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pin-k-ink · 23 days ago

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OFF THE RECORD ⋆✦⋆ gojo satoru

synopsis ➸ you know gojo too well to believe he’s here for a quick fuck. he’s here for a favor—one you have no intention of granting. too bad he’s never been good at taking no for an answer.

tags ➸ implied former student/teacher relationship, slight age gap, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, mild dom/sub themes, power play, manipulation, daddy kink, mild objectification, dirty talking, semi-public/public sex, mention of past sexual encounters, implied blackmail (it’s really not as bad as you think)

wc ➸ 10.9k

The steamy tendrils still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower, toweling off with a contented sigh. Mornings like this—quiet, peaceful routines before diving headfirst into the chaotic world of jujutsu—were increasingly rare these days. So you tried to savor each precious moment while it lasted.

With the towel secured around your body, you padded toward the bedroom to get dressed for yet another long day at headquarters. However, the second you stepped over the threshold, the hairs along your nape instantly prickled upright. A presence. An unmistakable shift in the air currents that could only mean—

"Well, good morning, gorgeous! Sleep well?"

You barely stifled the startled yelp as Gojo Satoru's cheerful baritone seemed to resonate from directly behind you. Whirling around, sure enough, there he was—all towering height, shredded muscle, and bright eyes glinting with clear amusement. How someone so powerful could also be so utterly shameless sometimes, you'd never know.

Doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your cheeks, you planted your hands on your hips in a stern facsimile of composure. "Satoru...what an unexpected surprise. Here I thought teachers were supposed to set good examples about respecting boundaries, not traipsing into former students' homes unannounced."

Rather than appear even remotely chagrined, Gojo simply chuckled and leaned back against your kitchen counter as if he owned the place. You watched in mild annoyance as his gaze slowly trailed up and down your towel-clad figure with undisguised appreciation.

"Hey now, no need for such icy formalities between us old friends," he chided, the barest hints of a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. "Besides, when have I ever cared about doing what's expected of me, hm? That's like...95% of my appeal, babe."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed out a resigned sigh and crossed the room to your closet, firmly squelching the instincts that urged you to yank the towel higher and more securely over your body. Gojo had seen—and thoroughly enjoyed—far more of you than this in the past. No sense getting flustered over his blazing regard now.

"Right, so does this impromptu visit have an actual purpose?" You shot him a pointed look over your shoulder as you fished out a crisp blouse and trousers to wear to HQ. "Or are you just being a pain as usual and raiding my fridge for a sugar fix again?"

You heard Gojo's low snort of amusement before his heavy footfalls sounded, clearly bringing him closer despite your protestations. "What can I say? Your kitchen is better stocked with sweets than most convenience stores. I can't help craving a little nibble now and then..."

The sultry undercurrent in his tone triggered a fresh blaze of heat along your nape. You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Gojo's stare boring into your ass as you bent to rifle through your bottom dresser drawer.

"But you're onto something with that other theory as well," he continued in a lower, more contemplative register. All traces of levity seemed to evaporate as his presence loomed larger behind you. "I did actually come to ask a favor of my very favorite former pupil. An important one that I wouldn't bother you about if the stakes weren't so high."

Curiosity and trepidation warred within your chest at the unexpected gravity clouding Gojo's usually buoyant candor. You instinctively straightened, clutching your clothes to your chest as you slowly turned to face him once more.

And just like that, the heated tension seemed to ratchet up several palpable notches as your eyes met and held in the claustrophobic space. Gojo's sculptured features had taken on a severe, intense edge—all sharp angles and tightly leashed power that instantly siphoned the breath from your lungs.

Suddenly, his earlier "playful" flirting and teasing manner seemed less like an act and more like a fragile facade barely containing his true tempestuous nature. You swallowed hard against the liquid lick of thrilling trepidation skating down your spine as Gojo maintained that weighty, piercing stare for several moments longer.

"...Is everything okay?" You finally managed in a hushed murmur, scarcely recognizing your own voice under the abrupt spell of Gojo's domineering energy. "What could possibly have you riled up enough to ditch the flippant act?"

Rather than immediately answering, Gojo closed the remaining distance between you with two long, purposeful strides. You had to crane your head back slightly to maintain eye contact as his powerful silhouette utterly consumed your space—the scalding brand of his body heat and crisp, masculine scent enveloping you from all sides.

"Believe me, kitten...if I came here for anything even remotely fun or pleasure-oriented, you wouldn't need to ask," he rumbled at last, voice pitched low enough to instill a full-body shiver along your nerves.

One of Gojo's large hands came up, and you froze as the rough pads of his knuckles grazed a feather-light caress along the line of your jaw. His thumb swiped over the seam of your lower lip in an utterly artless, possessive sweep—smoldering gaze following the motion with incendiary focus.

"I'd already have that smart mouth wrapped around my cock doing something far more useful than talking..."

Despite the crudity of his words, you couldn't quite stifle the punched-out whimper that slipped free at the graphic implication. Gojo's pupils blew fractionally wider in answer, tongue darting out to lave his lower lip as if tasting the charged undercurrents now rippling between you.

"Lucky for you, this is actually about business," he continued in that same resonant timbre that seemed to spark straight between your thighs each time his rich cadence washed over you. "The kind of serious business that even a lazy pervert like me can't afford...distractions for at the moment, got it?"

You managed a jerky nod, too disoriented by the heady spiral of desire cloying at your senses to do much else. Gojo's expression seemed to tighten further—a muscle feathering in his chiseled jaw as if steeling himself for whatever came next as he stepped back a bit.

"Itadori Yuji is scheduled for execution..." The blunt statement punched out like a missile deployment, brutally shredding the increasingly rapacious atmosphere between you. "And one way or another, I need that sentence postponed before it's too late."

You immediately shook your head, mouth set in a grim line. "Postponing Itadori Yuji's execution? That's not going to happen, Satoru."

His brows pinched slightly at your blunt refusal. "This is serious, kitten. That kid is instrumental to—"

"Don't you think I know how serious this is?" you cut him off, firming your voice into an authoritative tone. "I work directly under the higher-ups, remember? I'm well aware of the situation with Sukuna’s vessel and the potential ramifications of his continued existence."

Squaring your shoulders, you leveled Gojo with an unwavering stare. "My answer is final. Bringing this to the elders would be pointless at best, and could potentially jeopardize my position if they see it as insubordination. I'm not sacrificing everything I've worked for just because you showed up and gave me those stupid puppy dog eyes."

Rather than back down, Gojo simply regarded you with a contemplative tilt of his head—bright gaze assessing as if turning over your words from every possible angle. You could practically see the gears turning behind those piercing blue irises as he recalibrated his approach.

"Okay, let's table the business side of things for now," he said at last, tone losing some of its previous urgency. Straightening his body, Gojo prowled a step closer—effectively reclaiming the charged atmosphere from earlier. "Maybe you just need some...persuading to see reason."

You refused to be baited so easily, keeping your expression coolly neutral even as his scalding presence flooded your personal space once more. "I'm not some hormonal teenager letting her heart sway business decisions anymore, Satoru. Those games won't work."

Gojo hummed softly in response, head cocking as his lips curved into a slow, molten smirk. "We'll see about that..."

Without warning, his hands clamped down on your hips, thumbs digging in with delicious friction as he hauled you flush against the solid wall of his torso. You couldn't withhold the tiny gasp that punched free at the sudden, searing contact—every ridge and cording muscle of Gojo's powerful physique branding itself against your towel-clad frame.

"Does this position feel...familiar to you at all, gorgeous?" he murmured in a honeyed rasp right against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed a path along your jaw as he dipped to mouth steamy, lingering kisses down the fragrant column of your throat. "Maybe sparks a few memories of the last time you found yourself pinned underneath me...crying out for more the whole night through?"

A shudder rippled down your spine at the crude allusion to your long-ago graduation celebration with Gojo. You remembered that encounter vividly—every slick rasp of skin against skin, the sweltering tangle of limbs, the exquisite ache of being split open on his thick cock over and over until the entire room reeked of your joined passion.

Gojo merely chuckled at your flustered squirming, nosing aside the collar of your towel to lave a heated path along your collarbone. "Mmm...that's right. There were points that night where I had my cock buried so fuckin' deep in this perfect pussy of yours that you could taste it on the back of your tongue with every breath."

You bit back a shuddering whimper at the crude imagery, willpower rapidly crumbling beneath his carnal onslaught. Despite your best efforts, the memories he so skillfully stoked were stoking liquid tendrils of arousal thrumming to life between your thighs. Gojo's grin stretched wider as you unconsciously arched into his scorching frame.

"Always did love ruining you on my dick that first time," he rumbled with blatant gratification against your heated skin. "Watching those gorgeous eyes glaze over while I split you open again and again until you passed out..."

Abruptly, Gojo detached his mouth from the thundering pulse at your jugular with one final lingering sweep of his sinful tongue. Smirking down at your glazed, panting expression, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But hey...while fun memories are nice, I'd rather make some new ones together after work," he said, suddenly all casual nonchalance once more as he meandered towards the door. "I'll pick you up from HQ when your shift is over and we can...discuss this Itadori thing some more in private. That sound good to you, babe?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to reassemble your scattered thoughts as the searing proximity of Gojo's presence withdrew—leaving you bereft and utterly unbalanced by the shift.

"Don't worry your pretty head over giving me an answer," Gojo called over his shoulder as he palmed the doorknob. "I already know you'll say yes when I remind you again how much that tight little pussy loves being split open on my—"

The door snapped shut with a hollow thud, cutting off the rest of his filthy promise. Though the last rakish wink he slanted your way before departing was more than enough to sear the implication deep into your psyche.

Sinking heavily back against the wall, you fought to regain your equilibrium—limbs quaking and breath escaping in ragged pants that did nothing to dissuade the rising tide of feverish arousal still gripping your core. Gojo had utterly unraveled you into a breathless, squirming mess from just a few suggestive caresses and searing endearments.

And despite your best efforts, you got the gnawing suspicion he'd made up his mind to thoroughly capitalize on—and ruthlessly extend—that molten state when you inevitably saw him again tonight.

The long hours crept by at an agonizing pace as you tried to focus on your duties at headquarters. But the memory of Gojo's heated presence that morning, his crude allusions to your long-ago passionate tryst, made it utterly impossible to concentrate.

You vividly recalled the way his powerful frame had caged you against the wall, face nuzzling along your flushed throat as that rich, smoky timbre painted filthy promises about thoroughly splitting you open again soon. Just the phantom whisper of Gojo's searing lips tracing your thundering pulse was enough to catalyze wild tremors of molten arousal deep in your core.

Each time you shifted in your seat or bent over the piles of paperwork, you could've sworn a delirious ache throbbed between your thighs—muscles fluttering with unbearable emptiness. Like they instinctively yearned to be stretched taut around the thick, punishing girth of Gojo's cock once more, just like that rapturous night of your graduation celebration.

The explicit images and flashes of sensation made concentrating an exercise in futility. Only your rigid adherence to professionalism and composure prevented you from squirming like an utter harlot right there in front of your subordinates.

By the time the evening hours finally rolled around, you felt strung as taut as a high wire—electrified nerves screaming for any sort of reprieve from Gojo's lingering psychic imprint. So you hastily packed your bags and paperwork, determined to slip out before he had a chance to accost you again.

However, the second you passed through the main entrance gates, a powerful hand shot out to clamp around your bicep in an authoritative grip. You barely contained the strangled gasp as Gojo's sheer masculine presence enveloped you, dragging you into the shadowed seclusion of a nearby alcove.

The cool stone bit into your back as he firmly levered your wrists overhead, utterly pinning you in place with his hulking silhouette. Gojo's piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light, scorching a path down your disheveled figure with undisguised intent.

"Leaving so soon?" The deep, resonant timbre of his voice washed over you in smoky tendrils, already catalyzing a fresh blaze of arousal in your veins. "And here I was looking forward to picking up where we left off earlier..."

To emphasize his point, Gojo surged forward until every inch of his powerful frame molded against yours in a delicious, searing brand. You whimpered softly as his weight pinned you fully, feeling the unmistakable rigid line of his erection notching against your lower belly.

Gojo ducked his head with a low rumble of approval, searing lips and tongue mapping a scorching path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. You instinctively tilted your head aside to grant him better access, shuddering helplessly as he indulged in long, openmouthed draughts of your scent and flushed skin.

"F-Fuck...Satoru, not here!" The words emerged in a reedy, breathless whine against your better judgment as his wicked mouth found that sensitive bundle of nerves just below your ear. You writhed beneath the slow torment with increasing desperation. "Anyone could catch us...this is crazy!"

Rather than immediately address your token protests, Gojo merely chuckled—the warm puffs of his amusement ghosting deliciously along your tingling nerves as he mouthed a stinging graze against your racing pulse. One of his large, calloused palms slid down to engulf your hip in a possessive squeeze, already kneading and grinding you in a slow simmer of friction.

"You say that like you've never been desperate enough to beg me to fuck you right here in these hallways before..." The low, sensually-charged growl shivered your bones down to the marrow. Gojo finally pulled back enough to cage your dazed features fully within his piercing stare—lips curved in a lascivious smirk of fond reminiscence. "Multiple times, if I'm recalling correctly."

Heat flared through your cheeks as the graphic imagery took shape against your fraying resistance—lurid memories of breathless encounters where the thrill of potentially being caught by patrolling sentries only fueled the delirious flames higher. You swallowed hard against the thickness now cloying your throat, squirming in feeble denial.

Gojo's smirk deepened into something utterly sinful as he drank in your expression with clear relish. "Do you need me to refresh your memory about the last time you had me backed into a supply closet?" he rasped, leaning in until the blistering brand of his body seared you from chest to hip once more. "How hard you came when I finally pulled those thighs apart and licked straight through your soaked—"

"Enough!" you gasped out before he could fully unleash the damning words. You renewed your efforts at wriggling free in earnest, well aware your weakening restraint wouldn't last against Gojo's relentless carnal onslaught. "I-I...maybe we should actually go somewhere more appropriate first. Dinner, maybe?"

