#'wow you live like this' (fascination)
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sluckythewizard · 6 months ago
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[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.
#cw gore#WEEEE WHIPPING OUT ALL MY BELOVED PIXEL HORROR GAME SOUNDTRACKS FOR THIS ONE#STILL A WIP#SORTA. FORKSFORKSFORKS INSPIRED ME TO START WORKIN AT IT AGAIN. AND NOW IT LIVES. IT LIIIVEESS!!!#MOSLT.Y ATLEAST. I MIGHT MESS W IT MORE LATER. WE SHALL SEE. ANYWAY GABRIEL MONTEZ HUH. WOW POOR GUY#THERES A FASCINATING FEELING THAT COMES WITH BEING ON A OPERATING TABLE.AND BEING IN IMMENSE PAIN#ONE OF MY FONDEST MEMORIES IS LAYING ON A DENTIST CHAIR. SHAKING AND INVOLUNTARILY CRYING AFTER MANY MANY#NEEDLES TO MY THE MOUTH. I METABOLIZE THE NUMBING STUFF QUICKLY APPARENTLY. THEY NEEDED ALOT OF NUMBING SHOTS#BUT I WASNT AFRAID OR DISTRESSED. THE DENTIST WAS VERYVERY NICE AND ALSO UH. PRETTY. BUT THATS BESIDE THE POINT#THE POINT IS. THAT IT WAS FASCINATING TO REALIZE MY PHYSICAL RESPONSE TO PAIN UNDER A CONTROLLED ENVIRONMENT#I DIDNT KNOW HOW EASY IT WAS TO SHAKE AND TO CRY PRYVIOUS TO THAT EXPERIENCE.MY DENTAL ADVENTURES CONTINUE#THEY CONTINUE TO HELP ME UNDERSTAND WHAT ITS LIKE FOR PAIN TO BOIL AWAY THE TIME. TO DISTORT THE PASSING HOURS AND CONSUME EVERY THOUGHT#DO YOU REMEMBER PAIN? THE MOST SEVERE PAIN IN YOUR LIFE? NOW WILL YOU IMAGINE RED LIGHTS? RED LIGHTS AND SHIFTING FIGURES#NOW WILL YOU IMAGINE PAIN UNRELENTING.PAIN WORLD SHATTERING.PAIN IMMORTAL.CAN YOU IMAGINE BEING PULLED APART#THE HUMAN MIND CAN ONLY WITHSTAND SO MUCH PAIN BEFORE IT SHUTS DOWN AND HIDES.IT NEEDS TO PROTECT ITSELF AFTERALL. PAIN CAN ALTER#PAIN SHIFTS THE CHEMISTY OF THE MIND OF THE FLESH OF THE SOUL. FOR HUMANS ATLEAST. BUT YOU ARE NO LONGER HUMAN#YOU CHOSE OTHERWISE DIDNT YOU BOY.BECAUSE YOU WANTED MORE.STATUS.POWER.APPROVAL.SECURITY.SAFET.Y.#OHHH YOU CAN WITHSTAND THE PAIN FOR THAT. FOR ALL THAT. YOU WERENT TOLD THERE WOULD BE PAIN BUT YOU KNOW WHAT YOU WERE PROMISED.#ITS ALL WORTH IT IN THE END. NOW LETS JUST HOPE SOME BLONDE TWERP DOESNT PROVE TO BE STRONGER THAN THE STRONGEST PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE#LETS HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. I LOST MY TRAIN O THOUGHT#anyway dawww poorr gabeee that shit probably huuurrrrtttss but so much time has passed that your body got tired of screaming and squirming#why havnt you passed out yet? maybe you might as well have at this point. like sleeping with your eyes open and your nerves awake#OH HEY FUNFACT ABT THE ART. I FOUGHT W IT ALOT. TOOK A LONG WHILE FOR ME TO BE REMOTELY HAPPY W THIS.#i was thinking abt pixel horror video games when i made it.just as i do with all great things ofc ofc#i love you pixel horror game i love yooouuuuu.i struggled so much w the colors for so LONNGG UHGHGHGH but im finally happy...im finally fre
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forcedhesitation · 8 months ago
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this is going to be pure word vomit, but wow. okafor being as important to the entire story of the ones who live despite dying in the first episode was insane and incredible writing. the parallel between him and rick coming full circle at the end, with rick remembering the last thing okafor said before dying and not letting beale manipulate him at the echelon meeting. okafor retroactively being revealed to have never "died" as rick never really did, deep down, because he warned rick about the sword. the ONLY time he snapped was when rick insisted he had nothing, because he didn't have nothing. he always kept his wife's sacrifice in mind, just as rick always kept michonne in mind, even after he chose to "die," because he did this not being able to escape, but he could at least still build a better future for michonne and their children. rick switching sides, just like okafor did, and destroying the CRM's army to save everyone else. the story about rick's father and the burning crops...and okafor being someone who was someone who was researching and growing crops, whereas beale was stealing resources from other communities and destroying them. like okafor knew the CRM had to be destroyed so something new could grow, and he genuinely had a plan to do that and saw a future where more could grow, but beale only ever saw destruction in the future and used violence so that his own community could grow. beale telling rick that both the walkers and them are dead, whereas okafor told rick that all people are his people, everyone alive. beale had spies in other communities to help keep him informed and to help destroy those communities, whereas okafor trusted rick and told him the truth plainly, despite this going against beale's aims and potentially endangering his life, and rick finding his strength in trusting michonne, and lack of trust being what undoes thorne and jadis.
i'm just. wow. donald okafor the perfect morally grey character that you are ....
