Hi Tawus!Some new information about Gojo's lifestyle and childhood has been revealed by Gege in the Gojo Satoru Booklet, and the translations of all that have been circulating online. Do you have any hcs about Infidelity Gojo based on this newly available information?
Honestly thank you for bringing news like this to my attention! â¤ď¸ I'm living under a rock, literally. Wouldn't have heard anything of it if not for your asks. Some headcanons based on my favourite answers by Gege:
Gege admirably admitted that he made all his characters right-handed for the sake of his own accuracy, but Gojo is left-handed, letâs be real. Heâs giving left-handed so hard. Yuuta is a leftie also. Megumi is right-handed tho. (Iâm right-handed also).
Gojo famously loves sweets bc he needs those calories. He burns tons of them, so he eats very loaded meals and remains lean. Itâs something his partner has to adapt to when going out with him.
Gojo does like dogs more and heâd be a great dog owner. But he radically refuses to get one because he knows logically that his dog will die before him. That means mourning yet another death of a loved one. Gojo is smarter than that.
I loved these two answers so much. What makes Gojo so special is indeed his personality. Genetically heâs been provided by everything - what makes or breaks him is his innate character.
Gojo got that Duolingo Super subscription. Has tons of followers and follows no one. Got about all of the language courses available on his profile, except for maybe Klingon and High Valyrian, and blowing up the XP counts on them all⌠Heâs a freak.
I can see this being the case. He may like the feeling of being drunk but it messes with his techniques - both his cursed techniques and his RCT. So at some point he mustâve had to make a choice and he did: his techniques needed to be honed at all times and not dulled by alcohol.
But at the same time, goes to show the lengths he went to for his wife, since he drank alcohol each time he met her as Toru, despite it dulling his sensesâŚ
He does have a drivers licence but he simply hasnât renewed it, due to the lack of the need to drive, as Gege says. His licence randomly includes a permit to drive a tractor also...
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Hence, the Gojo x Reader Christmas drabble that's about a month late from actual Christmas âď¸đđ¤śâď¸
âHey.â
Your ears pricked. It was a voice you instantly recognised, though his tone had sounded strange.
Looking up, you found Satoru in his genuine surprise to see you up and out this late, bleached in the glow of the street lamps, your lashes clumping with snow.
âHey!â you exclaimed up at his purple spaghetti outline against the backdrop of the snow-covered street.
âWhat are you doing out?â he asked, tilting his head and with it the balance of his upstrung white strands.
You bit back your smile at how cute he looked â think a husky puppy with its tall ears spilling to one side.
âI could ask you the same! Itâs past midnight, you know?â you pulled your phone out and tapped the screen. â1:24 a.m., in fact. Your mom would be very worried, wouldnât sheââ
Wind shipped around you for a second, scattering snowflakes all around, as Satoruâs warmth suddenly breached your personal space.
âGood thing I donât have a mom,â he muttered to your forehead, his hands still in his pockets, his height hunched over you. âSo what the fuck are you doing alone this late out on Christmas night?â
You laughed at his tone, especially since his pronouncement of âfuckâ was coupled with his audible wide grin â not at all as if he wasnât happy to find you alone this late out on ChristmasâŚ
You flicked your face up.
âFirst tell me why youâre out here! What were you up to?â
It took so much effort to not get crushed and pulverised into mush by the sudden weight of those white bandages that snowed down on you harder than the snow, those bangs of his which keened to you like the tips of icicles, and that grin that seemed more and more pleased with every second of him invading your personal space on this holiest of nights.
Satoru clicked his tongue, his spring smile sloshing sideways.
âItâs Christmas, baby, donât you know? The one night in the year when everyoneâs emotions run high and so do the curses. Besides the Valentineâs Day, of course,â he added after a deliberate pause.
You rolled your eyes. Right. That made sense. In Japan, Christmas wasnât exactly a family celebration â it was more of a coupleâs thing. And you could imagine the amount of tension infesting the air of Tokyo, both positive and negative, tonight of all nights. After all, youâd come out into this snowy night with an emotion, tooâŚ
You averted your gaze. Shimmering snowflakes interspersed your sight, falling in endless spiralling strings, shortening your scope.
