#i just think they're so neat (<- just some guys and one (1) thing standing there)

[keeps-ache]

oooooo what if i reblogged literally everything i've ever drawn for pink space

[tibbycaps]

Do you know have any tips on how to draw a comic? As in simple style and easy to draw and consistent in redraw? I love your style and I can't help but wonder how you got here and if you could help. Thank you

okay sorry i left this in the inbox for a bit because. where to start lol! there's a lot of thought that can go into making comics i think. but i believe you're specifically asking about having a consistent art style and being able to draw the same character a lot over and over again, so i'll try to focus on that

i think a lot of consistency is just playing around with character designs and getting something you feel comfortable with. ill use grian as a good example because it took me a while to come up with a grian design that i liked. once i liked it, i was able to draw my grian a lot & very consistently. every time you draw a character, even if it's a little doodle, you gain that muscle memory for ur lines a little better, so you should doodle always as much as you can and never be afraid to try something new and experiment with your style

the pipeline

i think a good way to establish a character design that you really like to draw & can familiarize yourself with is by defining some key features about them. like in this image for example, my older grian designs don't really have anything about them that stands out to me. he wasn't rlly that fun to draw. but nowadays i think i have a distinct hairstyle & expression & glasses shape i give him, which are fun to draw. even if it's a tiny doodle with like, 15 strokes, you can still identify it as my grian design i think

something that i noticed (i didn't consciously do this but it just sort of happened as i was trying to make them all look different from one another) is that i assign different shapes to grian, cub and scar. these guys are good examples because 1. they're the three characters in my hotguy comics part and 2. they're the three guys i draw the most often

grian i tend to go for more rounded shapes, cub more squares/rectangles, and scar is more pointy and triangular. little things like this can help them stand out from one another and makes them fun to draw in my opinion. when i draw grian's hair i always have the hair come to a rounded point and is more neat/tidy. when i draw scar the hair is more spiky and wild. cub is sort of in the middle where his hair is more pointy, but is kept neat, which gives it those straight lines and right angles

TL;DR how i draw characters easily and consistently is make key features & shapes that make them fun to both draw & look at. and then draw them a lot

i hope that makes any sense, i like yapping about character design so hope you don't mind the long response lol ^_^

[such-expensive-mistakes]

halfa!Steph AU (part 1)

I'm still working on the Superpham AU but I couldn't stop thinking about this idea.

-----

Once upon a time, there was a girl who thought she could be a hero. And then she died. She died slowly and painfully and steeped in guilt over having accidentally set off a gang war that destroyed the city. It's a neat little story about hubris and knowing your place and why Batman is always right.

Except she didn't. Die, that is. She flatlined on the operating table and Leslie faked her death. And when that girl came back, she put on a costume again and became the third Batgirl. It's a heartwarming story about stubbornness and learning to rely on others and proving Batman wrong.

The truth, Stephanie thinks, is somewhere in between.

When she talks about having died, people treat as— not as a joke, the pain is still too raw for that, but as an exaggeration. Dramatic license.

Sometimes Steph thinks that's all it is.  But she feels like she died.  She dreams about it sometimes.  Not just Black Mask, although he does haunt far too many of her dreams, but something else.  Something in-between.

It's probably just the trauma.  That's what Leslie says, when Stephanie finally asks her.

Stephanie doesn't ask Leslie about her newfound strength, or about how sharp her senses have become.  

You can't go through something like Stephanie did and come out unchanged.  That's what Babs says, and she would know.  Steph doesn't think they're thinking about the same kind of changes, though.

-----

Stephanie lands on a rooftop and looks down at the white van parked below.  It's not a particularly notable vehicle, except for the occupants.  

"What are they doing?" Steph asks.

"I don't know."  Babs sounds frustrated, and no wonder.  There aren't many people who can keep Oracle out of their systems, and Steph wouldn't have judged these guys to be among their ranks.  "I'll keep trying to get through their firewalls, but I'm flying blind here.  Keep an eye on them, but be careful."

"You know me," Steph says.  "Careful is my middle name."

Babs doesn't even bother to muster up a sarcastic response to that, which is how Steph knows she's preoccupied.

These guys have been running all over Gotham for the past few weeks.  They're dressed in immaculate white suits and carrying unfamiliar weapons, and they seem to be taking some kind of readings on unfamiliar instruments.  None of that is a crime, but it's suspicious, and Oracle's inability to find out any more about them is even more suspicious.

And that means they're officially Steph's problem.

The men are doing the same thing they've been doing the last few times Steph has watched them.  It's not particularly exciting.  

"Batgirl," Oracle says.

"Please tell me there's a robbery or something that needs my attention," Steph replies.  "These guys are so boring."

"Sorry.  Do you think you can get one of their gadgets for me?  I want a better look."

"Can do, boss."  

Stephanie carefully climbs down to street level, staying out of sight.  She's gotten a lot sneakier since her not-death.  She tells herself it's all of her training and practice, finally paying off, but regardless of the cause, the guys in white have no chance of spotting her.  

They're standing near the front of the van, arguing about something.

"The apparition was spotted here last night," one says.

"That doesn't mean it's going to return!" another responds. 

Sounds like they're looking for something in particular.  Which Steph and Babs had already guessed, but it's nice to have confirmation.

Steph slips toward the back of the van, which is wide open.  Not smart, especially in Gotham, but she's got a feeling these guys aren't from Gotham.  

The inside of their van reminds her of a sci-fi movie; everything is blindingly white and chrome, with glowing green accents.  And lots and lots of those weapons.  Whoever they are, they clearly have a nice sized budget.

Steph grabs one of the guns and a handheld instrument like the one the guys outside are waving around, but as soon as she does, all the instruments the guys in front of the van are holding start going wild.  

"There it is!" one of them yells.  They all start shooting at her, which is how Steph learns that they're using some kind of fancy laser guns.  Because regular guns just aren't space age enough for these guys.

That's Steph's cue to get out.  She grapples back to the rooftop, just barely avoiding getting hit by the laser guns.

It’s easy enough to lose them from the rooftops.  At Oracle’s direction, she makes her way back to Firewall.  She tugs her mask off and hands the stolen tech over to Babs.

“The’re looking for something,” she says.  “An apparition.”

Babs hums in acknowledgment.  “Hopefully these will have some answers.”  She switches on the— scanner?  Steph’s pretty sure that’s its function, anyway.  It starts beeping wildly.

Steph jumps back, startled.  The beeping stops.

“Well,” Babs says.  “I think we have an idea what they were looking for.”

[genopaint]

Been in a big Axel the Alligator mood lately so I redesigned some characters the last couple days and even introduced a new villain!!

Here's some of the notes I included about them all from twitter :) it's below the readmore

To go along with the new Axel the Alligator arts I did a bit ago, I figured I should draw the No-Name Grunt again! I gave them a bit of a make over from last time

Most notably their suits are now purple to match Camilla the Chameleon's, since they are her henchmen after all!

If you don't recall, these are basically Axel's goomba. The basic bottom of the barrel enemy the main characters fight. They're all a part of Camilla's seemingly never ending gang. They all follow her every order because they're obsessed with her, but she can't even be bothered to remember their names. Thus, the No-Names. Instead, they're each given a numbered belt and she just calls them by their number.

There's TONS of No-Names, that's why there's even color variations for the grunts you encounter. But there's even different classes of No-Names.

Like bruisers, fliers, stuff like that. However, I want to redesign them a bit more cause I wasn't 100% on their old designs. SO you'll have to wait and see if I bother with them. But you get the idea, the grunt kind of represents the whole army of underlings anyway.

Oh, and of course... No-Name 10,000. The super special ultra rare No-Name encounter. When you defeat it, it drops TONS of gold and exp!

Also some really quick sketches for some of the other No-Name classes with this suit redesign. I think it's cute they're all kind of matching but now I worry maybe they're not unique enough? Before their suits were all different colors... idk... Much to think about...

It's gonna be a WHILE before I get to make an Axel the Alligator game so I'll keep thinking on it lol

And of course there's probably gonna be a lot of No-Name enemy types it all just depends on what I would want / need for each game I suppose lol.

They're like Badniks, they reuse a lot of old ones but new ones or variants could show up wherever it's needed

----

And of course, where there's No-Names, there's the No-Name generals! Similarly, Camilla doesn't care to remember their names. But they're juuuuust important enough to be allowed to command her underlings when she's off doing more important things.

Uno the Uromastyx is Camilla's original #1 super fan, and as such is the leader of the generals. He's a bit stuck up and loves to wave the fact he's #1 in the others faces.

Dos the Daboia is a bit of a loser and is ALWAYS panicking. He's constantly worried his suit is too blue.

And Tres the Tree Lizard is a chaotic girl who loves explosives. She's constantly building bombs to create chaos. Whenever the No-Names use explosives, they're probably her creations.

They're the ultimate undying loyalists to Camilla, and they all HATE Carnage and Behemoth because the trio was there first and yet Camilla makes Carnage and Behemoth her right hand men. Out ranking even the No-Name generals.

But of course, Uno, Dos, and Tres stand no chance at ever beating either of them. Even if they gang up on them.

----

Two more Axel the Alligator characters! Sol the Saurus I've shown before and has a shiny new redesign. But Ceaser the Ceratops is his brand-spanking-new rival!! Pretty neat!

These two existed from before the meteorite came... What on earth are they doing in present day???

Sol fights with a giant sword that builds energy as its swung, and Ceaser fights with a giant shield that builds energy as its hit. They used to be allies but that was a long long long time ago

Also I'm not 100% on Ceaser's design or name so don't be surprised if I touch it up

Also here's an updated height chart with the No-Names and these dinosaurs. Again it's not 100% accurate but it gives an idea (Behemoth IS taller than Dos it's just a bad pose I promise)

also a comparison with some short guys in front of the dinosaurs :)

My concept is that Axel characters don't really stop growing as they age (which I believe real reptiles do the same thing?) so since these dinosaurs are from ancient times they'd have grown a CRAZY amount in the mean time. idk

[writernopal]

OC Deep Dive Tag

I got tagged by @tabswrites (here), @captain-kraken (here) and @pheita (here) for this one! Thanks guys so much 🥺

Tagging (gently): @paintedbutton @teamdilf @daisywalletchains @void-botanist and anyone else who'd like to play!

We'll do Axtapor for this one because I miss him 😭

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Maybe its a bit meta, but he fears rejection above all else.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Shitty knot tying skills. He can't stand it and has absolutely dismissed men from their stations for tying crappy knots and not keeping their area neat.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

A pipe, a dagger, and an iron file for his claws.

What do they notice first in a person?

How much they're worth, as in, are they wearing lots of jewelry? fine clothes? etc.

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

9. Though he is loud when he gets hurt.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

FIGHT, 1000% lol. He won't back down from a fight even if the situation is grim.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

His nuclear family is small by Lizardfolk standards. His parents only had one clutch, so he's one of six children. His extended family/clan is quite large though as Clan Oxlo is the founding Major Clan of the House of Dreams. As far as being a family person, he absolutely is, even though he doesn't necessarily think of himself as one. The way he sees it, its just something that he has to do at some point in his life to carry on his clan name (he's an old bachelor) but, uh, well, that changes after he meets a certain lil lady.

What animal represents them best?

A hyena. More about that here.

What is a smell they dislike?

Human sweat. He HATES it. He's described it as smelling like a corpse.

Have they broken any bones?

Yes. He broke his leg once when he jumped down a dry well at 8 years old. He's also broken countless other things since then. (Fingers and tail vertebrae mostly) Hazards of the job as it were.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Probably intimidating or mean. He looks quite gruff when he's in his own thoughts and is very short with people he doesn't know.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Morning bird, especially because he hunts and sailing also requires being up early in the day, esp as first mate. But his favorite time of day is golden hour.

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

I don't know if there is a specific flavor he hates but he doesn't really like sweets. As far as a flavor he loves, whatever grasshoppers and fish scales taste like lol.

Do they have any hobbies?

Smoking, hunting, and bushcraft camping.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

It really depends on who is throwing it. If its his grandma or Mariel, then he's stoked, otherwise he's probably lukewarm about it. But either way, it wouldn't stop him from downing a few celebratory drinks and smoking some good tobacco.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Yes and so much of it. He likes to wear what he's stolen during pillages and will often pick and choose what he steals based on his tastes.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Messy lol. Its basically chicken scratch because he's right handed but after an accident a few years ago (a boarding hook through the palm) he had to relearn how to write with his left hand. He doesn't quite have the motor skills in his right hand as he used to even though its healed and his left is still not the best, so using a claw quill like most lizards do is pretty hard for him. He opts for the more human form of writing: using a quill.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Angry and horny lol.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

I don't think so, he kind of just wears whatever is comfortable and easy to move in. He tends towards both human and lizard fashions, which come in a wide array of fabric options, sometimes the same fabrics (linen, cotton, occasionally silks), though the cuts are obviously different. Most lizards won't wear human clothes because they think its ugly but he likes it because he can get it pretty easily at most of the ports they visit. He also enjoys fine spun wool in the winter as well as animal pelts.

What kind of accent do they have?

Whatever this is lol: “I nay know yer Everwatcher. Fact been, I could give a shite ‘bout her, seein’ as she will no show her face, so her word or trust in ye has nary a meanin’ to me. Stand in for yerself and let me weigh ye proper, or we be leavin’ this place.” In all seriousness, it really depends on what language he's speaking. He speaks several but most often in AASOAF is speaking Common or Hamatian (native language of Ihama where he was born). I made a post about AASOAF's languages here but to recap, Common is not based on English, rather Old Spanish. This means they would have Spanish-like accents if they spoke our English. In world, especially for Lizardfolk, learning Common is challenging because their mouth shape isn't fit to make the softer, rounder sounds of the language, so they often sound very aggressive, like they're biting their words when they speak. They also bring Lizardfolk inflections to the language when speaking it, Axtapor will also do this and often adds glottal stops where they shouldn't be or punctuates words with a short hiss or click. His Hamatian is very good, and sounds like our Sanskrit, but leans a lot more into the sing-song rise and fall of the language due to the way Lizardfolk vocal anatomy is. It also incorporates hisses, clicks, bassy thumps produced from the chest and throat, and on occasion, chattering. As a nobleman, he was brought up speaking the formal or Halto variant of the language as well as Meddia and Lajo variants. He will switch the variant he uses depending on who he's talking to, though they will sometimes mix, especially if he gets wound up about something, and he ends up sounding a little country.

[delightfully-deranged-dagur]

I redesigned my TD OCs. So I made a little evolution of all their designs. Part 1/2

Alex

The Attention Hog didn't have many changes. He stayed consistently orange but other things changed.

His beach-y look got more stylish and his hair got more swept back and changed in color.

He's still desperate for attention. That never changes.

Augustus

The Religious Do-Gooder didn't have many design changes but he certainly changed in concept.

Originally he was just a religious guy that went wild during the show. Feral!Auggie got dropped in favor of making his arc a bit more serious.

He's still a sheltered religious kid but his journey of learning about the real world will be taken a lot more serious instead of making him a joke.

Cherry

The Competitive Dancer barely changed. She only had one design before this and all that changed was making her a bit more modest. And adding some green.

Not much to say about her otherwise. Except some new additions to the cast will change her story arc a bit.

Darla

The Visionary had a big and very noticeable change in her 2nd design. The moon afro has become her signature look and the main reason I don't wanna draw her from the side.

Her outfit also got more darker in color. Which make the lighter part of her outfit stand out more.

Diego

The Zoologist is a design I haven't shown off before. Because originally he and his sister would be newcomers in a 2nd season.

Also not much to say about his redesign. Just cleaned up the original.