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fantastic-mr-corvid · 3 months ago
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love answering asks for Celia/Muro [& the rest of Muro n co] bc it really is like, well if they had grown up in a semi stable environment then yes they would have cared about people and shown their emotions- however they grew up in fuck you town with awful adults and now are the epitome of 'i keep all my emotions inside me and one day ill die' so actually they only care about like three people each :) who they regularly end up hurting :) so no they arent a traditional romantic bc rule 1 of toxic masculinity is never showing you care :)
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whenthegoldrays · 5 months ago
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also, my god, Choi Se Kyeong, what a horrible thing to say to your daughter when her best friend just committed suicide???
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perenlop · 1 year ago
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me: oh i gotta finish my novella and work more on my pmd fic and world and also work on that wc rewrite loose outline and oh i wanna get back to my sonic one eventually
also me: omg what if i made an anthro pokemon world based on the main series but the main gym leaders and protags are all replaced by their pokemon (not to be confused with pmd, this is just the main series but the humans are gone)
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magnusmodig · 10 months ago
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yeah i'm one spoon away from setting the ends of my hair on fire if i'm kindling for a little while at least i'll feel of use... promise me that you'll start where i end and i promise to give you everything that i am and it goes on, and on, and on... we'll go on and on and on in the end all i hope for is to be a bit of warmth for you when there's not a lot of warmth left to go around.
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muirneach · 9 months ago
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im always like well ill go to bed early tonite but now im scrolling through random classmates instagrams trying to find out the gossip of everyones lives
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outeremissary · 10 months ago
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Always very surreal when you encounter someone fond of the same character as you and partway through the interaction you realize "ohhh this is a completely different character to you we do not like the same guy at all"
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quillkiller · 1 year ago
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rewatching korra as an adult is truly an insane experience
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vermillioncrown · 2 years ago
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game is still in early release on steam, but it's pretty functional in this state
unless you're an ultra gamer w a high-refresh monitor, the lack of vsync and framecap might drive you batty. they also need to optimize something about the simulation, it gets laggy at a (what i consider) a low pop threshold. like yes realistically you'll be managing at most 200 beavers but the map can hold so much more
none of these are dealbreakers, highly recommend this game for people who don't find value in the removed nature of regular city builders but are puzzle solvers at heart
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rowanhoney · 2 years ago
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I Love thunder storms and the reminder I am here alive in a crazy world where weather happens but also I am here. I am here right now. The storm is making sure I know it. Love that
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honeybunchcalum · 1 month ago
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i was working with this guy the other day and it was such a funny, eye-opening experience. bc i was telling him how i'm a picky eater and it's probably the weirdest thing about me, and then asked him what the weirdest thing about him.
he said it was that he overthinks everything...
and i was like...dude...that is literally just what being a woman is. that's what it's like to be me PLUS i'm a weird eater.
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cluescorner · 7 months ago
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There's no feeling stranger than knowing that something is bad but liking it anyways. Not in a 'it's so bad it's good' way. Because that implies that it has become good. I'm talking like this thing is just kinda bad in the normal ways things are bad, but i like it anyways.
#honestly I'm talking about Batgirls rn#because like...it has its moments but I wouldn't call it good. it even has some of my own personal pet peeves#specifically the overabundance of narration boxes that aren't from a character and rather the author is speaking to us.#if I wanted an overabundance Authors Notes I would read fucking early 2000s fanfics#and Babsgirl existing but I've made peace with the fact that we'll only get an Oracle story in a Black Label or similar thing at this point#I love the art and it has among my favorite designs for both Spoiler and Black Bat#don't get me STARTED on the covers holy fuck. the 90s rewind in particular lives in my head rent free because ajlkdfjdsalk;fjdlsa;kf#it also has both moments of REALLY FUCKING BAD characterization and REALLY FUCKING GOOD characterization#Cass being like 'ok but do we HAVE to save Seer?' horrible! demonstrates an egregious misunderstanding of her. what the hell?#Steph being abnormally good at solving the Riddler's puzzles and knowing basically every cipher because of Arthur? then getting incredibly#upset at even the MENTION of him to the point that she gets fucking stabbed by the RIDDLER of all people?#wow thanks for actually addressing a very interesting part of Steph's character that is often left by the wayside. good job.#issue 14 is amazing and it makes me want to implode every time I read it. like I actually recommend it without any caveats attached#it is straight up good. it's the high-point of Batgirls and it's not even close imo.#and wow! there is almost no dialogue and NO NARRATION BOXES??#it's almost like the whole appeal of comics is telling incredible stories through art or something. and that when you have good art#and good art direction you should just fucking let it speak for itself or something#and that maybe using what words you DO have to let your CHARACTERS speak in a way they normally wouldn't is a good idea#even if the in universe reason is that Steph is basically leaving this note as a 'I am either dead or close to it' type of thing#like holy fuck how did they do that?? AND SO LATE IN THE GAME THAT NOBODY FUCKING TALKS ABOUT IT??#and obviously there is a conversation to be had about 'was Batgirls queerbaiting' but honestly since it was cancelled IDK#I could see a universe where given time it could have made a natural shift to a love story between Steph and Cass#I'm not upset about it but I get why other people might be. there are some panels that like...come on.#and as always I am most fascinated by missed potential. because Batgirls showed that it COULD be good with Issue 14#and arguably other of the better issues. the art was incredible and as the issues went on it felt like the kinks were getting ironed out#plus getting a series focused on 3 of my favorite characters was a dream come true for me. ESPECIALLY because we rarely get good#stuff for Cass and Steph.
