Always Vibes~

Ghost of the strongest

🌸♥️

❛ so i suppose that it gets to a point where feelings gotta get hurt. ❜ (sasayama @ kogami ! )

load of bullshit.

the thought had been nagging at him all night, worming its way into the corner of his mind despite how often he told himself that these things didn’t matter to him, that he’d grown past the judgement of prioritizing his profession above expectations. it’s partially true. kogami’s focus drifted from his drink, the cheap can of beer resting atop worn out wood of a table that’d seen better years.

he knew he’d already had two to three beers too many, but that doesn’t stopping from swirling the half empty can of Sapporo beer between taut muscle, fingertips searching for anything solid that could ground him and keep him away from jabbing at sasayama’s back.

‘ i might have been glad to see you’ve fared well after your discharge, but now i don’t know. now i think you just piss me off. ’ no real bite in his words.

any other time in years past he would’ve obliged, perhaps dated the girl — a petite thing, charming smile, lean in the face, makes your stomach churn at the sigh. stealing moments together. he would’ve liked it back then, because it made him feel older, like he had his life under control.

funny how fast everything can change.

well, everything except sasayama. kogami hardly expects to hear an apology, sees the end of this teasing far outside his reach that perhaps the ordinariness of this evening makes kogami be more himself now that he’s ever been. he takes deep swig of his beer, making a halfhearted attempt to quiet down the pounding in his head since the moment he’d been masked with the question: will you take the leap or will you go on pretending that all there is to life is to sit behind a monitor and run drills, scan people’s faces from the better end of the dominator.unfair to her, should he play the role of pretender.

‘ figured i’d let her know, in case it got her hopes up for nothing. you’re one to judge. at the very least, i’m not the womanizer who can’t keep hands to himself. ’

@lustraveil

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 afford another one (all my figures are on there)

so we keep the milf locked until further notice got it (puts geto back in the basement)

summer uncoils memories, a sleeping python and its gaping mouth hovering in the back of his mind.

it was hot back then, too, heat oozing off the concrete. white shirts sticking to their bodies, the deafening, mournful cry of the cicadas, hair that’s too damp and unruly to keep together. as his steps take him further into the mountain, these recollections cease to gnaw at him, the endless stream finally settling into something that he’s not quite sure can be called peaceful stillness or momentary subjugation: the knot in his stomach tells him it’s the latter.

suguru barely flinches when satoru’s shape comes to view, shadowed by the leaves moving like fish in the water. it only adds to the hermetic sensation that’s been following him since the first moment he sensed the familiar cursed energy roaming about. instinct is cyclical, a silent baring of teeth, ebbing away the closer his feet took him to where satoru stood unbothered.

bear it with dignity, right up until the reminiscence begins to touch the raw-edged remnants of feelings long expired. his voice is serene, divested of the practiced theatrics of a false deity, and perhaps the most sincere he’s ever been in the past months.

“ satoru! ” voice feather-like, it surprises him that every syllable tastes the same rolled around his tongue, easy as though time was nonexistent. each invisible stitch seeks to replicate the ease and form by which satoru knew him — his original imperfection, as suguru remembered it. it comes to naught. their features are sharper, their bodies taller, broader, and the scent of their cursed energy honed in a way that told suguru about the curses that lay crushed beneath satoru’s feet.

a sigh of relief, then, disguised by his relaxed posture. i suppose i don’t have to worry, we’re still on opposing sides. “ i’ll make a risky assumption and say that i’m not the target this time. what about the curse? have you squashed it yet?”

@infinitie

[ 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

face, sender turns receiver's face towards them. ( geto & gojo )

pulling himself back to a standing position is the initial intent, only stopped by the firm hands clasped on each side of his face: garnering his attention requires less than this, but he supposes suguru wants to make a statement of it. hand seeks leverage, placed flatly on the desk as his body remains arched, waiting, unsure whether to take this as a challenge, a warning, or a third secret thing that only suguru seems to understand and perfectly eludes satoru's wondering eyes. he allows the other man the benefit of the doubt, waits it out, only to be surprised by a bold statement.

'quit it out.'

their back and forth had escalated into a drawn out argument — though not entirely one-sided, it's clear that suguru wants no part in a battle of moral judgement. his views are cemented, a sense of justice buoyed in the philosophy that hierarchy exists as a parachute for the unlucky bastards right down south in the grand scheme of things. satoru, on the other hand, believes it a conspiracy led by the beliefs that their existence is taken for granted, though he needn't explain the specifics to suguru. it's easier to face the fury head-on, bathe in it, because that's what his body and mind are familiar with. power is intoxicating, sweeter than honey. gojo's sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, his right hand holding geto's wrist mirroring the amount of strength used to turn his around and which he unlocks from the grip with a jut of his chin.

he's met with a surge of remembrance then: retainers, old enough to butt shoulders with his own parents, of whom he barely remembered anything, only bits and pieces like the smell of jasmine coming from his mother's kimono, the unmistakable scent of wood and smoke from expensive tobacco in a pipe, signature of his father's presence, and nothing else. though his birth had elevated their position within the household, truth is that they weren't bearers of the eyes but him, and alone he stood during morning trainings, and on most nights, a pair of small, curious steps testing the boundaries of his own jurisdiction, how much he could twist the rope before it snapped. he's yet to feel the draw back of its taut line. in a sense, suguru represents the line he shouldn't cross, almond-tinted eyes hooked confidently in place, two curses measuring each other — a truth untold in that fox-like smile.

' feeling like playing substitute teacher? count me out of it. as you can see i'm a little busy right now, ' he guides suguru's attention towards his phone screen, where graphics remained static although 8-bit music played in a cacophony of robotic sounds, ' don't get me wrong, i'd love to play along but my tetris streak? oh, let me tell you how much it can't wait.'

satoru manages a determined expression, thinks about making a funny face, tongue out, clowning the tension in the air away, but decides he's not in his best behavior and he really meant it when he said the match couldn't wait, seconds ticking and signaling the approaching lock screen mode on his device. gaze darts back, fingers deftly picking up and rising his score. new-found clarity settles, making him speak loud enough to be heard, before he notices.

'oh by the way, have you been training after class? your hands have gotten rougher. girls will go mad, you player. '

@gokunoban

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

recommending muse meme— i started rewatching chainsaw man bc plotting with ur makima and i feel you’d make a really great aki ‼️

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

funny that you mention this because i've actually rp'd him but never found other csm blogs to write him with askdjajksg now you've got me considering bringing him back and gojo and him definitely have to meet one way or another u have no choice *grabs u*