Personality wise he's a peacekeeper, he loves animals and is basically the team leader. He's also a bit of a neat freak but he tries not to be obnoxious about it. Tries.

Finn

The Workaholic got a lot less saturated as time went on. He's duller colors reflect how much passion he has for all his jobs. Not much.

His hair got cleaned up, the uniform less cluttered, a new shade of blue. And his stubble got more youthful. He's only 18. He doesn't need to look like he's in his 30s.

Flo

The Rebel Rocker based on Floyd Pepper from The Muppets!

Her outfit kept looking more pirate like so I just leaned into it. I made it her brand. Her hair also got longer with her bangs supposed to resemble Floyd's mustache.

Gabriel

The Pretentious Goth also has only 2 designs. And the redesign looks a lot cleaner then the original.

Darker colors, refined his outfit, a bigger hat and restyled hair makes a world of difference despite the similarities.

His opinion of you hasn't changed tho. He still thinks you're below him.

Isa

The Botanist is the 2nd half of the Globetrotting siblings. Unlike a certain other pair of siblings, Diego and Isa have a much healthier relationship. They're still competitive af tho.

Her design didn't change too much. Her colors did however. The dark orange looks better next to Diego's blue and makes her stand out more in the cast overall.

Now she may not look like it, but this gal is the Owen/Sugar/Ripper of the season. She's a total slob and it drives her brother insane. Not that she ever listens to his complaints. Or other people's complaints. She's a handful.

Janus

The Hippie bases on Janice from the Muppets!

Like his inspiration he had some prominent lips that got removed in the 2nd design. But were brought back in the new design. His pink also got softer.

His name however was the thing that changed the most throughout his development. Starting with Jason to Jonas to finally Janus. Which is pronounced basically the same as Janice.

I've been having a lot of fun redesigning them all. I hope you all like them as well.

The other 10 will be posted soon.

[lets-all-calm-down-a-bit]

Hiii, i absolutely adore your style parent hcs. Do you have some more?

YESSS I WAS WAITING FOR ANOTHER ONE!!!! YAYYY

1: Kyle is called Dad or Abba (Dad more commonly because he is used to it with his own father, but his mom encourages Abba when she visits because she originally wanted Kyle to use that as a kid as well)

2: Stan used to be Uncle Stan since Stan was originally less of a co-parent and more of a friend that visits often and spoils the kids rotten. This stopped the moment Mordecai walked in on Kyle and Stan kissing. That was probably the most awkward conversation Stan and Kyle have had with the kids in their lives. For a short period of time (about a month) he was just "Stan", but that quickly faded into Papa. It was really cemented in when he officially moved in with the family.

3: From the time Kai was born till he was around 6, Stan had his own apartment. He would spend most of his time at Kyle's house and with the family, but he had such a busy work life that he didn't want to settle down and make anything official. He didn't want to end up being a practically absent father due to his schedule. Kyle hated this, but understood where his worries were coming from. It was their most significant topic of conflict until Stan finally got it through his head that he was pretty much already a father to these kids, and he was doing really damn well. The arguments typically go as follows:

Kyle: Come on Stan, you practically live here already. Why don't you move in?

Stan: But what if I'm a bad Dad?? What if my work gets in the way and I end up being a shitty father??? I just can't do that to them ����😭

Kyle: ...

Kyle: You take Kai to the arcade every weekend. He literally calls you Papa.

Stan: sTiLL!!!!😫😭😥💔

4: When Celine was a year and a half old, Stan finally moved in with Kyle. He was still constantly worried that he wouldn't be a good enough father, but he no longer let that affect how close he was to the family. He put his whole heart into being the best dad he could be.

5: Kyle was the one to get the kids enrolled in school and fill out all the important paperwork. Stan's a little scatterbrained when it comes to stuff like that, but he takes them to school and picks them up every day so they don't have to ride the "stinking ass-sweat hormone pit" that is the bus. Those are Kai's words, not his. He got a whole lecture from Stan for that one.

6: Kyle may not be the best at cooking, but he can make one thing better than anyone you've ever met (except his mother.) He got a book of family recipes from his mother, and every Passover he makes the best matzo ball soup you've ever had in your life.

7: Stan stands by the fact that you can find the best shit at thrift stores, so he tends to shop there for furniture, knickknacks, and clothing. Kyle on the other hand... He's the guy who religiously shops at REI and other overpriced outdoors stores because he thinks they're neat. He goes camping, hiking, and everything under the sun just so he can have an excuse to shop at these places without Stan nagging him about how unnecessary it is. Those kids have the nicest mother fucking winter coats you've seen in your life. Kyle just came back home one day after being out for a few hours with two 200-dollar winter coats for the kids. Stan was flabbergasted, to say the least. Kyle tried to defend himself by explaining that the coats were listed to be the safest in cold temps, but honestly, there's no way to defend that rationally lmao.

[sir-squibbly]

Big Bug Appreciation Post! (1/2)

For anyone who’s been on my blog, or has interacted with me, it’s no surprise I’m a bug enthusiast. But I don’t think I’ve ever made an official bug appreciation post, and there are a lot of bugs in my state that I think are super neat, so I wanted to briefly talk about them here. Not all of them will be insects though.

Unfortunately, I won’t be putting in any isopods or roaches because my state doesn’t have a whole lot of those guys that I would consider “particularly special.” But just note that I do appreciate isopods and roaches, and think that they have a great impact on their natural environments.

Anyway, onto the bugs!

Blue-Winged Wasp

These babes usually hang out in the dog fennel near my yard, and I think they’re very pretty wasps. Their wings are an iridescent blue (hence the name), and their yellow spots are quite cute. They're also relatively chill, so you can stand pretty close to them and they wouldn’t care.

2. Common Paper Wasp

They’re everywhere, but I’d be lying if I said they weren’t pretty either. I think that they have a really neat color palette and super cool pattern to them. I’ve had personal experience with them, and I’ve always made sure that when I went on my balcony, that I didn’t present as a threat to them. Overall, I enjoyed sitting with these pretty critters.

3. Giant Leopard Moth

They look like snow leopards! Ironically enough, similar to how snow leopards are closely related to tigers, leopard moths are closely related to tiger moths (in fact, they’re in the same family). I raised one of these guys. His name was Napoleon, and he was the fanciest little guy 🩵.

4. Amber Snail

It’s usually stated online that amber snails are a pretty rare species. So I think it was pretty neat how I once found five or six on my mom’s calla lilies. They’re very tiny and very adorable, ‘nuff said.

5. Golden Sill Orb Weaver

A huge species of orb weaver that I think is absolutely gorgeous. These gals can get big, and I mean BIG. But no matter the size, it’s always a treat to see them during walks into the woods.

6. Agapostemon Sweat Bee

Agapostemon is actually just a genus of sweat bee, and I’ve personally come across at least two species. All I really need to say about these guys is that they’re metallic green bees, and the ones that live near my house are surprisingly mega chill (I still wouldn’t hold one tho lol).

7. Bee Fly

Maybe not as cute as their Japanese relatives, but they’re still whimsical little fairy creatures that I would absolutely pet in a heartbeat (if given the chance).

8. Flatback Millipede

I just wanted to bring up how metal I think these guys are. 10/10, absolutely fire little guys 🔥🔥🔥.

9. Eastern Pondhawk

They’re everywhere in the local pond and I love them. They’re one of my favorite examples of dimorphism because of how cool the females look (they’re the green ones). But sometimes it can be hard to distinguish a male and a female because younger males are more green. Still, they’re cool bugs.

10. Violet Dancer

In my opinion, one of the prettiest species of damselflies. I’ve encountered one of these before (at a swamp). They’re just as vibrant as in the pictures 💜.

11. Ebony Jewelwing

Another beautiful damselfly! This time, on a larger scale. These can also be found in swamps, and their metallic green color is super cool.

12. Swallowtails (Just in General)

(Pipevine Swallowtail in the picture)

Swallowtails are my state’s official butterfly, and the reason for that is pretty simple: They’re literally everywhere. The most common is the Eastern Tiger, but there are other species, such as: The Black Swallowtail, Zebra Swallowtail, Pipevine Swallowtail, and probably even more. Another neat thing about them is that they’re in the same family as the world’s largest butterfly species: The Queen Alexandra’s Birdwing. So there’s some fun lil trivia for ya 👍.

13. Golden Northern Bumblebee

They’re very friend-shaped, and also very big. In fact, some of them can get bigger than carpenter bees. They don’t visit very often, but I really like them.

14. Variegated Fritillary

A very close relative of the gulf fritillary. In fact, I found caterpillars of both species eating passion vine together.

You can usually tell them apart pretty easily since Variegated caterpillars are lined with white dots. Also, fun fact: Their spines are non-stinging and completely harmless in general.

15. Larger Elm Leaf Beetle

Super friend-shaped, and extremely lightweight (you will barely feel them on your hand). They're pretty easy to handle since they’re very docile. But they’re considered pests to certain plants, so they’re not very liked by gardeners.

16. Golden Tortoise Beetle

Also friend-shaped, but very tiny and super skittish. One really interesting thing about them is that their larvae use their own feces as a shield. So, yeah, that’s a thing that they do.

17. Imperial Moth

A close relative of the Luna Moth (they’re in the same family). They might not be the most extravagant moths, but they have a rustic charm to them, and they remind me of bananas. Also, they’re fluffy, so they’re automatically cute.

18. Pink-Striped Oakworm Moth

A much smaller relative of the Luna Moth (also in the same family). These babes are nocturnal and absolutely adorable.

19. Antlion

Despite being shaped like a damselfly, these fellas are more closely related to lacewings and mantidflies. You may recognize their name, and that’s because the most notable thing about antlions is their larvae (also called “doodlebugs”).

Y’know, these silly lil guys. The ones that make pit traps to eat their favorite food: Ants. They're funky. I love them.

20. Spring Fishfly

I just think they’re cool. They come from water.

21. Woolly Apple Aphid

Adorable, fluffy, whimsical fairy creatures. I had the pleasure of holding one once. You can’t even feel them on your finger.

22. Red Velvet Ant/ Cow Killer

Despite her name, she’s not actually an ant. She’s a type of wasp in the family Mutilidae, where females are wingless. These wasps (specifically the males) are called “cow killers” because of a myth that said their stings were so powerful, they could kill a cow. This isn’t true tho.

23. Crane Fly

They look like giant mosquitoes, but fear not! They won’t hurt you! In fact, one of their nicknames is “mosquito eater.” But they don’t actually eat mosquitoes. At least, the adults don’t. They don’t even have the proper mouthparts to do that. Instead, Crane Flies feed on nectar, which makes them minor pollinators. So while they can get everywhere once they spawn, they’re not actually that big of a problem. And they’re super frail, so please be gentle if you want to hold them🤎.

24. Two-Spotted Longhorn Bee

Absolutely adorable! They don’t visit very often, but when they do, they like to visit the sage in the garden. I usually find them frequently the same plants as the Leafcutter bees.

25. Giant Water Bug

One of the coolest dudes ever. You’ll always find them anywhere wet, but please know that they can get BIG. They won’t charge after you, but they will bite if they feel threatened, and it will hurt. I’ve encountered these funky guys before, and I just admire them from a good distance.

26. Promachus Robber Flies

Promachus is also just a genus of robber fly (I don’t know how many species live in my state tho). I just think they look cool. And they’re good for pest control 👍.

27. Common Checkered Skipper

Cute little babies that are slightly blue. I have one in my bug collection.

28. Long-Tailed Skipper

Another cute little baby. And also blue! These things are pretty common in the garden, and I’m always happy to see them.

Reached the image count limit. I’ll post the second part in a bit.

[inkednotebook]

OC Deep Dive - Teddy Wilson

Icing Waved Off

What uncommon/common fear do they have?

Snakes, crowded spaces, and small/crammed spaces.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Not many. He hates bad drivers and people who chew with their mouth open, though.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Over the counter pain killers, at least two books, and a massage gun.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their physical build. Not in an attraction kind of way, more in a "if this person was my opponent how should I prepare?" kind of way. It's habit for him at this point to size up people unintentionally. As such, he notices a lot of small details about a person's physique, like if they lean their weight more on one side, if their stance is wide, etc.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Like an 8 or 9, probably. As a hockey player, he's kind of expected to have a high pain tolerance, and has built one up over the years.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Depends on the situation. On the ice? Fight all the way. He's good player and he knows it, and he's not going to let a trailing score or a scrappy opponent get to him. Off the ice? Flight. He's not good with deep emotions, so when things get messy in his personal life, his instinct is to avoid it like the plague.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

He comes from a decent sized family, I think. Immediate is small, only him, his parents, and his brother. He has quite a bit of extended family, though. Three grandparents, several aunts and uncles, and a lot of cousins. They don't all live in one place, though, so he didn't have a lot of big family gatherings growing up. He's not super close with a lot of his family because they're pretty conservative, but he has some cousins he keeps in touch with and he's reasonably close with his immediate family.

What animal represents them best?

Hm. I want to say a stag maybe? Oh! No. A goat lmao. Goats are herd creatures and crave that connection, they can be very feisty at times, will headbutt you, aren't picky eaters, and get scared easily (he has an anxiety disorder).

What is a smell that they dislike?

Super floral things, especially artificial floral. Also the smell of mowed grass.

Have they broken any bones?

Oh, most definitely. Don't think you can play pro sports without ever breaking a bone.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Laid back/chill vibes, friendly but not great at small talk, tall, weirdly attached at the hip to his teammate?

Are they a night owl or a morning bird?

Neither? Idk haha for his job he kind of has to be up at all hours. Early morning skate and practice, afternoon naps, evening games, late night flights... I guess during the off season he's more of a night owl since that's when he usually exerts the most energy during the regular season.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

He doesn't have a huge sweet tooth, so anything that's artificially sweet like candy he doesn't like. He loves anything savoury, but he especially loves the taste of a grilled steak.

Do they have any hobbies?

He enjoys reading mystery novels and sometimes sci-fi novels, playing co-op video games, and watching crime shows, sci-fi shows, and sports (usually other hockey teams and baseball).

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Sooo awkwardly lol. He's not great with attention, despite literally being in the spotlight for a living. He'd kind of laugh, thank everyone, and slip closer to someone so he's not just standing by himself (probably he'd move closer to James).

Do they like to wear jewellery?

He sometimes will wear a simple silver chain or watch to games or out to dinner with the guys, but usually he's not a jewellery person.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Messy but legible.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Anxiety and determination.

Do they have a favorite fabric?

Not really, no.

What kind of accent do they have?

Subtle Canadian. So, kind of like the standard American accent you hear on TV but with some Canadian aspects (e.g., Canadian raising and slang/terms for stuff).

Tagging (no pressure ofc) @willtheweaver @illarian-rambling @oh-no-another-idea @theeccentricraven and @aalinaaaaaa

[the-monkey-ruler]

So my brother bought me JTTW to read when he found LMK so I could compare/contrast with the show and now I come bearing a question about Macaque: I see that he's supposed to be the shadow-self, but there's this emphasis on completely eliminating the shadow-self (which in JTTW makes sense he was terrifying). IDK what message they're going for in LMK other than 'Wukong bad' (but the show seems to have a vandetta against Wukong so idfk) so if it just zoomed over my head please inform me I am l o s t. What if an interpretation came out discussing Macaque in the light more of the Black Moon Lilith? It hits the same beats as being the "shadow self", that being the nastier truths about yourself that you don't want to admit. But I think it would be neat if there was some expansion: In reading a star chart you're meant to use your Lilith as a way to confront the darkest parts of yourself and learn that they're a part of you just as much as the positive sides of you. I feel like Macaque could be a really good example of someone who leaned into his Lilith entirely too much until he was consumed by it, versus Wukong who acknowledged his Lilith (destructive behavior & anger) and didn't obliterate it, he did the healthy thing and acknowledged it (eventually), even moderating it. Outright trying to destroy your Lilith is actually a horrible idea since, whether you like it or not, it's still a part of you. Hurting your Lilith still hurts you. I dunno I just would love to see this,,, If a piece of media has already done this please let me know because I actually study astrology and I would go WILD if this concept was explored (/positive)!!