You looked back up to the spaghetti-shaped snowman before you. Found him smiling, as though casually, but his eye bandages werenât as good at hiding his true feelings as he thought.
Satoruâs eyes were shot wide under them. They forgot to blink. His irises were fixed in place, fixed on you. Blue and endlessly obsessed. His lashes, graved beneath the bandages, flew apart like fireworks to accommodate his inquisitive stare â the one that was dying to know:
What was on your mind tonight.
Instead of the answer he so craved from your beautiful lips â came from you instead a gesture, a movement, a touch: Satoru sensed your cold fingertips slide into his jacket pocket to find his own fingers. He wanted to warm them so they would never be cold again. He closed his hand around yours, settling you both, hopefully forever, inside his pocket.
With crystal clear eyes you asked of him, âCan I give you a riddle with an impossible answer?â
Satoruâs chest rumbled with his chuckle of anticipation. Ever since meeting you in that burger joint heâd figured you were one for games, for challenges, for riddles. But although you liked to play with puzzles, you were one yourself. And you were blind to it. Blind to the fact that he didnât care about any artificial man-made puzzles or riddles you posed to him, not any crosswords that you spread before him. You were the only thing he wanted to solve.
âTry me,â he dared you with that air of challenge he knew you loved, trying his best to not betray his secret thrill.
Since, as much as he hated it, despised it, wanted to puke â he was dying to be your superhero. Your Clark Kent. Hell, he wanted to fell the tree of knowledge and make its forbidden fruits roll all around your feet...
So, order him! Tell him what you wanted! How did you want him to tire himself to exhaustion after this already draining night of eradicating curses and curse users?! He would do it all, not a second thought in sight.
âI came out tonight,â you began, your smaller fingers playing a harmonica inside his sensitive palm, âhoping to meet the one person I didnât think Iâd meet tonight...â
Satoruâs smile spread, his chest broadened, breath quickened â and you resumed.
ââŚwho would whisk me away to do one of the clichĂŠest Christmas activities ever â but in the most unexpected way.â
Satoru blinked from under the bandages. You smiled up sweetly, ending your harmonica in his palm on a swift allegro. You stepped forth, obliterating the bit of space heâd left between you for the sake of that modicum of propriety.
âIs my riddle unsolvableâŚ?â you asked him with a feigned plea in your gaze, in your voice, in that supple sheen on your tonight yet unkissed lips.
It hurt. It ached. It fucking burned to not grab you by the shoulders right now and crush your smug lips in a bruising kiss!
ââŚFor fuckâs sake,â Gojo swore from the bottom of his heart, just before your surroundings bent, reality warped, the lights around you imploded, and you got whisked away from the snowy street you were standing on.
Your butt landed on a seat crunchy and soft, whereas your head tumbled backwards uncontrollably until it hit something large and warm and stopped. You blinked your eyes open and found Satoru sitting next to you, his long arm extended behind you. You traced the sleeve of his purple jacket to find his large hand sprawled open behind you where heâd stopped your head from hitting, what appeared to be, the ridged trunk of a live fir tree.
Your eyes widened to see it, your breathing held, as you whipped your head directly up and saw above you the webbing of the treeâs branches. But they werenât dark, not like arterial veins inside a blood-filled body â but were like constellations of the sky situated too close to you, blinding you, pouring down on you, embalming you.
The support of Satoruâs large palm was no longer there and you fell back onto the crunchy snow, eyes stunned, imagination assaulted and hijacked â youâd never seen such beauty before.
Stars kept shimmering and bursting all above you. The sky was a usually dome but right now each star was the brightest, none ceded its brilliance, each one kept bursting one after the other.
âWhere are we?â you managed to mouth in barely a whisper, but Satoru somehow heard you.
He audibly smirked and laid back next to you, crunching some more of the pristine white snow.
ââWhisk me away to do one of the clichĂŠest Christmas activities ever, but in the most unexpected way,ââ he quoted you musically and very much mockingly, word for word.
You looked at him beside you. To your breath-binding shock, his eye bandages werenât there anymore. His hair lay in loose feathers over his forehead. His cheekbones were reflective and sharp. And his eyes were bare, bared â blue and golden swirling in them, but like oil and water, never truly joining. The gold of the Christmas lights upon the tree above you danced across the gaseous blueness of his eyes, both hues rioting and shimmering immiscibly inside his irises.