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cakesdown · 9 months ago
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It's been really interesting getting into the process of making, writing, and studying the structure of books as I'm in the middle of writing a very long fanfiction. It's like yes my writing has improved, but I'm able to point out critiques I wouldn't have even considered back when I was writing early on or even as early as a year ago. Like the masterminds in tbos never got physical descriptions because I was just like "here's their refs" in the notes but I'm going to have to adjust that if I do an audio reading for example. Or descriptions of places that seriously would have benefitted from a description two dozen chapters ago instead of now. Just things like that. I'm rambling while waiting for breakfast to cook
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😭😭😭😭
oh my destiny, how far you have sprung now ; satoru gojo
synopsis; satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.
word count; 5.2k
contents; satoru gojo, canon divergence, HEAVY jjk spoilers (for chapter 236!! but also kinda 237), fix-it fic, me coping w/ the manga for 5k words straight, canon-typical violence and death, implied stsg, probably non-canon compliant use of binding vows (but do i care? no), gojo satoru lives.
a/n; yeaaa this is literally just me coping <3 needed to write this for my mental health. he’s fine guys trust me
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the experience is not altogether unfamiliar, on its own.
he’s felt it before. even now, he can still vividly recall it; a girl he failed to protect, a boy he failed to save. a man with a scar on his bottom lip.
that sickening numbness, as he lied in a pool of his own blood. sticking to his hair and tattered clothes, the colour red flooding his subconscious. that cold, cold sensation — a jarring shift, chilling and ruthless, going from everything to nothing. tiptoeing the line between life and death. 
emptiness. sinking deeper into the abyss, that all-enveloping darkness. that awful feeling of pure helplessness.
he could never forget it.
back then, though, gojo is certain he didn’t feel this way. all he could think about twelve years ago was survival — clinging to the weak flutter of his heart, a dying butterfly. clawing his way up to the skies. anything to escape that harrowing sensation, a kind of desperation all humans feel in the face of certain death, spurring him on. but now —
he almost welcomes it. nearly content in its approach. it should frighten him, but it doesn’t.
through half-lidded eyes, vision blurred by sweat and blood and dust, gojo watches the sky.
it's beautiful, he thinks. as beautiful as ever. peaceful, unchanging, soothing in an eerie kind of way. that clear blue, fading a little at the corners as his muddled mind grows just a little darker, a little more fatigued. he can barely gather the strength to keep his eyelids open. 
yet he keeps his gaze on that endless sky. as if it’s all he’s ever known.
with every passing second, the world grows just a little more blurry. pale dots spread around the corners of his vision, like grains of stardust in an ever-expanding cosmos, clouding his senses. there’s a buzzing in his head that won’t go away. everything looks as if it's spinning, and he can barely tell left from right, north from south. everything is growing darker, and gojo can’t seem to even think clearly.
but he can still see that blue, blue sky. bluer than he ever remembers it being. even as snow begins to fall, descending upon shinjuku as if bidding him farewell. the sky looks gray, but that shade of blue is still all gojo can see, as he takes shallow breaths and half-heartedly attempts to remain conscious. willing himself not to give in just yet, choking on his own blood. 
and it's an odd feeling, really. one he never thought he'd meet again, but here it is, it's back — and it's all-consuming. beckoning him into a place he’s never been before. the unknown. 
it's not scary. gojo doesn’t think he has it in him to feel fear, anymore. but it's a strange sensation, as death kisses its way up his neck, sending shivers down his spine; as the numbness spreads, devouring him whole.
it’s unknown. thoroughly and wholly. and that unknown is overwhelming, all-encompassing, it’s all he can see before him, it's —
ah.
gojo takes a deep breath. the air burns his lungs.
everything's ending, isn't it?
it would be so easy. to simply close his eyes, let them flutter shut as that all-encompassing sensation takes him down to earth. to allow himself to simply rest, for a moment. wouldn’t that be nice?
it would be so easy.
gojo watches the sky. it's all he can do. 
the numbness keeps spreading throughout every cell of his body. he can barely feel the blood trickling down his chin, or the harsh bite of the winter cold, his skin buzzing with ache. he can't feel his arms or his legs, and he knows exactly why. everything in the world is closing in on him and god, he just feels so fucking tired.
ah. ah. more darkness. more numbness.
everything and nothing, all at once. slipping away into oblivion. the snow keeps falling but he can't see anything, can't hear anything, can't feel anything, anything at all.
nothing. nothing. less than nothing.
— and then, suddenly, an airport.