Well in Xiyouji they don't kill Six Eras being he is terrifying (while he is) but rather they kill him because it is to show Wukong finally standing up to his inner self. This is his first time controlling his own impulses and shutting them down with his own self-restraint.

That being said I really think that LMK just makes their Six-Eared Macaque a guy. Some person. Which isn't the first time Xiyouji media has given the Six Ears an individual past from Wukong, there is a lot actually! There is a lot of Six Ears backstory lore, esp in the last 10 years or so but… I'm not sure if I can say that LMK Six Ears is a Lilith at all.

Considering that 1. trying to wrap other mythos in Chinese mythos. I've seen interpretations where Indian or Japanese lore has been mixed with Xiyouji interactions but this "Black Moon Lilith" looks like it comes from Greek Astrology. I really don't think the showrunners would go that far at least for what is supposed to be a Chinese franchise to add Western mythos… at least I would hope that as that seems a bit tasteless.

And 2. they are really making it that the LMK Six Ears wasn't born from LMK Wukong but rather they were separate entities from the very start. LMK Six Ears is a person all unto his own and yes while he is supposed to represent the worst traits of Wukong as an allegory and is a spiritual monkey that doesn't have to mean every interaction he has to bodily be connected to Wukong. At least in this version from what I can tell he is to be on the same level of connection as Demon Bull King as they are Sworn Brothers.

That being said I don't know a lot about Greek Astrology myself and I've been interested in studying it... so I don't know if other media has used it before.

I would just say to be careful when trying to pinpoint Western mythos and apply them to Eastern mythos. I'm not saying they can't interact but that trying to analyze one through the lens of the other could just lead to confusion. I understand trying to find concepts and trying to make new media more reliable but I think it might be dangerous trying to try to use other media as examples when expressing these ideas when they are not the intended purpose.

[otakween]

8-Man vs. Cyborg 009

Who's this schmuck? Just kidding, I did some background research and apparently 8-Man is one of the OG cyborg heroes to come out of Japan, predating Cyborg 009 by a year. He's called 8-Man because the scientist who turned him into a cyborg failed this experiment 7 times before getting to him. Yikes.

Crappy name aside (apparently the mangaka also had a manga called "Wolf Guy," which I find hilarious), it's a neat idea to put two OGs against each other. I'm sure the boomers are excited lol. (Come to think of it, Japan's population skews older, so it would make sense that this sort of thing would be published now).

Ch. 1

Coming from the BGOO Parts manga, the art feels a little clunkier and dated here. Backgrounds are very simple and there's less detail in how the characters are drawn. It's still faithful to the original series though and that's good enough for me.

Just like with BGOO Parts, they're rehashing Black Ghost stuff again, with some retconning along the way. Series that resurrect the same villain over and over are so dull. Please do something else writers!! :(

Why did the skull-masked guy (Cyborg #22) look kinda kawaii tho? They drew his eyes all shiny and cutesy.

They flashback to the end of volume 10 AGAIN. I guess that really is the most iconic moment of the franchise, but with every flashback it's losing its charm.

There was a diagram explaining 8-Man in the front of the manga and I guess he uses cigarettes as a power source? First of all...huh? Second, that's the most 1960s thing I've ever heard.

Also in the front of the manga is an image of Joe carrying a beat up looking 8-Man. Way to spoil it! I wonder what the vs. in the title is implying? Are they going to be rivals and then team up or are they straight up pitted against each other?

Did they pair these two together because they were like "8? 9? You get it? Eh? Eh?" What if it was 8-Man vs. 008 lol. It would have to be underwater randomly I suppose.

Ch. 2

Okay I stand corrected, I guess 8-Man isn't a cyborg...he's closer to an android, but he has a human consciousness so...he's not really an android either.

This was like, the exposition chapter. They wrote this assuming the reader was new to 8-Man and maybe Cyborg 009 too so they gotta hastily give little wikipedia summaries of what the reader missed lol. Not enough exposition for me to know who the robot bossing 8-Man around is supposed to be though! Maybe that'll come later.

I see the obvious parallels with the stories here, both cyborgs/androids/whatever were created as weapons but their creators wanted more for them. 8-Man has a little more of a film noir vibe tho with the detective aspect.

How the heck is a cigarette a "cooling" tool? My brain does not compute.

So 8-Man is being ordered to attack Joe, I guess. I wonder if he's been misled about Joe's background? He kinda helped him out back there with the cigarette, so I guess he's showing hesitation.

Ch. 3

So I guess Black Ghost's motive is to "resurrect/summon the God of war Ares by sacrificing one of the heroes..." Not Greek mythology again...please. I can't take it anymore!

8-Man's hands kinda look like Mickey Mouse gloves teehee

Dr. Tani and Dr. Daemon look so identical to me that I had to swipe back a few pages and compare them. I finally excepted they weren't the same person when Dr. Daemon referred to Dr. Tani in the third person lol.

We get more revelations about how 8-Man's machine brain works. He retains every memory (either OP or awful) and Ivan can't read his mind. I forgot Ivan could read minds in the first place? I feel like he doesn't do that much.

This manga has a lot of two page spreads, which I appreciate. They make the reading experience more cinematic, it moves things along quicker in general (no dialogue), and it looks great on my giant tablet :D

Ch. 4

The villains from the respective series place their bets on which hero will come out victorious. It gave me Squid Game vibes (but obviously less gruesome).

It's kind of funny how the villains are low key rooting their corresponding hero on, wanting to show off their nemesis to their new friend.

Kinda awkward how the other numbers cyborgs are just tagging along waiting for 8-Man and 009 to be done. I guess there's not much they can contribute, which is probably why BGOO Parts gave everyone accelerator mode...

Obvious fake out death is obvious

I enjoyed the shot of Joe and 8-Man outrunning the shinkansen. That was fun.

Ch. 5

After the battle between 009 and 8-Man, Black Ghost and Dr. Daemon attack and kidnap Joe, Francoise and Azuma. Black Ghost reveals their master plan to harvest memories from the cyborg so that they can resurrect the 3 brains that make up the "true" Black Ghost and put them in a giant robot body.

I'm not fully clear on what Dr. Daemon gets out of all this? I guess he gets to help rule the world or something?

The way they depict Francoise's ability makes her seem hilariously useless. She's supposed to be able to detect things from very far distances but every time she senses something it's like 2 feet away from everyone lol. Like she'll be like "something's coming...from the ocean!" and the gang turns around and it's right next to them. Thanks for nothing lol.

The demon God statue (taken from the original manga) looks kinda silly. It's bird beak makes it look like it's from Darkwing Duck or something haha.

Ch. 6

Okay 8-Man and Francoise getting all flustered once Francoise implied that her and Joe are in love was really cute. I wanna see more scenes of them getting to know each other and becoming friends :D (not likely)

The concept of world domination via a giant space satellite/demon God statue is pretty badass, not gonna lie. Very classic evil guy plan.

Seems we can now drop the pretenses that this is going to be a "versus" situation and everyone will just team up in volume 2. Pretty predictable.

[skyview-temple-spring]

May I ask why don’t you like GhriaFi? Not complaining, I’m genuinely curious

I can and will write (and have written to some extent) an essay on this but tldr basically they're straight /j

The real tldr is they have no chemistry the fans ruined any possibility I could work with it

Okay but for real it comes down to three things and those are 1. The fans 2. I like different headcanons of them than as lovers and 3. They just don't have ANY chemistry

1. The fans:

God ghirafi fans have some of the straightest cishet interpretations of these characters it's gross. It's all hyper femme big boobs Fi and super muscular masculine Ghirahim. The only reason they are shipped is because they're the only male/female pair of their kind. They don't interact, ever, Fi basically has no personality, Ghirahim shows no interest in her. He has more enemies to lovers chemistry with Zelda, Groose, or fucking. Impa based on canon (not saying I ship those I don't). Also, Ghirafi fans in my experience have been extremely antighiralink despite them being the same premise? Like Ghirafi is enemies to lovers as much as ghiralink is. And for some reason Ghirafi fans have been like ew... Ghiralink bleh🤮 and turned Ghirafi into some morally correct ship. Some have even been outright homophobic. And on the flip side, some have tried to counter Ghirahim's blatant queer coding by making him extremely hetero (it's still fucking creepy and homophobic to have the effeminate character the bad guy! It doesn't resolve you of your guilt of liking him!) And they have a weird thing about Ghirahim conquering Fi which yeah okay lots of ghiralink does that but I just can't get past the added misogyny in the het pairing. Personal trauma or preference or whatever but I cannot do m/f pairs with a dominant male. I can barely stand submissive f/f as is. So yeah the fans caused me to have an irrational hatred and a block on sight policy for them. I have seen 2 good interpretations of Ghirafi and they were both porn. In one Fi pegged Ghirahim's sword form and the other was Ghiralinkfi and the first one was deleted from the internet anyway

2. Two, different headcanons

Idk who started it but I really like the siblings headcanons :) I just think it's neat. That doesn't stop me from shipping them in a different universe or whatever (as I do like Zelimpa and use them in some AUs but generally I ship Hylimpa and Zelda acts as Hylia's demigod daughter in a way) but re:the fans. So thus the irrational hatred prevents me from exploring that

3. As I touched on in p1 THEY HAVE NO CHEMISTRY. other than she was a girl, he was a boy, can I make it any more obvious. Even as enemies to lovers they have nothing because of Fi's apathy. Idk it feels very "I can change her" on Ghirahim's part and as a lesbian who has had this line used on me..... Ew.

[theundeadmetalheadapolagia]

DISCLAIMER: I stand by what I said {a few days back, idfk, this has been sitting in my drafts for awhile}, shipping discourse is really dumb & we don't benefit from taking potshots at each other. This opinion is just something I've seen from a very vocal minority, & in this particular case the take is just a several months old one. Maybe OP's changed since then, who knows.

That said: ffs, I wish people would just admit that seeing a ship they're lukewarm about be so popular chafes their hides. If I see one more post about how I'm a "sick fetishist" as a bad thing because I think Steddie is neat, I'm gonna just speedrun to the part where I turn into Orcus & rule the 214th layer with an iron grip. Yeah, there's been some bad takes by Steddie shippers, but consider:

1. That's not exclusive to them, stupid takes exist everywhere in fandom spaces, &

2. Do you really have to clutch your pearls about BDSM? Do you simply have to imply that bottoming is a bad thing? That even implying that Eddie might appreciate taking it up the ass is a disgrace to his character? Do you really think that getting weird with safe, sane & consensual sex is a character flaw that we're imposing on Eddie?

Like, I'm not pretend like shipping takes of a gay guy who' s supposed to be working {aka, yours truly} are the most important thing in the world, but idfk, man. Sometimes it's weird to exist in this space where some folks nominally care about you & your safety but act like bottoming is THE most demeaning thing you can do to a man.

[seiwas]

oh my GOD midi 😭 your comments and reactions to this im SOBBING

where do i even begin!!! omg i'll try to respond as orderly as i can!!!

i as well!! am such a sucker for a 5+1 trope 🥺 i feel like i have to do it for each of my faves at some point & was reaaallly looking forward to doing it for col 🥹

and ur reaction photos never not gET TO ME omg they're always so funny i LOVE THEM 🥹

PRE-SCENE

col gojo is truly neck deep in this and there's no escape!!!! (not like he wants to.....) and your prediction!! omg 🤭 kinda true??? wUHWHAUHau

SCENE 1

i looove using the sky to describe gojo's eyes!!! apart from colour, just the fact that it can transition from cloudy to clear, dark to bright leaves so much creative room with it!!

AND THE FLIPPING OVER SCENE OMG writing this scene was a challenge bc i don't normally write action scenes (i focus a lot more on feelings) so figuring out the logistics of how to describe flipping someone over was A Bit. but i'm happy w how it turned out eventually 🥹

am so happy u enjoyed this lil scene!!! honestly i think it might be one of my favourites out of this bunch, just bc i put so much mental effort into it LMAO i'm so glad u caught some of my favourite bits of it too!!

SCENE 2

writing this was so fun omg i think cos writing reader kinda tipsy left a lot of room for them to be more vocal and straightforward abt their feelings 🥺 i think they've always considered gojo's feelings first when talking to him that their own feelings tend to be a bit overshadowed 🥺

and i am SOOOO happy that you felt the yearning in this scene bc i was really trying hard to drive that home 🥺 U CAN REALLY TELL I PUT MY WHOLE SOUL INTO THIS HELP 😭 i think!! bc!! the feeling is too familiar to me and i was figuring out how to convey that!!

the lil lines u noticed too!!! omg those are some of my faves as well i think... aaaah sdhfsdf this scene holds a special place in my heart fr!!

SCENE 3

this one was rlly tough to write!!! i'm not sure why... i think bc the initial outline wasn't how it turned out to be at all!! so i was struggling with the direction of it bUT am so glad u enjoyed it nonetheless 🥺

SCENE 4

pls omg he secretly loves that apron i just knOW it and omg yes megs is rlly only helping bc he loves col reader 🥺 AND THE BROWSER TAB OMG THIS GUY DOESNT GIVE A FLYING FUCK RLLY 😭 he's leaving his laptop out in the open he doesnt CAAAREEE

megs is a menace deep in his core i feel it in my BONES (you drawing them with cutesy headbands would be SOOOO cute 🥺) + your reaction miDI OMG DSBGHSD PLS ICB U HAD TO STAND AND PACE AROUND READING IT 😭 AAAAH UR FRIEND IS SO REALSDABSD it's so interesting!! seeing which parts u liked best omg sdhjbfsd this makes me so happy 🥺

SMACKA SMACKA IM LAUGHIGNSDBASD i wanted to reference stuff from the other col fics and thought this would be neat ! esp since the lingerie fic takes place along this timeframe !!! so having it featured here kind of informs the sequence of events too!! (that the lingerie fic happened before this) and you knoWWWW am not an explicit writer omg but am glad u felt the intimacy in it 🥹 i am slowly !!! warming up to more intimate scenes the more i write it 🥹

SCENE 5

FULL SMACKA SMACKA HELP 😭

and omg that is the sweetest thing u can say abt this scene midi 🥹 thank u sm and am so glad that my kinda nsfw way of writing scenes like this still hits some way 🥹 i get flustered myself when writing intimate scenes like lowkey i feel like i'd have to detach and blackout just to write it explicitly buT YEA 🥹 im so happy u like it!! esp since u do read smut on the regular omg 🥹

SCENE +1

AAAAAHH he really is 🥹 i sometimes worry that bc col isnt a super strict series, more like vignettes of their relationship, that, even if someone can pick this up without the context of the other fics, my characterisation of satoru might be a bit off?? mainly bc i think col satoru atp is a product of how he was in the earlier pieces of col 🥹 and i am soOOOO glad that u've been here to witness his growth from the start!!!

gsdgsdu i reaLLY wanted to write that breakup miscomm bc i think its so siLLy and SO FUNNY dsbfsjadf but AAH am so glad u felt the tension... i was so unsure if it was felt hELp

and to answer your prediction!! of it being a proposal!! i will say!!!! that i turned over the idea in my head quite a few times, and i won't say my current thoughts on the col couple and a marriage proposal just bc it's still open to change for me but!! this is a step towards a kind of permanence—a forever, like you said!! it's not a marriage proposal, but it is a proposal to move in together 🥹 i was just thinking of a way he could say it that felt a bit more weighted!! and less conventional?? bc i do think they're a bit unconventional (esp gojo)

UR REACTION PHOTOS ARE SO CUTE AND I AM BEYOND FLATTERED AND TOUCHED THAT U TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS FR MIDI 😭 i cant even imagine the amt of time it took 😭 i appreciate this and you so much!!!!

