#depression 0

[tummietown]

the feminine urge to curl up inside a warm, breathing belly as a way to escape from the horrors of the real world

nothing would make me feel more secure than being cradled in the hands of someone so unfathomably giant and so, so, so kind. i need that right now. i need to be cared for. the thought of tender fingers curling around me as their maw opens up, a large, soft tongue curling around me slowly, reminding me of what i'm getting myself into. they'd be taking their time so as not to alarm me. with every twitch and jolt of my tiny body they would hesitate, afraid to startle me. as they hold their mouth open, warm breaths akin to that of a sugary-scented summer's breeze would wash over me in a steady, rhythmic pace. i would imagine the movement of their lungs as they breathe, envisioning each organic swell and contraction. they'd take pleasure in knowing what all i'd be thinking, aware after a certain point that my sheepish behavior is not fear, but rather,, something more light-hearted.

and then, i'd be pulled in. the light from the outside world would fade, replaced by a pitch-blackness unlike anything else. it's a comforting, breathing darkness that swallows me whole. this darkness is alive, and it tells me to simply relax. there is no need to strain my eyes with the light in an obnoxious, heartless world. darkness inside of them is where i find peace. besides, i know i'm not alone. if i was alone, the ground would not be shifting and squirming. there would be a soft *squelch* as the saliva trapped underneath their tongue is shifted about, eliciting a chuckle from me. i'd almost be able to feel the way they'd smile around me, knowing at the very least that they got me to laugh if nothing else. my laugh would trail off as my hands brush against their teeth, sharpened at the tips and yet completely harmless to me. to the lasagna i fixed from earlier, no, but i'm alive. i'm a person. they're free to tear into that lasagna as much as they'd like, matter of fact! i worked hard on it. me, however? i'm delicate to them. they know they must be gentle with me. they'd never use their teeth to hurt me. though, i do recognize that they'd like me to pay attention to those teeth of theirs. their tongue, soft and folded underneath me, would move to poke at the divot in one of their molars, bringing my attention to it in the process. i'd smooth my trusting hand over their molar and thumb at every individual detail. it's fascinating, really. i think a big reason why vore intrigues me so much to begin with is because it's all so terribly captivating. everything is alive, and everything alive surrounds me. it's comforting.

i really think we need to appreciate just how nice mouths are, y'know? i think that's an underrated part in vore. there's so much material, and yet it goes untouched for the most part, but i digress

we'd need to move on eventually. their maw would start to fill up with drool, and since i would have been anticipating the upcoming part, i'd already be comfortable and prepared for their tongue to lift, lift, lift, and send me sliding down their throat into a hot, pulsing abyss. every inch of my body would be coated in a thick blanket of slobber by this point, and i imagine that'd definitely make the journey down their esophagus much, much easier. i think most people fail to realize just how challenging it'd be to swallow someone whole without chewing, regardless of their size. or maybe we choose to overlook it bc vore can't technically exist at all irl anyway idk. i like to ramble lol

at some point, the tight, throbbing walls of their gullet would transition into a different space. i'd slip inside, recognizing my ability to move around and get comfortable unlike the other organ i was squeezed into after their swallow. as i'd lean my head back against the fleshy abdominal wall behind me, i'd feel a lack of resistance comparable to a beanbag chair and how it feels to lay in one. the walls would adjust to this new weight, moving to surround me. i would be cradled and held. adored instinctively. their stomach doesn't obviously have cognitive thought, but somewhere within the deep recesses of their mind, their brain perceives me as being more than just sustenance. i am loved here. this is my safe space, and nobody else would be able to agree. that is how i want this to be. if i could write my name somewhere in here, i would. that wouldn't last very long, though.

not a word would be exchanged between the two of us, and yet our silence holds more weight than anything we could say. my throat would feel dry, and i'd swallow a few times before raising my hand to pat at the lining of their precious gut. they'd laugh outwardly, and i'd know that if i could purr, i would be doing it. the tension in my muscles would dissolve into warmth, spreading throughout my small body. i am fragile and exposed, but that is how i like it. it's nice to feel small while being small.

for them, i'm unsure how they'd feel. i like to think that, while unnatural, this process would be enjoyable for them. the stinging ache behind their collarbone would be evidence of me, a reminder of the tiny body they carried into a comforting space. their soft fingers would rub at their neck, gracing over the spot near their adam's apple where i once was. they'd swallow again, feeling the bob of their throat. their hand would trail down to their stomach, pausing right above the taut flesh above their belly. with every rise and fall of my chest they'd feel movement, and they'd attempt to mimic it. i think they'd take in every foreign sensation one at a time, and i'd appreciate that. we're both still new to this, after all.

as they'd adjust themselves to get comfortable in bed, my environment would slowly move with me. i'd wait until i could no longer feel their movement, and then i'd curl up on my side in a small pool of gastric juices and drool. though very muffled, i'd hear the smacking of their lips and their deep, pleased hums as they savor what would be left of my recognizable taste clinging to the surfaces of their mouth. i might even hear them licking their fingers. i'd roll my eyes and bury my face into my arms, only to lift my head upon realizing that my arms are coated in slime. silly me. how could i forget? even with the constant drum of a strong heartbeat and the churning from below of a meal i prepared hours ago for them sounding all around me?

"you're a dork," i'd call out to them, my voice audibly cracking after so long of having nothing to say. the rumbling laughter that would surround me and the way their walls would squeeze around me briefly would remind me of just how small and frail i truly am within them.

"says the one who asked to be eaten earlier," they'd tease, a hint of playfulness evident in their tone. i'd scoff.

"yeah, well, i know you enjoy it. you'd be a liar to say you don't like the aftertaste i left in your mouth earlier," i would reply. they'd pause, and then i'd hear a hum without reply. being the way i am, i'd take that as surrender. not that it mattered. they'd be in a more lovey-dovey mood anyway.

the way they'd yawn would send chills speeding up my spine despite the hot, stale air within the depths of their insides. i'd reciprocate the yawn and then settle in contentedly once and for all within them, finding peace in the silence that would arise again. sometimes i like the silence between us more anyway. it's nice to enjoy your presence, especially when it's all that i can enjoy, really. i'm trapped within you. there's nothing else to focus on. everything is you. everything i look at, smell, hear, breathe in... it's you. it's all you.

thanks for that. i like being here. maybe we can do this again sometime?

[thriftybruce]

Until the mountains crumble to the sea

Extra Doodle Below the Cut and Script:

Script:

Page 1:

Fiddleford: O' c'mon stop fussin' you big ol' lug! It ain't that big of a deal...

'Sides, you kept complaining 'bout how your shoulder was actin' up all day!!

Stan: Well yeah! But I always lead...

Fiddleford: There! Isn't this much better?

Stan: Hmm.

Page 2

Fiddleford: Stan.

Stan: Yeah?

Fiddleford: Who sings this song again?

Stan: Uhm...Oh! Uh Cass Elliot! Yeah, Cass Elliot...

Fiddleford: Ah. Well...she sounds lovely...

This is a nice night.

Stan: Yeah.

Page 3

(There is no written dialogue for this page. The only written portions are the lyrics, which eventually fade out.)

Extra Doodle

Fiddleford: Stan, are you crying?!

Stan: Yes! Er- I mean no! I mean maybe? I'm sorry! The song got to me! Curse you Cass Elliot! You and your delightful singing!