Despite your sudden meek suggestion, you couldn't quite mask the desperation laced through the plaintive request. Gojo's eyes seemed to glitter brighter at the shift in your demeanor, clearly scenting weakness in the offing as he allowed his grip to relax somewhat.

"Dinner first, huh?" He pursed those full lips into an exaggerated pout of contemplation before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose that's only fair since I'm the one working up an appetite here..."

With one last blistering look that robbed you of breath entirely, Gojo stepped back and pivoted on his heel to swagger away down the narrow thoroughfare like a man supremely assured of victory. You could only sag back against the alcove wall, chest heaving with exertion as the towering remnants of arousal slowly ebbed.

However, there remained little doubt in your overwrought psyche that this temporary reprieve from your joining was little more than the universe's taunting cruelty. You'd awoken Gojo's darkest, most lascivious appetites earlier that morning.

And if the way he slanted one final look over his powerful shoulder—bright irises already blown wide and jaw clenching subtly around what had to be punishing levels of restraint—then the true feasting was only just about to begin in earnest. With your achingly empty body as the main course.

The opulent restaurant oozed sophistication from every polished surface and perfectly-starched linen. The sommelier's formal bow and crisp recitation of the evening's premier wine offerings seemed utterly wasted on the two of you.

You eyed Gojo over the rim of your glass, the dry Cabernet doing little to dull the lingering tension still thrumming between your joined frames. As always, he looked utterly nonplussed about the lavish indulgences surrounding you—crisp white dress shirt straining across his muscular torso and sharp jawline rasped by the beginnings of late evening stubble. Like a predator eternally at ease, regardless of situation.

Gojo's piercing gaze roamed over you with the same slow, assessing intensity one might reserve for an exquisite delicacy awaiting consumption. You tried not to squirm under that molten scrutiny, clearing your throat pointedly.

"I'm assuming there was some purpose behind corralling me into this place," you remarked in your best professional tone. "Beyond getting me liquored up for some inappropriate table exhibition, that is."

Rather than rebuff your dig, Gojo simply angled his head in a catlike tilt—lips curling into a devilish smirk that telegraphed his carnal interest crystal clear. Leaning further back in his chair, he allowed one broad palm to splay suggestively over the crisp linen covering his lap, fingertips drumming out an idle staccato.

"Well now, I certainly wouldn't say no to having those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else for a change." His deep timbre emerged laced with sin and smoky insinuation. "You always did look like an utter vision stuffed under these fancy tabletops sucking me off..."

Heat blossomed across your cheeks despite your best efforts at composure. You knocked back another bracing swallow of wine, struggling not to dwell on the searing flashes his words evoked—memories of delirious encounters where Gojo had hauled you under secluded tables to properly appreciate your skills with relentless, undisguised gratification.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped your fork with slightly more force than necessary."I'd ask if you're always this disgracefully crass and lascivious in public these days...but then I remembered who I'm talking to," you said dryly. "So in the interest of not causing a scene, why don't we get to the point of this little ambush?"

One brow arched infinitesimally as Gojo cocked his head further, clearly drinking in your prim and vaguely irritated state with evident relish. "You seem awfully anxious to rush right to business," he murmured, fingertips continuing their idle rhythm against the tablecloth. "Where's that simmering self-restraint and haughty composure I remember enjoying unraveling piece...by...delicious...piece so thoroughly back in the day?"

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, only for Gojo to cut you off with a low, lush rumble. "Unless you've simply decided being insatiably thirsty for this cock is more your speed these days..."

With that quiet taunt, his free hand disappeared beneath the pristine linen swathe in a heavy, meaningful descent. You swallowed convulsively as his fingertips slid along the unmistakable ridge of his thick cock straining against the unforgiving fabric of his slacks. Every knuckle undulated in a deliberate, stroking glide that tightened your throat like a vise around trapped breaths and unspoken pleas.

"Can practically already taste how soaked you're getting beneath those prim layers just from the thought alone..." Gojo continued in a molten rasp heavy with undisguised gratification. "Imagining that filthy little mouth stretched wide around my girth again, glazing yourself in my cum right here in front of god and all these polite company..."

A tiny, reedy sound slipped unbidden from your constricted chest despite your best efforts at locking it down. Gojo's lascivious smirk turned rapacious as he correctly scented the spike of liquid want now cloying the humid space between you.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" He pitched his timbre slightly lower, allowing each gravelled syllable to curl around your senses with lashes of pure elemental sin. "Going to be a good little famished cocksleeve and give me a hand under the table before we get down to—"

You cut across his brazen soliloquy with a forceful rap of your fork against the tabletop. Pulling yourself together, you fixed Gojo with a severe glower that finally seemed to give him pause.

"If you can't conduct yourself with any semblance of decorum befitting your station, then I'm through entertaining these adolescent displays," you bit out in a hushed tone edged with adamant warning. "I'm not some wide-eyed underling fresh off the training fields anymore, Satoru. I have higher standing and responsibility than you seem to grasp."

Silence stretched between you for a weighted beat—Gojo's heated gaze flickering over you with renewed focus you couldn't quite decipher. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of uncharacteristic control underpinning his typically buoyant candor. Clearly, he'd grasped the need to change tactics once more.

"You're absolutely right," he said after a prolonged pause. "Part of me forgets just how much you've grown and ascended the ranks over the years." One side of his mouth curved higher in a lopsided ghost of his usual smirk. "Clearly earned the elders' respect and esteem far beyond that of a simple 'secretary' as I put it earlier."

Before you could retort, Gojo pressed onwards—hand sliding almost absently back into view to wrap around the stem of his wine flute. "Which is exactly why your assistance is pivotal to turning the tide regarding Yuji's current...perilous circumstances."

There was a grim finality in his words that snapped you back to the seriousness of the moment like a sobering slap to the face. You shifted fractionally taller in your seat, expression hardening as Gojo continued in low, adamant tones.

"Whether you're fully aware or care to admit it right now, that kid is destined to be pivotal for the upcoming events on the horizon," he rumbled with quiet conviction. "Leaving him to get executed off the books tomorrow morning would be tantamount to losing our most powerful asset before the real battles even begin."

Swirling his wine idly, Gojo paused to take an unhurried pull directly from the bottle before continuing. "Which is why I'm going to need to call in more than a few favors getting his sentence postponed tonight. Starting with you, of course..."

There was a new current of steely focus glinting in his gaze as it bored into you with ruthless intensity. For several protracted beats, you simply held each other's stares—gauging the lengths and motivations rumbling beneath the surface beyond petty physical exploits.

Finally, you pursed your lips and shook your head in a solemn negation. "I'm sorry, but I can't overstep protocol and abuse my influence with the elders like that," you stated, quietly adamant. "Not even for you, Satoru. The ramifications could unravel everything I've worked decades to attain if word got out I went rogue."

Rather than exploding in his usual flashes of arrogance or wounded pride, Gojo merely raked you with a glower of narrowed, simmering intent. His next words emerged more pointed and resonating than any innuendo or filthy endearment preceding it.

"Are you sure about that stance?" he intoned darkly. "Because if memory serves, there are a few distinct...indiscretions we've engaged in that could certainly be construed as 'unraveling' by the elders' view, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter's polished footsteps faded as he departed to fetch their entrees, leaving you and Gojo in a weighted silence. You could practically taste the undercurrent of tension simmering in the air between you both.

Sipping his wine slowly, Gojo dragged his incandescent stare over your features with undisguised intensity. "I'm serious about this," he stated in a low, firm rumble that brooked no further evasion. "We're talking everything from inappropriate use of jujutsu techniques to conduct we both know crosses so many lines..."

He trailed off meaningfully, leaving the implications to hang heavy as his tongue slicked over his lower lip. You swallowed hard against the rising heat prickling across your cheeks and neck.

"Like that night in the east gardens behind the training halls," Gojo continued, voice dropping into a deeper, more intimate register that curled straight between your thighs. "Where I pinned you down in the grass and ate you out until you came all over my face. And then I fucked you so hard, you nearly passed out before we got caught."

Despite yourself, a tremulous shiver raked through your nerves as the visceral flashes assaulted your mind's eye—the frantic rasp of his calloused palms roaming and kneading, the slick motions of his tongue probing and savoring parts of you meant for far more intimate settings.

Gojo noticed your reaction with a dark chuckle, clearly satisfied he'd reeled you back in completely. "Or what about the time you wrapped those pretty lips around my cock in the maintenance closet and let me rail your throat until you choked on my load? How many rules was just that one encounter bending, hm?"

The directness of his words scorched through you with dizzying potency, making you flush and squirm. You parted your lips on a shaky exhale, determined to regain some semblance of control.

But Gojo smirked knowingly and pressed his verbal advantage in a low, filthy rumble. "Face it, I've got enough material on you ruining me with that greedy little mouth and pussy all over campus to get you defrocked hard." His hooded azure gaze practically seared into your core. "And yet you really wanna risk me airing all those dirty details to the elders? Leaving Itadori's fate to chance like that?"

Your mouth felt suddenly dry as you wrestled with the undeniable truth behind his taunting words. For several fraught beats, the frustration and righteous indignation warred with your embedded sense of duty to the cause. Finally, you released a shuddery breath and lifted your chin.

"I'll...see what I can do about swaying things in your favor," you muttered in a low, slightly strained tone. "No promises, but I'll try discussing options with the higher-ups."

Rather than seem appeased, Gojo's expression only hardened further—carved features settling into a granite mask of tenacious stubbornness and smoldering impatience. "'Not good enough, kitten," he rumbled, forearms tensing atop the table. "This mission is too fucking important for halfhearted measures. I need you to outright insist on a stay of execution being granted, got it? No more stammering 'I'll try' bullshit that lets them sidestep."

His unyielding stare pinned you with the intensity of a physical force, raising your hackles slightly despite your attempt at diplomacy. Still, looking into those blazing blue embers, you got the distinct impression that you'd sooner achieve moving a mountain with vocal commands than sway Gojo on this matter. That steely resolve would accept nothing less than complete victory in postponing Itadori's fate.

Just as you began resigning yourself to digging in for another round of heated back-and-forth across the fancy tablecloth, the arrival of the main courses mercifully broke the combative spell between you. Gojo seemed to settle back imperceptibly as the waiter swept in—that scorching intensity banking down to a more companionable smolder for the time being.

Still, you recognized the temporary reprieve for what it was as you tucked into your meal with far less gusto than anticipated. Despite his best efforts to gloss over the previous tension with idle banter and lighter conversational tones, it remained silently understood that the evening's main purpose still hung unresolved and delicate between you until matters were final.

So it was with an undercurrent of somber expectation that you finally settled the check and rose to follow Gojo from the opulent dining hall at evening's end. A subtle snap of his fingers triggered a curiously disorienting sensation of compression and vertigo—only to release you blinking in surprise mere heartbeats later, finding yourself suddenly standing in the familiar living quarters you called home.

"I'd say you're handling that little trick with far more aplomb these days," Gojo remarked with a lopsided grin, clearly drinking in your adjustment to his impromptu teleportation with amusement. "Remember when I first started zipping you around like that? Pretty sure you heaved your guts all over those ugly penny loafers you used to wear back in the day."

Huffing out a noise of semi-fond exasperation, you aimed a swat at his sculpted arm without malice. "Yes, well I suppose youth and naivety breed certain...overzealous behaviors, don't they?" you retorted before immediately sobering once more. "Like making reckless judgment calls that imperil an entire system..."

Gojo's expression remained impassive, giving no outward indication whether your choice of words struck any particular chord with him. However, you caught the faintest glimmer flickering behind those incandescent blue irises - the barest hint that perhaps you'd underestimated just how much gravitas your dissenting opinion potentially held with the higher-ups.

After all, you were Gojo Satoru's first and most distinguished pupil back when he initially ascended to teaching status, weren't you? Not only that, but your judicious control and prime mastery of your innate techniques embodied many of the fundamental philosophies and fighting styles the old guard so staunchly valued. On numerous occasions, your skills had been cited as quintessential examples to uphold for future generations...

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the weighty truth of your potential sway with leadership gradually bobbed to the surface of your consciousness like drift debris after a storm. This entire evening, Gojo might have simply been maneuvering to forcibly realign your perspective on leveraging the hidden influence you apparently wielded without ever fully grasping it.

To truly comprehend the magnitude of the gambit he intended to play using your standing as the key gambit.

Before you could properly parse that sobering epiphany, however, Gojo had already closed what little distance remained between your frames with purposeful strides. The blistering heat of his body all but blanketed yours as he leaned in with that familiar aura of prowling, casual intensity that always made your breath stall.

"So..." he murmured, voice pitching into a lower register that seemed to slither straight down your spine. "Does that mean you're gonna be a good girl and invite me inside so we can continue this intriguing conversation in more...comfortable accommodations?"

Gojo punctuated the brazen implication by cocking one arm against the doorframe, effectively caging you between the cool wood and the searing, masculine planes of his torso and hips. You were abruptly overwhelmed by the reality of his proximity - each subtly shifting ripple of sinew and musculature utterly inescapable from this range.

That distinctly virile, elemental musk that always set your senses clamoring was back in full force as well. You swallowed hard, nostrils flaring fractionally as the delirious essence of Gojo's body heat and clean, faintly spiced perspiration flooded your olfactory receptors. Despite your most ardent efforts, you felt your lids grow heavy and mouth part unconsciously as liquid frissons of pure, burgeoning temptation licked through your veins.

Just like that, with a few deftly aimed strokes, Gojo had reeled you back to the precipice of helpless surrender once more. Still, you summoned the dregs of your stern resolve and planted your palms squarely against his chest, levering back an inch to preserve some semblance of boundaries.