TAGS

AAAH to hear that this is ur fave fic so far??? omg 🥹 i was expecting it wouldn't do as well bc the fics i tend to enjoy writing/like don't really end up as people's favourites too!! but i did thoroughly enjoy the pre-writing and writing process for this 🥺 my whole gojussy indeed 🥺

and i translated ur indonesian and omg that'S SO SWEET SJDFBJSD IM so glad the second read is just as good as the first 😭😭 srsly midi i am sososo flattered and this means sososo much ilysm thank u so much AS ALways

₊˚⊹。these traces of love, they outline you | gojo satoru

wc: 12.9k

summary: the 5 times gojo’s sure you’ve changed his life + the 1 time he hopes to change yours. 

contains: f!reader, uses pronoun she, 18+ nsfw (not super explicit but the act is there), vague allusion to symptoms similar to synesthesia, mentions of reader’s cursed technique, sparring, drunk call, use of pet names (cutie, silly, pretty, baby), nervous feelings, tummy ache, food descriptions, surprise appearance of one character, emotional tears!!, internal thoughts and insecurities.

a/n: primarily in gojo's pov! & best read if you’ve gone through the other parts in the series! (there are lots of callbacks and references, and you’ll get better context!), used lots of songs as inspo for this (would gladly share if you’re curious!), food names are in japanese, so i’ll add explanations in the a/n at the bottom!, hope you enjoy! from conceptualisation to actual writing, this piece is my baby!!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +4 (extra). take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) <- you are here

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Gojo thinks he might pass out. 

There’s a feeling of unease sitting deep in his gut, nervous and gurgling. His hands have always been restless and fidgety but never this sweaty, and his head feels like it’s floating—even more than that first time he attempted a 24-hour stint on keeping up Infinity. 

It’s eerily quiet in his office as he waits for your meeting to end, the white colon on his digital clock taunting him as it flicks on and off—16:27. 3 more minutes until you finish. 

He paces around the room. 

Attempts at any distraction are thwarted when everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of you. There’s a photo hanging by the door, the mix-and-match of couch cushions in varying hues—all souvenirs you’ve given him from places you’ve been to. The coffee table books hold your touch too, and as he runs his hand over his face. he’s hit with that signature scent, clean and subtle from the hand cream you use.

Waiting in his office today has been absolute torture, but what’s made it more excruciating is the fact that he knows you’re aware of absolutely nothing.

To you, this is just like every other Friday. 

You’d done your usual morning routine, kissed him on the nose with the promise to meet him in his office after work, as you always do. And it feels like a big joke when he thinks about it now, because while he’s been on edge this entire day about it, you really have no clue what’s coming. 

To him, this could change everything with you. 

He’s been feeling it for a while now, the ripple effect of loving and being loved by you—how he can recall every time a single drop of you has shifted something deep within him, marked and colored you. 

There’s not a lot that Gojo wants now that he feels like he truly has it all, but when he thinks about all the times he’s sure you’ve changed his life, he hopes that with this one thing, he can change yours. 

.

.

.

1 — UNDER YOUR TOUCH, WHEN IT GETS TOO MUCH

The weather today is good—sunlight peeking behind cloud pillows and the occasional gust of wind passing through the space you’ve put between you and Gojo. It’s neither too humid nor too dry and though Gojo does get the occasional sniffle from his pollen allergies around this time, he woke up earlier completely fine. 

So, the weather today is good, perfect even, for a brush-up on sparring practice. 

You’ve kept a sizable distance away from him since it started, and every attempt he’s made to draw nearer, you’ve only moved away farther—a push-and-pull, an old dynamic that shows itself in the ways you engage in battle.  

Gojo’s hands stay tucked in his pockets, his stance one you know perfectly well as relaxed but still guarded. He’s gotten a lot bulkier than the days you used to spar often, the past few years having filled in all the areas of what used to be slim, lean muscle. He doesn’t move because he knows the style you fight with, how you stay on defense until your opponent charges, utilizing their own strength against them. 

It’s the only way you’ve managed to win against someone as deadly as Gojo, equal-parts lethal in speed and strength. 

So when a cluster of clouds pass by and the sun glares directly into your eyes, Gojo smirks, then bends his knees as he lunges for an attack.

Your senses are sharp and reflexes quick; in the split second that a white-and-black blur appears before you, you attempt a high kick, only for it to be blocked with his forearm. He uses his other hand to twist around your ankle, trying to flip you over, but you see right through his motives. You huff, furrowing your brows as you narrowly escape, slipping your ankle out before he can fully grab a hold of it.

Most of this practice has felt like a stalemate, with the both of you waiting on the other for the most part of the hour. Gojo can see how it’s wearing you down, this entire thing being dragged out, and if he’s being honest—this is exactly what he wants.

Sparring out here with you today, while still meant for actual training, is also just an excuse to do this for old time’s sake—the way you huff and frown, jaw clenched as your fists ball up tightly like you’re doing right now.

He kind of misses seeing you like this, impatient and frustrated, so unlike the tenderness you always regard him with. 

A smile threatens to form on his lips, and he bites it back down. 

You only ever get like this sparring against him. 

The tension breaks when you decidedly throw a punch; it’s a desperate attempt to get the fight moving but he ducks, arm securing itself around your waist as he locks your hip with his. Before you can even comprehend, your body is lifted across his back and lowered down to the grass below—the only thing in sight being two blue skies, beaming at you. 

Somewhere during the commotion, he managed to remove his blindfold, hair let loose, fluffy and white almost like the clouds above you. Gojo isn’t taking this seriously at all; he’s way too soft, having cushioned your fall by carrying most of your weight instead of throwing you down like anyone seriously sparring is supposed to. 

He doesn’t care though. All he really wanted this afternoon was to reminisce with you. 

You’re kept underneath him, one of his arms remains wrapped around your waist while the other cradles the back of your head—and it’s there, that frown on your face, that pout he’s witnessed for years evolve into what it is now. Beads of sweat collect at the crease between your brows, your temples tensing as you breathe out. 

Gojo at 17 would have teased you relentlessly for this, but he feels different now, warmth settling in his chest as he stares; he can’t help it, the words coming out of his mouth—

“You’re so—”

But he doesn’t even get to finish.

Everything around him blurs, green and blue blending in motion before he finds himself on his back, completely flipped over. He’s met with the sight of you, smug smile pulled wide with your hands resting on his chest. And his heart—

Can you feel it under your fingertips? How it’s beating a mile a minute? 

A shiver runs down his spine, the pinpricks of grass tickling the nape of his neck. The shock is tingling, his eyes fully open as he processes what just occurred. 

In the lapse of time he’d been a little too preoccupied staring at you, you managed to inch your leg to wrap around his, locking it at the last minute to flip him over—it lands you where you are now, on his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Sneaky.” he gazes fondly, grin teasing.

You catch your breath, “Do I win?” 

“Only because I let you get too close this time.”

Which is a lie, he knows, because having you near him like this, with some form of touching—you could never be close enough.

You roll your eyes, his fingers grabbing hold of your thighs. The grass pricks at your knees through the fabric of your leggings, and Gojo knows that if you stay like this any longer, it’s going to start to itch.

“Did I hurt you anywhere?” you ask, already assessing him for any point of injury. Your eyes go over his face before trailing down his arms, rarely exposed today in his black compression shirt.

“Yeah,” he pouts, pointing to his lips, all pink and puckered out, “kiss it better?” 

Asking for this is against his better judgment, he’s aware; with the way you’re situated on his lap, this could escalate into something else entirely. You shake your head, swatting at his chest. His grip on your thighs loosens as you get off him, but the curl of your lips is extremely telling. 

As you stand up to dust your knees, Gojo gazes at you fondly. The sun hides behind you from where you tower over him, but the halo effect around your head is just as blinding. 

“Lie down with me,” he pats the space beside him. You quirk your brow but follow anyway. 

He requests, not asks, because the weather today is good, and it’s making him a little bit sentimental, remembering earlier days with you. 

You lie down, positioning your head to align with his. And for a few moments, Gojo doesn’t speak, just looks at you once and smiles before turning to face the sky, hand placed behind his head as he sighs. 

You do the same for a while, this shared silence warm and just right. 

“So rude,” he jokingly tuts, “interrupting me while I was talking earlier…” 

“You shouldn’t have been so distracted then,” you tease back, sneaking a glance only to lock eyes with two skies. 

He wonders if you can tell—how he’s always looking at you in the stolen seconds before you notice him. 

“Well, you shouldn't have been so distracting then,” he holds your gaze. 

It’s incredibly cheesy but a part of you still feels like melting—he sounds so sincere; no lilt, no tease, no Gojo-typical flirting laced into it. 

You scrunch your nose, shifting on your side to face him, the arm used to support your head now resting against your cheek. He follows, taking one last look around him before turning to you. His other hand rests on your hip, fingers splayed out while his thumb draws hearts on fabric. 

You reach for him. 

The gesture is small, just your finger running across his cheek, but it nudges something in him—a memory of you and how you’ve always touched him like this: softly, kindly. 

“Remember when you used to do this?” he takes your hand, long and lithe fingers wrapping around yours as he guides them over his ear. 

Your eyes widen in recognition and he blinks, taking you in as he stares, “Wanna do it now?”

Concern reveals itself in the furrow of your brows, “Is it hurt—”

“No,” he chuckles, already knowing what you’re about to say.

The last time you did this for him, he didn’t even have to ask. One look and you knew—it’d been the night of his final conversation with Suguru. His skull-splitting migraine ensued after bickering with Shoko on what to do with the body. You were there; you heard everything, and when she gave up arguing and left, there was only one thing you could do. 

With his head on your lap by his office couch, you tuned out the sounds. 

He doesn’t prefer you using your cursed technique this way; it takes a considerable amount of your cursed energy to focus its effects solely on another body—and frankly, it’s a waste of time for you to spend all of that on him, at least in his opinion, personally. 

You’d struggled a lot with your technique back in high school, having to learn how to fully manipulate different sonic hues: white noise, brown noise, any and all of it in the entire spectrum. Being able to amplify, distort, reduce, and isolate them into their respective hues covers only the bare minimum when it comes to understanding your technique.

It’s tedious work, and when one of your senses holds so much more power over the others, the information that flows through it can be overwhelming, overloaded even. Sorting through all that noise—he gets it, gets you, and how it must hurt too. 

And yet you, at 17, still figuring out how to grasp it all, came knocking on his door when you noticed he hadn’t come for dinner. Quietly, you placed your hands over his ears and selflessly offered your discomfort for his relief. 

The first time you did this for him, you’d only heard of his migraines from Shoko. You witnessed it yourself when he opened his door and looked so unlike himself: blindfold secured tightly but haphazardly, strands of hair sticking out oddly; his room seemed to be blacked out completely. 

Gojo Satoru is no stranger to sensations beyond what any human should be subjected to, but when you laid your hands on him that day, cursed energy tickling his ears as it flowed through your fingertips—he’d never felt more normal, more human to be able to hear things without conjuring a visual of it. 

It’s almost like you silenced his mind—enough to hear himself, and you, and the buzz of the white noise you’d amplified to flow through him in his blacked out room. 

You’ve gotten a lot better at controlling it now, the task in itself barely causing you any ache or struggle at all. 

“Just like old times,” he nudges you. 

So you keep your hand where he’s left it, covering his ear with your palm as your fingers rest on his temples. Cursed energy flows from your touch, all sounds drowning out. 

He keeps his eyes on yours, watching as your expression shifts with every sonic hue you focus on—an upgrade to your abilities the more you’d gotten the hang of it. 

You concentrate hard for white noise, creating your own mix to emulate radio static, transitioning out to green noise the moment you highlight the sound of birds chirping. Then, you ease it to brown noise, intensifying the soft whistles of the wind to mimic it. 

It’s weird how sentimental he’s been feeling lately—without any trigger or anything, but the more he leans into your palm, the more it gets him thinking. 

Touch had begun as extremely foreign to him—a god revered and valued but never really truly loved, untouchable with infinity, and the pedestal he’s always stood on. 

It was never supposed to be important to him. 

Until you. 

From your kindness that first day, and the many more that followed: of fingers brushing and hand-holding to breaths mingling and bodies moulding, moving—you’ve always touched him in ways no one else has, in places no one’s been able to reach. 

And if it wasn’t important then, completely foreign, it’s important now, so much that he looks for it everywhere, all the time, even. The way you scratch the short bristles of his undercut, fingers dragging down to the nape of his neck; the way you tap his collarbone thrice, run your fingers across his lip, and intertwine your fingers with his at random. 

When Gojo thinks about your touch, he thinks about how gentle it is, with intent and purpose. How it’s always been careful for him but never of him, and that’s made the biggest difference. 

He blinks, and you follow two times, focusing on him. 

All he hears is a heartbeat now, a little too fast to be at rest, but still steady and grounding—

The way he feels when he’s with you. 

Whether it’s his or yours, from your cursed technique or just the blood rushing in his ears, he knows this is pink noise, the one you’d so excitedly shown him when you first mastered it. 

The pink noise that resounded all throughout his twenty-somethings, when he first realized that you meant more to him than what you were. 

.

.

.

2 — WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME

The bed feels cold tonight. 

Gojo’s been staring at the lights on his ceiling for the past 30 minutes, and though his pillow is cool and blanket soft, he’s wide awake—nowhere near falling asleep any time soon. 

He shifts to the side, the space beside him taunting, empty. 

He misses you. 

For the past week, you’ve been off to a much-needed girls trip with Shoko and Utahime. He’d even offered to pay for the entire accommodation—to which you and Utahime declined, while Shoko shrugged, crossing her arms as she snorted, “If he really wants. At least he’s being useful.” 

You’d compromised and agreed that he could pay for an evening out in some nightclub. 

Now, he regrets it. A little bit. Maybe. 

Gojo’s bed is big, a king-size that fits the height of him and all his long limbs, and while it’s comfortable and spacious–supposed good things–he feels anything but comfortable in how spacious and vacant it now feels. 

He turns to the other side, facing his sidetable instead.

The digital clock reads 01:17 and he sighs; you still have a few days left. 

The next time you bring up being away for this long, he’s going with you. Even if he has to spend the entire day on his own, he’ll do it—as long as he gets to end it next to you. 

If he’s really thinking about it, nothing’s stopping him from teleporting there right now. He could hop in quick, give you a hug, hopefully a kiss, and maybe even get lucky if you allow him to steal you for the night. He’ll teleport you right back in the morning and it’ll be like you never left, even. 

He could do it. You can never resist him when he gives you his googly eyes. 

If you’re already back from—

Bzz bzz. His phone vibrates. 

He reaches for it over his night stand, instantly sitting up once he reads that it’s from you—the nickname he just recently changed your contact to. 

(It was always just your name, simple and straightforward, easy to find; when you return, he’s probably going to change it back because you prefer it that way—for safety purposes and everything.

But while he still can, he’s going to keep it like this: a petname with an obnoxious string of emojis that he associates with you).

1:20 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> satoourur are u awaeke??

The corner of his lips curl up, endeared at the image of you hunched over your phone, fingers slipping as you clumsily press the wrong letters. So cute. 

1:21 a.m.

< yes cutie? ( ˘ ³˘) 💕

1:21 a.m. 

cutie 💞🥺☁️🌸✨

> casll?