[r3tr0raven]

On this day of last year (Dec. 14, 2023), I finally completed a several months long project for my dearest sister. (Permission was granted to show this.)

☆Traditional scrapbook art of Sun!☆

This was not only a sweet Christmas gift of the silly daycare attendant; but more of a silent milestone for me to prove that I can complete something through heavy depression.

It took far too long than originally planned- but she loves it all the same.. and that makes it all worth it! And honestly, I'm happy I made this.

Half-Documented process under the cut!

---☆Welcome to UnderTheCut!☆---

So glad you stopped by! Apologies if quality is off, my adhd kept forgetting, so the photos were half-rushed. *cOuGh* OKAY! Here we go!

^First sketch with blue pencil and detailed redraw with classic pencil.

^Pencil cleanup as well as line art with 1mm (main) and 1.5mm (fingers and inner detail) black pen.

^Sunny fully coloured with Ohuhu's (main colouring) highlighters (special hue shading, painted child hands & selected stickers) and colour pencil (stickers & markings). Golden Poska for bells, ruffle swirls, and under eye-lashes. Light shiny stickers here and there too.

^Background card brainstorm loose fitting and after proper cut an' placement. (Aka: Before & After.)

And that's that!

Till this day, it is one of my most prized projects. And to know it's in the hands of someone I deeply care for makes my heart whole.♡

Now all of you can see it! I hope it can help inspire to explore a little more into traditional arts; the process can be lengthy, but in the end it'll all be worth it to make someone smile. :)

As always; Thank You for reading and checking out this artistic little corner- wish you all a wondrous day/evening dca (& fnaf) community!

~R3tr0. ☆*○.

[victorie552]

Just had a thought, it's completely half-baked: So, um, NoME I think, said that there totally could be hröar without any fëar running around, right? Translating: there could be moving bodies with no souls/occupants left.

Zombies. Middle Earth has zombies.

And when would be a better time for zombies to roam around than after Nirnaeth Arnoediad? Even more after Second and Third Kinslaying. You know who would have a perfect opportunity to fight zombies to the point of habit? Fëanorians.

So I imagined the situation where Maedhros and Maglor fight some zombies, successfully turning them into parts (I mean, duh). Then Maedhros says something self-hating like "Surely there's more good to them than was left of us(me) as it hunts and hurts without consent, intent nor will, unlike us(me)."

And Maglor looks at him, then at the zombie's head he holds. He reaps the skull open (with his hands, yes), takes zombies' brain out, and throws it at Maedhros with "We also have an evidence he had a brain, unlike some brother of mine."

Cue Medhros releasing the MOST Older Brother Sigh.

[charbies]

Linktober day 7 - sky island

[tima7fa]

Talk To Me

Gojo Satoru x Therapy

Contents: satoru being stupid, reader is a therapist, reader is sugurus sister, didn't adress it that much because my hands hurt and I'm lazy, mention of character death, I honestly don't think this is very romantic probably more platonic, I hate this actually for some reason, this is the longest shit I've written in a while

Note: Satoru doesn't know reader is sugurus sister because she has a different last name, and while she was studying at the same school suguru never knew he had an older sister reader knew she has a younger brother but she never approached him or said anything to him what she regrets the most

And do not attack me yall I don't know how therapy works okay? I've never been there even tho some people tell me I should go to therapy

"Suguru geto is dead."

Your hand froze, the pen you were holding punched a jagged hole through the paper, which became surrounded by a spreading pool of ink. You stared blankly at the damaged sheet, the room falling silent around you in a suffocating hush.

Your gaze slowly met the somber expression of the man seated across from you. "Why are you telling me this, Principal Yaga?" you asked, your voice laced with a veneer of mournful softness.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "He was your younger brother-"

"No," you interjected firmly, cutting him off. "I do not know such a man, so please do not speak of him to me here." The harshness in your tone was palpable as you released your grip on the pen, crumpling the ruined paper into an uneven ball and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket.

"You were always a terrible liar, you know," Yaga remarked, reaching a hand out to gently wipe the tears that had carved burning paths down your cheeks. "I would have believed you if your eyes weren't betraying so much grief."

"I'm not crying because of him," you protested desperately, though your futile attempts to stem the flow of tears proved fruitless.

"Child..." Yaga murmured, pulling you from your seat and enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You clung to him tightly, burying your face into the reassuring solidity of his chest as you surrendered to your sorrowful outpouring.

After some time, you finally managed to regain your composure. Yaga handed you a stack of files, and your eyes immediately fell upon a photograph of a white-haired man.

"There is someone I need you to help," the dark-haired man began. "Satoru Gojo." You uttered the name of the renowned child prodigy, staring at Yaga with a look of confusion.

"Satoru and Suguru were close friends, with a deep connection to one another..." Yaga trailed off, his expression heavy with concern. "The one who ended up killing Suguru... was Satoru himself. And he is not in a good mental state."

"I know I'm asking a great deal of you, to help the person who took your brother's life, but-"

"I'll help him," you interrupted, offering Yaga a weak, but resolute smile.

The man's eyes widened with surprise, but his gaze remained clouded with worry. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

You simply nodded in response, steeling your resolve to assist the one who had taken your beloved sibling from you.

___________________________________________

It's absolutely preposterous. No, wait - it's downright hilarious. Satoru Gojo, of all people, being forced into therapy? What a cruel twist of fate. He never wanted this, never needed this. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, he's been strongarmed into it, all thanks to Principal Yaga's meddling.

Surely, this has to be some sort of twisted joke. But alas, he has no choice in the matter. It's either submit to this ludicrous therapy session or risk losing his teaching position - a job he cherishes, as it allows him to continue molding his students, pushing them to heights greater than even his own.

And so, here he sits, in this cozy little room, across from a woman armed with a pad and pen, scrutinizing him through his thick black shades. How is he, a sorcerer tasked with the mastery of curses, supposed to confide in this simple human about the intricacies of his life? She likely doesn't even have the faintest idea what "cursed energy" is, let alone the trials and tribulations he faces on a daily basis.

But he can't ignore the neatly maintained amount of cursed energy emerging from her.

Of course, he has no intention of revealing anything of substance. If he so much as mentions the nature of his work, she'd probably have him committed to a mental institution faster than he can blink.

"So what brings you here today, Mr. Gojo?" the woman asks, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a saccharine smile plastered across her face.

Satoru huffs heavily, the irritation seeping into his tone. "I'm not here by choice. Principal Yaga forced me to come here."

"I know," she responds, and Gojo raises a brow, surprised by her candor. "And I can see that this is your first time here."

"I'm asking you why do you think you're here," the therapist probes, her brows furrowing as Satoru satoru shifts in his seat, crossing his legs defiantly.

"Because I was forced to be here-" he begins, only to be swiftly interrupted.

"Why?" she presses, her tone infuriatingly calm and measured.

Satoru falls silent, staring at her blankly, his irritation palpable. This is supposed to be his time to vent, and yet she keeps interjecting, undermining his attempts at explanation. He already finds her immensely grating.

"Mr. Gojo?" the therapist gingerly tilts her head, awaiting his answer. Satoru sighs heavily, the frustration clear in his voice.

"Because Principal Yaga thinks I'm in desperate need of therapy," he spits through gritted teeth, the mere recollection of that argument making his blood boil.