"yo."
gojo blinks.
a boy. a boy with black hair, tied into a small bun. a dead boy. his best friend.
suguru stands before him, and he looks the same as gojo remembers. young, bright, with those awkward bangs still hanging over his face. grinning boyishly, and greeting him with youthful cheer. 
gojo feels young, too, he realizes. the weight on his shoulders a little less heavy, the familiar black of his sunglasses obscuring his vision — but he can still see the flicker of suguru’s cursed energy clear as day. as if he never left.
feigning a mild displeasure, gojo makes a face. he hears himself speak, but his mind and six eyes continue to spin in circles, trying to comprehend the sight in front of him. trying to make it understandable, figure out what’s going on. 
but he doesn’t succeed. because it’s impossible to understand. and, really, that’s answer enough. 
huh.
so this is what the afterlife is like?
he inhales through his nose, basking in the clear air, and it doesn’t burn his lungs. his chest feels lighter than it’s been in years.
that seems a little too good to be true. 
"you’re kidding me. this sucks.”
suguru makes a kind of face like he’s pouting, plopping down in the seat right next to his. gojo stretches his limbs out and huffs, pretending the sight in front of him doesn't send a tremor running through his very soul.
suguru continues to speak and gojo continues to listen, all while observing the scenery in front of him.
the airport looks familiar. through the glass windows he can see the glimmer of the blue sky, and a plane waiting to take flight into the clouds. the air smells of summer and jet fuel and new beginnings. it’s pleasantly cool, a light breeze caressing his skin and coaxing a hum from the confines of his throat. 
(he remembers this airport. remembers having his arms full of vending machine snacks, trailing after suguru as he dealt with all the annoying technicalities. amanai was there, too, watching a plane soar up into the sky with childlike wonder. a little anxious, as she boarded the plane to okinawa, and then back to tokyo.
her first and last flight.)
suguru is there, right next to him, and he’s speaking. breathing. like something out of a dream, the kind that always haunts gojo in his sleep.
he breathes in, and then out. 
suguru is there. and not just him – nanami and haibara are, too. all young, all dead. all somehow breathing; he sees them inhale and he sees them exhale. he hears them speak and it’s like nothing ever changed. 
they speak of regrets, of south and of north. nanami doesn’t seem to regret a single thing, and gojo is glad. even yaga is there, he notices belatedly. even amanai, and her maid, and a certain man with a scar on his bottom lip. everyone all together again.
the airport buzzes with warmth. nostalgia, as suguru’s laughter rings in his ears. and gojo grins, in tandem, bright and childlike. wallowing in the tender atmosphere. 
the sight in front of his eyes is perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect. a glimmer of spring, one he never quite managed to forget. a vibrant flicker of blue, one he thought he’d lost forever.
his one and only blue spring of youth, right in front of his all-seeing eyes.
a little too good to be true.
with a sigh, gojo stretches idly, smiling a little to himself. his joints don’t ache, his head isn’t buzzing with fatigue, and his heart feels lighter than it's been in recent memory. 
“now i’m hoping this isn’t a dream,” he hears himself mutter, allowing his eyes to flutter shut at last. he can still see suguru’s cursed energy, and everyone else’s. he isn’t alone. what a nice thought. 
and it’s strange, gojo thinks. it really is. he’s dead. sukuna killed him. he’s dead, his remains are lying somewhere in the streets of shinjuku, and that should bother him. he should be punching the floor and screaming, cursing sukuna’s name with every fiber of his being — it should frighten him, the realization that everything has ended.
but it doesn’t. 
gojo isn’t afraid. and he isn’t upset, either. he bears no grudge against anyone, just like that day twelve years ago. he’s with suguru, now, and his juniors. his old teacher. the people he cares for are with him, and the airport smells so nice. everyone is young, and happy, and none of them will ever have to kill or be killed again. 
calling it anything less than heaven would be doing it a disservice. 
gojo smiles, exhaling a relieved breath. one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding til now, stuck in the back of his throat for the past decade. a tiny thought makes it to the forefront of his brain, like a spring breeze flitting in through an open window.
like this, he thinks, i could die with no regrets.
“— except that’s not true.” a voice proclaims. “is it?”
gojo opens his eyes.
suguru looks at him. everything goes silent. everyone else has already gone blurry, a little faded, as if they aren’t what’s really important. as if the entire world has narrowed down to just this; him, and suguru, in the corner of an airport too precious for words. that one decisive slice of heaven. 
suguru opens his mouth, and speaks, and his voice has a finality to it that fills gojo with a mellow kind of dread. 
they look into each other’s eyes, and both know what’s coming.
“the students are outclassed. you said it yourself — sukuna wasn’t giving it his all when he fought you.” suguru rests his chin on the heel of his palm. ”he still has more than a couple cards up his sleeve, doesn’t he? like his incarnation.”
gojo listens to suguru speak. he doesn’t say anything.
“they’re no match for him,” he continues, unperturbed. “all of them are going to die. every single one.”
suguru leans back in his chair, still looking straight into gojo’s eyes. seeing through him, gaze filled with a certain sharpness. a little cruel, but there’s a kindness there, too. as if he’s simply ripping the band-aid off, trying to make it as painless as possible. 
he clicks his tongue.
“and you still haven’t buried my body, either.”
a moment passes. then two.
gojo smiles to himself, rueful. a little saddened. 