He stares at it for a good minute or two, trying to decipher this rare, drunken code from you. But before he gets the chance to respond, your face appears on his screen, a photo of you he’d taken months ago, mid-chew special Daifuku.

You’re calling. 

He grins, biting his lower lip. His feet slip inside the house slippers by the side of his bed as he gets up, swiping his phone to answer before holding it against his ear. 

“Miss me already?” he teases, padding out of his bedroom.

“Satoruuu,” you drawl. Definitely drunk, if not tipsy.

Even like this though, Gojo aches when he hears you speak; there’s a twinge that pokes at his ribcage, making him wish he was right next to you.

The music around you sounds muffled, almost as if you’d stepped out just to make this call—another thought that makes him ache.

He walks down the hall towards his kitchen and stops, realizing: if you stepped out of the club, does this mean you’re alone? He trusts you can take care of yourself, but if you’re this inebriated…

“Are you with Shoko and Utahime?” he asks casually, attempting to mask his worry. His hand digs deeper into his pocket, shifting his weight to his other foot. 

“‘Nside.” you slur. 

You don’t actually sound that drunk, more sleepy if anything, really, but his heart still picks up pace. Maybe he should just go to you already. 

“You should go to them,” he urges, continuing his walk to the kitchen. 

“M’be later,” you sigh, and he hears a bit of rustling on your end—a soft curse and a small thud, “w’na talk t’you.” 

Another ache. 

He can picture it: you, in some sidestreet, phone clutched to your ear as you tuck your hair back before sighing, legs buckling as you clumsily drop down to sit. 

“Oh?” he lilts, eyebrow lifting. A smirk forms on his lips, head tilting as he wedges his phone between his neck and shoulder. He reaches for his refrigerator, “Got something to tell me, pretty?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting you to say, maybe a recount of your day, or something funny that he’s bound to laugh at, whatever it is. 

“Just miss you.” 

He wasn’t expecting you to say this—

—in an exhale, with a slight tremble, like it’s been waiting to be let out. Vulnerable. 

There’s another ache, and he nearly drops the water bottle.

He should really just go to you.

His phone nearly slips from his neck, the thump of his heartbeat on rampage as he readjusts it.

He swallows, “I miss you too.” 

And it’s odd, how it sounds when he says it, a bit shaky too. A stillness settles in the room and it echoes off every kitchen equipment and countertop. He can’t even get himself to tease you for this one. 

“I can go there now, if you want.” he offers, almost a whisper, before attempting a chuckle. It comes out flat, tinted a little sad, “Blink twice and I’ll be there when you open your eyes.”

You giggle on the other end, and it fills him in this moment. 

When he looks around his apartment now, steel finish and walls accented black, the backsplash of his kitchen a grayish hue of iron—it reminds him of luxury fit for a bachelor, sleek in its utility. 

He’s lived here since his mid-twenties, and he likes how it’s designed, the colors and feel of it right up his alley. The furniture remains simple, modern and minimalist, filling the spaces of his open floor plan down to the two bedrooms and office space. 

But right now, it feels so empty. 

“Silly,” you chuckle, he can hear your grin forming, affection dripping, “my silly baby.”

Now his heart really aches. 

The subtle static makes you sound unreal, strung together by radio waves; it’s rare enough for you to call him ‘baby’, and for you to say it when he can’t even see or hold you while you do it—it’s cruel; a test of his restraint. 

He rests his back against the kitchen counter, arm coming across his chest to rest under his elbow, supporting the one holding his phone–you–by his ear. His teasing is softer tonight, tinged by yearning, so he hums, “Your silly baby, huh? Any chance it could be your silly ‘Toru instead?” 

The way he says ‘‘Toru’ is a pitch lower, slower, and exaggeratingly more seductive in his banter; it’s what you call him in bed, or by accident, and in the moments you find yourself needing him in ways he can only satisfy by being your lover. 

If you say it, he’s definitely going to teleport himself over. 

You giggle again. 

“S’that your fav’rite one?” you mumble, words blending together. He can imagine your cheek smushed against your knee, arms curled around your legs as you sit on concrete, “‘‘Toru?’” 

When he thinks about it, you aren’t too big on his nicknames—at least, not as much as he is with you. You only call him three things: baby (which truthfully, he had to convince you to), ‘Toru (first whispered in the moment, heat fueling it), and Satoru (since you were 16, weighted and grounding throughout all the years you’ve known him). 

Is ‘‘Toru’ his favorite? 

For obvious reasons, maybe.

But—

“I like everything you call me,” he smirks, shifting his weight. 

“Sweet-talker.” 

He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he leans further—and he swears, he can see you, the image of you rolling your eyes and scrunching your nose seared into his eyelids. 

God damn, he really misses you.

“You love it,” he murmurs.

A beat. He hears the faint honk of a car before you drown it out, sighing. 

“I do,” you whisper, admittance ringing in his ears, “I love you, Satoru.” 

He hears this all the time, but tonight it just aches; the way you say things so sincerely, so honestly even in an inebriated state—how you call him Satoru and it’s still weighted, still grounding, like who he is resides right there, in the softness of your lips. 

Gojo’s always been relevant but when you call him Satoru, he feels more than just the name.

If you’re asking about his favorite, he thinks this might be it—in every handwritten note you leave, his name scrawled in your hybrid of semi-print-semi-cursive letters; in every call you pick up, opening always with a ‘Satoru?’, end pitched higher, sweet and curious. 

“C’n I tell you somethin’?” you ask (even when you don’t need to, even when he’s already listening). 

“Let me guess, Utahime has a travel ick and Shoko—”

“Satoru.” you scold, rolling your eyes, but there’s no bite. The next bit you say under your breath, a little fragile, “‘M serious.”

The nervousness sits in his stomach; this conversation feels significant.

He takes a seat on his barstool. 

“Listening.” 

For a while, it’s only your breathing; knowing you, you’re probably thinking, crafting what to say carefully. 

You sigh again, and—

“I worry sometimes,” you admit.

He furrows his brows, “About?”

“That maybe bein’ with me’s a lil’ boring?”

And this… this aches in a different way. 

How can you even think that? 

You chuckle anxiously; he can bet you’re biting your lips, a habit you’ve picked up from him. 

He rests an elbow on his kitchen island, leaning onto it as he tilts his phone closer to his ear. 

“Apologize right now,” he commands, sternness making him feel a little guilty, “that’s the person I love you’re slandering.” 

But you only laugh, real and more relaxed, nervousness dissipating. 

“My bad, my bad,” you play along before mumbling, “‘m just sayin’, there’re lotsa others who are more everythin’ y’know?” 

He wonders what’s got you thinking like this, if it’s triggered by seeing people at the club, perhaps younger and far livelier—how you spent those years of your life exorcizing curses and making a home for two kids. 

“So what? They’re still not you.”

And he means it, genuinely.

Your breath hitches and he grins, swinging around on the bar stool. 

Those years of youth were still fun, he thinks, and it’s precisely because of you—how you’d made the apartment the four of you stayed in as fun and homely as a teen barely pushing twenty could.

You had your fair share of mishaps and adventures—rushed breakfasts and Megumi’s ‘my dog ate my homework’s. Tsumiki had to miss a day of school once because you accidentally booked her a birthday gift trip to Disneyland on a weekday. 

(And he got scolded a lot, ‘Satoru’ exhaled with a look. But it would only last a few moments; you can never stay mad at him, no matter how hard you try). 

There was no way you and Gojo had the maturity and responsibility of actual parents (maybe more like inexperienced guardians, really), but you tried your hardest to give Megumi and Tsumiki a home. 

Home, what he’s beginning to realize reminds him of you.

He looks around him now, at the details of his interior, and begins to think of yours—your apartment, a little more wooden and lived-in; there’s a lot more wear but also a lot more love, never empty like his feels right now. 

“If being with you was so boring, I wouldn’t be itching to go to you right now.” he confesses, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants. 

You laugh again before it falls into comfortable silence. 

Muffled conversations and the occasional beep sound in your background. There’s a couple giggling around you and he thinks that could be the two of you—if only he were with you. 

“Satoru,” you call him softly. 

He hums, letting it sink in—the way you say his name, distinct in how you stress his consonants despite the softness around his vowels.

When you say ‘Satoru’, it always feels targeted, speaking straight to who he is. 

“‘M so happy it’s you,” you whisper shyly, but it’s bright—unmistakably smiling, the visual of your eyes crinkling. 

He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, drunken affection and vulnerable confessions, but there’s that ache again, and all he wants to do is go to you, hold you. Be with you. 

For a while, Gojo’s been resigned to the fact that there are some things he can’t give you: how you’ll never know true peace because he’ll always be linked to jujutsu society; how choosing him means choosing the tumultuous, the unpredictable. 

And while you’ve already told him that you prefer this life with him better, for you to say you’re happy, that it’s him—

He’s thankful it’s you, too. 

Tears collect at his lash line, pools of gratitude, “I love you.”

“Hmm? you’re coverin’ the mic w’your double-chin,” you joke, just to hear him say it again, he knows. 

(There’s no way he has a double-chin from how you complain about his jawline being too sharp all the time). 

“I love you.” he repeats, louder, steadier, pressing it into his phone’s microphone. 

He’ll repeat it again as many times as you want him to. 

You giggle and he echoes it—like that couple from earlier, your own version. 

The clock reads 02:47, and he normally doesn’t like being up this late, barely getting enough sleep as is. But if you’re the reason why, he doesn’t mind staying awake.  

.

.

.

3 — TUCKED IN BED, WHEN I LIE CORRECTED

“Satoru, you can’t keep eating sweets on an empty stomach.”

He turns beside you, the dull rumbling of the Shinkansen hardly masking how loudly he asks, “Why not?” 

An old man seated across the aisle looks your way, grumpy by the folds between his brows—as if he’d been woken up by Gojo’s whining. You bow your head slightly in apology. 

It’s been an early day so far, with you and Gojo catching the first train out from Kyoto to Tokyo. Departing at 06:14 doesn’t exactly leave room for food stops, so all you have are the two water bottles handed out from yesterday’s meeting and a pack of (now) half-eaten Hi-Chew that Gojo picked up from the convenience store last night. 

“You’ll get a stomach ache.” you whisper, with emphasis. 

He fiddles with the stick of Hi-Chew, tossing it between his fingers before popping one piece out. 

The seats in the Shinkansen are spacious enough for Gojo to stretch his long, gangly legs, but despite all the free room in your row, he’s chosen to encroach on your space, sticking to you shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Nonsense,” he tilts his face, sunglasses sliding a few centimeters down the bridge of his nose, “I do this all the time.” 

And his eye, clear and bright blue amidst the morning haze zipping past the windows of the train, winks at you. 

Heat warms your cheeks; it’s too early for this. 

The moment you look away, hiding your smile, he knows he’s got you. 

. 

Or not. 

Because you seem to have gotten him—

—tucked in bed, nursing this stomach ache that could have been avoided if he just listened. 

To be fair, he does do it all the time: a few candies, sometimes gummies first thing in the morning, last thing at night. So he’s right, it’s nonsense; he probably got this from something else. 

(Even when you’d both eaten the same meals—how you always order to share because you like tasting a little bit of everything). 

Which is why, you insist it’s from the sweets, his beloved Hi-Chew to be specific. And though he wants to, he can’t argue much when he’s curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach while writhing in bed. 

“I made you tea,” you stand by your bedside, holding out your mug—small cereals patterned all over it. 

He opens an eye, hair mussed up from all his squirming. The pain in his stomach is radiating, a knot that tightens in waves; this is different from the twist-y pop-y sparks of jealousy, and is nothing compared to the sting of multiple slashes. 

Still, it’s a pain he doesn’t understand: a mixture of feeling gassy and bloated, like he needs to run to the toilet only for it to turn out futile. What makes it worse is that when he catches a glimpse of you, a lock of hair perfectly out of place, the sensation in his stomach intensifies—like butterflies flapping (or maybe just another wave of radiating pain). 

“S’hot,” he grumbles, half of his face mushed into the pillow.

The mug in your hand is piping hot, steam lifting from it, and Gojo doesn’t like drinking hot things; he’s burnt his tongue enough times on hot chocolate that he swears any hot liquid is out to get him.

But you don’t know that about him—he’s never told you, he thinks. 

You take a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“That’s kind of the point, baby.” you chuckle, tone doting with a hint of pity, “It has to be.” 

Your hand rests on his thigh, attempting to soothe him. He catches your eye and whines. 

“If I blow on it, will you drink?” you plead, “Please?”

At this point, he doesn’t know what hurts more: this stupid stomach ache or how nice you’re being. 

You could have said ‘I told you so’ the moment his stomach started gurgling when you both arrived in Tokyo—but you didn’t. Instead, you asked him what exactly he was feeling and had him change into his pajamas as you nursed him to bed. Then, you cooked him real food, a bowl of Okayu for his stomach to digest something plain and non-irritable. 

You haven’t stopped moving since you both got back from Kyoto, unpacking both your things while simultaneously darting in and out your bedroom, checking in.  

How you speak to him is so gentle, caring, doting—even when you have every right to hold it against him. 

He pushes himself up, leaning back on the headrest. You smile, lovely, and beautiful, and every bit healing that it eases the pain a little, somehow. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ as you blow on his tea, scooting closer.

A gurgling sound comes from his stomach again, but it’s manageable, and he bears it as he takes you in—how you’ve barely had the time to change out of your clothes since this morning. You’re tired, he’s sure, but you don’t mention it as you take care of him. 

The bed as you draw nearer, bringing the mug to his lips—he’s a grown man and he can definitely do this on his own, but you always take such good care of him. 

Who is he to say no?  

Sips of peppermint coat his tongue, warm as it eases down his throat. He wraps his fingers around yours, drinking a third of the mug before urging you to set it down. 

“I’ll heat up a hot compress,” you motion to get up, placing the mug by your bedside. 

He stops you, grip loose on your wrist. 

“Have you eaten?” 

You stare at him, a little surprised, but you nod.

“Just stay with me, then. Don’t need that thing.” 

Your brows furrow, pouting, “But it’ll help,” 

“Hug me instead,” his fingers play with yours, intertwining, “or I’ll hug you. Either.” 

You shoot him a look, disbelieving, but he musters up a wink, for you, despite the new wave of pain arising. 

“Okay,” you sigh, knowing you can’t exactly argue. As you get up, you land a kiss on top of his head, rubbing his knuckles as you get ready for bed. 

When you come back, dressed in your pajamas, he’s turned to his side, lifting the comforter to welcome you in. You lie face-to-face with him, his arm reaching out to rest on your lower back, pushing you closer. 

“You sure this is enough?” you whisper, breath tickling his chin. 

“Mm, yeah,” he hums, hugging you tighter as he grins, “you’re hot.” 

You hit his arm lightly, and he chuckles.

It turns quiet, then he shifts, resting his forehead against yours. White strands, as pale as your pillowcases tickle your eyes. 

He nuzzles your nose, hiking your leg up to rest on his hip while slotting his leg between your thighs—like a pretzel, twisted into each other tight. 

“You’re too good to me.” 

He’s said this before, and no matter how much you say it isn’t true—he’ll always think it, believe it. 

You frown, gripping his waist, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, you know.” 

And he thinks you’ve always been like this: hands outstretched farther than his, offering yourself to help carry whatever pain, struggle, or burden you can. You cry for the sadness others feel, share the hurt of anyone who needs it. You’re the pillar, the support for everyone around you—from Yuuji, Megumi, and Tsumiki all the way back to Utahime, Suguru, and Nanami. 

You’ve always been this way, ever since he met you. 

“Does it still hurt?” you mutter, concerned, fingers grazing his stomach. 