"What about you? What do you think?" she probes further, her expression maddeningly serene.

"That all of this is stupid. I'm not in need of therapy - I'm perfectly fucking fine," satoru retorts, turning his head away to gaze out the window, where the rain has now begun to fall. He's the strongest sorcerer, for God's sake - he doesn't require aid from anyone.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't need it," she calmly asserts, and satoru can feel his nails digging into the flesh of his biceps through his clothes, crescent-shaped indentations surely imprinting his skin.

His gaze snaps back to her, a scowl etched upon his features. "The hell you mean?" he spits, his tone dripping with venom. "I just told you I was forced to be here. Why the hell don't you understand that?"

"If you were actually fine, Mr. Gojo, you wouldn't be here," the therapist repeats, her saccharine smile infuriating him to no end.

"Since it's your first time here, I'll explain to you how therapy works-" the therapist begins, only to be swiftly cut off by satoru's acerbic retort.

"I know how it works. I spill my guts out to you, you give me some useless advice, write some bullshit on your pad, diagnose that I'm somehow mentally ill - blah, blah, blah," he interjects mockingly, rolling his eyes with palpable annoyance.

The therapist pauses, staring at him for a moment before chuckling softly. "Therapists aren't actually supposed to give advice, as we know that it won't help our clients in any meaningful way or may even make them feel worse. So we avoid doing that. Rather than giving you advice, we guide you to see how your feelings, thoughts, choices, and actions affect one another. And we teach you about emotions, thoughts, coping skills, facing fears, and more."

Satoru scoffs in return, unimpressed. It doesn't matter to him what her job description entails. How the hell is he supposed to feel comfortable when he's paying a person to listen to him? She doesn't genuinely want to hear his problems (not that he has any, of course). And who knows, she'll probably gossip about the shit he says with her friends.

"Now, how about you start telling me about your day?" she inquires, switching the subject, having likely noticed his lingering irritation. Satoru scoffs, as though that were a mind-numbingly dull question.

"My day? Same as any other day," Satoru shrugs. "What do you want to know? The weather? I took a very interesting dump in the morning? Got myself some food, did whatever the hell teachers do - the usual."

The therapist sighs, seemingly ready to give up on that line of questioning, or perhaps regretting having asked it in the first place. Even so, she jots something down on her pad, and Satoru isn't sure if what he said was actually so worthy of being noted.

"Do you seriously have to take notes? What was so important in my answer to write down?" he questions, his tone mocking.

"Everything you say is important, Mr. Gojo," she replies with a hum.

"Really? Is it really that important that I took a dump this morning?" Satoru laughs derisively. Therapy is a joke, as far as he's concerned.

The therapist looks at him with those eerily calm eyes once more, her irritatingly artificial smile still plastered on her face. "You're a teacher - what did you teach your students today?"

What.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me what subjects I teach?" Satoru looked at her suspiciously, wondering if Yaga had somehow explained to her that he is a sorcerer.

"You're a jujutsu sorcerer. There's no need for me to ask what subjects you teach," she replied calmly.

Satoru leaned in, his elbow resting on his thigh as he held his chin in his palm. "You seem to know a lot about me, doc. Just who are you exactly?" A grin appeared on his face, as he considered the possibility that she might also be a sorcerer like him. Outside of the jujutsu domain, humans don't typically know who Gojo Satoru is.

"I'm your therapist," she simply replied, and his brow twitched slightly. "You know what I'm asking, miss."

"What do you think?" She tilted her head, smiling at him. Of course, she would turn the question back to him - it always has to be about his feelings and thoughts in therapy.

"You are a sorceress," he muttered, no longer doubting the amount of cursed energy he felt in the room. She must be a skilled sorceress, able to maintain her cursed energy at a small, unnoticed level surrounding her.

But why would Principal Yaga assign a sorceress to him? Was this some kind of trick? The woman before him is probably not even a real therapist. Still, he's never heard of her name before - perhaps she's a sorceress from another nation?

"Close. I was a sorceress," she revealed.

Satoru's brow furrowed. Why did she quit? And why did she become a therapist? Just who is she exactly?

"Now, why don't we get back on track?" she inquired, smoothly switching the subject and ending his train of thought.

The rest of the session was simply her attempting to get to know him better, or rather, analyze him. However, satoru did not give her that opportunity. Why should he? Yaga had only instructed him to attend therapy, not that it had to be effective. Honestly, satoru did not particularly care about this endeavor.

Why should he divulge information about himself to someone he barely even knows? Not to mention, she is being paid to listen to him - she is not doing this out of her own volition or good-hearted intentions.

She likely does not truly care about his problems (not that he has any, in his opinion). So why should his feelings and thoughts matter to her? She is merely performing her job, nothing more, nothing less.

Satoru has no intention of pouring his heart out to a complete stranger he knows little about. He understands that therapy is meant to provide him with a safe space to be vulnerable and open about everything. But he does not feel comfortable in this room.

___________________________________________

Satoru sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist as he relaxes in the chair in front of her.

"You worry too much," he says casually. "Why don't we ever talk about your feelings? We only ever talk about me."

Satoru is aware that she only wants the best for him. He simply does not care. He is here because it is mandatory, not because he wants to be. He does not believe he needs therapy, despite her claims otherwise. As his therapist, of course she would tell him he requires this treatment.

It has been a month since their therapy sessions began, and satoru has not been the least bit cooperative. The only aspect he has enjoyed is the freedom to freely criticize the higher-ups without anyone chastising him or telling him it is inappropriate.

She would always listen intently to every word that came out of his mouth, diligently noting things down in her little pad. Honestly, not even his own students gave him the same level of attention that she bestowed upon him. He couldn't help but appreciate the fact that his feelings mattered in this space, that what he said truly held significance. He liked that. And he couldn't deny that he enjoyed her undivided attention on him.

"Because I'm your therapist, and I'm supposed to listen to you. Not the other way around." She sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "How many times do we have to go through this conversation?" She looked utterly exhausted, and he almost felt a tinge of guilt for making this so difficult for her. Keyword: almost.

He knew that she was simply doing her job. But he didn't care - he would make her tired of him until she gave up on him.

Yet, at the same time, the thought of her giving up on him left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't really want that.

He shrugged, smirking. "As many times as you want to," he said, with his ever-present sense of humor. "I can keep dodging questions all day, if you like. I'm perfectly fine just existing in this room while you try to wrangle me into being vulnerable."

"However, I can't say the same about you, doctor." He taunted.

"I am not trying to make you vulnerable, I'm trying to help you understand your feelings and maybe find solutions for your problems, Mr. Gojo," she said calmly, as she crossed her legs and leaned back into her chair.

Satoru rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand dismissively as he slumped against the back of his chair. "Help me understand my problems. Solve them. Figure out why I am the way I am. Heard it all before."

He knew he had to be here, in therapy, every week. However, that didn't mean he had to be vulnerable or cooperate with all this touchy-feely stuff. He simply didn't like that kind of thing.

"What makes you the happiest, Mr. Gojo?" She began asking him again. Seriously, how many questions did she prepare for him every time? He couldn't deny that he didn't dislike the fact that she worked so hard, just for him.

Hm.

It was a question he had genuinely considered. What made him the happiest?