"Subtle as ever, I see," you managed in a tone you hoped came across more dryly exasperated than outright breathless. "I should've guessed the moment we arrived you'd be angling to make yourself at home uninvited."

One brow arched higher, though you didn't miss the slight crinkling at the corners of Gojo's stupidly pretty eyes betraying his hushed amusement. "Oof, someone has their defenses wound just a tad tightly if they think I require permission these days," he shot back with a wry rumble.

Before you could summon a retort, that leonine physique surged forward in a slow, sensual undulation—once again pinning you fully against the unyielding wooden slab with the scorching brand of his larger frame. Gojo's free hand drifted down to palm the generous curve of your hip with sinful insistence, hips canting forward until there could be no mistaking the ridge of his erection notching against your lower belly.

"Better question might be..." His voice dropped several delirious octaves into those sandpaper-rough timbres that seemed to sizzle straight through your nerve endings. "Why even bother pretending at token protests when we both know how this little dance is gonna end...?"

Those incandescent azure irises flickered down to where his fingertips were already stroking teasing swirls against the exposed strip of skin between your top and waistband, silently daring you to rebuff such an implicit capitulation.

"So why delay the inevitable any longer, gorgeous?" Gojo rumbled against your lips, voice dropping into that gravelly timbre designed to liquefy your restraint. "Let's get down to stripping off all these formalities once and for—"

"You haven't even kissed me yet today," you blurted out, cutting across his heated soliloquy.

Gojo's pale brows pinched infinitesimally as the words seemed to momentarily stall his single-minded determination. You could practically see the gears turning behind those hooded azure irises as he processed your statement—likely running back through every provocative encounter and instance of attempted seduction throughout the evening.

When his piercing stare finally snapped back to yours, there was the faintest glimmer of sheepish realization burning there. "...Huh. You're right," he remarked in a slightly lower, more subdued tone. "Here I've been working overtime to rile you up, and I haven't even had the balls to properly lay one on you yet."

You tried not to visibly preen under the gratifying acknowledgment, but couldn't quite suppress the tiny quirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Sensing a rare window of opportunity, you shifted your weight more fully against the solid contours of Gojo's frame, allowing your fingers to trail upwards in delicate spirals.

"Well?" You arched one brow in playful challenge, throat bobbing on a swallow as your digits mapped higher along the tendons of his powerful neck. "Are you going to actually follow through, or am I going to have to take the initiative here?"

For one heated beat, Gojo simply held your pointed stare in taut suspension—the atmosphere between you both seeming to atomize down into charged ionization particles awaiting the slightest catalyst to detonate. Then, his lips curved higher in a lopsided smirk you'd come to recognize as pure, unrepentant recklessness sublimating into physical form.

"You're going to have to come and get it, gorgeous," he rumbled, the raspy undercurrents sending delicious frissons shivering along your nerves. "Show me just how badly you've been starving for a real taste all evening."

His dexterous fingers slid up to cup the line of your jaw, thumb sweeping suggestively across your lower lip in a searing caress. You struggled not to whimper at the electrifying friction as Gojo leaned further into your personal space.

However, rather than ducking his head the final few scant inches to seal his mouth hungrily over yours, the insufferable tease merely arched backward—body undulating in a slow, sinuous retreat until he towered over you at his full impressive stature. The tip of his tongue darted out to lave his lower lip in clear relish, eyes glinting with wicked invitation as he silently dared you to make good on rising to his heated gauntlet.

A thrill of excitement and determination lanced through your chest as you instantly grasped the game afoot. With purposeful, unhurried movements, you allowed your palms to splay across the granite warmth of his abdomen before slowly, teasingly tracking higher in a worshiping glide. Every rippling corde and sinewy groove of his musculature became briefly profiled as you glided your touch upwards - mapping the scorching acreage in ardent appreciation.

Gojo watched your journey with blown pupils and ragged breaths, torso visibly expanding with each shuddering inhalation he dragged against his impressive restraint. You didn't miss the flex and bunching of his arms and shoulders as you passed over his pectorals, clearly fighting not to haul you bodily against him right then and simply crush your pliant frames back into mutual rapture.

But still, he remained steadfast and motionless—a living marble statue gloriously chiseled from pure virile perfection, awaiting your reverent indulgences with a banked smolder burning behind his hooded stare.

Finally, your fingertips dusted across the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, body arching and straining upwards in your single-minded pursuit of that elusive, smug mouth you craved with mounting desperation. Try as you might to extend yourself onto the balls of your feet and go fully up on tiptoes, Gojo maintained a scant whisper of distance—always hovering just out of your reach with an expression of blatant masculine gratification at your squirming efforts.

A huff of breathy frustration nearly slipped free at the persistent denial, only to be silenced by the way Gojo instinctively dipped lower as if to grant your wish...only to arc back with a low, filthy chuckle that reverberated against your now-thundering pulse. It was as much a sensual dance of control and restraint as a taunt or test of wills at this juncture—simply savoring the delirious friction generated as your pliant, questing form sought to twine and pull him down into decadent oblivion, inch by maddening inch.

"Easy there, kitten..." he rasped in a low, smoky cadence designed to further short-circuit your resolve. "Why don't you try dropping to those pretty knees for me? Might give you better leverage and angles to play with in reaching those tempting lips that have been tormenting that insatiable appetite of yours..."

You answered with a full-body shudder and a needy keen spilling free from your very marrow—all thoughts of recalcitrance and willpower now thoroughly banished beneath the inescapable gravity well of Gojo's hypnotic presence and unholy temptations.

You whined out loud, an unguarded noise of pure pleading desire that seemed to momentarily crack through your usually reserved demeanor. "Satoru...please, wanna kiss you so badly."

The raw, plaintive tone of your entreaty hung in the air between you, heavy with naked yearning in a way that gave even Gojo pause. His brilliant eyes seemed to smolder brighter for an instant, no doubt dredging up fond recollections of past occasions where he'd so thoroughly unraveled your ironclad poise and reduced you to this state.

Rather than pounce on your vulnerability or tease further, however, Gojo's expression softened ever so slightly. One broad palm cradled the back of your skull as he ducked in closer, guiding your trembling frame until your brows nearly brushed.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he murmured, deep timbre emerging somewhere between a graveled purr and heated rumble.

You barely managed a shuddering inhalation before Gojo sealed his mouth over yours in a searing brand of possession. The initial clash of lips and tongue was something closer to an elemental force than a mere intimate exchange—not at all gentle, but rife with pent-up longing and ravenous need finally given free rein.

Your fingers instinctively knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt as Gojo laid an utterly thorough claim upon your senses. He swallowed each desperate little noise and whimper that punched free as if savoring the most delectable of delicacies. One thick forearm banded around your lower back to anchor you fully against his solid frame as he deepened the devouring cadence with relentless intensity.

A husky growl of clear approval and gratification rumbled against your slick, swollen mouth as Gojo momentarily allowed a scant parting for air. "Fuck...I'd almost forgotten how greedy and eager this talented little tongue can get," he grated with clear relish.

You could only pant and squirm fitfully in answer, thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Gojo simply chuckled richly—the timbre vibrating straight through your very cells in a way that somehow untethered your feet from the ground entirely.

The next thing you clearly registered were his powerful arms banding beneath the backs of your thighs to haul you securely against his body in one smooth, easy motion. Your startled yelp melted into a tremulous sigh as the bunching plains of his torso and abdomen braced your arched spine in a sublime full-body embrace.

"Don't go passing out on me before the real fun starts," Gojo husked against the thundering pulse at your nape, even as his long strides carried you across the threshold of your apartment. "I've got plans for putting that gifted mouth to far better uses than just kissing..."

With your legs now locked around his narrow hips, you could feel every delicious ridge and twitch of his growing erection grinding against your dampening heat through the flimsy barriers separating you. A piteous whine slipped free as the swaying rhythm of his determined gait threatened to unravel you down to your very foundation.

"That's it, let me hear just how desperate I've got you aching to taste me properly again," Gojo growled against the whorl of your ear, each guttural rasp sparking fresh convulsions of need between your thighs. "Been waiting all fucking day to unwrap this gorgeous little prize and savor you inch...by...inch."

Gojo punctuated the lascivious promise by swiveling to carefully lay you out amidst the rumpled linens and cushions—each flickering shadow casting his chiseled features into harsh relief. No more levity or evasion glossed his expression, only the stark severity and zero-compromises focus of a predator fully engaged.

Rather than pounce on you immediately, however, Gojo seemed to pause and simply drink in the sight of your breathless, disheveled state with smoldering intent. His bright eyes roamed over every inch of your upturned features and the generous curves left tantalizingly displayed by your askew clothing.

"Goddamn..." he rumbled in a deep timbre thick with undisguised yearning. "Look at you splayed out for me, practically begging to get worked over already."

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the pure masculine intensity blazing in his stare. There was an undercurrent of restrained hunger there that made your pulse thunder—heady and distinctly feral even as Gojo slowly prowled over your prone body.

Rather than immediately claim you in a reckless flurry of lust, his calloused palms mapped your sides in a languid, purposeful glide all the way up to your rib cage. You arched instinctively into his maddening caresses, whimpering softly in anticipation.

"Easy there, baby..." Gojo murmured in a low rasp against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed along the thrumming tendons of your neck, clearly savoring the scent of your desire. "You act like it's been months since this pretty pussy has been spread out and stuffed full. And after all the time I spent working you into this gorgeous, wrecked state..."

You squirmed fitfully beneath his unyielding weight, needy whines spilling past your parted lips as Gojo continued leisurely nuzzling and nipping along your jawline and throat. Despite the unhurried leisure of his attentions, you were rapidly spiraling into molten delirium between his hoarse endearments and the tantalizing friction where your bodies met.

"What, so impatient you can't even let me take a second to savor this?" Gojo husked out in a gravel-rough rasp that made you shiver. "I had to spend all damn day thinking about bending you over the second we were alone...so you'll excuse me if I take things slow now that I've got you all wound up and drenched for it."

Emphasizing his point, Gojo slotted one thick, muscular thigh between your parted legs, rocking forward in a slow grind that dragged the solid length of his cock against your molten entrance through the thin barrier separating you. You cried out sharply at the delicious friction, back bowing as frantic nails scoured tracks down his flexing shoulder blades in desperation.

"Yeah...that's it, squirm and moan for me like a good girl," Gojo growled in clear approval, tongue laving a wet path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. "Keep making those filthy sounds and just MAYBE I'll finally give you what you've been gagging for all night."

You could only whimper raggedly in compliance as his mouth moved lower, searing a path from collarbone to the generous swell of your breasts. His large hands cradled and kneaded the soft flesh with relish before tugging the stretchy fabric aside to bare one nipple to the calloused heat of his lips and tongue.

"That's right...let Daddy get his fill and reacquaint himself with every lush goddamn inch," Gojo growled around the rosy peak, sending lightning bolts of sensation zinging straight to your molten core. "Been thinking about sucking and biting these perfect tits all over again ever since you walked into that restaurant looking like a goddamn meal..."

Despite his crude admission, there was an undercurrent of clear reverence and tender devotion laced through his ragged cadences now. Gojo laved and nuzzled at your breasts with all the ardent indulgence of a penitent savoring their last meal before execution. His hooded azure gaze seemed to blaze brighter with each piteous keen and arch you offered up in answer to his lavishing.

Just as you felt yourself ascending the spiraling crescendo toward mindless bliss under his skilled attentions, Gojo abruptly detached from your saturated nipple with a low noise of harsh restraint. You whined plaintively, eyes glassy as your hands reflexively fisted in the front of his shirt—silently pleading for him to resume lapping away at the fiery deprivation swiftly devouring you inside out.

"Easy, baby..." he rasped through gritted teeth, clearly suppressing his own spiraling ardor through sheer force of iron will. "I didn't wait this long to absolutely wreck you just to blow it all on some half-assed foreplay."

Slanting his mouth over yours in another scorching, possessive claim, Gojo cradled your overwrought features between those rough, calloused palms with surprising tenderness.

His thumb smoothed along your cheekbone as the kiss gradually shifted into a slow, sensual undulation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the seam of your lips. "Let Daddy hear you ask for it nice and loud."

The command emerged as a gravelly whisper, though his blazing stare held an unmistakable glint of command. Still, the blatant carnal hunger etched into his expression made you feel positively giddy and invincible as your fingertips trailed along the corded lines of his powerful throat.

"I want you inside me, Sensei," you pleaded, voice pitching into a breathy whine. "Please, I need to feel you filling me up again."

Gojo groaned, clearly relishing the shameless admission and the way your thighs clenched reflexively around his hips. You could feel the rigid contours of his cock twitching eagerly against your slickened folds through the layers separating you.

"Fuck, the mouth on you," he rasped, nipping lightly at the underside of your jaw. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"Good," you purred, allowing your fingers to trail higher until they carded through the silky soft strands of his hair. "Now, are you going to stop stalling and show me how much better you are at playing teacher in bed?"

Your bold retort earned a snarl of pure male approval, though the sound quickly tapered into a groan as you deliberately canted your hips to drag the seeping damp of your panties against his throbbing erection. Gojo's fingers instinctively curled tighter around your neck, pinning you into place as he bucked and rolled his pelvis forward to reciprocate the delicious friction.

"Alright then, smartass..." he rasped, pupils blown nearly black with ravenous need as he stared down at your upturned, flushed face. "If that's how you wanna play it, I'm gonna make damn sure you're thoroughly re-educated on who exactly holds the reins here."

Without further ado, his hands drifted down to tug insistently at your waistband, practically shredding the flimsy fabric in his haste to free you from the rest of your clothing. You shivered at the way the cool evening air instantly pebbled across your newly exposed skin, though any instinctive modesty was quickly chased away by the hungry stare drinking in your naked form.

Gojo's expression shifted into a predatory leer, the sight sending another jolt of electric anticipation shooting through your already-jangling nerve endings. "That's better," he rumbled, broad palm skating a path up your inner thigh with unhurried reverence. "Nothing should be allowed to hide such a perfect view of my favorite fucking dessert."