It does and it doesn’t—the pain is unfamiliar but he can take it, having gone through far worse. If he’s being really honest, a part of him just likes being babied by you. 

“Better,” he inches back a little, lips curling into mischief, “would definitely go away with some Hi-Chew.” 

You shoot him a look, then pout. 

“Satoru.” 

He figures there are still a few things you don’t know about him: how he really dislikes hot drinks, how discomfort turns him into a whiney, needy baby, and how he remains incredibly stubborn, maintaining what he stands for (but maybe you know this already). 

“Hey, you should be thanking my Hi-Chew’s. It helps with energy when we fu—” 

You swat at his chest in hopes of shutting him up.

He clears his throat, correcting himself instead, “—make love.” 

This is hardly the time or situation to be talking about the other things you do on your bed, given that he’s been out of commission, curled in on himself the entire day on it. But you sigh, resting your palm on his cheek. 

He turns to peck your wrist, hand coming up to cover yours.

“Just because you were fine doing it before, doesn’t mean you always will be.” you whisper, rubbing your thumb across his cheekbone. 

And Gojo thinks he’s right most of the time, if not all the time, but—

“We’re not old, but we aren’t as young as we used to be, you know? Have to take better care of ourselves now…” you continue.

—when you talk to him like this, you humble him. Immensely. 

He’s always known that if he were to give in to anyone, it’d be to you. 

Things are different now, he knows; his considerations have changed too—like how to lay the foundations of a new, ideal jujutsu society, with all the political and diplomatic gymnastics he knows is necessary; what to do with all this downtime, with all this life and no more death looming overhead; there’s also you, where this relationship is headed, what he plans to do. 

“What will I tell everyone when the love of my life, Gojo Satoru, the strongest, gets knocked out by sweets?” 

Then you joke around like this so casually, kissing his nose and calling him the love of your life like it doesn’t bear commitment that spans your–his–entire lifetime—it shakes him a little. 

He holds his breath, eyes staring at yours. You seem completely unfazed—a slip of the tongue maybe, so he lets it go. 

“Okay, okay,” he pinches your nose as you scrunch it, “I’ll try, but no promises.” 

You kiss his wrist in return—the softness of your lips always turning him a little delirious when he feels it. He pulls you closer to his chest, palm pressed to the back of your head as his other arm wraps around you, squeezing you tighter. 

“But don’t complain if I only last one rou—” 

He gets kicked in the thigh. 

.

.

.

4 — WHEN IT'S YOUR WAY OR DOWN THE DRAIN

There’s the right way, then there’s the Gojo way. 

Sometimes there’s an overlap, but most times he’s just unorthodox. Gojo’s always had his own way of doing things, but now, he’s throwing all that down the drain in lieu of doing things your way (which in this case, he’s decided is the right way). 

Between the two of you, you’re definitely better at cooking. 

He isn’t inept at it per se; all these years, he’s managed to get by. It’s just that, he’s only ever made quick, simple things—barely having the time or need to make things on his own when you seem to have an extra plate on standby.

Long cooks like this, for real, big meals aren’t his forte at all. 

This is the fullest his kitchen has ever been, a trip to the grocery store producing bags overflowing with the ingredients he needs. He tightens his apron (yours, actually) by his waist, pale pink a stark contrast to his black shirt and gray lounge pants. It’s tiny on him, barely fitting, but it covers enough to (hopefully) save him from any mishaps. 

With all the ingredients lined up on his kitchen counter, he stares, hands on hips as he contemplates where to begin. 

You’ve mentioned before how his kitchen is every cook’s dream: complete equipment, all high-grade with steel surfaces for easy wipe downs and more than enough real estate to move around. It’s a shame he’s barely used it over the years, either too busy out on missions or lately, too often staying at yours.

The unease makes him fidgety.

There’s an air of confidence that normally surrounds Gojo in everything he does, but it wavers just a bit with this one. 

He has to get this right. 

It’s your anniversary—the third (officially), but the number doesn’t matter as much when the years have always blurred the lines of what you are to each other. 

The past two celebrations were cute and fun, adventurous in how you’d spent the first one on a trail date up north, and the second one fruit picking in a farm, just west of Tokyo—things you’d both done for the first time, together. Now, there’s added pressure because this is your thing; everything on the menu for tonight’s home cooked dinner is based on your recipes. 

You know all of this by heart. And though he’s aware he doesn’t have to impress you, he wants to. 

He glances at the clock: 15:05 in white, 4 hours until you arrive. The table hasn’t been set up yet and he’s barely dressed, an array of ingredients on the table waiting to be transformed into four of your recipes he plans to attempt. 

Gojo is no quitter, but it’d be stupid of him to underestimate how fast time flies. 

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contact list—then he shoots a text, pocketing the device as soon as he hits send.

.

In the amount of time between asking for help and said help standing outside his door, ringing the doorbell, Gojo’s managed to do most of the prepwork: slice all the vegetables, set the rice cooker, and mix together all the sauces and glazes so he can set them aside for later. 

“Just type it!” he shouts from the kitchen.

Four beeps sound from the door, a soft woosh following as it opens. Help enters in the form of spiky hair and a deadpan gaze, putting on house slippers by the genkan as he drags his feet to the kitchen counter. 

“Megumi!” 

The younger boy sighs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his joggers, long sleeves wrinkling higher. “Why did you call me?” 

“Oh!” Gojo claps his hands together, “I need your help.” 

Megumi looks him over, eyes zeroing in on the pink apron, then the bowls of sauces and chopped vegetables in front of him. The rice cooker is steaming beside the sink while empty pots and pans line the burners of the stove. 

“With cooking?” Megumi shifts his attention back to Gojo as the older male nods. He mumbles, “You made it sound like an emergency.”

(“Come here now.” in proper punctuation, lacking any of his usual emoticons—only ever being used in the most dire situations).

Gojo furrows his brows, “It is!” 

Megumi stares. 

“Anniversaries are emergencies.” Gojo stares back, holding the silence for a few seconds before he continues, demeanor turned serious, “Think of it as doing this for your Sensei, not me.” 

There’s a crack in Megumi’s resolve that Gojo knows only appears when it comes to you; a soft spot that exists because you’ve always been closer, warmer—an accumulation of all the times you were adamant on being present because the kids deserved someone there, especially when he couldn’t be. 

Megumi sighs, resigned, as he pushes up his sleeves, trudging over to the sink. He turns on the tap, soaping his hands until it suds, “You should have asked Itadori.”

“Yuuji wouldn’t know how it’s supposed to taste though.” 

“Sensei’s recipes?”

Gojo nods, fanning out pieces of paper from the recipe folder you keep in your kitchen drawer, “Your favorites.”

Megumi scrunches his nose, embarrassed as pink tints the tips of his ears. 

His relationship with Megumi has always been a bit weird, a not-quite-parent-maybe-kind-of-distant-guardian-and-good-but-annoying-mentor-slash-benefactor kind of weird. And he’s sure that the boy isn’t too fond of the idea that he knows small, seemingly trivial things about him like his favorite food, but if there’s anything they can settle on, it’s definitely love for you. 

“Do you have another one?” Megumi turns to Gojo, pointing to the hair band pushing back his hair. 

.

There’s a different kind of care in cooking that he’s now realizing, coming face-to-face with the pot of dashi he’s just started boiling—a patience that comes with waiting and an efficiency meant for multi-tasking.

During the 30 minutes of soaking the kombu, they split tasks: Gojo takes duty rolling the Temaki on his own, while Megumi seasons the Wagyu and prepares the Sunomono. It’s not long before Megumi is directed to setting up the table as Gojo focuses on the Miso Soup. 

There’s a reference photo, some picture he pulled online. The gray plates and silverware on his dining table match the iron-hued backsplash and steel surfaces of his kitchen, sleek but softened by the vase of red and white camellias from the florist you frequent. 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, frankly because he’s gotten used to walking in on Gojo searching up these things: a youtube video of trail dates and articles of ‘the top 10 best farms for fruit picking’. There was also that time he found Gojo’s browser open on a catalog of lingerie.

(Megumi’s been trying really hard to forget that). 

These aren’t things Gojo’s done before, much less thought of—romance and all. 

But he admits, it’s hard work, wiping off the sweat on his brow caused by the heat from the stove. 

“Why,” Megumi sighs, “Why are you cooking anyway?” He mumbles, adjusting the silverware on the table, “Couldn’t you just reserve some place?”

Most of the cook has been silent, with Gojo too focused and Megumi barely saying a word. So while adding the katsuobushi after the kombu boils, the older male answers. 

“I would have, but she said she wanted to stay home,” he turns away from the pot, leaving the katsuobushi to soak as he shrugs. 

Megumi snorts, straightening out the black tablecloth, “Don’t you have anywhere you want to go?” 

It’s a simple question. Innocent. 

But it hits him then, how what you say follows; how ‘anywhere he wants to go’ is wherever you are, how he’s choosing to cook this meal for you instead of just ordering in—-how he’s now considering you, in everything.

This isn’t his strong suit, far from it, really, but because he’s thinking of what you want—suddenly he’s domesticated, cooking for you in hopes of romancing you (even though he already has you).   

You come first now, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. 

He turns back to the stove, straining the soup through a fine-mesh sieve before adding miso paste, dissolving it into the dashi.

“I guess not.” 

The thought stays with him, even as he drops in the tofu, dried wakame seaweed, and green onion. Even as he waits for it to finish cooking, moving the pot atop a different burner while grabbing a spoon to dip in it. 

“Megumi, come taste,” he calls behind him. 

And when the boy sidles up next to him, he feels nervous, fingers trembling as he hands over the spoonful of Miso Soup. He stares at Megumi, eyes wide open, anticipating. 

The boy arches an eyebrow as he takes the spoon, blowing on it gently. He takes a small sip.

“I added less salt because—” Gojo speaks up, a bit panicked, fingers scratching at his nail beds. 

“She’ll like anything you make, even if it tastes bad.”

Gojo’s brows furrow, “Are you saying it’s bad?” 

“Or bland.” Megumi adds, smacking his lips. 

“So it’s bland?”

The horror on Gojo’s face is laughable, but Megumi continues, deadpan. 

“No, it’s okay.” 

Gojo sighs in relief, then pouts, “Don’t mess with me like that.” 

“I don’t.” Megumi sets the spoon down, walking back to the dining table to finish setting up. 

The 18:03 on his digital clock flickers, and the rest cook continues: he heats up the skillet to cook the Wagyu—Matsusaka Beef, grade A-5, heavily marbled, meant to be tender and sweet. Some oil is drizzled onto the pan before cloves of chopped garlic are thrown in, followed by the beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. He adds a bit of soy sauce and red wine, to draw out the sweetness (or so he’s read), then finishes it up by plating it. 

And, there really is a different kind of care in cooking, he’s now realizing; how, when he stares at what he’s cooked in the past hour, he’s thought of you through it all—your preferences, the way you make things. How big meals aren’t his forte, but for you, he tries anyway. 

“Do you need me to do anything else?” Megumi asks, adjusting the camellias in the vase one last time. He takes off his hair band and ruffles his hair, hands tucking inside his pockets immediately after. 

Gojo looks up from the spread of food on the kitchen counter, motioning for the boy to come closer, “Taste test everything with me.”

Lined up are a plate of Temaki, a wooden board of Wagyu, a plate of Sunomono, and a bowl of Miso Soup. For every bite he takes, Megumi follows. And honestly? He thinks everything tastes… okay. 

The Temaki bursts with the sweet umaminess of buttery salmon dotted with ikura, the yellow daikon pickles adding a tart balance that complements the salmon well by simultaneously being sweet and salty. The avocado adds extra creaminess, while the cucumber and corn provide a freshness that lifts everything else. For some added decoration, he uses radish sprouts to mimic leaves on the filler plants of bouquets—-the main reason he chose to make this: it looks like the bundles of flower arrangements you keep on your desk. What ties everything together though, is the crunchy, crispy texture of the nori, giving contrast to the creaminess it holds inside. 

There’s a reason why Wagyu is so expensive, and it’s being told in the way it melts into his mouth right now, sweet and tender. He paid a pretty penny for this, but it’s worth it because he can’t wait for your reaction. 

The Sunomono is meant to be a palate cleanser—with sesame seeds sprinkled on it, mild and sweet, while wakame seaweed and cucumbers serve as the base ingredients. The sauce is meant to be light, just a mixture of rice vinegar and soy sauce, seasoned to taste—and maybe his is a little lackluster compared to yours, but he swears you have some form of magic when it comes to cooking. 

After each bite, Gojo looks at Megumi for his reaction—but the boy gives nothing away, face blank and devoid of any emotion. None of them are as good as yours, definitely, but for his first shot at this, they aren’t too bad. He’d pat himself on the back for it. 

“They don’t go together.” Megumi regards the entire spread with his chopsticks. 

All his hard work? Shattered. 

Gojo is dumbfounded. 

It’s too late to change everything now. 

Should he just scrap everything and order takeout? 

“But they’re not bad.” Megumi continues, washing his chopsticks by the sink before heading for the bathroom to change out of the house clothes he’d borrowed because there were no more aprons. 

When he emerges, long sleeves and joggers, he asks one last time if that’s all he needs to do, taking Gojo’s nods as a sign to take his leave. The older male remains rooted behind his kitchen counter, frozen from the crisis he’s facing.  

. 

You arrive a little later (thankfully), giving Gojo enough time to figure out this whole debacle. He’s ultimately decided to feel around for how the night goes, then he’ll act accordingly—if you show any sign that you aren’t happy, he has the delivery app ready. 

He dresses in simple slacks and a white button down, fiddling with how he’s rolled it up; the thought of you finally seeing everything he’s prepared for tonight makes him nervous—the table set-up, the ambiance, the food.

(He’s even cleaned up his bedroom).

Then he senses it, faint traces of your cursed energy by the door, and he holds his breath. The beeps on his lock count down the seconds to your entrance; and when he sees you come in, surprised and so amazed at the entire thing, the tightness in his chest eases up immensely. 

All he told you was to wear something nice. 

And, by god you did. 

You walk up to him, pretty and smiling in the simple dress you’d opted for tonight—a midi slip-on with a cardigan thrown on top. Black has always looked good on you, uniform or not, ever since up to now. 

But in white, you’re radiant. Glowing. 

He reaches for you. 

The grin on his face is lovesick as he grabs a hold of your waist. You instantly tiptoe up to kiss him, hands on his shoulders as you land a soft peck that transfers a light sheen of lip gloss onto his lips. The view behind him shows the table set-up, a pop of white and red amidst all the food he’s prepared for tonight. 

Your eyes widen, gasping, “Did you make all of that?” 

He nods, pulling away from you as he grins cockingly, “Call me chef.” 

But he immediately bites his lips, restless as he shifts his weight. He hopes you don’t notice how nervous he is—if you weren’t able to tell from his heartbeat, pressed against his chest. 

“You didn’t have to,” you pout at him, eyes watery as you swipe your thumb across his lips, wiping off the residue of your lipgloss. 

“Guess I’ll just undo everything then.” he chuckles, hands sliding lower to rest on your lower back, fingers tapping against silk. 

You roll your eyes, and before his hands get the chance to grab you lower, you’re whisking him away, holding his hand as you lead him to the dining table.

He pulls out your chair and you sit, the rare gesture making you giggle. As he settles in the seat across you, there’s a disconnect between the expression on his face and his body language—eyebrows wiggling and lips smirking, meant to be lighthearted and teasing, but he won’t stop fidgeting, shifting as he readjusts his seating. 

As you reach for the Temaki, he sucks in a breath, entirely hyper aware of every move you’re making. When you bite into it, he’s waiting. Anticipating. 