"Fighting," he said after a pause. He gave a casual shrug. "I enjoy fights. They're fun. And when they get hard, it makes me want to try even harder. So... I guess that's what makes me the happiest - winning a difficult fight."

"The rush of adrenaline makes me feel... I don't know, excited? You know," he muttered, finding it somewhat challenging to articulate.

She scribbled some more notes in her pad. "Is there any fight that made you especially happy?" she then asked, her gaze shifting back to him from her pad.

"Mhm," he hummed, a small smirk forming on his face. This was a fun question for him. "Well... there was the time I got to fight a special grade," he said, the smile widening as he recalled the memory. "And that time I beat Toji. That's a really good memory."

"I would've died. But he didn't use a cursed tool, and didn't cut my head off," he chuckled, as if it were something to be happy about. "You should've seen the look on his face when he saw me, the one he supposedly killed, still alive and kicking."

"But I can't say I'm not grateful to him. Because I got to finally learn how reverse cursed technique works," he said with a wide grin on his face, and she followed suit by taking more notes in her pad.

He noticed her actions and stared at her with an exaggerated eyebrow raise. "Go ahead, make your notes about me being a sadist and liking to inflict pain or something. Then go back and analyze it with all your other therapist friends."

"I already said this before, whatever happens in this room will stay in this room, Mr. Gojo," she replied. "So be not afraid to spill anything to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked, amused.

"What's my diagnosis, doc?" He tilted his head, staring at her as she lifted her head up from her pad to meet his gaze. "I'm a very bad person, don't you think? I love the pain I inflict on curses, I love the way they fear me, the fear in their eyes makes me feel so fucking excited," he laughed loudly.

"And when their blood taints my skin and clothes, it's such a disgusting texture yet it makes me want to be covered more with their blood. It feels so fucking amazing," he stared at her, awaiting a visible reaction, but he was met with nothing but an empty smile and empty eyes.

He hates this. He hates her. She's just an empty shell.

"You're just as crazy as I am, doc. Aren't ya?"

___________________________________________

But before she could say anything, the session had already ended, and Satoru was quick on his feet to get out of there.

Satoru rolls his eyes at her words and sighs. He leans back into the chair and spreads his legs, getting comfortable.

"This is such a pain," he mutters. "Do we really have to talk today? There's nothing to discuss. I'm peachy keen."

"Mr. Gojo, I need you to be a little more cooperative," she uttered gently.

"Do you, now?" Satoru's tone was dry, like sandpaper, his expression unchanging. He tilted his head slightly to the side. He could tell she was running out of patience, but that didn't stop him from being intentionally difficult. In fact, it made it more fun for him. "Yes, it's for your own good."

Satoru chuckles a little bit. "Aaaand here's the old 'it's for your own good' trope again, huh?" He shook his head, feigning mock disappointment. "I thought we were done with that by now, honestly."

"I do think that you really need this," she said seriously. "Look, Mr. Gojo, you might show your playful and cheerful side to everyone around you, but that is only a way to make them feel safe around you. I don't know what it's like to be the strongest, but I know that it can get pretty lonely standing on your own on top."

"You make it sound like I'm unhappy or something," he replied, shaking his head again. "Is it really so crazy for you to think that I'm perfectly fine being by myself? That I prefer being alone?" A small smile appeared on his face again. "I'm not lonely, doctor. I get more attention than I want, actually."

"That's not it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I know you have friends, you're a pretty talkative person and also a person who's approachable." She gave him a small smile. "Still, being surrounded by people doesn't mean that you feel the warmth of comfort. You keep them around you but still hold a certain distance between you and them that you never let them cross. You never let people get too close to you, which is a problem because you're isolating yourself from the world even if you think you're doing the opposite."

His small smile faded, and he rolled his eyes as he began to look agitated. He sat up, leaning forward towards her, his elbows on his knees. "What's with the armchair psychology? Where are you even getting all of this? You don't know me. You can't just assume these kinds of things based on just a few therapy sessions."

"I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, and please do correct me if I'm wrong. But there are a lot of people who feel lonely even while being surrounded by people," she sighed.

"Regrettably, I struggle to forge meaningful connections with others," he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. "They fail to comprehend me. They do not know the true me. They would be unable to accept me as I truly am, so I ceased exerting the effort. I stopped attempting to force something that was simply never going to materialize. Therefore, I shall keep everyone at a distance, for that is what they deserve. I do not grapple with the kinds of issues you presume I do, so desist in your efforts to analyze me."

She replied softly, "They are unaware of your authentic self because that is the outcome you desire, Mr. Gojo. If you are unwilling to be truthful about your personality and emotions with another individual, can you genuinely call that a connection? A relationship? It is all constructed upon walls of deception, intended to keep them at bay."

Satoru's response was tinged with bitterness. "So you are asserting that the fault lies with me for people's rejection, correct?" He leaned forward, his arms crossed defensively over his knees. A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I have made attempts to be honest with others. I have exerted the effort before, yet all I ever received in return was judgment and fear. I shall not place myself in that position again."

"The fault does not lie with you that they do not like you. However, the fault lies with you in presenting a false persona to them daily. Allow me to pose a question - from all the individuals surrounding you, can you name a single person who truly knows you?" she inquired.

Satoru's expression darkened at her words, the façade he maintained for others striking a chord. How could she discern this about him? It irritated him, albeit slightly. His gaze hardened with annoyance.

"No," he admitted in defeat. "I am surrounded by those I call friends, yet not a single soul among them truly knows me."

"Why not try opening up to them?" she suggested. "I will not ask you to confide in me, for I understand you do not particularly enjoy conversing with me, and that is perfectly acceptable. However, I am certain that at least one person would be willing to listen. Believe it or not, if they truly care for you, they will accept you with all your vulnerabilities and flaws."

A scoff escaped his lips at her proposal. "I'd rather not," he stated firmly. There was a sense of finality in his tone, and he was resolute in his decision. He had no desire to open up to anyone. That struck him as a waste of time.

"Even were I to open up to someone, there is a zero percent chance they would genuinely accept me for who I am. It is merely wishful thinking on your part, and you know it," he added.

"I would be truly delighted if you felt inclined to open up, Mr. Gojo. I sincerely implore you to believe me when I say I am fully attentive and receptive to whatever you wish to share," she sighed.

"Yeah, yeah..." he responded dismissively.

Satoru maintained his smirk, genuinely impressed by her unwavering conviction. He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin pensively. "Why are you being so uncharacteristically kind?" he inquired. "Most therapists I've encountered are arrogant, know-it-all types. You, on the other hand, seem far too amiable. I'm not entirely convinced."

His expression suddenly hardened as he leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You're deceiving me," he declared. "You must have some ulterior motive. Therapists do not pose those ostensibly benevolent questions out of pure kindness. You must be attempting to extract something from me - perhaps a salacious story to sell to the press, or you may have a reporter willing to pay handsomely for such information. Or, it could be that you are merely trying to bolster your own image, and I am the unfortunate individual you intend to 'utilize.' Well, let me inform you of something, my dear."

He seized the arms of her chair, pulling it forcefully towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. Satoru could hear the subtle hitch in her breath, a sign of her surprise at his sudden, assertive action. Maintaining unwavering eye contact, he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You should understand," he whispered, "that I am no stranger to individuals who believe they have me all figured out. So no matter how genuine you may seem, my dear, I am not so easily cracked." With that, he reclined back in his chair, releasing his grip on her seat. "You'll have to try something else."