“.. damn,” he grins, weakly. leaning back in his chair, slumping against the soft leather. “couldn’t you have kept indulging me for just a bit longer?”
suguru smiles. a soft thing, in the flicker of the light. a little too good to be true. “sorry,” he chimes. “but the plane is leaving soon.”
as if on cue, the pa system sounds.
flight to okinawa; departing in nineteen minutes.
“it hasn’t left, yet,” suguru hums, and it sounds like an inevitability. ringing in gojo’s ears. “you know what that means, don’t you?”
he does. he does, but it still hurts. gojo looks into suguru’s eyes, and sees himself reflected in them — young, transparent. blue. fading, but not quite faded. not quite dead.
and maybe it’s to be expected. maybe he was just trying to delude himself into believing the alternative, into believing that an afterlife as sweet as this could really be waiting for him. maybe it was naive, a childish fantasy. 
but still —
”haah.” a heavy exhale, fatigued. gojo slumps even further into his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. running a hand through the soft strands of his hair. ”oh, gimme a break. and here i thought i could finally relax for once.”
a chuckle flows from suguru’s lips, amused. ”you aren’t the type to go down like that,” he murmurs. ”c’mon, satoru. there are still things you need to do.”
”how?” gojo scoffs. ”i’m split in half. and i’m too exhausted to use my reverse cursed technique.”
”eh,” suguru shrugs. ”you’ll manage.”
gojo shoots him a dubious look. ”you’re acting like it’s a papercut,” he huffs, crossing his arms. ”my guts are on the fuckin’ pavement.”
”oh, quit your complaining. i died with a hole through my chest. at least your heart is still intact.”
”i wanted to make it painless for you!”
”well, it hurt like a bitch. so thanks for that.”
gojo pouts, fighting back a smile. he thinks suguru must be doing the same. and it’s juvenile, a little twisted — but then again, weren’t they always?
suguru cocks his head. beckoning gojo into taking action. ”you’ve still got some fight left in you,” he says, and there’s a fondness to it. ”you always do.”
”get up, satoru.”
silence. unbroken, unperturbed. if he focuses enough, he thinks he can hear the distant buzzing of cicadas. the crinkling of soda cans. the whistling of the wind. placebos; memories ghosting his subconscious. 
it’s quiet, for a while. gojo stares into space, blinking slowly. then, he parts his lips.
”suguru.”
the boy in question turns towards him. but gojo looks up, instead — eyes set on the roof, like he’s trying to see beyond it. into the comfort of the blue sky. 
suguru hums, a cue for him to follow. gojo closes his eyes.
”i think… i might be tired.”
silence. no one says a thing.
”i think i’d prefer to stay here,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. tapping his fingers on his knee. ”in the past, like this.”
the scent of jet fuel and summer lies heavy in the air. gojo inhales it, greedy. as if savouring it. trying to make it a part of his being, filling his lungs with sweet nostalgia so it never goes away.
”we could just stay here. together,” he muses, barely above a whisper. there’s a kind of longing to the tilt of his voice, something soft. ”couldn’t we? never moving forward, or back.”
the words taste salty, on his tongue. an ocean breeze. a whisper. ”we could just stay like this.”
suguru’s gaze trails from satoru, down to his lap. his bangs follow the slow movement, silky strands falling over his eye. the chuckle that drifts from his lips doesn’t have much humour to it. 
”haha… you’ve never been the type to stay in one place for too long, satoru.”
gojo clenches his fist.
”you want me to go back,” he hears himself say, somewhat bitter. ”you want me to go back, and then what? there’s nothing i can do. i’m not the strongest, anymore.”
”you are.” suguru’s voice is firm, decisive. ”you can still win. you know exactly what you need to do. there’s only one way to get out of this.”
gojo sighs. one hand in his hair, tousling it. mildly frustrated. ”… it’s risky.”
”you’re bleeding out.”
”if i do this — i won’t ever be the same.” gojo turns to look at suguru. ”i sure as hell won’t be the strongest, anymore.”
”and would that be such a bad thing?”
silence. the two boys look at each other — one dead and one half-alive, both connected to the other. for eternity. suguru’s eyes are full of understanding, as he looks into the blue of satoru’s. 
”there’s always been a gap between you and everyone else — you said that, before. aren’t you tired of it?”
gojo closes his eyes.
that’s right. that aching gap. the solitude that comes with absolute strength — a weight he’s borne all his life. doomed never to connect with others, never to be understood. doomed to always live in the sky, far away from the earth and the ocean.
the title of the strongest. a cross he alone had to bear.
(did he ever really want it? or was he just resigned to it, conditioned from the very beginning?)
the feeling of isolation that’s been haunting him for decades seeps into his skin. the cruel knowledge that no one will ever truly know him; even worse, the knowledge that it’s all for the best.
you can admire a flower, and help it bloom, but you can’t ask it to understand you.
such a cruel curse to be born with.
suguru’s voice fills his mind. the flicker of his cursed energy is gentle, like an ocean wave rolling in right before the sun sets. ”you said it yourself, satoru.” gojo can hear the smile in his voice. ”you love everyone.”
love. the greatest curse of them all.
(but he could never bring himself to fully throw it away.)