You bit back a whimper at the possessive timbres lacing his gravel-rough voice, thighs twitching restlessly as Gojo's touch continued mapping higher. Finally, his questing fingertips slid into the sticky slick coating your swollen folds, dragging the copious evidence of your desire back to where your clit throbbed with need.

"Oh, look at that..." Gojo practically cooed, the filthy delight and awe laced through his voice sending a fresh rush of warmth spilling out against his dexterous ministrations. "Daddy's been neglecting his baby girl, and she's absolutely soaking wet already. How long has my gorgeous kitten been aching like this, hmm?"

The words emerged somewhere between a teasing croon and a gravelly growl, and you could only shudder and keen as Gojo continued rubbing maddening circles over your hypersensitive bud. The friction was already pushing you rapidly to the edge, and judging by the way Gojo's hooded gaze flickered up to watch your rapture, he could tell as much.

"Ah-ah...no cumming until you beg Daddy to fuck you properly," he rasped, even as his index and ring fingers dipped shallowly into your fluttering channel—teasing and stretching the seeping velvet heat in a way that made you sob out loud. "Don't make me have to punish you for being so naughty, kitten. You know I can keep you on the edge all night if I need to."

Your spine bowed and back arched as you writhed and thrashed beneath his touch, a litany of breathy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. "Please, please, Daddy, don't tease me," you begged shamelessly, the words nearly slurring together with raw need. "I'll be a good girl, I swear. Please, please just fuck me..."

Gojo's gaze sharpened with clear gratification as you entreated his mercy, and he finally eased off on the merciless friction between your thighs. Your lungs burned with the force of gulping down ragged lungfuls of air, but you were given scant reprieve before his hands gripped and lifted your thighs, effortlessly hauling you closer and spreading them wide.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, the raw timbre of his voice sending delicious frissons shivering across your fever-warm skin. "Such a sweet little angel when you finally submit."

With one more brief nip at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, Gojo began working the fly of his trousers open, finally freeing his massive erection. He stroked and pumped his straining shaft a few times for good measure, eyes raking across your splayed, naked form with clear relish.

"Look at how pretty this tight little pussy is, dripping all over my fingers and cock just begging to get filled," he grunted, lining the bulbous crown against your quivering entrance and rubbing it back and forth through the sticky arousal saturating your folds.

A pitiful keen slipped past your parted lips at the taunting pressure, and you could feel a fresh gush of slickness welling up in response to his crass praise. Gojo smirked at the telltale reaction, one calloused palm sliding down to part the plush folds of your pussy even further.

"Goddamn, look how wet and greedy this is for me," he rumbled in a low tone thick with pure male satisfaction. "Bet you were fantasizing about having Daddy's cock stuffing this pretty cunt the whole time we were sitting there in that restaurant. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your brain was barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, much less a snarky comeback, but somehow the words slipped free despite the mindless delirium clouding your head. "Y-you were the one who wouldn't stop teasing," you moaned, squirming fitfully against the delicious pressure poised at your molten core. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to drag you into the bathroom and suck you off..."

The words dissolved into a keening cry as Gojo abruptly slammed into the hilt, filling you to the brim and beyond in one brutal, unyielding stroke. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and lower back as he immediately began pounding into your clenching walls, each powerful thrust punching the breath from your lungs.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Gojo gritted out, hissing through clenched teeth as the clutching vice of your inner walls seemed to squeeze the very life from his engorged shaft. "You were just planning on being a dirty little tease the whole time we were at dinner? What a fucking minx..."

Gojo punctuated the statement by angling your hips upward to drill even deeper, each merciless thrust nudging the sensitive spot at the very end of your channel until the pressure sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. The only sounds that could emerge were a series of broken mewls and wordless whines, utterly incapable of doing anything but lay there and take the exquisite torment of his unrelenting, devastating pace.

"Yeah, that's it, let me feel just how desperately you've been needing this," he snarled, large hands gripping your waist as his pelvis hammered a merciless rhythm against your overstimulated sex. "Soak this fucking cock like a good little kitten. Don't hold back on me, baby. Show me how much you missed Daddy's cock and I might let you cum."

You could barely process the filth spilling free from his mouth at this point, each syllable dissolving into an electric buzz as his ruthless assault stoked the pressure mounting inside you. It was a familiar, heady rush of sensation—a coiling tension that seemed to grow tighter and more unbearable with every punishing roll of Gojo's hips against yours.

He was driving you toward a cliff's edge without pause or quarter, and the sheer force of his intensity was dizzying. Yet, despite the frantic, almost savage cadence, you could feel the subtle shift in his grip and angle as Gojo's gaze bored into your face. Even in the midst of his own delirium, the sheer focus and attentiveness in his stare was intoxicating.

"F-fuck, I'm so close," you gasped out, feeling your core spasming and clutching against the rigid pistoning length impaling you. You feebly reached out, desperate for any kind of anchor amidst the relentless tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull you under. "Satoru...please, want you to kiss me again."

Without missing a beat, Gojo's hands shifted, scooping you up until you were practically cradled in his lap. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and midsection, ankles hooking together as his thrusts never paused. The new position left your torso arching up toward his chest, and Gojo quickly took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with renewed hunger.

Each slide and curl of his tongue seemed perfectly in time with the driving roll of his hips, and the added closeness was swiftly becoming too much. You were hurtling toward the edge of the abyss, and this time, Gojo seemed intent on taking you down with him.

"My perfect girl, taking my cock like such a good little slut," he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair while the other braced your back, keeping your bodies fused together. "Been dreaming about this tight cunt for fucking days, and it's even better than I remember. Now be a good kitten and soak Daddy's cock for me."

You could feel yourself tumbling over the precipice even before Gojo's hand snaked down to thumb your clit, and the dual assault was all it took to send you reeling into blinding euphoria. Your climax hit like a freight train, ripping through you with an almost painful intensity that left your toes curling and vision blurring.

Gojo continued thrusting his full length in a rapid-fire tempo, hissing out a strangled groan as the spasms of your inner walls finally dragged him into the depths of oblivion alongside you. Your limbs felt like jelly, and you were grateful for his grip holding you steady as the waves of rapture subsided.

He didn't release you, though, not right away. Rather, Gojo simply held you in his arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and the slow rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. The two of you remained silent for a long moment, simply breathing together as the room gradually stopped spinning around you.

Eventually, Gojo pulled back enough to cup your jaw and slant his mouth over yours in another gentle, exploratory kiss. It was nothing like the devouring claims and searing conquests that had preceded it, and the tenderness in the simple press of lips left you feeling utterly weightless.

When Gojo finally withdrew, the smirk curling his lips was positively self-satisfied. "I'd say that’s enough foreplay, wouldn't you, baby?"

You could only huff a soft laugh in response, shaking your head as the residual tremors of bliss faded. "You consider thatforeplay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I too gentle?" he retorted, feigning a look of innocent confusion. "Maybe we should try round two, then. I'll give you a chance to demonstrate what you meant about sucking me off."

The words emerged in a low, silky murmur as his large hands gripped and squeezed the supple curves of your ass, eliciting a soft squeal from you. You smacked at his broad chest ineffectually, unable to fight the grin tugging at your own mouth.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's not a no," Gojo pointed out, his smug expression practically radiating his unrepentant satisfaction. "And if you keep acting all cute and sassy, I can't promise I'll be able to resist the urge to bend you over and remind you exactly who's in charge."

Your stomach fluttered at the casual, nonchalant admission. It was an undeniable thrill knowing just how badly Gojo craved this—craved you. The thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through your veins.

"Maybe I'm not opposed to the idea," you murmured, biting down on your lower lip as you glanced up through your lashes.

The look was clearly too much for Gojo's self-control. His eyes darkened with fresh desire, and his grip shifted to lift and turn you so that you were sprawled facedown across the rumpled cushions.

"Well, in that case," he growled, the heat and weight of his body blanketing yours as his hips pressed flush to the swell of your backside. "Let's see just how filthy this mouth is, shall we?"

The room seemed to exist in its own hushed, velvety cocoon of tranquility - a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed every inch mere moments ago. You lay draped languidly across Gojo's powerful frame with your cheek pillowed on the rises and valleys of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberated through your lashes in a soothing cadence.

One of your hands traced idle, featherlight patterns over the expanse of his toned abdomen - mapping the ridges and grooves so recently sheened and flexing under your ardent worshiping. Gojo remained equally at peace beneath your sprawled embrace, those brilliant azure irises at half-mast while he reclined with one arm crooked behind his head.

Despite the palpable aura of repletion surrounding you both, a new undercurrent began to gradually assert itself in the weighted stillness. You felt compelled to disturb the quietude to address what this entire evening had truly culminated towards - the deal quietly brokered between heated sheets and joined bodies.

"I'll contact the elders first thing," you murmured, the words seeming to slip free before your mind fully grasped their implication. "About postponing Itadori Yuji's case, like you wanted."

Gojo's chest expanded minutely on a slow inhale, but otherwise his statuesque form remained comfortably inert as your words hung in the air between you. After several beats, you felt the subtle weight of his stare alighting on your upturned features.

"Yeah?" His resonant timbre emerged in a low, stripped rasp - sounding as thoroughly unraveled as the rest of his carefully compartmentalized composure. "They'll actually listen to your stance on something so high-stakes?"

You allowed your own eyes to slip shut in a protracted blink, thoughts rapidly trying to align and process how to even begin verbalizing the sheer revelations that had bloomed open tonight about your place within the jujutsu hierarchy.

"I didn't fully grasp it at first," you admitted, voice coming out slightly roughened from earlier exertions. "But now I'm starting to understand the actual leverage my positioning and reputation has afforded without me even noticing."

Rather than respond directly, the only sound came from a protracted exhalation through Gojo's nose - seeming to signal his grasp of the situation finally mapping out as well. You hoped he also understood just how monumental a gambit he'd set into motion by hammering the truth home in his uniquely heated approach tonight. Not to induce guilt, per se...but perhaps a smidgeon more humility about the harrowing stakes being juggled.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Gojo abruptly shifted his weight until you were rolled over onto your back - his solid bulk carefully blanketing yours without pressure. When your gazes met and locked, you felt that simmering connection arc back into incandescence once more between your joined frames.

"You continue underestimating yourself," he murmured in a timbre now rendered warm gravel thanks to its gravelly softness. He cupped the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the bow of your lips in a barely-there caress that spoke to so much more than surface motions. "Which is exactly why I'm never going to stop knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours..."

With that throaty declaration, Gojo dipped his chiseled features lower until your foreheads brushed - noses scanting along one another in an electrifying gossamer graze. The intimacy of the motion seemed to steal your very breath straight from your lungs as he carried on in a husked rasp.

"So thank you. For listening to reason and actually wielding your power for once when it really mattered..."

Unable to resist the unspoken pull between your joined gravities any longer, you surged up to seal Gojo's mouth in a slow, simmering clash of satin flesh and indulgent possession. All the unvoiced sentiments and roiling tides of turbulence hovered for a suspended eternity within that singular nexus point before gradually dispersing into peaceful becalm once more.

Eventually Gojo broke away with the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at those stupidly perfect lips, clearly satisfied with your acquiescence for the time being. The two of you simply basked in silence for a while longer, relishing in this well-earned moment of bonded lassitude.

That is, until the first stirrings of Gojo's impish irreverence inevitably bubbled back up in the form of his rich baritone laced with none-too-subtle swagger:

"So...I take it this means I get to thoroughly ruin you again before breakfast? No more insufferable teasing about you not putting out until your higher-up buddies get their precious signatures?"

You scoffed out a long-suffering sound of semi-amused exasperation, already anticipating the thick cloud of smug virility about to descend. Sure enough, Gojo's chest puffed with unrepentant satisfaction as he slung one heavy arm around your waist and lightly squeezed.

"That's what I thought. Face it kitten, that pretty pussy has officially been drafted into service under my uncompromising authority until further notice..."

He punctuated the lewd declaration by slanting his mouth over yours in a deliriously thorough deluge of hunger and virility, effectively stealing your very breath for a second rapturous cycle before exhaustion could dare creep back in.

And as your joined frames spiraled back into the delirious vortex of blissful dissipation once more, you couldn't help hazarding one last, bemused thought: somehow, you got the distinct impression Gojo would be exercising his latest "authority" over you with particularly unrestrained enthusiasm this time around.

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todayisawthewhxlewxrld · 1 year ago

Text

I KNOW THERE'S SOMETHING RIGHT IN BETWEEN US!

I'M MOVING CLOSER BABY, WHY DON'T YOU SEEM TO CARE?

synopsis// “you’re going on a date?” “well yeah..it’s not like we’re exclusive or anything right?” “yeah..yes ofc not” “yeah” (prompt from @jasminesfury)

➚ pairing// choso x gn!reader ➚ word count// 3.2k

contents// suggestive—friends with benefits but nothing explicit/no actual smut, no curses!au, unknown mutual pining, both of u r just idiots tbh

notes// MY MAN MY MAN MY MANNNNN i need to get him pregnant soooo bad. on that note here's a low quality one shot from a low quality man. anyway! besides the prompt this was inspired by better by clairo (shivers)

Choso plops down next to you with a sigh, bringing the sheets up to cover his chest, and instead of cuddling up next to him like you normally do, you sit up and look around the room for your clothes. Once spotted, you snatch the sheets away from Choso and cover yourself with them, leaving him exposed instead.

“Y/n cmon,” he whines as the cold air leaves goosebumps across his bare body.

You hum, ignoring him as you slip your clothes back on, which quickly catches his attention.

“What are you doing?” He asks as he sits up and stares at you with half-lidded eyes; you’d almost consider them fuck-me eyes if you hadn’t already just done that.

"I'm getting dressed, Choso. What does it look like?"

“You’re not staying?”