For a moment, she remained silent, before letting out a soft sigh and offering him a gentle smile. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Gojo." Her words, rather than indignant, carried a sense of empathy.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected her to refute his accusations, to insist that she harbored no ulterior motives. But instead, she had responded with gratitude for his candor.

He stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her facade of kindness to crumble. Yet, it never did. This woman, it seemed, was genuine in her compassion.

"If you feel uncomfortable in my presence, please do not hesitate to request a different therapist," she suggested, her tone measured and understanding. "I would be more than happy to make the necessary arrangements."

Satoru's expression darkened at her offer. "No," he said, his voice harsher than he had intended. He paused, taking a breath to regain his composure. "No, I want you," he stated firmly. "I'm cooperating, aren't I? If I wanted someone else, I would have requested a change long ago."

Satoru took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly at her gentle suggestion.

"You were more cooperative than before. And I appreciate that," she said, offering him a warm smile.

Satoru blinked in surprise. He had not expected such a genuine acknowledgment of his progress.

"So... what?" he asked, tilting his head as he considered her words. "You're saying you're proud of me?"

"I am. You're doing great," she hummed softly.

To both her and his own surprise, Satoru suddenly burst out laughing – a loud, unrestrained sound that filled the small space as he leaned back in his chair, clutching his stomach in an attempt to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he managed after a moment, taking a deep breath as he looked at her. "That... that just took me by surprise."

"No, please don't apologize," she quickly reassured him. "I must say, this is the most expressive I've seen you in this room." She chuckled lightly.

Satoru couldn't deny the truth in her words. His laughter finally subsiding, he smirked, crossing his arms. "Expressive? I guess if you count 'laughing like a maniac' as being expressive, I can agree."

He paused, a touch of amusement still in his tone. "I guess I'm improving, if I'm entertaining you."

"So, got something else to ask me, doc?" he inquired, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Tell me, do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?" she asked, her gaze steady and her tone sincere.

Satoru's features twisted into an expression of annoyance at the question. "Of course I know who I am," he retorted, the defensiveness evident in his tone. "What is this, a therapy session?"

"I'm not asking you about the position you've been forced into, and definitely not the personality made up," she said, shaking her head. "I'm asking you – do you really know who you are?"

He let out a dry laugh, the irritation seeping through. "Who I really am? What kind of question is that? Are you seriously going to ask me to define my entire existence right now? Are you expecting me to have some groundbreaking revelation or something? Because I hate to break it to you, doctor, but I'm tired of all this self-reflecting nonsense."

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you think about yourself," she sighed, her patience unwavering.

Satoru tilted his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes. He was doing this not because he genuinely wanted to, but to get her off his back.

After a few moments of contemplation, he responded, "The strongest. I'm unreachable, untouchable."

"If you ask someone else the same question," she trailed off, "what's the first thing that comes to mind when they think of Gojo Satoru? They'll reply with the same thing. But is it really what you want?"

He opened his eyes, looking at her with a furrowed brow. "What I want?" he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "What I want is for you to not ask me weird questions that have no point or answer. I'm perfectly fine with being unreachable and untouchable. That's how I's always been. It's the natural order of things."

"Is strength really what defines you?" she asked. He raised a brow. "What's your point?"

"Do you know who you are?"

"Tell me, will you be Gojo Satoru without your powers?"

This question - it struck a chord within him. He remembers the day Suguru left, and the question that had remained unanswered until now. He had chosen to ignore it, but now it was haunting him once more.

Without his powers? His powers had been such a central focus in his life; he'd never truly considered his life without them. He... didn't even know who he would be. He was Gojo Satoru, the strongest of the strong. Take that away, and who was left?

He couldn't answer that. He simply remained silent, looking down at his hands, his grip tightening on his knees as he felt a sense of defensiveness.

But then, he stopped himself, his grip loosening as he looked at her, still frowning but with slightly less irritation in his expression.

"The therapy session is over," she said softly. "I want you to think about this question and try to find an answer to it."

Satoru let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, the session was finally over. Despite being overjoyed that he no longer had to continue, his expression darkened a little, his brow furrowing in thought. He knew he would be thinking about this, whether he wanted to or not. She didn't even have to ask.

He stood up from the chair and left the room without giving her a last glance. He heard her say something about how he should take care of himself.

The drive back to the Gojo Clan's compound was spent in relative silence. Ijichi kept a watchful eye on Satoru, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were consumed by the question posed to him during the therapy session.

As the car pulled up to the gates of the compound, Satoru suddenly spoke. "Ijichi," he said, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, "if I weren't the strongest, would I still be Gojo Satoru?"

Ijichi's gaze shifted to Satoru, surprise flickering across his features at the unexpected question.

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "Your strength is a significant aspect of who you are, but it is not the essence of your identity." He watched Satoru for a moment, noting the expression on his face. "May I ask why you're asking this, Gojo?"

"Just something that I thought about," he said dismissively.

The rest of the evening was spent in a haze of thought for Satoru, tossing and turning in bed as he wrestled with his questions, doubts, and insecurities. They swirled in his mind, keeping him from finding respite. He had never felt so uncertain, so lost before. Who was he without the mantle of the strongest? What did he even have left?

He tried to shake off these thoughts, to push them to the back of his mind, but the questions persisted, gnawing at him like a relentless ache.

Gojo's thoughts returned to the question she had asked, "Do you know who you are?" He couldn't help but scowl at the recollection. He had taken offense to the question then, but now, alone with his thoughts in the quiet of the night, he found himself truly grappling with the magnitude of that question.

Who was he? This question had never posed a challenge before. He had always known who he was - the strongest. That had been his identity for as long as he could remember.

___________________________________________

The days that followed were restless, as her questions flooded his mind at all times - while teaching, on a mission, or at home. Her question occupied his mind constantly.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was no point in lying here, unable to sleep. He needed air.

Satoru grabbed his jacket and threw it over his shoulders before quietly making his way out of the room, the floor creaking under his feet in the otherwise silent compound.

As he walked, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating down the hallway, he couldn't shake off the persistent questions that had been plaguing his mind all night.

He reached the entrance of the compound and stepped outside into the cool night air. The stars twinkled above him, a blanket of sparkling lights against the inky sky. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the quiet and the solitude.

But even in the silence of the night, the questions stayed with him, refusing to give him peace. He found himself facing an identity crisis that gnawed at him like never before.

Satoru walked, the snow crunching beneath every step his feet took. He walked with no destination in mind, hoping that maybe the movement and the fresh air would help clear his mind. Yet, no matter how far he walked, he couldn't escape the questions that haunted him.

Suddenly, the thought struck him - perhaps he needed guidance. But who could he turn to? His mind flitted through the people in his life - Nanamin, Ieiri, Ijichi, but ultimately he dismissed each one. They would never understand what he was going through.

But the thought persisted. He couldn't shake off the idea of her help. She had already managed to get under his skin, planting this seed of doubt that had grown into this existential crisis. Perhaps she was exactly the person he needed right now.

Satoru clenched his fists, silently cursing to himself. He had always prided himself on being in control, but now, here he was, considering seeking help from the very person who had caused his turmoil in the first place.

But it was late at night, would she even help him if he called her right now? Would she help him without getting paid, without being in that stuffy room?