”there are still people waiting for you, out there,” suguru reminds him. and gojo knows that he’s right.
he still hasn’t buried suguru’s body. that thing is still inside his head, doing god knows what. and his students — they must be fighting sukuna, right now. if he’s lucky, no one’s dead yet. if he’s lucky. then there’s shoko, of course. and ijichi, everyone else from the school.
not just that — the world itself is waiting on him. waiting for him to pass on, so it can crumble away. waiting for him to make it, so he can stitch it back together. 
dying isn’t a luxury satoru gojo can afford. he knows that, he does, but —
dammit.
”suguru,” he starts, hesitant. voice more feeble than he ever remembers it sounding. ”what… should i do, from here on out?” a pause. uncertain. ”where should i go?”
suguru raises a single eyebrow, tilting his head. ”do you really need me to tell you that?” he asks, a little teasing. gojo’s reply is instantaneous.
”i do.”
the airport falls silent, again. 
”i’ll listen to you,” he elaborates, tapping the edge of his chair, absentmindedly. eyes shining with a glimmer of something tender. ”so… it has to be you.”
suguru inhales, softly. breathing out in a meek chuckle, with a soft shake of his head. ”well, in that case…”
a smile. he meets gojo’s gaze. ”then i think you should go north.”
gojo looks into his eyes. a moment passes, slow, detached from space and time. their eyes meet, and in suguru’s eyes, gojo sees a reflection of their youth.
what a shame.
”alrighty, then.”
placing his palms on his knees, gojo gets up from his seat. stretching his arms with a soft groan. a sigh flows from his lips, drifting out into the clear air. 
”so much for finally getting a vacation,” he huffs, frowning as he casts a jealous glance at his best friend. ”you dead people have it easy, you know that?”
suguru’s still smiling, but he’s not getting up from his seat. the pa system sounds, again. a little louder this time.
flight to okinawa; departing in six minutes.
a deep breath. air flows into his lungs, and then back out; soaking up the summer air gojo knows he’ll never quite get a taste of again.
suguru stays right where he is. young, dead. smiling — the same smile he wore when gojo killed him, framed by the setting sun. the same kind of sunset that’s beginning to form outside the translucent windows of the airport, nostalgic and sweet, dyeing the clouds in a soft pinkish hue.
it’s breathtaking. 
”will i see you?” gojo asks, before he can stop himself. eyes still stuck to the setting sun. ”when everything ends.”
suguru chuckles, again. rueful. gojo thinks it sounds just a bit meek, a little like he’s holding back tears.
”maybe,” he breathes, shrugging halfheartedly. not meeting his eyes. ”who knows?”
it’s not the answer gojo wants to hear. but he’ll take what he can get.
and finally, suguru gets up. slowly, methodically. elegant, in the way he moves, the way he brushes non-existent dust off his baggy pants. smiling, hair swaying softly with the breeze. gojo finds his gaze, and that smile shifts into a lazy grin. one so distinctly suguru that it can’t possibly be just a figment of gojo’s imagination. 
”don’t find out too soon,” he says, teasingly. ”alright?”
a slap. gojo doesn’t see it coming, and it knocks him forward — he stumbles slightly, lanky legs moving forward, sunglasses falling off at the impact. his back stings, a little. 
over his shoulder, he looks back at suguru. the boy has a hand raised, and his grin is playful, brimming with warmth. except he’s no longer a boy — now he’s wearing traditional robes, hair much longer, face a little more hardened. but that grin is still the same as ever. gojo thinks he looks almost proud.
”go get ’em, satoru.”
gojo blinks.
the grin that breaks out across his lips, then, is wide. bright, brimming with youth, lighting up every corner of his face. almost overwhelmingly sweet. it envelops his very being, as he stands there, clad in his black compression shirt and baggy pants. hair a little less messy than it was in high school, face a little more hardened — but he hopes his grin, at least, looks the same as ever.
he turns his back on suguru, and puffs out his chest. trying to hide the sappy smile still lingering on his lips, the glassiness of his eyes. his voice comes out loud, cheery, echoing throughout the airport — but still somehow so tender.
”roger that!”
gojo looks ahead. the airport is blurred, a little hazy, but a bright light shines farther away. a beacon for him to follow, one that blinds him if he looks at it for too long. blue, white, golden — the colours of the sky. beckoning him forward, to a familiar place.
he takes one step north.
”ah, satoru. one more thing.”
the sound of suguru’s voice stops him in his tracks. 
”hm?” gojo turns on his heel, white hair tousled by the soft breeze. a little confused. ”what is it now?”
suguru grins. the whole airport smells like spring. 
”—, — —.”
one long, tender moment passes by. gojo doesn’t even breathe, mouth falling open slightly, in a way that must look comical to the man in front of him.
the airport glimmers like a marble in the sun. transparent, blurred, but still somehow so real. suguru’s words echo in his mind. 
then gojo laughs, the sound bubbling up from his throat like seafoam on a scorching summer day. hearty and deep, coaxed out from the very bottom of his gut — genuine. a little breathless.
he can’t wipe away the grin on his face, wouldn’t do it even if he could. his blue eyes crinkle, as he looks at suguru, showing off his dimples and teeth.
”so corny,” he teases. suguru rolls his eyes.
”hey, don’t blame me. this is your imagination.”
a huff slips from his lips. ”yeah, yeah…” gojo waves him off. then he meets his eyes, again, still grinning boyishly. ”i’ll hold you to that, okay?”
”got it,” suguru chirps. ”good luck out there, satoru.”
