reaction, liu xiao smiles, “what your heart tells me right now is that you’re confident. you’re certain that i won’t notice you’ve been stalling. for what, that i cannot tell. you’ll have to do it yourself. what is that you want to say so badly that it’ll make you skim through shakespeare?”
@burntpa1ace