As the dial tone rang through the line, anxiety began to creep into his mind. What if she didn't answer? What if she hung up once she realized it was him? He had never called her outside of their sessions before. Why would she answer now?

After what felt like an eternity, the line clicked open, breaking the silence. Satoru's heart pounded in his chest. She had actually answered.

"Hello? How may I help you?" Her voice was sleepy and confused at the late call.

Satoru hesitated for a moment, the sound of her tired, confused voice sending prickles of guilt through him. Should he really be doing this? But he had already come this far; he couldn't back down now.

"It's me," he finally said, his voice low and a little apologetic. "Gojo Satoru. I - I need help."

"Mr. Gojo?" She was suddenly wide awake, she didn't expect him of all people to call. "Of course, where are you right now?"

"I'm... I'm outside," he replied, a hint of shame in his voice. He didn't know how to explain where he was or what he was doing out so late. "I was walking. But I can't stop thinking about that question you asked me in the session that day. And it's driving me insane. I - I need answers."

"Can you be more specific? I'm on my way— ah, shit!" She cursed as she hit her foot with something she wasn't able to see in the dark, she quickly put on her jacket and her scarf and went downstairs.

Gojo heard the clatter and curse from her end of the line, making him flinch slightly. He felt oddly guilty for waking her and even making her come out at this late hour.

"Be more specific?" he repeated, his irritation seeping into his voice. "Isn't it enough that you threw my whole world off-balance? Now you need more specifics...?" But his tone softened as he mumbled, "I guess it'd be better if you were here."

"No. Where are you right now exactly?" She asked, putting her shoes on and finally going outside as it had begun snowing. She quickly got into her car.

Gojo huffed out a sigh, glancing around to get his bearings, "I'm about three miles north of Jujutsu High."

He was still outside the compound, which meant he had walked a considerable distance in his thoughts. The snowflakes were slowly falling from the sky, each one descending gently to the ground. Gojo stood there, watching them fall, waiting for her to arrive and, hopefully, provide some clarity to his chaotic thoughts.

"Okay, stay where you are. I'll be there in 10 minutes." She said as she started driving. "Tell me how you've been feeling today?"

Satoru rolled his eyes slightly as he heard her questioning. This woman just didn't know when to quit. But he was here for an answer, so he might as well satisfy her with some small talk beforehand.

"I've been feeling lost," he admitted after a moment, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "Like everything I've ever known about myself has been turned upside down." He paused, a hint of resentment in his voice. "All because of what you said during the session."

"I see. It's good that you've thought about it, Mr. Gojo," she muttered softly.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Because right now, I feel like you've thrown my whole world off-balance. And for what? Because you wanted me to 'think about it'?" Satoru let out a bitter chuckle. "You're cruel, you know that? Or perhaps you just find pleasure in messing with my mind."

"A person needs to know themselves before trying to help themselves." She said. "You don't know who you are."

"And whose fault is that?" He muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. "I had this issue before, but I had somehow gotten rid of it. But now that you've planted this seed of doubt again, all I can think about is questioning who I am. It's maddening!"

He let out a bitter chuckle again. "Are you happy now, that I'm having this crisis?"

"Thank you for sharing your feelings." She said, as if trying to comfort him.

"Don't act so sweet, like you actually care about how I feel," he snapped. He was tired, irritated, and at the end of his rope. "You have no idea what this revelation is doing to me. My whole identity was built upon being the strongest. If you take that away, what's left of me? Who am I without that identity?"

She parked near Jujutsu High, getting outside of her car. "I do know what you're feeling right now, believe it or not I was in the same state that you were in." The snow crunched beneath her shoes as she started searching for him.

Satoru scoffed slightly, disbelief clear in his voice. "You know what it's like to have your entire identity shattered like this? Please. As if you could ever understand my struggle. I've dedicated my whole life, my very existence to be the strongest."

He shook his head, his expression a mix of bitterness and desperation. "But now, all I have are questions. Why am I here? Who am I, if not the strongest? It's like a never-ending abyss of uncertainty."

Here is the expanded version of the dialogue with more descriptive language:

She strode towards him, her eyes finally landing on his familiar form. "Turn around," she instructed gently.

Satoru's brow furrowed slightly, confusion etching across his features at her sudden command. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly pivoted to face her, his expression guarded, eyes wary.

"Where's your blindfold?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He blinked, surprised by her question. In the whirlwind of emotions, he had nearly forgotten about the blindfold when he left the compound. But what did his lack of the customary covering have to do with anything?

"I don't have it," he responded slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't want you to have a headache." She spoke softly, aware of his unique situation - the six eyes that made him perceive the world differently, often leading to painful migraines. Reaching up, she untied her own scarf. "Here, put this on."

Satoru stared at her, a mix of surprise and wariness evident in his gaze. He was unaccustomed to anyone showing him such genuine concern. She had already managed to see through his carefully crafted bravado and delve into the depths of his mind, and now she was extending this empathy? It was unsettling.

Still, he hesitated for a moment, torn between his reluctance and the throbbing ache pulsing at his temples. Finally, he reached out and gently took the scarf from her outstretched hand.

Satoru carefully wrapped the soft fabric around his eyes, tying it securely in place. It felt unusual, a stark contrast to his familiar blindfold, yet it offered a surprising sense of relief. The gentle pressure against his eyes was soothing, and the plush material was a comforting contrast to the chill of the night air.

He took a shallow breath, feeling a slight easing of the headache. He couldn't deny the scarf was helping, but it felt peculiar to be seen and cared for in this way.

"I want you to think about the moments in your life that didn't involve your powers," she said gently, her words a gentle nudge.

Satoru's expression darkened slightly at her prompting. His life had always revolved around his abilities, especially after discovering the rarity of his Six Eyes.

But the thought did pose an intriguing question. He had never truly considered the times when he wasn't constantly using or contemplating his powers.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "What if there are no such moments?"

"Right now, right here. You aren't using your powers," she pointed out. "I'm sure there have been many instances in your life where your abilities weren't the primary focus - going out with your students, spending time with friends, studying, taking walks, even just everyday tasks like eating or running errands."

Satoru's frown deepened slightly as her words sank in. She was right. In that very moment, he wasn't relying on his Six Eyes to protect himself or perceive the world around him.

He couldn't deny the existence of those more mundane, seemingly insignificant moments in his life that didn't revolve around his powers. Simple joys like laughing with his students, or the solace he found in the company of his friends - times when his abilities weren't at the forefront of his mind.

"You're human, Mr. Gojo," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "So, please, don't treat yourself as if you're not. Your power is a part of your identity, but is it really everything about you? That's the question you need to ask yourself."

Satoru's breath caught slightly as her words sank in. He had spent so many years defining himself by his power, by his role as the strongest, that it was difficult to imagine there was anything else to him.

But she was correct. His abilities were a part of him, but they did not encompass his entire existence. He was more than just his powers. He was a jujutsu sorcerer, a teacher, a friend, a human with emotions and a complex inner world.

"Now let me ask you again," she trailed off. "Do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?"

Satoru exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of clarity wash over him. He understood now what she was trying to convey. His identity was not solely tied to his powers. There was so much more to him than that.

He lifted his head, the scarf over his eyes lifting slightly. His voice was quiet but sure.

"I am Satoru Gojo. Jujutsu sorcerer. Teacher. Friend. Human. And so much more."