”pssh. who do you think you’re talking to?”
the men exchange smiles, one final time. then gojo turns around, and takes a step forward. not looking back. trusting suguru to still be there, watching over him. like always.
the bright light at the end of the airport glimmers, tantalizing, mesmerizing. suguru is right — there’s only one way to get out of this. only one way to make it back alive.
and it’s risky. very much so. it’s a gamble, the greatest one gojo’s ever made, even worse than that time twelve years ago with the reverse cursed technique. 
it’s a gamble, all or nothing.
binding vows are dangerous, fickle things. built on equivalent exchange. give something and get something, of equal value. sacrifice and gain. 
gojo’s thought about it, before. a morbid curiosity.
what could he possibly gain by offering the greatest treasure of the jujutsu world? 
he lifts one hand up, to caress his face. lingering over the skin of his eyelids, now closed. but he can still see the cursed energy around him. burned into his retinas. 
the six eyes. the blessing of sight.
a blessing. a blessing he never once asked for, one he was simply born with. born with all this power, doomed to live above the rest. all for a pair of eyes that never seem to see the things that really matter.
and, really, it’s a gamble.
gojo takes a deep breath, and then one large step forward.
(buddha left the royal life behind him at 29 years of age, he recalls. and then he sought out enlightenment.)
the light comes closer, and closer. lotus flowers bless his path. he takes seven steps forward, and his path blooms out before him; one flower blooming by his feet for every step he takes. seven steps north.
i’ll give you everything, he speaks to the someone watching the world. a god, a natural order, himself — it doesn’t really matter. i’ll give you all six. 
in exchange — 
the light is close, now. so close he can almost touch it. it burns his skin, but he doesn’t falter. he doesn’t look away, eyes seeing through the blindness and reaching out for something. something alive.
don’t let me die. give me enough of it to kill him.
i still have things i need to do.
one more step, out of the airport —
(and satoru gojo makes a sacrifice.)
a binding vow is made.
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the six eyes dissipate, like vapour drifting away into the darkness of a never-ending cosmos.
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when gojo opens his eyes, he’s met with a cold, gray sky. 
the world shifts on its axis before him.
everything looks different. he can’t see, but he can, it’s just not the same as before. it’s naked, and raw, and surface-level. not enough to sink his teeth into.
he can still see cursed energy, feel the flicker of it all around him, but it’s hazy. it’s not clear enough, not enough for him to get a good grasp on — like the world lost its saturation. like everything got tilted slightly to the left. an eerie feeling that something isn’t as it should be.
and wow, okay. this is new.
but gojo parts his lips, weakly, and breathes in — and the air tastes the same as ever. cold, crispy. it fills his lungs and he exhales it through his nose. a human act. a breath of life.
i’m still alive.
it’s an odd feeling, like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. like someone stripped him of everything that makes him him. an strange sensation, heavy, entirely impossible to ignore. however —
the gain after the loss hits him almost immediately, embracing him with a burst of cursed energy so violently overwhelming that his sight becomes entirely irrelevant. it devours his very being.
everything becomes a blur. 
— i’ll give you everything. 
so, in exchange — give me enough cursed energy to go on a good rampage.
the cursed energy within him spikes, so sudden and violent that gojo fears his skin might break open. buzzing like flies inside his veins, a vibrant burst of life, every colour in the universe. all the power one can expect from willingly casting away the greatest jewel of the jujutsu world.
gojo moves his fingers. he can feel them, finally — all limbs intact. positive cursed energy flowing from his brain, no longer exhausted beyond comprehension. enough, more than enough to give him access to every possibility within his soul.
belatedly, he realizes that his sight isn’t the only thing that’s been weakened. the control he’s grown so used to having over his cursed energy is dwindling, and fast; that firm grip seems to have left with the six eyes, replaced by a set of shaky hands. gojo has experience, and for now, it’s enough. but he still has to concentrate to contain the nearly overwhelming flicker of his cursed energy, stinging his skin as if it can’t fully be contained by his body anymore. prickling his veins. it feels a little like trying to keep water from running through the gaps between your fingers. 
and he feels naked, in a way, suddenly living without something that defines his very being. a little hollowed out. it feels a little wrong, like someone reached a hand through his ribs and pulled out his heart. 
but damn, does it feel good.
his cursed energy output is all-encompassing. his mind feels more clear than he ever remembers it being, and it’s like the world is at his fingertips. something similar to what he felt twelve years ago, but still so different. 
it isn’t ascension, not even close. quite the opposite. but that feeling of freedom is still so abundant. it’s all he can see before him; endless possibilities. 
twelve years ago, gojo faced a certain man, and rose to the skies. he will never, ever forget it. that flicker of eternal solitude, the burst of overwhelming euphoria. that sense of everything being just right.
twelve years of living in the sky, and now his feet meet the ground, at last.
everything feels different. everything looks different. things won’t be the same, ever again — but maybe, suguru was right. maybe that’s not such an awful thing.
to be reborn. to be given a choice.
gojo opens his eyes, and finally takes in all the sights before him. everything happens in a blur, so fast he can barely catch up — his body acts before his mind, and suddenly he’s face to face with sukuna.
not megumi, but sukuna. fully incarnated.
and he looks displeased. almost frustrated.