"No, sorry, I know I usually spend the night after we..." You clear your throat awkwardly as you put on the last of your clothes. “...After we check in the benefits to our friendship, but I have plans tomorrow.”

A lazy smirk plays on his face. “You know you can just say after we fuck, right?”

"I'd rather not—I don't have a dirty mouth like you.”

“…are you sure about that cause you were just-“

“Do not finish that sentence if you ever want to see me naked again, Choso.”

“Got it,” he says, nodding curtly. “So what plans do you have tomorrow that are oh so important to be taking you from me?”

“Oh.” You look away, scratching your cheek awkwardly. "Um, I'm going on a date.”

Whatever small smirk Choso had been previously sporting falls—falls isn't even the correct word. It vanishes in thin air, one second there and gone the next, as quick and fleeting as the clap of a butterfly’s wings. “…you're going on a date?”

"Yeah, I mean..." Your head dips down, your hands now awkwardly fumbling with themselves as you look up at him through your lashes and mutter, "It's not like we’re exclusive or anything, right?”

"Yeah," he nods hesitantly, like he's not even really sure he should be nodding at all. "Yeah, of course not.”

“Yeah… Well…” You quickly clear his throat and approach him, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "Bye, Choso, I'm gonna get going! talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later, Y/n,” is all he says before you’re rushing out of his house.

The slam of his front door has him gasping, belatedly realizing he had started holding his breath sometime earlier to begin with. Choso feels like he might just vomit now that he's all too aware of everything that just happened and everything that’s currently happening within him. He practically jumps out of bed, stumbling a bit as he pulls on his boxers on his path toward the bathroom.

He comes to a halt in front of his sink, immediately turning it on and splashing his face with water, as if that would actually do something to stop the way his heart is beating at light speed. Choso stands there, borderline waterboarding himself, for god knows how long, and when it doesn’t feel like his legs are about to give out from underneath him like he’s a baby deer standing for the first time, he turns off the faucet and groans.

He should’ve stopped you.

He should’ve told you that he did, in fact, actually want to be exclusive. And if he couldn’t have done that, then at the very least he should’ve tried to get you in bed again—he should’ve done literally anything just to keep you in his grasp and not in the paws of whatever filthy person you’re off to have a date with tomorrow.

but he knows he was playing a losing game all along anyway. It was only a matter of time before you got tired of this and called it off—yet Choso can admit he wished he had just a little bit more time with you before you went off and found something you didn’t know he was more than willing to give you. Choso has loved you from the moment he laid his eyes on you, and never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d have you in any way—but one day, to his amazement, you suggested this arrangement, and Choso was not about to say no.

He was not about to deny himself the only way he might ever be able to have you.

And now it’s seeming like he’ll never be able to have you in anyway ever again, and there’s nothing he can do about it—nothing he can do to make you feel the same way. But at least this was a nice way to end things, with one last hoorah. Choso can at least be happy at the fact that you gave him one last chance to adore you.

☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。*。☆。☆。

Your elbow is on the table with your cheek resting against your fist as you stare at the person in front of you who's talking about something you can't hear. not because it’s loud. No, your date made certain that it wouldn't be by bringing you to a secluded booth in the corner of a romantically lit restaurant, so that's not the problem.

The problem is you.

You didn’t even want to come on this date in the first place; you didn’t think you were actually going to have to end up showing up. What you thought would happen was last night when you told Choso he’d get jealous or do something, anything, to show you that he’s just as head over heels for you as you are for him, and then you'd cancel this date.

But no.

All you got was confirmation that you two truly are just friends with benefits—nothing more, nothing less. And really, it shouldn’t hurt this badly. It shouldn’t feel like someone’s just ripped your heart out and served it on a silver platter for you to watch as it bleeds out. yet it does. And even still, you can't help but be here thinking about Choso. You’ll probably always be stuck thinking about him. You've thought about him so much that you're convinced he's the only thing on your mind. A head filled with nothing but Choso; it's been that way since before you two had what you have going on, and you're sure it'll stay that way long after.

“You know you could at least pretend to pay attention, right?"

They roll their eyes when you do nothing but stare at them in stunned silence. "If you don’t want to be here so bad, why did you even come?”

"I-uh-" you swallow harshly. "I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Who are they?”

You stare at them blankly. Is it really that obvious? If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you have "I'm in love with Choso!” written smack dab on your forehead.

“You look miserable, and I'd like to think I'm not at full fault for that.” They tilt their head slightly to the side, unamused. "So, who are they?”

“You’re not,” you say, an apologetic smile being the only thing you have to offer them. “You didn’t do anything, really. I just.” You stand up abruptly and quickly exit the booth. "I should go.”

“Yeah,” they agree. “That’s probably best.”

"I'm really sorry again-"

They interrupt your sentence with an impudent wave of their hand, and you frown. But obviously, since this date was doomed from the moment you arrived, you ignore it, pushing their bitterness (though you can’t fully blame them) out of your mind and walking away. As you rush out of the restaurant, you immediately pull out your phone and call Choso. You’re not sure what you would even say; all you know is that you need to hear his voice. Who knows, maybe hearing his voice after that cluster fuck of a “date” will be the very push off the cliff you need to confess. The phone seems to ring for an eternity.

"Cmon, pick up,” you mumble to no one other than yourself and the ghost of the wind.

The line falls, as does your face. Okay. Choso always answers you. So why not now? You shake your head and call him again; maybe he was just in the bathroom or something. This time, the phone only rings once or twice before dropping, and that's when it hits you: he’s ignoring you on purpose. You stop in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at your phone blankly.

What the fuck?

Choso ignoring you?

That's unheard of; Choso would never dare ignore you, yet he is. You rack your brain, searching every nook and cranny for an answer, trying to recall if maybe you did something wrong. You two were fine last night after you left—at least, you think? You can't totally remember if you’re being honest. You’re brain checked out the minute Choso gave you confirmation that he doesn't feel the same about you. You groan to yourself. You have to fix this. First, you just have to figure out what exactly you need to fix, and if you don't have that information, you have a strong suspicion about who might.

☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆

The pounding of your fists on the door falls in tune with the pounding of your heart. You're about to start knocking again when you finally hear the faint grumble of someone from beyond it.

“What the fuck do you-“ He comes to a halt when the door swings open enough to reveal you. "Oh, it's just you.”

You roll your eyes. “Great to see you too, Sukuna!”

He looks you up and down, unamused. “What do you want?”

“Are you gonna invite me in?”

Sukuna looks over his shoulder at something—or rather, someone—before looking back at you. “'m busy.”

“Like the kind of busy me and Choso got going on or...”

"Ew, what the fuck?" He reluctantly nods, though his grimace is still evident. "I mean, yeah, but gross.”

"Okay, fine, whatever, I'll make this quick. Have you talked to him?”

“Choso?”

You nod.

“Uh yeah, I talk to his dumbass all the time.”

You sigh. "I mean recently, like last night or today?…”

Sukuna quickly shrugs before leaning against his door frame, tilting his head to the side as he asks, “Why?”

“I’m like…” You look away and mumble disappointedly, “...pretty sure he’s ignoring me.”

“Bro what?” Sukuna looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “Choso ignoring you?” He snickers. “You sound fucking crazy.”

"Dude, I'm serious!” You snap, returning your gaze to him. “Watch, call him.”

Sukuna, unmoving, quirks an eyebrow up at you skeptically.

“Just do it, Sukuna.”

“Fine.” He lazily pushes himself up right and pulls out his phone. He dials Choso, and within seconds, Choso answers. "Yo, uh, I just wanted to see if you were alive." Sukuna shakes his head at his own horrible improv skills. "And I can tell you are, so I'm gonna hang up now. Ok. Bye.” Sukuna pockets his phone and stares at you blankly. "Ok, now what?"

Your jaw is dropped, and Sukuna is tempted to reach out and shut it for you. “He fucking answered you?!”

“Is he not answering you?”

“No! Why do you think I'm here telling you he’s ignoring me?” You quickly pull out your phone and call Choso. “Watch.”

The two of you watch how the line almost immediately goes dead, and Sukuna holds a fist to his mouth to stifle his laughter (though it doesn't do much). "Bro, what did you do?”

"I didn't do anything!” You trail off unsure, "I mean, I don't think I did anything?”

“When's the last time you saw him?”

“Last night.”

“Ew,” he says, a grimace on his face as he shakes his head. "Okay, uh, what was it like before you left?”

“Fine?” You pause for a moment. "I mean, usually I stay the night, but I had to leave because I had a date today.”

“You what.”

"I had a date today."

Sukuna stares at you with narrowed eyes, hesitant. “Did you tell Choso that?”

“Um... Yeah?”

"Y/n, are you a fucking idiot?” He asks earnestly, like he genuinely wonders if you’re actually this stupid and is slightly concerned for your wellbeing.

You stare at him blankly.

Truly not a thought behind your eyes, he thinks.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god.” He begins to explain slowly, enuanciating each and every syllable as if talking to a child. “You tell Choso you’re going on a date, and then suddenly he’s ignoring you, and you have no idea why?”

“Thanks for the recap, Sukuna." You roll your eyes and cross your arms defensively. "What's your fucking point?”

“My point?” Sukuna shuts his eyes closed and rubs his temples, already feeling a headache coming on. “You know he's in love with you, right?”

"That's not funny, Sukuna,” you say, your jaw clenched tight.

Sukuna’s hands fall to his sides, and he leans back against the door frame, rolling his eyes before glaring at you, his head tilted tauntingly to the side. "No, it's not, especially when you're such a fucking idiot.”

“Stop fucking around, Sukuna.”

Sukuna stands straight up again, only to lean forward, his face inches away from yours as he studies it. "Do you seriously think I'm lying?”

“Obviously you are!” You exclaim as you push him back into place.

"Y/n, that dumbass is head over heels for you.”

“You don't know that!”

“Anyone with eyes knows that!” he sighs. “And besides, he’s literally told you he loved you once.”

"Huh?" You blink a few times, trying to remember if he had. "No, he hasn't?"

"Yes, he has.”

"I'm pretty sure I'd remember that, Sukuna.”

"Unless you were—“ Sukuna grimaces as he finishes his sentence,”—too fucked out to remember or hear him.”

Your mouth falls in shock. “He said it during sex?!”

"Man, I don't fucking know,” Sukuna says, his grimace growing deeper. "I didn't ask for the details; I hung up on him. What the fuck?”

“Oh my god, I'm an idiot,” you mumble to yourself.

Sukuna knows you weren’t talking to him, but he still answers anyway. “I know.”

“Fuck.” You take a deep breath and seem to come to a conclusion almost immediately. "Okay, this was very insightful. Thank you. I'm gonna go to his house now.”

"Dude, don't go unless you like him back.” He frowns slightly, and you and him both aren’t sure if it’s actually for Choso or just for the sake of acting nice. “Just give him space.”

“Of course I like him back!” you stress. "I only went on that date to make him jealous in the first place."

In an instant, Sukunas' face falls flat. "I'm not even going to say anything. Fuck you, get off my porch.”

and the next thing you know, he’s slamming his door in your face.

☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆⋆。𖦹°‧★⋆。𖦹°‧☆

It doesn’t take long until you’re at Choso’s front door. In all honesty, you ran here. It’s not like Choso’s is very far from Sukuna’s in the first place, but you’d rather not waste any more time; you’ve wasted enough as it is. You knock softly at first, but when that doesn't seem to work, you full-send it and start banging on his door.

“Choso, open the fucking door and come talk to me!”

He doesn’t.

but you do hear him grumble from inside, “Go away, Y/n.”

“Stop acting like a child!”

That seems to do the trick, considering he flings the door open so fast it gives you whiplash. He stands in the doorway, shirtless, looking as disheveled as ever. You can’t help but stare at the way he makes looking messy like art. like every detail, from his frizzy, sticking-up hair down to the bags under his eyes, is purposeful. You don’t know how long you stand there just ogling at him, but you know it’s long enough for him to notice and call you out on it.

"Did you come here just to eye-fuck me or..."

"Right, uhm," you say, clearing your throat. “You were ignoring me.”

“Dunno what you're talking about," he shrugs curtly, looking away.

“Choso.”

“What?” he asks, turning his attention back to you with narrowed eyes, like he’s challenging you.

You narrow your eyes right back, your voice even as you speak, “You answered Sukuna but ignored me."

“Don't recall.”

You genuinely have no idea how he can stand here and lie straight to your face while looking you dead in the eyes. Does the man have no shame? (The answer is no, but you already knew that.)

“Are you serious?” You gawk before shaking your head; this is not worth it. “You know what? I'm not here to argue with you.”

This catches his attention, and as he stands up straighter, you can make out the slightest of glints in his eyes. “Then what are you here to do?”

"I love you.” After a moment, you add, “Too.”

Choso stands there, star-struck, his eyes as wide as saucers, and although you can't hear him breathing over the hammering of your own heart, you can see just how his chest heaves. You shift uneasily in place, his gaze piercing, and under different circumstances, you usually adore having his eyes on you with the way they make you feel like you're the only thing in his universe, but right now? Right now, it only serves to make you alarmingly aware of how you just laid out your heart to him, and he hasn't said a word.

"Choso, did you hear me?”

"Am I asleep?”

Despite your better judgment and jelly-like legs, you take a step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, answering with a small, breathy laugh. "No, Choso, you're not.”

You watch mesmerized at how his adam's apple bobs as he swallows harshly and mutters, "I'm not..."

“Nope.”

“And you love me?”

“Always have.” You look down and notice how languid Choso is in your hold, his hands at his sides rather than on you, and that just won't do. Choso does not keep his hands to himself, especially not around you. You make quick work of untangling your arms from his neck and grabbing his hands, placing them on your hips before returning your arms to their original state as you speak lowly, "I went on that date to make you jealous. I thought it didn't work."