"Exactly." She chuckled. "I'm proud of you."

Satoru felt a flicker of something unfamiliar stir within him at her words. He had never heard someone express pride in him, at least not on an emotional level. Usually, it was about his prowess or his accomplishments in battle.

He gave a small snort, trying to downplay how her praise affected him. "You make me sound like a child, Miss Therapist," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh..sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way," She quickly apologized.

Satoru waved her apology away with a dismissive hand gesture. "No, no. I wasn't offended or anything like that," he reassured her. "It's just..a little surprising, that's all."

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head slightly. "People usually praise me for being the strongest, not for being...human. But it's not a bad feeling, to know that someone is proud of me as a person. So thank you."

"No. Thank you for being truthful with me, Mr. Gojo," She hummed softly.

A small chuckle escaped Gojo's lips, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know, I'm not sure why you're thanking me for doing the bare minimum," he teased. "Being truthful should be expected, shouldn't it?"

"I'm thanking you because I know how difficult it is to be truthful about yourself with someone and to be truthful with yourself," She chuckled.

Satoru's smile widened slightly. Her words carried a sincerity that resonated deeply within him.

"You're right," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not easy. In fact, it's damn near impossible sometimes." He took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh.

"Being honest with yourself, and with others...it requires a certain level of vulnerability and courage, and frankly, I'm not always very good at it."

Here is the response with more detailed and descriptive wording:

"That's perfectly understandable, you are only human and thus not impervious to imperfections. We all have our flaws, fears, and moments of fallibility at times. But that is what makes us distinctly human, what sets us apart from the animal kingdom. We have the capacity to learn and grow from our mistakes, to confront and overcome our fears, and to refine our shortcomings. " She spoke softly, her voice tinged with a gentle empathy. "You should never forget that you are just as human as anyone else—" Her words were suddenly interrupted by a delicate sneeze.

Satoru flinched slightly as the unexpected sound pierced the crisp, cold night air. On some level, he was somewhat relieved that her soothing words had been cut short, as they had started to hit a little too close to home for his comfort.

"Bless you," he murmured, his tone a curious blend of playful teasing and genuine concern. "It seems the frigid weather has gotten the better of you."

"Sorry about that...I'm just not terribly well-suited for cold climates," she admitted, rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to generate warmth.

Satoru couldn't resist the temptation of a mischievous smirk. Here he had been feeling vulnerable and exposed, and now the tables had turned, with her appearing to be the one struggling against the biting chill.

"That's not something one usually hears from someone who was living in the northern regions," he teased, unable to resist the opportunity to poke a bit of fun. "I thought the hardy folk up there were practically immune to the cold."

"Well, you see, I wasn't actually born and raised in these parts, i just lived some years there." she chuckled.

"Ah, I see," satoru nodded, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes. "So you're not a true northerner. That certainly explains a lot."

He paused for a moment, a mischievous thought crossing his mind. "But you'll never truly adapt if you don't embrace the cold," he declared dramatically. "And what better way to do that than by engaging in a good old-fashioned snowball fight?"

Without warning, she hurled a tightly packed snowball directly at him, the frozen projectile striking him with surprising force.

"You should be more careful!" She laughed as she scurried away.

Satoru was momentarily caught off-guard by her sudden attack. He blinked, stunned for a moment, before a wide grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's on now," he declared, his eyes twinkling with competitive delight.

He swiftly leaned down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it into a compact, aerodynamic ball, before launching it towards her with remarkable precision.

"Agh!" She groaned as the snowball hit its mark, but her laughter quickly followed. "Cheater!"

Satoru chuckled, not holding back a hint of smug satisfaction. "Cheat? Perish the thought, my dear," he declared, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. "I'm merely making use of my natural talents."

He quickly formed another snowball, his movements quick and elegant, and with a flick of his wrist, he released it, aiming straight for her. "I am, after all, the reigning champion of snowball warfare," he boasted.

"Hey! Go easy on me!" She laughed again, retaliating with a well-aimed snowball of her own.

"Easy? What is this, a snowball fight for beginners?" Satoru teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He dodged her projectile with effortless grace, his steps light and fleeting like a shadow.

He swiftly countered with his own snowball, a perfect shot that struck its target, causing her to stumble slightly. "Come on, you can do better than that," he taunted, reveling in the adrenaline of their playful conflict.

"No fair!" She whined as she threw another snowball, this time finally hitting him squarely. "Ha!"

Satoru let out a theatrical groan, pretending to be wounded by her snowball. "Oh, the agony," he clutched at his heart dramatically, a grin betraying his amusement. "I've been hit! What a catastrophic defeat this is."

Not one to be outdone, he swiftly retaliated, launching a flurry of snowballs in her direction with deadly accuracy. "You can't stop the king of snowballs!"

She deftly dodged his barrage of snowballs, her movements agile and nimble. "The rightful queen of snowballs will reclaim her throne!" She chuckled as she threw another well-aimed projectile.

Satoru raised an eyebrow at her declaration, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, is that so? The rightful queen of snowballs, you claim to be?"

He evaded her snowball easily, his laughter echoing through the night. "Well, let's see how rightful you truly are!" He retaliated with a series of perfectly aimed snowballs, each one a testament to his skill and precision.

Some snowballs found their mark, but she quickly retreated behind the shelter of a nearby tree, emerging to launch her own volley of icy projectiles in his direction. "You're cheating!" She accused playfully.

Satoru laughed heartily, his eyes glinting with a competitive spark. "Cheating? Or simply better at this than you?" he teased.

He ducked, weaved, and dodged her snowballs with a casual ease that made it appear as though he were dancing rather than engaging in a fierce snowball battle. "Admit it, darling. I'm just naturally gifted at the art of snowy warfare!"

"Nuh uh!" She laughed, her voice filled with playful defiance as the relentless snowball fight continued.

As the intense battle of wits and wintry wonders wore on, their laughter filled the night air, echoing through the trees. Satoru's competitive spirit was fully ignited, and he wasn't holding back. His movements were swift and precise, each snowball hitting its mark with remarkable accuracy.

"Admit it, admit it!" he called out, his voice teeming with playful taunting. "You can't defeat the Snowball King!"

"The queen will reclaim her rightful place!" She said playfully as she suddenly ran up to him and tackled him, sending them both tumbling into the soft, powdery snow. "The king has fallen!" She laughed triumphantly.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself falling, his balance thrown off by her unexpected attack. He landed on his back with a thump, sinking slightly into the snow, a look of mock indignation on his face.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be, queen?" he chuckled, his tone filled with playful defiance. "You really think you can take down the king with a sneak attack like that?"

"Yeah!" She laughed as she straddled him, triumphantly launching a handful of snow directly into his face. "Payback!"

Satoru sputtered and spluttered as the cold, powdery snow landed on his face, momentarily obscuring his vision. But the unexpected sensation of her sitting atop him, coupled with the icy touch of the snow, sent a shiver of exhilaration down his spine.

He blinked, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle as he grinned up at her. "Oh, you think that's payback? That won't do. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

And in a sudden, swift motion, he flipped them over, now pinning her down to the snow, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He took a handful of the icy powder and gently placed it in her mouth before she could react. "How does snow taste, my queen?"

