I Don't Write With You Because If I Do I'll Get So Hard That I'll Break My Computer Desk And I Can't

“It is just an illusion here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a moment is gone, it is gone forever.”

— Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

❛ 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. ’

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

small musing but the way i write kogami he doesn't feel anything remotely romantic for akane, he simply respects her and the bond shared with her is that of a person who aside from makishima has managed to take a dive into his mind and figure out the inner machinations, though her approach is less damaging and there's mutual respect where with makishima there was violent impulses. anyway, kogami doesn't really have a preference and doesn't really think about romance in general, there's a lot going on in his head for it to be at the front of his mind.

❛   you  should  give  it  to  her  yourself.   ❜

❝ ⸻ DOES IT MATTER … ? ❞

he stares listlessly at the dog good luck charm in his hands, turns it over once. tsumiki’s condition still stings fresh ; he can’t think of her without a stitch in his heart bursting open, without anxiety rising in his chest, making breathing an impossible task.

worse still is that he’s handled it alone — not physically, at least, as he knows gojo really has been doing what he can to get to the bottom of it, but mentally ; waiting until he’s isolated, alone in his room, hidden away from the rest of the world to even think of allowing everything to pour out, unwrap the bandages until it all runs dry.

he feels like a child to even have any stock at all in something like a good luck charm —

❝ it’s not going to wake her up. it’s just for my own stupid ego, isn’t it ? ❞

but even as he closes his hand into a fist around it, wants to squeeze the life out of something, shoulders starting to falter under the weight of his world falling around him, he’s gentle, won’t break it.

star wars: rise of skywalker sentences | still accepting !!

@sukareo

❛  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.

did you really think this is the right thing to do ? ( @ geto w/ nagi and his soccer-based jujutsu that i haven’t fleshed out yet lets go 🙂‍↕️ )

‘ correctness is based on the whims of whoever stands at the top. usually, the strongest get to decide. ’ after all, it’s easy to fear things that one doesn’t understand.

that is how institutions are created.

that is how monsters are born.

suguru paces around the room, tatami creaking beneath the weight of each step. though nagi’s question would have garnered any other person a violent end, something about his words feels sincere in ways that suguru hadn’t seen since… well, since his last conversation with haibara. it makes him wary.

nagi seishiro is relaxed in ways he shouldn’t have been, languid when he should have been cautious. uncanny in his boldness, though not so far that suguru’s senses would call it a threat. suguru reasons it’s little wonder that nagi is loathed even amongst their allies, or the followers. the sound of his footsteps is obscured by the prayers coming from the other room. the smell of burning incense, of ashes; he wonders how longer he’ll be able to stand listening to their drifting voices before something in him collapses. 

suguru exhales a breath, watching nagi grow more comfortable in his position, bathed in the gentle midday light coming through the paper-thin walls. the look of innocence, treacherous in a way that he’s learned to discern.

‘ i can find a more creative way to pursue my goals, but i doubt it would be anything pretty, by anyone’s standards. uncooperative beasts are tamed. i don’t hope you understand what i intend with this. ’ the rational part of him knows that he should have ended this conversation before it even began - shouldn’t have humored this meeting in the first place. if he’d been anyone else. but when the bleary eyes of a newborn sorcerer look at him in that familiar way that he’d thought forgotten, impossible to mirror once more, suguru finds that can’t finish what he’s started.

he wonders if haibara - if anyone resents him for that.

these overlapping images are a headache. he lifts a hand, right from under his sleeve, signaling towards the open door. ‘ is that all you had to ask? you’ll have to forgive me, nagi. you see… i am a very busy man. ’

@trapshot

❛  what took you so long? this is a total disaster!  ❜ <3

‘ don’t know about that. ’ his confidence is contagious, if the way these parasitic curses still crawl up the walls looking for a bigger body to attach themselves to. he doesn’t let them go so far, not out of a sense of responsibility, no: the thing is he’d rather be doing anything else but this. there’s a kamen rider special on TV. the plants he swore to be taking care of could use some watering, for sure. unfinished games waited in his console.

anything else… 

small fries, they should learn not to waste space like that. Satoru chooses to humor Megumi, lightness in his step as he waves dismissively at the mess. ‘ you know what they say about art: it’s abstract, relative if you will. maybe I’m trying my hand at new hobbies. ever heard of self-expression? ’

a snap of his fingers and the last stroke on the canvas is done. it is indeed messy, but Megumi doesn’t need to know that. ‘ aaaand we’re done here. shall we go? you can thank your amazing teacher for finishing up the work so quickly. ’