Bringing up the date was apparently all it took to break Choso out of his trance; all of a sudden, his hands are exploring up from your hips to your waist, softly squeezing and pulling at the flesh as if making sure you’re really there—that he really isn’t asleep and having the same dream that he’s had for forever now.

“It worked a little too well, Y/n,” he says, chuckling.

"Yeah, I guess it did, didn't it?"

"Wait, how do you even know that I love you?” His face scrunches up in confusion. “I didn't-“

You cut him off with an awkward laugh. “Sukuna gave you up and called me an idiot for not seeing it before…”

"Well..." he half-shrugs innocently. “He’s kinda right.”

You roll your eyes. "Haha, you're so funny.” You clear your throat before subtly glancing to the side and over your shoulder, mumbling,

"Can you let me in now, though? Cause I'm pretty sure there's people staring at us…”

©TODAYISAWTHEWHXLEWXRLD

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girlyassumes · 29 days ago

Text

“You can’t keep reacting to the 3D.”

Ah, but what if you can?

I’ve noticed there’s a lot of manifestation coaches and content creators who say you shouldn’t keep reacting to what you’re seeing in the 3D. But I beg to differ. You can very much manifest good things successfully while still reacting to your 3D. I will d*e on that hill.

Does it help not to? Sure. That indifference towards what’s going on in the 3D realm helps push your mind and thoughts away from it. But, you don’t have to force yourself to feel indifferent and completely detached.

You can feel upset over something happening in your 3D reality while still saying something in your mind like, “it’s okay. The 3D is the past reality. This isn’t my true reality.” This way, you’re allowing yourself to feel how you truly feel - you’re human, it happens - while still accepting that this isn’t your reality and believing something else to be your truth.

Imagine yourself in control of where you shift to. This scene of Squidward is a perfect visual.

I honestly feel like this is a healthier way of dealing with what you’re physically seeing. Forcing positivity onto yourself can make negative thoughts and feelings harvest. That would be using toxic positivity which is never healthy to put onto yourself or others.

After you react or feel negatively towards something you saw, saturating your mind with affirmations or visualizations is very helpful. It helps you cope with the negative emotions and thoughts. Your mind starts to believe more. Your 3D reality has no choice but to conform to what you’re telling it to be.

In my own experience, I’ve been able to manifest what I wanted even through bad reactions. When I was affirming that my platonic SP was talking to me, I still felt annoyed and unhappy with my 3D. When I was affirming my romantic SP’s help, I was just getting over crying. When I was affirming a revision, I was still frustrated. It is so easy to feel upset and that is 100% okay.

Content creator, Danielle Desautelle, acknowledges that a manifestation can form from you realizing there’s something you don’t like or don’t want in your 3D. That is so important to talk about because she is absolutely right. Let’s say you’re having a bad day. You noticing what’s going wrong because you’re feeling upset is what pushes you to manifest a better day for yourself. See how you can benefit from noticing and allowing yourself to feel negatively?

Referencing SpongeBob again, think of it like this scene. SpongeBob plants the pineapple seed into the ground. Then, he cries over it and it ends up making his house grow again. He was sad but his house still grew. You plant the seed of what’s making you sad, you allow yourself to feel sad while accepting the 3D, but you still get what you want because you see that as what’s true.

As long as you persist in believing or simply telling yourself you have what you want, it is yours. There’s no rules in law of assumption saying you can’t feel negatively or else you won’t get what you want. There’s no rules at all. LOA is simply the science of knowing what’s yours is yours. You’re limitless and figuring out what ways work best in helping you manifest is what’s most important.

#law of assumption #manifestation #loa blog #loa tumblr #manifesting #loassumption #how to manifest #affirmations #3d realm #3d reality #4d realm #4d reality #desired reality

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queenburd · 11 days ago

Text

fic time fic time. been working on this one in pieces for maybe a couple weeks.

takes place a little after file paths. will be on ao3 with the collection tomorrow! This one's about.... well, it's about the Confusion run, in a sense.

----

There is… a restless energy to Stanley. He drums his fingers against desks and doors, and on the rails to catwalks, and on his thigh. Rat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat.

It all serves to make the Narrator rather nervous, but he sticks faithfully to the script for many runs while the thrum-drum persists, until finally Stanley prompts him—

[ I want to do the Confusion Ending. I want to do it until you remember it. ]

“The Confu—on repeat? That seems, I don’t know, rather tedious, don’t you think? Why would you possibly want to subject yourself to what, based on what I’ve gleaned from you, is an exceptionally long ending, over and over?”

Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat-tat.

“I—look, it’s different, I won’t deny that the preferred story is quick to run, it’s not the same thing! You’re talking about slogging through multiple resets sheerly to—what? Ensure I have the entire path memorized forward and back?”

Rat-tat-tat.

“…Yes, I admit this work-around I’ve sorted out regarding remembering endings needs some fine-tuning—but even so! Can’t we just, oh, I don’t know, play it by ear? We shouldn’t have to brute-force the thing… it’s a precise instrument, not a wall to beat against! It’s my mind, for heaven’s sake!”

Rat-tat-tat.

“But—Hmph. Fine, fine, you’re the one who wants to subject himself to this anyway, who am I to stop Stanley from his all-important decisions? And all for my benefit, of course. How considerate.”

Stanley’s fingers stop drumming the desk.

“…ah. Too much?” Sheepishness leaks into the Narrator’s voice. “A bit too facetious? Too on the nose? I admit, it’s difficult to feel grateful when we’re dealing with this sort of thing.”

Rat-tat-rat, on the desk.

“Tell you what—give me a sort of run-down before we get started, that way I’m not going in totally blind. I don’t expect we’ll change anything, and in fact that's not the point of my asking, but if I could just have some kind of a reference, then I bet we can build off of it in the future!”

Stanley may not look terribly convinced, and the Narrator gets the sense Stanley thinks he’s trying to stall (only a little!), but the man spins his chair to fully face his desk and reaches for a blank sheet of paper and a pen.

“Wait! Stanley, go back, and look at that fern!”

Dutifully, the protagonist stops and treks back to the large plant in question. The Narrator examines it alongside him curiously.

“This fern… you didn’t mention the fern to me, before we began this ending, did you? No, you would have mentioned something so integral, of course you would have!”

Stanley’s studying it, or rather the Narrator can tell he’s making a show of doing so. He appreciates it; he imagines that usually he would draw great attention to it, demand it be studied closely. After all:

“It’s so peculiar! When I perceive objects in your general environment , there’s this low-level, near-about imperceptible note about, oh… hit boxes, and interaction, and relevance to an ending. You sort of learn to just tune it out, it only ever matters when you choose to mess with it. But here! Goodness— I know you can’t see it, Stanley, but it’s like the equivalent of a flashing neon sign pointing at the fern! Look! It’s significant to the story! Pay very close attention!”

The Narrator laughs.

“What a bizarre little artefact of the game’s design! Good fern, though. Excellent bit of shrubbery.”

Stanley nods.

“Alright, so, yes, at the beginning of our last run we… ehm… we discussed something…” He tries not to sound terribly lost, like a child who hasn’t studied for his exams, and he really, really doesn’t want to stoop to asking for a hint. The fact he can’t properly remember already narrows down the list of endings they could have done, right?

Stanley’s fingers drum against his desk. The Narrator inhales sharply (or at least, it sounds as though he does).

“Right! Yes! The Confusion Ending! That—yes, I remember that, you wanted me to practice remembering endings!”

Stanley gives him a thumbs up. Feeling vindicated, the Narrator pushes on.

“Right, okay, we… we went to the maintenance room, that, okay, yes, and—“

He wracks his brains, but very little he can recall seems strung together in any cohesive manner.

“I know I reset, I must have reset a few times, though I can’t for the life of me recall why. There was a lot of wandering around, I think?”

Stanley’s expression is a little pained, but he seems unsurprised. His fingers continue to drum. The Narrator tries to ignore it in vain.

“And there was—why was there a bush, of all things?”

[ A fern, ] Stanley tells him.

“Hm. Weird.”

He hems and haws for a few empty seconds before finally admitting, defeated, “No, I’m afraid that’s about all. Hardly a very good system I’ve devised, trying to access these memories. Maybe I’m just not meant to have them, Stanley.”

[ You remember more than you have before. This is good. I want to try again. ]

“You’re sure? Well… okay, if what you want is for me to get enough pieces each time to get the gist of how this goes, I can’t say it’s the worst plan ever formed. I can’t say I’ll ever retain the full details, but—I guess it’s better than nothing.”

The voice sighs.

“But try to pace yourself, won’t you?”

“What I don’t understand is, where does the story even go? I mean—Stanley, have you ever tried the doors that were the original left and right doors, to um, to see if you can’t make it to the original story regardless?”

Stanley nods, walking quickly through the hall and taking a right turn; he ends up facing the doorway behind the chairs in the Doors room. The Narrator sighs, lost and impatient.

“Although I can’t see why you would. Always poking your head into places it’s not supposed to go; I’ll bet you didn’t even consider the original doors on your first go around, too eager to explore. Well, sorry to say, pal, but I’m looking at the map from the outside now, and there’s not a lounge in sight. We didn’t know how good we had it.”

Stanley’s made it back to the Doors room now. He lifts a hand and lazily gestures, wrist twisting and fingers loose. His other hand rests on his thigh. It’s begun to drum again.

“Yes, yes, I know I need to reset, I’m getting there. I’ll remind you that you’re the one who wants to keep playing this thing, walking these paths, looking for god knows what—“ the voice cuts itself off before the building irritation in its voice can climb to a proper tirade. “You know what, fine. I’m sick of these weird halls anyway. Anything’s got to be better than this, at least.”

“Although, I suppose there is a kind of humor to be found in that kind of a map,” the fellow reflects, when trying to recount the run after the ending is over. “There’s something very referential to it, an homage of sorts if you think about it! Lots of cartoons from, oh, I think the 90s, would have a similar gag, to pad runtime and add humor. A nice long hallway with many doors. Pop in one, two minutes later, pop out another on the other side. So I guess I can appreciate the levity of the design!”

The protagonist is sitting crooked in his seat, elbow on the desk beside him and hand holding his tilted head, fingers pressed to his mouth. A look at him is enough to know he’s only barely listening.

“Um…”

He glances upward from where he’s been frowning into the middle distance. His fingers have been drumming again, over his mouth and chin.

“Look, I—whatever you’re trying to accomplish, you’ve more than met the mark, don’t you think? I mean, that I’m remembering specifics at all for something like this means it will only get better with time! We’ve shown it can be done! All credit where it’s due, your actions have—wait—where are you going?”

The Narrator watches, a little stung, as his office worker goes back to the room with the two doors, and he tries to get to his point because it’s clear, at least, what will happen if he doesn’t.

“Can’t you take a break from it? Why not run the freedom ending, or, the ending with the other games, something that isn’t just this again! I don’t—“

Stanley has gone through the right door, and he barely glances at the lounge as he crosses it. The voice doesn’t sigh, but it does feel a creeping anxiety it can’t explain. It’s made worse when Stanley gets into the lift and presses the button again and again, without a drop of patience.

It’s not that the Narrator necessarily forgets the Adventure Line™️ each time, although he does seem to forget where it ends up. Rather, the Line™️ itself is not as interesting as watching Stanley choose to either follow it exactly, eyes and hands tracing it when it climbs walls; or choose to disobey it when he can, peeking through open doors the Line™️ swerves away from. Even here, he’s rebellious. Even here, he’s cheeky and curious and silly.

This time, he barely looks at the yellow strip along the floor, and he only walks along the Line™️ without any of his regular attention to it.

Anxious, the Narrator tries for music to add a bit of merriment to the walk. Stanley, at least, can’t seem to help the slightest more spring in his step, so it’s not a total failure.

Even if, after the ending’s complete, the voice can’t help the tune being stuck in its head from time to time. It’s fun to hum, at least.

“Okay, this is your favorite ending, I get it. Here I thought you were a big fan of the broom closet ending, but now I can say with complete confidence that this, in fact, is at the top of your list. I get it, I do! I mean, what can beat that wacky music and the Line™️? And that fern? Talk about a no-brainer.”

Stanley crosses his arms and waits where he stands in the Two Doors room. Both doors in front of him are closed. His index finger taps where it sits on his upper arm.

“And it really does let me just go on, doesn’t it? Why, I’ve been reconsidering my perception of your view of me in multiple angles for multiple runs now! My understanding of the office, through the lens of your experiences of listening to me, it’s all incredibly titillating stuff, really!”

The Narrator knows that Stanley knows what he’s doing, but what else is he supposed to do?

“Truly, it’s so enlightening, I think I need a break to really process and digest it all properly, don’t you? Why don’t we relax, this run, and do literally any other ending, and really just let it settle. Hm?”

Stanley shakes his head. The Narrator groans.

“God, look, we can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of it! I’m sick of trying to sort out all these consecutive runs, do you have any idea how piecemeal it is? How much of a real headache it’s starting to give me, working out how these runs are structured while they start to bleed together and overlap? Are you punishing me, Stanley?”

Stanley’s face, which has been mostly placid, if a touch annoyed or bored, falls. It’s not the reaction the Narrator was expecting.

(If he’s honest, part of him expected that defiant lift of the chin, the grim spark in Stanley’s eye and the straightening of the spine—the admittance that he had, indeed, orchestrated this as a way to hurt the voice. Even if Stanley isn’t like that, sometimes the Narrator expects him to be. It’s complicated.)

The protagonist has the decency to look shamed. His eyes fall to the carpet and the tapping finger finally halts, because he’s opted instead to curl his hands into the fabric of his sleeves. He shakes his head.

“Then why? Why are you forcing the issue? What’s so important about me remembering this ending, every stark detail I can manage to scrape out of the mess of my fractured mind? You’ve been so adamant, and I—“ the Narrator’s voice trembles, losing all of the sharp frustration that’s been pointed at Stanley like a rusted blade. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, I don’t know what’s good enough that you’ll let it go. If there’s something you want me to remember, you need to tell me, because I—I don’t know what goalpost I’m supposed to be reaching for, that I can’t seem to find.”