How could beauty of such scale be contained inside his eyeballs, you had no clue. But it was there nonetheless, gazing down at you, churning in your direction, addressing you.
The realisation struck you with a mallet. Your breathing froze with the next eddy of warm air. You ran out from under the constellations, the branches of the tree, the magical overhang.
You ran out, leaving Satoru behind, and found a busy public park around you. Filled with couples sitting together, taking pictures, gifting each other gifts and kisses, and those closest to the giant lit up Christmas tree â staring at you in shock.
You looked in their eyes like a frenzied animal, having run out from under the tree all of a sudden, breathing maniacally and looking all around you, before turning at last back up to the tree â to its towering height, your eyelids mellowing, your lips quivering and finally melting into a broad smile.
It was the Daiba Memorial Tree on the Odaiba island â one the most popular Christmas spots visited by couples of December 25th. And this motherfucker, this GojoâŚ
(you looked pointedly to his spot under the huge illuminated tree)
âŚhad warped you right under it!
As if he felt your searing glare, Satoru emerged from under the tree, lifting its lowest branches and lights with his forearm.
âVery funny,â you muttered, as you now looked around you in embarrassment, at all these couples who glared at you like you were a nutcase out to ruin their picturesque night.
âI thinkâŚâ Satoru stepped next to you, uncaring of them all, clumps of snow falling off of the back of his thighs, as he cursed his arm curled around your waist and pulled you close to him, with no more intimacy to be desired.
ââŚI solved the riddle. Merry Christmas, is it?â
You snorted. Shook your head. And finally laid your forehead onto his broad chest.
Prompt: "Alone and defiant to the end, the rest of your comrades have already fallen."
For @someweirdoreblogger
First he took your eyes.
You didnât know whether if it was out of mercy that he slit a gash across them with his sharp purple claws as soon as you launched your attack, instead of harming you anywhere else. You wondered if it was out of mercy that he blinded you to all the red that was around you â the red that was spurting in fountains from the severed heads, arms, legs and torsos of your fellow sorcerers, your comrades; the red that was pooling underneath your feet â new and old, of all those slain and being slayed; the red that coated his four huge hands as he tore your team members apart, and the red that clung to his canines when he deemed biting off a limb more riveting than just tearing it off; the red of his freakishly four eyes that had swirled and focused on you â dismissive and refusing to graze any of the ones he was dismembering.
But it wasnât mercy. Not when you could still hear their wails, the spurts of their blood, the tearings of their flesh, ligament from ligament, meat from bone. And worst of all â when you could still hear the sound of their regret. You wheezed while listening to that sound expressed in their final cries: regret for having picked the wrong path in their lives â the path that led them to the King of Curses and to the lifeless mush they were now beneath his titanic feet.
The sounds stopped, save for one: the steady breathing of the feral beast himself. Followed by the sinister spiral of his laughter, starting from the hadal depths of his body in a deep vibrating rumble, before climbing to the mocking resonance â abuse â of sound, which borrowed from the screeching and demonic cries of the banshees â until at last he erupted in an earthquake of open-mouthed howl that shook the ground, shook the cave, shook the bones within your body.
In primal terror you inched a step back but stopped abruptly, having felt that your sole stepped on something wet and crunchy. Hideoâs ribcage? Misaki senpaiâs face? Kenjiâs thorax? Ainaâs skull with her brain still inside? Could have been any one of them, you knew, with bile climbing your oesophagus.
Sukuna stepped toward you, reverberating the rock beneath your feet.
It wasnât out of mercy, you realised once again, that he took your eyes. Because you could still feel the red sloshing at your feet. You could still sense the red of those eyes on you. You could feel the red unsated hunger in them still.
âStop!â you had but the sense to command â plead, really â when his clawâs sharp tip alighted on your clavicle and traced up your neck. On his hot breath that fanned your face you smelled the metal of the blood of your vanquished pals.
He has no right! No fucking right!!
Brave words they were, dignified sentiments. But none of them could leave your lips in any other form than wet, mangled cries â desperate and pathetic.
âAlone and defiant to the endâŚâ the same voice that shook the cave and your bones, now said to you in a low indulgent growl. âDidnât you know? The rest of your comrades have already fallen.â
