No One Is Allowed To Talk To Suguru If You've Seen Him Before No, You Haven't, Erase Him From Your Memories

GOJO SATORU

‘ no particular reason, just curiosity. ’

on the unlikely scenario that she might’ve been afraid of something, maybe the conversation could’ve led them elsewhere, a place emptied of walls and labyrinths. that was a possibility that the childish part of him wanted to test, a dive into uncharted territory, though the rewards were little in comparison to what had been stirred now, as her soul burned with curiosity and he wondered if it was born from the same star as his. two specks of the same stardust, finally facing each other in the expanse of nothingness.

satoru muses for a moment, voice rumbling in his throat as he leans back in thought. perhaps he ought to give an honest answer. a truth for a truth. ‘ never thought about it, actually. ever watched Shutter? pretty scary if you ask me. i couldn’t sleep that night. ’

not a lie.

nightmares carved out of memories, the unholy mixture of reality and the imaginary specters born from night’s belly, their unchanging shapes stalking about satoru’s dark room. the ache in the back of his eyelids remained until dawn, most nights. others, he simply let the mud engulf him, falling into quicksand, and it felt more comforting than to fight it, because its weight and density was familiar by now. seeing it reflected in a film caught him by surprise — though the graphics were nothing to write home about, the idea of death and regret and all the ugly things clawing their way into the very soul frightened him. more than strange panic, anger seeped through the cracks, the carefully maintained mask of imperturbable capacity.

that is how the head of a clan should be.

well, if suguru ever came back to haunt him, wouldn’t that be petty? it’s a hard scenario to conjure, but the idea amuses him briefly. satoru sips idly at his drink, suddenly too aware of his own surroundings. propping his head up on a fist, elbow atop his knee, he takes notice of her change in positions, now closer, side by side. 

‘ hm. you’ve never been curious about me, though. what made you change your mind? want to be besties? i’m sure that would give the old farts real fright. no need to ask them. ’

@einshi's   gojo   satoru   &   the   fate

                    𝘯𝘰𝘵   𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥   𝘰𝘧   𝘵𝘩𝘦   𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦   𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘰   𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵   𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥   getting   rid   of   all   the   humans   &   sorcerers   who   fought   against   him,   not   afraid   of   the   greatest   curse   user   since   gods   only   know   when.   not   afraid   of   the   strongest   sorcerer   by   her   side,   not   afraid   of   the   old   small   -   minded   people   who   stand   behind   the   whole   grand   scheme   of   jujutsu   society   things.

                    like   she's   playing   a   game   of   her   own   ;   like   all   this   doesn't   revolve   around   her,   too.   like   her   life   is   not   on   the   line,   like   she's   not   literally   in   the   middle   of   it   all   —   an   upcoming   war   that   threatens   her   in   her   restless   dreams.   puzzle   pieces   she   cannot   yet   fully   put   together,   so   she   doesn't   say   much   about   what   she   sees.

                    neither   can   she   see   the   smile   gojo   so   generously   offers.

                    sadly.

                    she   would   really   like   to.

                    ❝   oh,   i   can   pay   you,   ❞   unmei   muses,   getting   up   from   her   spot   beside   him   ;   looking   at   all   the   snacks   in   the   vending   machine.   all   the   lights   blocked   by   the   blindfold,   all   the   shades   blocked   by   color   blindness.   in   a   way,   they   both   see   too   much   and   not   enough.   ❝   sweet   treat?   ❞

                    that   usually   works,   stimulates   the   brain   —   sugar   turns   into   energy   their   brain   consumes   in   milliseconds   ;   fuels   the   endless   amount   of   information   processed.   besides,   satoru   has   a   sweet   tooth,   and   more   than   likely   won't   see   her   spitting   onto   said   free little   gift.

                    pun   intended.   height,   prosopagnosia,   blindfold.   depth   of   what   he   says,   so   many   levels   of   it.   seemingly,   every   conversation   they   have   means   something   else   ;   subtext,   context,   all   of   it   combined   to   create   a   different   meaning.   as   she   sits   back   beside   satoru,   mei   wonders   :   is   the   infinity   of   his   shielding   him   from   the   outside   world,   or   shielding   the   outside   world   from   him?   won't   ask   out   loud.   will   find   out   herself.

                    ❝   now   i   want   to   know   what   are   you   afraid   of,   senpai.   ❞

                    she   assumes   there   is   something.   there   must   be.

                    ❝   and   why   did   you   ask   me   about   that   in   the   first   place.   ❞

シモザ | 喰種④

Caught my daughter with yugioh cards so i made her smoke the whole pack

hi hhave you considered writing Nikolai Gogol? Do you have ships for him?

BSD characters are dangerous for me because I've considered writing or have written: akutagawa, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai, yosano, fukuzawa, koyo, fitzgerald.... Save me

I can write nikolai for U but first you'll have to let me draw him like this

Edit;

THE WAY I DIDNT READ THE SECOND QUESTION. My only bsd ship so far is fyoya but I can learn. Send good fanart

@sukareo

he's so beautiful i need to consume him i need to tear him apart with my teeth i need to feel his blood dripping from my mouth i want to have him in the most visceral way possible i need to eat him alive

Nanami

Based off my blog, what other characters could you see me Roleplay as?

it's the tired finances major in me... i see the vision. actually that's an interesting suggestion, i've considered writing him before but never got around to do it adjkjfksdg might give him a try tho!

had he possessed a heart, ulquiorra would resent him. perhaps even hate him, feel anything akin to the negative emotions that always drove human souls astray and kept them prisoner in this barren land. what he can sense instead is distaste, that alone was too much power over him. drawing his sword isn’t necessary, spiritual pressure being enough to crush the fingers clasping his wrist until it’s freed out of the grip. warmth veils him, unfamiliar, foreign.