Stanley frowns at the floor, brow lined with thought. The Narrator tries to wait, but then that blasted finger starts tapping on his sleeve again in a rapid rhythm and—

“My god, can you find a shred of patience for more than thirty seconds? It’s like you’re not even—are you literally incapable of even pretending?!”

The man tenses, and then his exposed hand curls into a tight fist and he drops his arms from across his chest, eyes darting around the room. The Narrator starts again, charged up, but he’s only half through the next word when Stanley holds both hands to chest level, palms flat, and quickly pinches fingers towards thumbs. He does it again, then again.

[ pause pause pause ]

Which really takes the wind right out of the Narrator’s sails.

“I… this isn’t a bit I’m doing, Stanley, I’m not acting for—“ he says haltingly, watching Stanley rub his hands over his face and then turn and fall into a seat in one of the chairs by the window. The man rests his weight on an elbow, holds his head up and covers his face with his hand. The other waves in the air to dismiss the rest of the statement. It’s recognized. This may not be a script, but Stanley’s asked him to stop before he works himself up into another lather, because Stanley doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“I thought I was being exceptionally clear about my problem with repeating this ending! Were you even listening to me? I can’t—“

Stanley readjusts in his seat, elbows on both of his knees, and he waves both hands in front of him: no, not that part. He knows the Narrator’s feelings on that, or he thought he did, even if he didn’t seem to understand the proper depth of them.

But the Narrator had started to wait for him to form a reply, and then—ah. From Stanley’s perspective, the Narrator’s follow-up outburst had been out of left field. Stanley was the one being impatient? Stanley was the one doing something wildly repetitive to try desperately to get them on the same page!

“You—don’t you turn this on me, about how this is for my sake! I acknowledged that numerous times, I gave you an excuse to stop, but you ignored me and it’s wildly clear to anyone that you’re resentful about it! It’s that tapping, Stanley! Look, you’re doing it now!”

And sure enough, when Stanley looks down, he finds his foot tapping quickly against the carpet. He glances up and asks with slight accusation, [ this is about me fidgeting? ]

“That is not fidgeting! Stanley, I’ve known you for countless runs now. I know what it looks like when you’re bored or you’re tired or you’re trying to get extra energy out after a Countdown run. I know what it looks like when you get lost in thought or when you get properly anxious! But that? That thing? You’ve been doing it for multiple runs, before we even started this whole Confusion ending mess, and even if you haven’t noticed it, I’ve spent the entire time painfully aware of my own inadequacies. My inability to just remember whatever it is you need me to remember, to give you whatever answer you so obviously want.”

The Narrator watches Stanley look down at his outstretched hands as though seeing them for the first time. When the man glances up again, he apologizes with hesitancy. He hadn’t realized he was being so apparent about some frustration—hadn’t even realized he was frustrated.

“Hmph. Ignoring the obvious untruth in that statement, when you clearly have some kind of end goal you’re working towards; you’ve always had incredibly obvious body language to me, you know. I may not always know what the language means, but your silence means you use other means to express yourself. None of this is meant as an insult!” The voice adds quickly, catching itself. “Honestly, if I had a protagonist that barely reacted to me, I’d probably go out of my mind trying to figure out the reasons for any of his actions!”

Stanley winces a little for reasons the Narrator can only guess at, but says, with a fragile attempt at a smile, [ You already do that with me. ]

“Yes, and that’s with you being this responsive. I can only guess I would be much, much worse off if you weren’t.” The Narrator sighs, allowing himself to finally relax after letting his outburst control his tongue again.

He still feels… not great. He doesn’t want to keep doing this ending and he doesn’t want to try to figure out what Stanley wants anymore, and, honestly?

“I thought we said we’d talk to each other. I’ve been trying to figure out what the point of doing this again and again is, and I’m sick of it, really I am. I wish you would just tell me, because it can’t just be that you want me to remember every moment, can it? Because—even if it’s that simple, I’m going to fail, Stanley, I can’t manage every moment like you want me to, and—“

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? He needs Stanley to tell him what the right answer is so that the Narrator can stop feeling like a failure. Every time he hears that terrible drumming of Stanley’s fingers on a surface or his foot on the carpet, it’s a reminder that Stanley’s uninterested in the thing in front of him and wants something more. Is expecting more, and is being let down. This, the world around him that he moves through? It isn’t good enough.

The protagonist waves his arms in front of him, shaking his head. His grimace is apologetic and his eyes squeezed shut in sincere upset. The signs he uses are not necessarily frantic, but they are adamant, trying to emphasize.

[ Did NOT have a real goal like that. Swear. Don’t need you to remember specific instance, or every second. Needed you to have the gist of it. Wanted… ]

He frowns at his hands. He’s got a sour expression on his face, and the Narrator gets the funny feeling Stanley is coming to a kind of internal revelation, and is deeply displeased with what he’s found. Still, the man takes a deep, bracing breath, and explains.

[ Want you on the same page as me. Too many endings you don’t remember. I want to fix it, and I started with this one because it’s the most complicated one with resets and your memory. Also, ] he adds, with that sour look again, [ most fun of them. The other ones don’t feel good. ]

“So, let me see if I’ve got this right; you intended to go through all these endings that the game forces me to forget, one at a time, most likely on repeat, until I miraculously manage to have some idea of them all?”

Stanley looks prepared to argue this, but he scrunches up his face and acquiesces.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

Okay, there’s the fidgeting the Narrator is familiar with. Stanley’s hands clench and unclench in front of him, and he squeezes the knuckles of one hand with the fingers of his other before swapping hands and repeating the action. Stanley hunches a little defensively, but his pinched cheek means that he absolutely concedes the point.

You see? The Narrator knows his tells.

“For god’s sake—Stanley, I know you’re not actually stupid, but you really give me reason to wonder sometimes, you know that? Here I am, honest to god trying to meet you in the middle, and what do I get? Half formed plans that aren’t shared with me. So much for a partnership!”

Ah, that one stings, if Stanley’s flinch is anything to go by. While causing upset isn’t really what the Narrator wants (really, what does he gain by making the man feel guilty?), it’s hard to stop him when he gets going.

“What, was I just supposed to figure it out? Didn’t I tell you that you play a critical role in guiding me to remember the endings? Yet I can’t help noticing that you haven’t given me any prompting to recall the past several runs, despite the subject matter! I’ve had to try to figure it out on my own, is that supposed to be fair? To try to work out bits and pieces while you sit there, knowing what happened, and not giving any clues? Just showing more and more signs of impatience, before making us do it all over again!”

[ pause. Pause ]

“Stop trying to—to-“ the voice has to force itself, really properly force itself, to take all the frustration and anger at Stanley (for this mess, for not communicating, for not helping, and now for trying to use their “take a break from the game” signal to stop its endless talking), and stifle it. Do you know how hard it is to try to clamp down on all those feelings, when you’re not at all accustomed to doing it?

Stanley’s shoulders are tightly hunched, his head bowed over his knees. A hand presses to the back of his exposed neck, protecting the vulnerable skin. The other makes its way over his mouth, covering it, fingers digging in and knuckles taut. The voice thinks that the only reason he is not in the fetal position is because Stanley is not on the floor.

Right. The Narrator knows this one more than he probably would like to, and the barest glance at the swirling mind confirms it. Shame.

…well, good! He should be ashamed! This was all entirely unnecessary!

Even so… the Narrator isn’t exactly skilled at restraint. Hasn’t he made his point? Why keep talking, rubbing it in? He’s made this whole thing about him, because the Narrator only really knows how to do that.

“Right, I… I think I’ve gotten my point across,” the voice says, with much less vigor behind it. “Okay?”

Stanley doesn’t move.

“Stanley?”

The hand over his mouth edges downward, over his chest. He signs, without looking up, [ sorry, sorry ], slow and repeating without end.

“I… Yes, well. I’m glad you recognize the scope of the issue now.”

[ sorry ]

“Okay, you’re sorry, apology accepted, could you please…” the voice sighs. “Do you need a minute?”

He nods jerkily. The Narrator resists the urge to harrumph, and keeps quiet while his protagonist presses both hands to his face and inhales shakily.

“….Stanley? Are you... You're not afraid of me right now, are you?”

A long, slow inhalation, before Stanley shakes his head. The Narrator all but slumps in relief.

“Oh, thank god. For what it’s worth, I…” he struggles with himself for longer than he’d like, but he finally wrangles his pride into place and continues, “I’m sorry for letting my temper get the better of me. I sometimes—well, I’m still me, after everything.”

Stanley shakes his head again, still in his hands, before he pulls back and tries to straighten in his seat. His face is a little ashen, terribly tired and sad. His hands wobble a little when he lifts them to sign, though it’s not the horrible tremble of a man on the verge of a breakdown.

[ I screwed this up. You’re right. ]

God, the Narrator has always wanted Stanley to tell him that he’s right, why does this have to be the context in which it happens?

[ I’m still not good at this either. I don’t know how to talk to you without— ] he clenches and unclenches his hands, failing to find the words.

“…without feeling combative, or defensive. Like we’re on opposite sides.”

Stanley nods.

“I do… I understand that, you know. You aren’t the only one who feels on edge all the time, unsure how to work with someone who might find it easier to fight you.”

[ You were trying to do it anyway, a lot longer than I was. ]

“I wasn’t very good at it, then or now,” he grumbles. “And besides, I only ever started because I finally got a clue that you weren’t actively a malicious little shit who wanted to see me suffer. You’re just a normal little shit.”

His tiny snort is a balm that soothes the voice’s ruffled and sore edges. It continues with some embarrassment, “you know, sometimes there’s still a part of me, nasty as it is, that expects you to do things just to hurt me. It’s as if, despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m braced for the moment you’ll go out of your way to crush me. Maybe you can’t destroy me in any real physical way, but—I spent such a long time telling you that I didn’t care about your opinion for me, or this game, that it didn’t matter to me at all, and it was a terribly obvious lie.”

The corners of Stanley’s mouth pull down, deep lines on his face. He knows.

“I’m not supposed to want or need your approval. You’re just Stanley, you’re not supposed to be anyone and your opinion isn’t supposed to matter to me, and yet, any disapproval was just so, so….”

The man nods.

They need each other.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I understand why it’s still very hard for you to tell me what you’re thinking. This isn’t… we’re not really meant to operate in the way that we’ve chosen to.”

Stanley shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing and gaze on the carpet in front of him. [ I should be trying harder. ]

“Listen you dolt, one of us was built to talk and the other was built to listen, and if you think you’re just supposed to be capable or even good at communicating because you want to be, then I’ve got bad news. If I have to practice, so do you. Luckily for you, I can and will be consistently and constantly reminding you of my needs because I am literally incapable of anything else.”

Much to the voice’s chagrin, Stanley seems to find this funny. The smile that stretches across his mouth is entirely involuntary, and why is it always such a relief to see Stanley smile like that? To see his forehead relax from the pinched frustration—Stanley looks so much younger when he smiles.

“Now, look Stanley,” it continues, “at the end of the day I can’t make you choose what to do. But I’m asking politely for you to do literally any other ending for a run or two. Frankly, I think it takes a lot of energy out of you, even if you won’t acknowledge it. And can I be really, uncomfortably honest with you here?”

The protagonist nods, shifting a little in his seat in discomfort.

“I don’t want to risk forgetting this conversation. These moments mean something to me, more than I can even begin to convey. Not to mention, I’ll lose my mind if you start with that infernal drumming again and I don’t remember how the hell to make you stop.”

Stanley has been looking up with a funny sort of slack expression (some kind of new awareness of the Narrator’s vulnerability, maybe, how embarrassing), but this last sentence has him looking at his hands again with a mild frown. He nods; no Confusion ending this go around, or perhaps even any time soon, but when he places his hand on the armrest, he’s very careful to emphasize the drum of his fingers once, and then again. It’s not a challenge insomuch as it’s a question, a clarification.

“Yes, Stanley, that. There’s also the tapping of your foot, although it’s different from when you bounce your heel surprisingly. I’d be remiss to not include when you tap your index finger. On any surface, really. I’ll admit I try to ignore it, god forbid the tantrum you'd throw if I told you you’ve no right to be impatient or frustrated in places, but god, imagine seeing it over and over and over. You can be really annoying, Stanley.”

He rolls his eyes, his fingers stilling on the armrest. Neither of them acknowledge the truth of the Narrator’s discomfort with it, but who needs to? It’s been said. This is about moving forward; one of Stanley’s favorite pastimes.

He’s aware of the issue now, aware of the habit, which means he can catch it and self-analyze and correct. Again, a thing to practice. In the meantime—

[ You’re really weird for knowing it’s different from bouncing my heel and the other stuff. You need to stop staring at me all the time. ]

“Wh—You are allergic to staying still, you don’t expect me to notice your stupid little habits after all this time? This is on me for paying attention to you and analyzing patterns?” Offense floods the Narrator’s tone, familiar and maybe even a little comforting to both of them. “Who in their right mind would be insulted about this? But that’s Stanley for you, rudest man alive.”

[ I’m supposed to be a boring office worker, ] comes the retort as the doors swing open and Stanley stands. He stretches, and goes through the door on his left.

“Stanley, the one thing I’ve managed to internalize, despite all the memory nonsense and the resets and the arguments and my own selfishness: you are far from boring.”

The dry delivery does not conceal the smile. Stanley matches it.

“Oh—another thing,” the voice adds while he moves through the meeting room. “Let’s hold off on any of the endings that you wanted to push vis-a-vis testing my memory, alright? Oh, I know, it’s important to you,” it responds quickly at his disapproving frown. “Only, you said yourself they feel unpleasant, and I feel confident in saying you and I could both use a little bit of time without suffering. Just for a little while?” The tilt of a question, like a peace offering, comes while Stanley approaches the stairs. It’s a very careful but real plea.