She quickly spat out the snow, coughing and sputtering, but he merely laughed in response as he collapsed down beside her, both of them lying in the snow, their breathing heavy from the exertion of their playful battle.

After a moment of catching their breath, satoru turned his head towards her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, a result of the cold. He couldn't help but find her endearing in that moment.

"I would like to know more about you, miss therapist," Satoru murmured, his curiosity piqued. She was silent for a moment, contemplating his request. "What would you like to know?"

"I don't know... perhaps you could start by telling me why you decided to quit being a sorcerer?" Satoru's expression sobered slightly.

She paused for a moment before speaking. "I was previously involved in a perilous mission and perished back then, but I still clung desperately to life. So I made a binding vow, offering my cursed technique in exchange for the preservation of my life, I suppose." She shrugged, as if the matter was trivial. "I'm sorry to hear about your experience," I responded sympathetically.

"It's alright, the practice of sorcery simply was not meant for me. Instead, I have decided to become a therapist, helping people who are part of the jujutsu community, as I understand the daily realities they face as sorcerers."

He hummed thoughtfully as he looked back up at the sky. "That explains why I have never heard of you before," he mused. "Do you have any surviving family members?" he inquired.

"They have all passed away," she replied solemnly.

"I see," he said quietly.

"I apologize for-" he began.

"No need to apologize," she assured him. "I understand your curiosity."

[melljam]

yamazaki shingen, 虎鬼 tora oni

[stealingpotatoes]

Can any of the last 4 Jedi crew cook decently, or are they subsisting on the SW equivalent of take out and granola bars? If any of them CAN cook, which ones and what’s their specialty?

sort answered before!! luke's the only one who can cook but his speciality is spicy-as-fuck tatooine dishes that leave cal face down on the floor seeing the "game over" screen

[seaweed-s0up]

happy tachioda tuesday

here’s the reason oda jun taught himself CPR

[nyaagolor]

When Klavier emerges from the bathroom, he stares at Apollo with an expression that reminds him of the look Ema gave him when she found a dead body in that dressing room. Apollo stares back at him blankly, head cocked slightly to the side.

"Is... is this a joke? Are you messing with me?" Klavier asks, gesturing to Apollo's shower. It's coffin-sized and doesn't get very hot, but he can't imagine what has the rockstar so offended. The attorney just frowns. Klavier, huffing, retreats into the bathroom and returns holding Apollo's 3-in-1 like a murder weapon.

"This is the *only* thing in your shower," he says, shaking it accusatorily. "Where is your shampoo?"

"You're holding it," Apollo replies. Klavier squints at the bottle, lets out a groan of protest, and stalks back inside. Upon seeing him tear open the medicine cabinet, Apollo follows, looking over his shoulder at his increasingly anguished expression. Klavier is staring at the shelves like their contents have victimized him personally. Left to right, there's an industrial sized jar of hair gel, a toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream, a razor, and a few odd bottles of migraine medication and other prescriptions. Klavier is looking back and forth, searching for something he can't seem to find.

"This is IT?" he groans. "How do you live like this, Justice? What do you even wash your face with?"

Apollo bites back a smile and points to the handsoap.

Klavier lets out a cry like a woman who just discovered her lover was lost at sea.

[cat-mentality]

Sad QSMP headcannons that have like half a toenail in canon.

The French version:

Baghera cries very silently, like someone who is used to having to keep quiet.

She also has a very high pain tolerance and she didn't understand why until recently.

When Pomme disappeared Baghera was terrified that the Federation had something to do with that, terrified that her little girl would be at the hands of the people who made her and hurt her so badly.

As much as she wants to hate the Federation for having hurt her, at the same time she can't and that makes everything so much worse.

Baghera doesn't have wings. But she does have two scars on her back where no feathers have ever grown.

Antoine was not prepared to actually get attached to any of the French, or even to Pomme. He knows he is in too deep, has too much to lose if he cuts ties with the Federation, and yet it twists something inside of him when he thinks about their possible reactions, especially Etoiles. For the first time in a very long existence he understands what friendship is, knows what it feels like instead of just watching others experience it, and is very aware that he will lose it all.

That is why Antoine was so pissed off at Osito for being careless with the picture, the earlier they discover about his true past, the earlier he will lose them.

If the Federation truly had Pomme he would have burned it all down himself just to bring her back.

The first time Cucurucho saw Antoine angry was after the torture session nearly killed Pierre for good. No one knows who was more shocked by his display, Cucurucho or Antoine himself.

Pierre continues to trouble sleeping and constant nightmares when he does, he can't remember the last time he managed to truly rest without waking up in a cold sweat or screaming, he is always on the verge of passing out and even when he does crash he still has nightmares.

He refuses to acknowledge it or even talk about it, hides his exhaustion with everything he has, pushes people away just to make sure they wouldn't realize there is something wrong, too afraid they will see a weakness to be exploited.

Pierre hates being alone as much as he craves it- He likes being by himself working on his machines and keeping his secrets close to his chest, but at the same time when he is alone is when the dark thoughts take over

He will, on occasion, not exactly seek to get himself hurt but not exactly avoid it either- If he can feel pain it means that there is something human in him doesn't it?

But Pierre hates dying and he will avoid and lash out when put into such a situation. He fears what will wake up, if it will still be him.

Sometimes Kameto look at the rest of the Islanders and he wonders what his own life could have been, what sort of bonds he could have forged with people, if the Federation didn't come for him first.

Etoiles does not know what his worth is if not as a warrior.

He is not smart like the others, he doesn't build pretty buildings or incredible machines, he doesn't know how to do anything but fight. And if he can't fight, if he can't protect the people he cares about, then why is he still around?

War is everything Etoiles really knows. By the time he reached his late teens and was released from the battlefield he had seen more combat than some people in their old age, everything he knew how to do was to fight, he had nowhere to go, knew no one, had nothing.

He was never able to settle down for too long or even to truly build himself a home, Etoiles knew so very little about the world that he just decided he would explore it. Some people in the army talked about things they missed, things they thought worth fighting for, and Etoiles wanted to understand that feeling of fighting for anything but his own survival.

To this day he still feel more comfortable fighting than he ever does doing anything else.

None of them ever had families.

The concept of family was something Antoine learned by watching other species and for a very long time it was not something he truly understood or could relate. It was only after the plane crash and Pomme that it hit him that maybe he can understand this thing now.

Baghera always thought she was just an orphan with amnesia. She had very little memories of her young years and none of them involved other people, just her and a room, so for a long time she believed she was alone in the world. Even now she struggles with that emptiness, especially now that she knows that the Federation may be the closest thing to family that she will ever have.

Etoiles had parents once. He knows he did, but he cannot remember their faces or even their voices most of the time. He was still just a small child when they came for him and sent him to war.

Pierre was always alone. He had parents but they could as well be ghosts haunting their home, he hardly could see glimpses of them from time to time, all he ever truly had were his machines.

[localthumbcache]

this is Lenny and as you could see, he has an amazing sleep schedule :3

[3-aem]

out celebrating with coworkers but its just me sitting silently shoving wings and tater tots into my mouth in between drinks while i get asked for the 50th time what my 4th of july plans are (idk think about gj i guess)

[vamprisms]

i have to go to the supermarket

[canisalbus]

Modern Machete likes NIN?! I’d absolutely invite him over to listen to dying machine noises and angst with me.

.

[yazzydream]