Your eyes fall shut as you chew, humming, then you grin. But when you open them and they catch his, it’s like you can tell—what he’s feeling. The furrow on your brows deepens as you look at him, concerned, “Hey, what’re you thinking?” 

How he hopes he hasn’t fucked this up, this dinner. What if the Miso Soup is too bland? Isn’t at all to your liking? What if the Wagyu’s dried out? Isn’t cooked properly? 

If he can’t get this right, this seemingly simple thing, how can he do everything else? Consider you the same way you’ve always considered him? 

He’s so sure of you his heart could burst at it, but what if he can’t ever come to terms with himself? With what he’s able to—

Then he feels it, your hand on his as you reach for him across the table, rubbing the back of it, soothing. 

He doesn’t even realize how much he’s worrying. 

“Megumi said it doesn’t go together,” he stares into your eyes, breathing slowly, grounding. It’s been a while since he’s given you a non-answer, but you accept it, patiently. 

“Megumi was here?” you ask gently, brow arched curiously. 

He nods, “Asked him to help a bit.” 

You hum, looking back at the food on the table before taking his other hand, soothing, “Well, that’s Megumi’s preference. Mine will be different.”

The smile you give him is warm, like the Miso Soup you’re reaching for right now. He watches you take a sip.

“S’good, better than mine.” You hum and he knows you’re lying but it’s still comforting, the fact that you’d do this for him. 

So if this is your effort for him, he isn’t going to waste it.

The rest of the dinner has you making the most exaggerated sounds, your ‘mmm’s and ‘ooo’s emphasizing how good the food is if he still doesn’t believe it. Your reactions are over-the-top and definitely overplayed, but it makes him laugh—-has him grinning in his seat the more he relaxes. 

You help clean up, even though he insists that you shouldn’t. 

“It’s our anniversary, Satoru.” you bump his hip, shooing him away from the table as you stack up the dirty plates. 

When he finishes washing the dishes and turns to find you, sitting atop his kitchen counter, nibbling on a piece of strawberry from the special Daifuku he put out for dessert, he approaches you. 

“Don’t be greedy now,” he rests his hand on your knee, coming to stand in between your legs. You hike your dress up a little bit, just to give him some space. 

You chuckle, cupping your hand under his chin as you feed him; he eats the entire thing, half-bitten by you already. And as the tips of your fingers touch his lips, sticky and syrupy from the strawberry coating, he takes them in his mouth, sucking lightly. 

He holds your gaze.  

“Thanks for doing all this,” you blink twice as he releases your fingers, interlacing them with his, “s’not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life.” 

You say it again—how you call him that so casually. 

What do you mean it’s not everyday you have an entire dinner cooked by the love of your life? 

You do it for him all the time.

He hums, moving closer. His other hand rises higher, kneading the flesh of your thighs through the smooth silk of your midi dress. 

“Thought you were going to spit it out for a second there,” he swallows his nerves. 

“Stop,” you frown, grabbing him by his belt loops before pressing your lips against his forehead, landing a loud ‘smack’, “go away silly thoughts.”

He chuckles when you blow a raspberry on it, laughter easing up as you drag your lips down to the center of his brows, tense from all the worrying earlier. 

You always seem to get it right, he thinks, this whole relationship thing—always knowing what to say. 

He tilts his head up, leaning closer to kiss you on the lips, fully. The breath he lets out mingled with yours, sweet with hints of strawberry, and when he catches your bottom lip you lean back, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. 

You nip on his upper lip, playful but lightly, and he groans, hand reaching up to slot itself by your neck. 

It’s there, underneath his fingertips, the pounding of your heartbeat. 

As you squirm on the kitchen counter, you pull away for a moment, restless from the growing heat. The action is subtle but dangerous as your cardigan slips off your shoulder, revealing the strap and lace of your lingerie. 

Blue eyes land on familiar pink, one he’s certain he’s caught you in before, but seeing it now, under white, it does something to his brain—-blood rushing, ears ringing. 

He leans closer, grabbing you by the waist as he runs his lips against along your neck, nipping on sensitive skin.

“‘Toru,” you gasp, breathy as you grip his shirt. 

“Tell me what else you want,” he murmurs against your skin, muffled. He sneaks one glance at you, pupils blown, before hovering over your temple, lips barely touching, tickling as he whispers, “anything.” 

Your fingers trail lower, pinching at his shirt before you tug, untucking it from his slacks. You turn to him, finding his lips, sliding them over his as you match his rhythm. It’s careful and slow, the way you unbutton his shirt, but it’s like he said—

This is your way; he’ll follow anything you say.

.

.

.

5 — WHEN ALL I SEE IS ME AND YOU

Gojo never thought he’d make this decision all because of your joint streaming subscription. 

It’s a normal weekend, regular in every way possible—just a night in for the both of you. He usually stays over at the end of the week, but it’s been bleeding into the weekdays too, lately. 

The sound of splashing water against tile echoes along the hallway; you normally play songs when you shower, but he guesses today isn’t that kind of day. 

He plops on the couch, pointing the remote to the TV as he selects the streaming app. Normal weekends consist of movie nights, half actually paying attention to the screen, and half paying attention to other things—either way, it ends in falling asleep. 

When the homepage lights up on the screen, he spots two accounts: yours and his. And it’s joint, under one household—your home. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been thinking about this more lately: how the past months have been a slow realization coming to terms with himself, and where he sees this relationship going, but the visual in front of him sparks an influx of things he’s been noticing. 

The pajama pants he’s wearing now exist as a pair to a matching set he has with you, but tonight, he’s opted for a white t-shirt because his pajama top is tucked somewhere in the drawers of your bedroom. 

(You keep it with you because you like how it fits more, you say, but he thinks it’s because it smells like him, and you sleep with it when he’s away). 

There’s another pair of chopsticks you always wash now, too, plain bamboo with a ring around the handle, light blue. You’d bought it from a market down the street a year ago, and told him it reminded you of him—-how it’s his from now on, in the container of utensils by your kitchen sink. 

He’s always known how intertwined your lives are, a decade and more of learning one another is bound to entangle you somehow. But the past few years have caused knots, impossible to unravel—a thought that doesn’t scare him as much as it used to; a thought he now thinks doesn’t sound so bad as long as it’s with you. 

As long as it’s with you. 

The creaking of the bathroom door snaps him back, the soft pads of your footsteps growing louder as it reaches the living room.

“Oh, you haven’t picked a movie yet?” you ask, ruffling your hair with your towel. 

He puts on a smile, facing you as he hands over the remote, “You pick tonight.” 

.

You barely pay attention to the movie, snuggled up against his chest, constantly looking up to kiss his neck. He’s the same, distracted, but not for the same reasons you are. 

It’s a lot to resist, the way your hands creep under his shirt, warm against his stomach, but the sinking feeling in his gut makes it impossible to focus anywhere else. 

“Not the time?” you tap his cheek, and he tilts chin down, acknowledging you. The look on your face is anything but disappointed, and it tugs at him, makes him feel guilty that he’s making you worry. That he can’t give you what you’re looking for right now. 

“Maybe later,” he takes your hand, lips grazing your fingertips, “I’ll get ready for bed.” 

You nod, sitting up as he taps your hip. He knows you can tell something’s bothering him—it’s impossible to hide anything from you at this point, but this realization feels like a long time coming, like it’s been brewing, now spilling. 

He gets up, kissing the top of your head before walking to the bathroom. 

When he steps in, it still smells like you—the shampoo and bodywash you use. (Technically, it smells like him too—he’s started using yours because it feels like you’re right there, everywhere he goes). 

As he finishes brushing his teeth, reaching for his towel hooked beside yours, he remembers how none of this existed when it was just you. You only ever had one hook for one towel, how he used to share it with you only to realize that it would never dry. 

Then he found it, some time last year, when he walked in to take a shower and found a hook installed right beside yours, presumably his. 

The lights are adjusted for him too; fluorescent white is too bright, a pain for his Six Eyes, so you changed the bulbs to soft white, tinged a bit yellow, warm. 

And thing is, he never asked you to do any of this. 

You just… did. 

Because that’s you. 

And it’s making him realize even more how he wants to keep it this way, how he wouldn’t mind if this was the rest of his life, everyday.

.

The mood shifts when you both get in bed, and if you notice it, you don’t tell him. Whatever was bothering him before has settled, his head clear, more focused to reciprocate your earlier advances. 

He’s gentle when he touches you, taking the time to love you. Your clothes come off one by one with no haste at all, slowly, almost painfully. 

But he kisses you all over, leaves marks on places only he can see—by your hip, at the center of your chest, and another one, visible, on your neck below your ear. This is more than what he usually does, but he feels determined tonight.

“Off,” you whisper, as you tug at his shirt, pulling it off before throwing it to the side of your bed. 

He holds his breath when your fingers land on his chest, dragging across his collarbones before you tap thrice. This is a spot you’ve loved so intently, he’s become sensitive to it every time you come close. You leave kisses along it, some wet, others dry pecks, but it makes him shudder all the same, every time. 

As he hovers above you, arm bent by your head, his fingers trace your lower lip, tugging only to let it bounce back; he kisses you, noses bumping, softly at first before it turns hungry, lips overlapping, biting. His tongue runs over your lips, smooth and warm. 

There are more touches, more gazes; lips brushing and breaths mixing. The heat between you is shared, intermingling, and when he’s in you—

—it’s too much, how he feels looking at you right now, like you’re everything, the only thing seared into his memory. 

There’s a life he wants to give you, and though he knows there are others who might be more able to—he can’t let go of you, refuses to. He can’t bear the thought of anyone else being this close, doesn’t even want to think about someone else waking up next to you—the bed hair he always looks forward to, the lazy smile you always give him, the hands that always reach for him, first thing. 

These traces of you have made him want the whole of you, and if this is him being selfish, then so be it. 

His arms wrap around your back, hoisting you up as your legs wrap around him, and you’re both moving, timing in sync, and he’s crying. 

He tucks his face into your neck, and he’s sure you feel everything—wet tears, shuddery breaths, but you don’t say anything. You hold him tighter, fingers scratching his undercut as he gets closer and closer. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of impossibilities. 

And this life he thinks you deserve—he wants to be the one to give that to you. 

.

.

.

+1 — WITH MY KNEES ON THE FLOOR, WHEN I ASK FOR MORE

He shouldn’t even be feeling this way, because what’s the worst thing you can say?

It’s just you. 

It’s just you—

And… maybe it’s because it’s you, that the .01% possibility of you even saying no—

—it makes him feel sick. 

He looks back at the clock: 16:30. The walk from the conference room to his office will take an extra 3? 5? minutes. 

The room feels tighter, smaller, floorboards practically worn down from how much he’s paced around it. 

He’s rehearsed what he wants to say, how he’ll grab your hand and look you straight in the eyes as he does it. Fear and excitement churn in his belly, how he’s imagining the look on your face.

If you were here, you’d tell him to breathe—to follow you with every inhale and exhale. 

If you were here, you’d smile at him, lips curled up softly, gently, the one he loves. 

If you were here—-

—-the door opens, and you step into the room. 

Now that you’re here, he doesn’t know what to say. 

You stand before him in your uniform, smiling, just as he imagined you’d be. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, sparkling, the way he’s noticed they have since you were 17. 

He must be doing a terrible job hiding how he feels because your demeanor instantly shifts, face contorting into worry, brows furrowed and frown forming. You drop your bag as you walk to him, hands reaching to cup his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice hushed and delicate, “Did something happen?” 

Your fingers are warm on his cheeks (or is he too cold?), tilting his head lower so you can look him in the eyes. He can’t breathe, can’t hear you properly; you’re drowned out by the thumping of his heartbeat. 

“Need to tell you something,” he manages to mutter. 

Your eyes widen before you nod, lowering your hands as you speak slowly, “Okay, do you want to sit first? I have water—”

He shakes his head, hand reaching for your wrist, “I think… you should sit.” 

The pause alarms you, your body turning rigid. He has no idea what’s going through your mind, and you give nothing away as you mumble an ‘okay’ while walking to the couch. 

He stays beside you, not too far but still placing a bigger distance than he normally would—for the 0.01% probability that this isn’t what you want, that he isn’t too close, forcing you into an answer you might not want to say. 

The words float in his mind, but none of them string together to form the sentences he wants to tell you. Does he take it from the start? How this whole thing has always terrified him? How he never thought this was meant for him, but here he is, still learning but loving every second of it?

There are things he’s never had to consider before that he cares so much more about now—all because of you, how it’s for you, how he wants to do better by you. 

You call him the love of your life and he hasn’t told you, but you’re that and more for him, too. 

He practiced this, damn it. 

Why can’t he remember a single thing? 

The silence between you is tense, tainted by overthinking on both ends. You look like you’re waiting for bad news, and Gojo’s too stuck in his head, turning over the right words to say instead of reassuring you. 

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he starts, fiddling with his fingers. His feet won’t stop bouncing, knee fidgeting. He’s biting his lips, a tell-tale sign that there’s a lot he isn’t saying,

You place your hand on his knee to calm him down, and he stops bouncing it, looking at you as you muster up a small smile—far from being genuine, but it’s the fact that you’ve mustered it, as if to say: ‘it’s okay, you can tell me; i’ll always want to hear all of it.’ 

He swallows, “This arrangement isn’t working.” 

Your face drops, brows furrowing, “What arrangement?” 

His heart is pounding. 

“I stay over at yours too much.” 

Too much, that mine doesn’t feel like I belong there anymore, he fails to add. 

“I think we need more space.” 

Your hand on his knee slides off as you tuck it between your thighs. There’s a frown on your face he can’t seem to figure out, and the fact that you’re giving nothing away, whatever you’re thinking—he’s turning even more nervous right now. 

“Okay,” you finally say, tone flat, “when do you want me to return all your things?”

He tilts his head at you, confused, “What—” 

“Actually, can I…” you shift around, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ears before clearing your throat, “can I ask if it’s something I did?” 

And his heart drops, straight into his stomach. 

It’s not like that at all. 

He’s hit with déjà vu; this conversation feels so familiar, so similar to one he’s had with you before—on the sofa chair across this couch, laying himself bare the same way he is now. 

The couch dips as he scoots closer to you, reaching for your hands. 

“It’s not—”

You scoff sadly, “Please don’t give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ thing,” then your tone drops, blinking away your tears, “if you’re going to break up with me, Satoru, just tell me why. Honestly.” 

He blinks. 

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he once told himself he’ll never tell you. 

But now seems like it’s fitting—the right time to say it. 

“You remember when I was unsealed?” he moves to the floor, getting down on his knees in front of you. You nod as he rubs circles over your knuckles, “When I first saw you, it was pretty scary.” 

He brings one hand to your cheek, catching a tear with his thumb. You pout, the crease between your brows growing deeper. 

“You ran yourself dry because of me.” 

When he thinks about it now, he still feels guilty. 

He believes that people are accountable for their own actions, and he still believes that with you, definitely—but he knows your reasons, why you acted that way, desperate for hope everyday. And for that, he takes responsibility. 

“I didn’t want that for you, still don’t.” 

Your frown deepens, tears welling up even more. 

Do you still think he wants to do this without you? 

He can’t take this, seeing you cry; he promised himself he wouldn’t be the reason behind this anymore.

“I’m not breaking up with you.” he tells you firmly, surely. 

You blink. 

Then your shoulders drop as you breathe out—what he hopes is relief. When your eyes meet, a little less sad, he sees the stars in them, glinting like they do when you look at him. 

This should be his answer already, how much you brighten at the thought of staying with him. But—

“I still think you deserve more,” he brings your hands to his lips, brushing them against it, and as you’re about to interject, he chuckles, “but I’m also too selfish to leave that up to someone else, you know?” 