‘ that you suggest blind obedience as a discipline case yourself is beyond my understanding. wonder all you want. power is the only rule that matters in hueco mundo. or have you forgotten the meaning behind those numbers engraved into our bodies? shall i remind you? ’

teeth and claws of nameless hollows surrender like this, that’s what his eyes have seen time and time again before his recruitment and arrival to the palace. this ploy, however, garners more than merely a display of intangible energy. ulquiorra steps forward, until the released energy slithers and devours grimmjow whole: he aims for the knees, the shoulders, any part of his body that can bend in a way that will break not the bones but his pride, so painstakingly secured. he awaits for groans, sharp threats, baseless confidence; in a way he’s developed a hunger of his own, too.

‘ this is how it should be — obedience goes in tandem with submission. you who stands two steps below on the ladder speak too loudly for what you're worth. ’ it occurs to him, belatedly, that perhaps this is what he wanted. rebellion craves violence, and violence’s nature is to be subdued, by any force or means necessary. his right hand finds its way back to grimmjow’s exposed torso, steadies the body about to rise on its own and pushes him down to his knees, fingertips sharp and whetted appetite. if he had a heart. though the absence is ever-present in his chest, what he does have is a stomach, an ego, the self. his foot manages to kick one of grimmjow’s legs to the side and spreads just enough of his limbs to dig a heel unnervingly deep and firm to grimmjow’s groin, drawing something just short of a gasp out of the beast.

grimmjow could probably get off like this - no, he definitely could, and the thought itself is horrifically unsatisfying enough to make him ponder the attention, reminding him where the limits lay. in the midst of all their bloodshed, he finds that he wants it. wants it just as much as he despises it. 

 ‘ stop squirming. stay still or fight it, it’s all the the same to me. fact remains that you’ll have to submit to one thing or the other. which will it be, grimmjow? ’

con't - @einshi

DEFEAT  BURNS  THROUGH  HIM  LIKE  RANCID  WINE  -  heady  on  his  tongue  and  thick  in  the  sands  that  adorn  hueco  mundo's  never  ending  drifts.  for  a  creature  that  coveted  carnage  and  battle,  the  6th  was  dissonant  -  ripe  with  his  rage  and  wearing  it  the  same  way  he  always  did  :  like  armor.  loss  wasn't  something  grimmjow  suffered  -  loss  wasn't  something  he  took  lightly,  and  while  the  curl  of  mottled  flesh  across  his  'skin'  would  be  an  ever  present  reminder  of  a  near  deathblow  at  the  hands  of  that  self-righteous  idiot,  what  stung  the  most  was  ulquiorra's  patient,  verdant  gaze  -  and  the  caress  of  claws  across  his  nearly  bare  chest.

the  feral  part  of  his  brain  screamed  'danger!  danger!  danger!'  before  souring  once  again.  ulquiorra,  of  course,  did  not  think  like  grimmjow  did  -  did  not  think  that  the  taking  of  a  fellow  espada's  life  would  mean  a  notch  in  the  belt  of  power.  he  didn't  have  anything  to  prove  because  grimmjow  wasn't  a  threat.  as  dark  claws  skim  over  the  area,  he  bares  his  teeth  -  a  sharp  match  the  mask  at  the  side  of  his  face  -  and  snarls.

but  it's  halfhearted.  if  he  truly  wanted  the  bastard  gone,  he  had  his  ways.

❝ 'm  not  ashamed  that  i  have  it. ❞   he  drawls,  aggravation  quieting  for  a  moment,  ❝ do  i  have  to  explain  why  to  you  or  do  you  think  that  rational  little  skull  of  yours  can  churn  it  out,  cuatro? ❞  perhaps  were  he  to  utilize  his  resurrección,  that  nuisance  of  a  tail  would've  been  flicking  back  and  forth  in  thought.  instead,  his  fellow  espada  is  only  granted  grimmjow's  stare  -  catlike  and  curious,  the  deep  turquoise  of  his  eyes  almost  glowing  in  the  perpetual  dim.  frankly  -  he  hopes  he  doesn't  have  to  explain,  because  having  philosophical  discussions  with  anyone,  let  alone  ulquiorra,  sounds  about  as  appealing  as  wiping  aizen's  ass  -  perhaps  even  less  so.

nostrils  flare,  looking  away  from  the  other  to  instead  track  caressing  fingertips.  it's  not...  unpleasant.  and  despite  the  bastard's  frigid  existence,  his  touch  is...  warm,  leaving  behind  tendrils  of  heat  as  he  palms  and  skates  lethal  digits  over  grimmjow's  hide.  as  the  action  persists  -  the  espada  finds  himself  easing  just  slightly,  and  though  he  never  quite  relaxes,  long  lashes  bat  over  his  cheek,  the  tension  in  his  jaw  easing,  and  he  shifts  his  chest  forward,  just  a  slight  inch,  the  same  moment  hands  drop  away.

grimmjow  is  quick  -  lightning  fast  -  his  own  dark  claws  curling  about  a  strong  but  delicate  wrist,  sharp  canines  bared  again  in  a  savage  smirk  as  he  grips  tight,   ❝ yeah  yeah,  of  course.  'aizen's  orders.' ❞  honorific  ignored,  and  it's  a  distinctly  good  impression,  actually.  ❝ ulquiorra. ❞  there's  his  drawl  again,  low  and  lazy  and  lit  back  with  a  cat's  growl,  ❝ are  ya  capable  of  independent  thinking,  or  you  prefer  blind  obedience? ❞  hand  discarded  then  -  tossed  to  the  side  as  he  leans  downwards,  spirit  pressure  swelling  with  challenge.  ❝ just  wonderin'. ❞