”how?” 
the look of pure shock on his face is more satisfying than gojo could ever put into words. somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears a cacophony of voices. familiar. the students, he assumes — voices of shock, and something he tentatively recognizes as relief. but he doesn’t have the time to let his guard down, just yet.
(no matter how much he’d like to look back at them and give them a self-assured peace sign, bask in their smiling faces.)
instead, he answers sukuna. ”a binding vow,” he grins, and he thinks he must look a little manic, gesturing towards his eyes with his thumb. ”gave these puppies away. didn’t expect that, did’ya?”
sukuna looks at him, for a second.
then he laughs, loud and ugly, grotesque. taunting. he looks at gojo with something that almost resembles pity, something bordering on disappointment.
”pathetic,” he spits, all teeth. ”what good is living if it’s not at the top?”
gojo simply smiles.
he recalls that question. eleven years ago, somewhere close to the ruins of the very street he’s standing in now. the question that flipped his entire world upside down.
(are you the strongest because you’re satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you’re the strongest?)
a grin breaks out across his lips. his cursed energy pulsates inside his veins, eager to be let loose, and he takes on a fighting stance. parting his lips to speak, unsure of whose question he’s answering.
”well, we’re about to find out.”
the sky is gray. but all he can see is that shade of blue, clear as day. even without the six eyes. 
gojo smiles. 
just keep watching, suguru. 
this time, i definitely won’t lose.
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pastryfication · 3 months ago
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HIIII so I was wondering If you could pleaseee write a dad oscar piastri x daughter (like four y/o) where he teaches her how to play chess and turns our she's so good at it just like Oscar was as a kid!
checkmate! | oscar piastri
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oscar sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the chessboard laid out between him and your daughter. the pieces were neatly arranged, ready for the first move. his little girl, barely four years old, was sitting opposite him, her tiny fingers hovering over the pawns, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“alright, sweetheart,” oscar said softly, smiling at her focused expression. “this is how we start. the pawns move first, see?” he nudged one of the white pawns forward, showing her how it worked.
she nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. her hands were still so small, but she mimicked his move perfectly, pushing one of her black pawns forward.
from the couch, you watched them with a warm smile, your heart swelling as you saw the bond they shared. oscar’s patience, his gentle guidance, and your daughter’s eager determination—it was one of those simple, beautiful moments that made everything in life feel just right.
oscar chuckled softly, glancing up at you, his eyes twinkling with pride. “she’s a quick learner, isn’t she?” he said, admiration clear in his voice.
you nodded, your smile widening. “just like her dad.”
they continued playing, and as the game went on, you couldn’t help but notice how your daughter wasn’t just following oscar’s instructions—she was thinking ahead, planning her moves with surprising skill for such a little girl. you watched closely, fascinated, as she carefully moved her pieces, her little face scrunched up in concentration.
“daddy, look!” she suddenly exclaimed, her voice bursting with excitement. “checkmate!”
oscar blinked in surprise, his expression shifting from shock to a proud smile. “wow, sweetheart,” he said, genuinely impressed. “you’re really good at this.”
you couldn’t contain your laughter as you saw the joy in your daughter’s eyes. “looks like you’ve got some serious competition, osc,” you teased.
it don’t take more than a few minutes before “checkmate!” once again was declared triumphantly, her little giggles filling the room as oscar slumped back dramatically, pretending to be utterly defeated.
“you beat me!” oscar laughed, pulling her into his lap. “you’re amazing, you know that?”
you watched them cuddle, your heart full to the brim. there they were—your two favorite people, sharing a special moment that you knew would be one of many. as they whispered about playing again tomorrow, you knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.
“we can play as much as you want, my little champion,” oscar promised, and you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that your little girl was already following in her dad’s footsteps in more ways than one.
——
five years had passed since oscar piastri had first introduced his daughter to the game of chess on their living room floor. what had started as a fun bonding activity had quickly grown into a shared passion, and now, at nine years old, she was entering her first school chess competition.
the gymnasium buzzed with excitement as students and parents gathered around the rows of tables set up for the event. the air was thick with anticipation, and you could feel your own heart pounding as you watched her from the sidelines.
oscar stood next to you, his hand resting on your lower back affectionately, his face a picture of calm pride. “she’s got this,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, though you could see the hint of nerves in his eyes.
“of course she does,” you replied with a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand. “just like her dad.”
your daughter sat at her designated table, her chessboard in front of her, looking as poised and focused as you had ever seen her. she glanced over at the two of you and grinned, that same spark of determination in her eyes that she’d had since she was little. you waved back, trying to send her all the confidence you could muster.
the first match began, and you watched as she moved her pieces with a precision and foresight that left you in awe. every lesson oscar had taught her, every late-night game they had played together, all of it was coming to life in this moment. she was no longer just playing for fun; she was competing, strategizing, and, most importantly, enjoying every second of it.
as the match progressed, it became clear that she wasn’t just good—she was exceptional. one by one, her opponents fell, each match ending with a handshake and a smile, and each time, she looked over to the two of you with that same joyful grin. it was in those moments that you knew she was doing exactly what she was meant to do. and you couldn’t be more happy that you had chosen oscar to be the father of your children, because the beaming smile he received as she stood and accepted her trophy made your cheeks hurt from smiling. and when she later found her way back to you and sprinted into his arms where he held her tight, whispering to her that he was proud of his little champion, you heart was close to exploding with joy.
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