“Soooo,” his hand reaches for his pocket, fishing around until he feels for what he’s looking for. He takes out his phone, swiping and scrolling until he finally stops, placing it on your lap for the both of you to see, “I’ve been thinking lately…” 

He looks up at you, the two skies you’ve always been drawn to, waiting. The unease in his stomach returns, churning. 

It’s a compilation of properties: houses, apartments, plots of land—all scattered around Tokyo, some central and some further on the outskirts. 

Your eyes widen, tilting your head to the side as you attempt to read what’s on his screen. You turn to him immediately, eyes still watery; the expression on your face is unreadable, a mixture of surprise and confusion, like you don’t exactly know what he means. 

“We don’t have to choose from these, it’s just a few brokers I talked to recently. We can look for others if you want, in quieter areas too—” 

Then you smile, beaming, tears falling from your eyes, “Satoru,” and you breathe out his name but it sounds like I love you.

There’s a quiet life he can’t give you, but he likes this one with you much better too. He takes your hands, placing one on his chest, over his heart, and the other on his cheek. Then, he leans into it, kissing the insides of your wrist before staring back at you sincerely. 

His heart is beating wildly, he’s sure, but if he can continue to make you this happy—

“Make a home with me?”

a/n: food descriptions—temaki is easy hand-rolled sushi, sunomono is japanese cucumber salad.

thank you notes: @stellamancer the actual birthday gift for u :') + @em1e for listening to me talk abt the entire plot and even reading the first few scenes!! + @mididoodles @kissxcore @itadorey for always being so supportive when am sharing my progress posts ilu + @crysugu @soumies @augustinewrites @ufo-ikawa no reason other than i just love u ᰔ i reply so slow when am writing smth...

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[vinxwatches]

(re)watching Famous 5: on the case

now this is, i believe, a show i saw as a kid when it was on tv. if it is the correct one then i saw it dubbed. this is a show that i have memories from. 4 kids and their dog investigating stuff. if that sounds like scooby doo then you're probably correct. both are stupid old, don't know which on is older though i'm guessing the famous 5 books.

ep 1 The Case Of The Fudgie Fry Pirates

oh fuck yea this is the show i remember. fuck that intro hit like crazy. in part because the audio was too loud. mostly because i remember this song, even if i didn't understand it back in those days. pre good English apparently.

ok, that is NOT the voice i expected. finding some of the dutch dub quickly is harder then i can be bothered to, but i'm guessing the dark haired lady had a lower voice in the dutch dub. this'll take some getting used to. in part also weird as i'm pretty sure i had a massive crush on her. (because cool sporty girl and i've apparently always been an incredibly stereotypical lesbian)

so we have down to earth Jo, rich(?) Eli(?), video and probably tech guy and sports conspiracy guy.

it's the weirdest things that really trigger memories, like the jingle at a scene change. also the aunt is really and i completely forgot her.

vague memories of the enemy, but man do i think it's way better in the origional dub with a strong bri'ish accent (:

"they're pirating movies!!!!" yea... whatever villain would do such a thing?.. me, the answer is me, or at least i watch all this stuff without paying because i don't have an income and the who would be getting my money wouldn't need any more on top of their millions.

little pinset to break out. i was afraid they were going to lock pick the door, but no, it's to take the lock of the door. it would take more time then that, but depending on the door and lock style way more reasonable.

ep2 The Case Of The Plant That Could Eat Your House

rich girl knows how to pick a lock? ...i mean ok i'm trying to learn how to pick a lock but that's not for trying to break out of/into anything. that's just to fuck around with locks... yea no one will believe that will they.

ominous bamboo. i mean yea it can grow stupid quick, but ominous isn't quite what i'd call it. extremely fast growing plant to quickly regrow damaged area... sounds neat, but unless it's easy to overtake for other plants it would just take over.

oh yea the police lady was fun. the fun combo of awesome and delightful.

oh long lost memories: these two snobby kids managed to stick in somewhere. our memory truly is a weird thing. my memory is shit, but i remember so much from this show that wasn't on tv for very long and while i wasn't that big into tv.

only now truly picking up on that they made Jo interracial. as kid you don't notice such things, just that people look different. but it makes people looking different normal which is obviously a really good thing.

the show also has a big part of ladies can be ladies but they can also be badass at the same time. my example will be really showing but think mlp Rarity. yea, girls can love makeup and stuff like that, doesn't stop them from standing up for themselves or being good at sports.

well, that ending made no sense, but about what i'd expect. too many plots do to them all well. also i clearly hear the gesundheit, but i swear i hear something else as well. are they using different versions of bless you after sneezing? if so, neat, if not... why go with the german version? i mean i prefer it as it's just "good health" and means "i wish you good health while acknowledging that you made a loud noise that could even indicate sickness" (just like in dutch) over the english "i speak a magic spell of christianity over you because in the origins of the religion when you sneeze your soul leaves your body and it has to be warded from evil spirits that would take it's place". it's silly when you believe the religion, it's even weirder if you don't. yea, i may start using gesundheit instead in english. less silly that way.

also the dude talking between shows on the English channel this was (i assume) taken from is always so weird. like i know it from the BBC, but i only really know it from after watching gardeners world with my mother which it's linked to in my mind, so having it after a kid show just feels weird.

ep6 The Case Of The Thief Who Drinks From The Toilet

i do appreciate the verities of hobbies they partake in.

"do you have furniture misses X?" "of course." "then i'm afraid you've been robbed." the show has some fun lines like these.

making the vet the villain is a choice. i mean it's not exactly a person a child has to directly deal with. but making the person that chips your pet the villain definitely won't help with the "vaccines are just evil doctors putting microchips in you", though i don't know if morons like them were as vocally around back then. ok, they didn't make the chip bad, which i think was a smart choice, and with that also kept things way more realistic (other then the range trough)

ep7 The Case Of The Hot-Air Ba-Boom!

the weird discomfort of hearing fabric tear and knowing it'll never be repaired. truly yet weirdly sad in my mind. i fear it's just a very me thing trough with a deep fear of permanent damage. if it's not just me please let me know.

damn, the biggest villain discovered trough myriad knowledge.

don't try to hide from a tiger in a tree, they are better climbers then you are.

"i'll send you the bill" "and i will tear it up." still many good lines.

less a fan of the subplot. you can be yourself plots often end up with character becoming a characature of themselves. sure, she's into makeup and stuff, but in other episodes it didn't stop her from being badass, while here they're set opposing one another.

ep8 The Case Of The Stinky Smell

guy asks for hairband. girl does not make comment on how that's not very manly, does make comment on that she doesn't have a good colour for him. you see this i appreciate.

a not very (at all) subtle empower women message while not delving into it as it's not interesting for kids. just "i learn a lot of stuff from you, like being empowered, whatever that is.". just adding it to the things that are normal and good. this show honestly has more too it then i'd expect. guess that's parts of why it stuck so much that i wanted to revisit it compared to many other shows from my childhood.

ok, i think first time the show got me laughing out loud. "remember last year when we painted the barn?" "i was so full of red spots i looked like a spotted leopard" "which is odd as we painted the barn green". just such a beautiful nonsensical conclusion.

ep3 The Case Of The Impolite, Snarly Thing

the show really has the nonsensical humour down. "it's 2 hours by train. or, and i don't know why you'd want to do this, 18 hours by pogo stick." i don't know if it's British humour or just this show but it keeps just cracking me up. "it's been around longer then prince Philip"

seems like the show is going a true scooby doo story with someone pretending to be a monster for selfish gain.

ok, i seriously can't stop laughing. 4 minutes 20 in, if you're good enough at English give it a watch, you won't be disappointed.

bringing up how companies paid with fake money for a second... why? "sweat deal for the company" i mean to me that sounds like something as evil as is appropriate for a town paying you with fake money so you can never leave their town, but i don't know if most kids would be able to get that.

oh gods this is from the time when cell phones were primarily and really just phones. not the (to me at least) weaker computer you always have with you. sometimes it takes media from a bit but not too long ago to remember how fast tech has moved.

"i bet your cellphone can't do that", that being point north. give is a couple years and you don't just have a compass but your position on the worlds map at all time... not sure if it would work underground though.

athletic old lady... neat!

ep4 The Case Of The Sticks And Their Tricks

oh, recurring villain? maybe not and they just look similar with a somewhat similar voice. also poisoning a tree would take long. like lets say it kills it in a day... then it's a dead tree, wood, the stuff we make houses out of. a tree dying means leaves will fall of, but the rest will stay up right for quite some time. ok, actually addressed in the show. it keeps being more realistic then i'm anticipating.

ep5 The Case Of The Plot To Pull The Plug

"on second though i'll be throwing up first" honestly fair

British person threatening more British person for sounding daft, so fun as an outsider... how the fuck did they do this one in the dutch dub? just have the twat speak oldtimy?

pretty good plot too, probably one of the best episodes so far.

ep9 The Case Of The Defective Detective

is it bad when i hear person that goes on adventures then turns those into books that my first reference is daring do from mlpfim?

"if you're going to cross this field you better be able to do it in 7 second, because our bull can do it in 8".

fuck i do still want to try a corset. anyone happen to know where you can buy a nice one?

pretty neat twist, and i do appreciate the diversity. also pretty neat bluff at the end.

ep10 The Case Of Allies Really Very Bad Singing

these episodes really are more "how do they catch them" instead of "who done it", who did it is generally revealed to the viewer a couple minutes in, while the crew tends to figure it out half or 3/4 of the way trough. it's pretty neat. kind of collumbo but always ending with a chase of some sort in which they get pretty inventive.

ah, those times when saying "i stored is all in my usb drive" wasn't insane yet... maybe it isn't insane still if you don't save hours of videos, many video games and thousands of images, i wouldn't know, those are my baseline.

really clever conclusions.

ep11 The Case Of The Medieval Meathead

oh i remember this episode bigtime. i think the mystery wasn't the set up mystery but that it was being solved along the way. i think the person that fake gets murdered did it. really i just remember the dark skinned king. it really is the diversity that truly stuck with me over the years.

medieval-ly talk on a strong British accent with some serious compression. damn now we're getting to the edge of what i can understand.

also Jo stays such a fucking mood. i think she really just was gender envy personified to me.

also got to love the coplady who's very much a woman, but makes sure to also be buff af.

pretty brutal. i mean the villains have been pretty brutal before, but this is drowning. a painful death.

mostly a good episode, really big fan of the diversity especially in this one. also i really need to get myself a witchy outfit one day too. fuck that's the second clothing wish list reminder this show gave.

ep13 The Case Of The Guy Who Makes You Act Like A Chicken

the circus are the badguys? that has some... unfortunate roots.

first time we see Jo's dad's face. i didn't remember the running joke, i didn't remember it ended. also the scheme is pretty fun, but damn does this episode feel the most aged. like the theme has often been that the new person is the culprit, other wise you get cabbot cove where somehow everyone is an eccentric killer yet no one seems to notice the trend, but that it's the circus makes it feel worse.

at least the villain was the most regular white dude out of the lot of them, but still, not the best feeling episode. at least not the one they ended on, that one is

ep12 The Case Of The Messy Mucked Up Masterpiece

oh, brittish show does an american. fun :D

oh, a man pretending to be a woman. this will either be a meh joke or extremely transphobic. it was meh, thank the gods. nevermind. sigh.

ending on a pretty standard good episode with but one not great moment, but it could be a lot worse.

overall rather good show that definitely left quite an impression. maybe give it a watch as the jokes do still really work and are rather outlandish in a very fun way to probably most people.

found this piece of critsism on wikipedia: "and my concern is that modern kids who watch this will think that the Famous Five is all about gadgets and multi-culturalism.", gadgets are not a real thing in the show at all, and the multi-culturalism and Jo are the reasons i at least remember it. them missing from the one famous 5 book i read after this show got me interested is why i never read another one of those books.

also oh shit that wasn't the final episode, i'll have to scour the internet for the other 13. the site i was watching on didn't have the rest. that's also why the order of episodes is fucked a bit.

[manofmanymons]

how do you think the urvive kids would have dealt with the main enemies of, i dunno, adventure (1999)

I think it would be really funny if they just hit Myotismon and Machinedramon with an uno reverse card. Just like "well my partner is the same Digimon but better, soo..."

Before I keep talking I wanna clarify that rather than looking at this as "Adventure enemies but in Survive" I'm thinking more like "Survive kids but in Adventure"

I think the Devimon arc would be interesting bc the Survive kids are older and more cautious so I feel like tricks like the mansion illusion wouldn't work as well on them? But also as a "first boss" I think they might also be less united than the Adventure crew. I feel like they'd either roll a nat 20 in persuasion and win Ogremon to their side way earlier on or like straight up kill him instead of just temporarily defeating him tho so in that sense the Devimom fight would be easier for them. I like to think the former would happen tho and then it would just be a matter of like kicking that demons ass as a crew instead of winning by any sort of last minute evolution.

I'm having such a hard time imagining the Etemon arc with these kids. I feel like even though they're not stupid and obviously they would understand the danger, as more modern age kids I can't imagine they wouldn't find Etemon at least a little bit silly. Like Minoru would so laugh his ass off they first they meet the funky singer chimp.

Assuming they would also be undergoing a "find the crests" arc I feel like they would argue significantly more than the adventure crew. Stay on file island vs go to server, focus on crests vs focus on kicking Etemon's ass. Ironically I think having our MC with an Agumon throwdown with monkey man and end up in the real world would just happen exactly like in Adventure?

But then after that like...without the fog forcing them to stay together and w all their arguments leading up to this point I think they'd kinda fall apart. Similar to Adventure again but this time they're not just splitting up to find a friend they just kinda can't stand each other rn so the "bring everyone back together arc" def has to happen before they can face off w myotismon.

Although the stakes for them would be way different than in adventure bc there's no 8th kid they're looking for or anything so I think it would be more fun if they all just like

Well a) underwent a crest activation arc but ALSO just had a friendship arc. Yknow like gained some perspective in their time apart and then really bonded when they got back.

While I still stand by that uno reversing myotismon by killing him with a different myotismon would be hilarious, I GUESS they could just use the power of friendship or whatever instead :/

Except actually fuck it if Adenture could have random kids getting a "bippity boppity deus ex machina, bitch" moment and soloing the main boss then so can the Survive kids so actually yeah they should be allowed to kill the vampire with a better vampire.

Speaking of the anime power of friendship I really want them to just kick puppetmon's ass with a genuine coordinated group attack. Like idk considering the whole thing with that guy was "oh he's weak bc he has no friends" it's a little weird that in adventure he was ultimately killed by one (1) angsty boy who was NOT being a team player at the time. It would be fun if the payoff for everyone becoming besties was just flawless teamwork yknow. I also think that being able to strategize like that would be a neat way to set the Survive cast apart from the Adventure cast.

I STILL want to uno reverse machinedramon so badly.

I genuinely can't even remember what actually happened with metalseadramon. I think he dies first out of the dark masters, yeah? Like he kills whamon and then Tai wrecks his shit? Honestly I think ANY Survive kid could solo that guy. I don't even care which one. Whoever is the most violent in that moment. Maybe Aoi bc he just murdered a friend in front of them. Or Miu bc mega level marine digimon vs mega level marine digimon.

Piedmon uuuuh. Well he's different from Survive Piedmon so instead of getting soloed by Takuma maybe he can be our fancy dancy Omegamon moment.

Apocalymon idk would just be the equivalent of the master tbh. Maybe they could even have a heart to heart to with him yknow like instead of totally blowing him up they could like kick his ass a little and then be like "but what if you weren't evil" and he could be like "oh shit you're right" and they all live happily ever after ksjsnd