It matters that they get through the endings, yes. But even if the Narrator is being a little avoidant, trying to stall, it comes from a real place of wanting connection that doesn’t have to hurt either of them. He thinks Stanley appreciates that. They can bond outside of just trying to problem-solve, can’t they?

The protagonist stops before the door to the stairwell and sighs, thinking it over. He nods, but then lifts a finger.

[ Only if I can sit in the broom closet right now for as long as I like. ]

“B-why?” Is the flabbergasted response. “Why do you have to make that a condition, you could have just—what, you want me to be complicit in my own irritation at you? You want me to choose being irritated?”

He’s smiling and nodding, the little shit.

“Oh my g—fine, fine, but I’m not going to sit there quietly while you do absolutely nothing for who knows how long. I will not endure in silence,” it spits while Stanley turns and retraces several steps, swinging the door open so the voice can watch him stand in the middle of the room and turn to face the doorway, smiling.

For all the the two minutes he stands there (a blessedly short time, all things considered), the voice hurls insult after insult at him, and the smile only ever grows. Bastard. What an awful friend. The Narrator wouldn’t trade him or his happiness for anything. Not even for something as simple to make (or lose) as memories.

#tsp #the stanley parable #tsp fanfic #the sparrow parable #may writes

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ilikekidsshows · 1 month ago

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We can see what kind of "friend" Marinette is from the way she treat Socqueline. In my country, we have a saying that said 'When the sweetness is gone, the pulp is thrown out'. It means when something is outgrow it usefulness, it will be thrown away. That's exactly how she streat Socqueline. The moment she got expelled from the school and can't be Marinette defender anymore, thats the moment she's no longer needed/important enough for her to remember.

(Even Cat Noir got this treatment despite of him not going anywhere)

People can't use the defend that 'Socqueline isn't go to Dupont that's why Marinette can't give her a Miraculous' or that 'she's a new character's because neither Kagami nor Luka go to Dupont' and Zoe is a new character just like her. Yet the designated dog miraculous is Sabrina, who's assisting in bullying her just some months ago.

Why, I wonder...

---

Yo, I’ve been planning to write a post about how Marinette's treatment of Socqueline is what made me realize that she will only be friends with someone she can benefit from. Might as well do it now.

Okay, so, the most damning thing when Socqueline gets introduced back into the story is what they say when they meet. Socqueline brings up starting highschool, something she did almost a year ago, as a new thing to Marinette and doesn't know she's completely defanged Chloé. They only talk about meaningless stuff, so you can't even argue that this conversation is important exposition for people who don't remember Socqueline. There's only one assumption to draw from this: Marinette hasn't contacted Socqueline since she got expelled protecting her.

The writers could have avoided this with a single line. They could have implied they’d seen each other off-screen, or that Marinette has been calling/texting/emailing her. Something like: “What have you been up to since last month?” “It's so great to see you in person!” “I really liked your last email!” “Sorry about keeping you up so late last time I called!” But no, Marinette can't be arsed to call, text or email her once only friend that her mom still has frequent contact with, let alone visit her. And why is that? Well, what is their conversation really about? “I was so worried about leaving you with that monster (aka Chloé).” Socqueline’s job was to protect Marinette from Chloé. When she could no longer do that, she was useless. The writers didn’t put in anything to avoid this interpretation because, as far as they are concerned, Marinette’s friends’ job is to benefit her.

Marinette is the kind of friend who’s only concerned with what you can do for her. Like, I already pointed this out before, but Marinette can’t be bothered to remember a pool trip with her friends and she will dip when they’re all supposed to plant trees together if something more interesting comes along. The only time she will hang out with the girl squad and not dip is when they’re helping her with her Love Quest. It’s sadly very consistent that Marinette didn't bother to contact Socqueline because she didn’t need anything from her. She didn't miss her enough to call, didn't wonder about her enough to ask her mom how she was doing, she seemingly didn't even bother to think about her. Socqueline was worried, Marinette mentions nothing of the sort. It’s Socqueline’s job to take care of the poor, miserable, defenseless wretch Marinette, while Marinette will just soak up all the care and give nothing back like an emotional support black hole.

This is also another thing that makes season one Marinette look questionable in hindsight. You're telling me her previous school year ended with her losing her protector against Chloé and dropping all contact, and the next one started with her instantly becoming bosom buddies with the new girl who defended her against Chloé. Hm.

#ml salt #ml critical #dats chats

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thecurioustale · 6 months ago

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Writing Psychological Horror Is Hard

Writing horror is hard for me.

I think it is perhaps the clearest example, at least when I'm the subject, of the difference between being the author and being the audience. I find it extremely difficult to know what will creep out someone who doesn't know all the behind-the-scenes details of what is happening. This is despite my considerable experience as a consumer of [psychological / environmental] horror media.

When I think about the things that scare me, or maybe "unsettle" is a better word, it usually comes down to two things: 1) narratively plausible violations of the laws of nature; and 2) foreboding, i.e. the slow-building setup that something bad is coming—something that is specific enough to be apprehensible but still ambiguous enough to be cloaked in mystery.

But! Not just any attempt at these things will actually work. There is definitely a secret sauce that makes some efforts fail and others succeed.

In the game Oxenfree, probably my favorite horror game of all time, there is a scene on the "Find Clarissa!" subplot where Alex et al. are in something akin to a classroom in an abandoned military base on an uninhabited island, and a discordantly upbeat and normal-sounding midcentury-style gameshow host is talking to them through a haunted radio asking them questions in a game of Hangman (whose figure is gradually being drawn by invisible means on the chalkboard), while a lamp overhead illuminates the room in a very unnatural light as it swings back and forth for no apparent reason. And this was one of my favorite moments in the entire game, because it was really scary. It benefitted from the existing atmospheric horror build up in the events immediately preceding it, and also benefitted from not being a narrative climax; it actually ratchets up the tension in the story even higher, without resolving anything (other than itself).

But I think that if you went purely by my description, you would be hard-pressed to create a scary implementation of this scene. I certainly would be—and I know that for a fact, because I have more or less tried it!

What is it that makes something profoundly unsettling in that oh-so-delicious manner of a good horror story? Well, the academic answer is that it's appealing to our instincts of danger: dangerous environments (like rocks or cliffs or plants, or, indeed, "the dark"), dangerous predators, dangerous people, dangerous forces (like fire and wind and water), and dangerous sicknesses (e.g. infectious disease). Most horror taps into at least one of these primal apprehensions in the human psyche. And to succeed it has to feel real, the way a roller coaster feels like you're really falling. But I don't think "the academic answer" really sheds all that much light on the mystery of actually composing horrifying situations and events.

A lot of the craftsmateship is a balancing act.

For example: You don't want to hit the audience over the head with obvious bogeymates—jumpscares for the sake of jumpscares, as it were, or having your big scary cryptid jump out in its full costume in broad daylight and look absurd—but I have also found, through experience, that it is very easy to hide horrifying details too well, to be too subtle about it—and it is extremely difficult for me to get a sense, on the audience's behalf, of how subtle is too subtle.

That leads me to an important insight: Part of the secret sauce of horror is contextually embedding horrifying story elements into a broader context. A "haunted stick of furniture" isn't going to get many people a-quailin' in their boots. It has to be more about how that object is embedded in the story. You know, like a haunted couch, or a haunted table: How do you make that scary? I don't think it can be scary on its own. Not consistently and convincingly. Instead you have to set it up ahead of time in some way(s), by providing information to the audience that you are then going to subvert or manipulate later. Yet it is all too easy to do this in a way that comes across like a paint-by-numbers exercise: "Wait a minute! Wasn't this couch pointing the other way earlier?! GASP!!" No one is gonna be scared by that. It's not enough.

Ultimately, I think scaring people successfully, in the psychological horror sense, therefore involves an element of overwhelming their ability to cope with and anticipate environmental changes, which assumes an elaborate environmental structure that you're going to have to set up, in non-obvious ways, earlier in the story. You have to give them expectations about how things will change and then either gradually go beyond that magnitude of change or else go in a different direction of change entirely—usually the former. Psychological horror is all about the fear of the jumpscare that never comes.

But I'm also just spitballing for the purposes of this essay. I don't really know. I struggle with this stuff!

It really is an art form to be able to scare people in this way.

Additional, medium-specific difficulty comes in the fact that the written media that I work in does not have access to a scary soundtrack or sound effects or voices, or to scary visuals and visual effects. Written text does have the corresponding advantage of having unfettered access to the reader's imagination, allowing them to essentially self-select the personally scariest interpretations of some of the details of a scene. But taking full advantage of this power is not easy at all; you have to put the right kinds of details in, and you have to do so in a digestible format, all without cluttering the flow of the story.

I have been doing a lot of Galaxy Federal writing lately, and have been trying to write some of the "scarier" bits and pieces in it, and I almost resent how totally clueless I am in regards to whether I am hitting the mark to my satisfaction! 😮

#Horror writing #Philosophy of horror #Psychological horror #Galaxy Federal

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mr-water-downer · 3 months ago

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So since a jerkoff tonight wanted to mention “entry level positions” here’s the starting pay for grade 1’s/2’s for the waste water industry here california.

For a small fee of 99 dollars at my local community college (where I saw a flyer for this since I had gone in to take my Brit Lit final) I can take a three hour online course from 9am to 12 pm for a duration of four months. I’ll get my credentials for my grade one and will be eligible to take my grade 2 immediately. Even the minimum starting salary at 60 grand a year is very much doable to live on my own and save up to buy a house, even around here. There are five grades for operators as well as other types of positions for plant management and leadership that require a degree.

My father makes last time I checked 52 an hour as a grade two (he can’t pass his grade three because he’s not good at taking tests) along with all sorts of other benefits due to working for the city/county. He has no education higher than a high school diploma and he’s been doing this for over two decades. In fact the only reason why he learned about the job in the first place was because he knew a guy.

So what’s my point?

Opportunities like this in spite of the seeming ease of entry, are hard to come by. If I hadn’t taken a class in the building this flyer was posted in, I might not have seen it, and if my dad didn’t know a guy, he never would’ve found a breadwinner job so easily.

And sure 99 dollars isn’t much of an expenditure for me, but someone who is actually living paycheck to paycheck might have to think about it, even though it pays well because they’re always hiring operators as they build more plants. 9am to 12pm might be hard for some people to schedule around as it is kind of awkward time placement wise, and unless you have a laptop or computer (which can be another couple hundred dollar investment that some people might not have money to spend if they’re making minimum wage and living paycheck to paycheck) you’re going to have to find a public library with good internet access and hope they have computers available if at all, and honestly online classes really aren’t for everyone especially if you get distracted easy or find the lack of direct access to an instructor discouraging.

Social mobility/advancement has always been gatekept by money, because a lot of time to make money you need to spend money you might not have. This is really nothing to me money wise because I’ll be the first to admit I’m privileged in a lot of ways but a lot of people aren’t me. People don’t even talk about wastewater as industry because it’s also dirty work, the kind of work people turn their nose up to because you work with literal shit and shit water and piss and all sorts of other gross stuff.

Yet the entry level position that requires a 99 dollar enrollment fee and spending 3 hours a week for four months pays a lot better than most jobs that require a degree or trade school/apprenticeship.

So when people say entry level positions shouldn’t be livable I’m going to share this, and say “I bet you feel real stupid now huh?”

And some will say “but downer waste water is really important work our society couldn’t function without it!” yeah you’re right so would every other entry level wagie shit because I doubt most people have the means to live on their own without having to go to the grocery store every couple of weeks. Not even that but people lose their shit about not having access to caffeine, and if you have a pet especially an exotic one like a snake that requires mice whether dead or frozen how are you going to feed without some schmuck like me grabbing it for you?

now never did I say wagie shit needs to be a high paying career cause I’m a firm believer in a job being a job till the next one, but if people take me saying what amounts to “I don’t think people should have to struggle to live even a little comfortable” as some kind of… attack? then I really don’t know what to say other than go fuck yourself and develop real issues to be angry about.

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the-pea-and-the-sun · 2 months ago

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SOME NAMEKIAN SPECULATIVE BIOLOGY FOR FUNZIES

or: why do namekians look like that? : the sequel to "why does namek look like that"

disclaimer: im no dragon ball expert, or biology expert, this is all just for fun and my own personal satisfaction because thinking about alien biology makes me very excited. what im doing is a little closer to hard sci-fi than the type of sci-fi generally present in the franchise, and i am straight up ignoring some aspects of canon here to make a version of namekian physiology that feels more realistic and interesting to me personally, so this is more of an au than an analysis (but i mean. this is an extremely retcon-able franchise anyway) also im of the opinion that namekians are in fact not ken dolls down there, and im gonna talk about what i think they might have going on so JUST A WARNING in case that sorta thing grosses u out or whatever. i can and will speculate about namekian junk 👍also this ended up running kinda long so... click at ur own risk!

CANON STUFF IM IGNORING (for now)

namekians getting bigger

this happens in db and super hero movie. but im ignoring it because it doesnt make sense and isnt interesting enough for me to magical hand-wave it away. like supposedly it gives piccolo no greater strength than at his normal size yet it gives him more leverage when pushing cell?? also if hes the exact same strength that kind of implies to me that he has like …. the same mass too… which unless piccolo is SUPER dense already (and i dont see him breaking any floor boards.. but maybe thats why hes outside all the time) then his super low density would make him kinda…. weak… kind like how its easier to blow away an open sheet of paper than a balled-up sheet of paper. im sure there are some ways you could make this fun but the franchise just doesn't do anything interesting enough with this for me personally so im ignoring it

eggs coming out the mouth

this is a controversial one SORRY it just makes absolutely zero sense to me… they obviously at minimum drink and breathe out of their mouths why on earth would their eggs exit from there too… im also going to argue that even though they dont need food they do in fact have a digestive system so unless their mouth is the most horrible cloaca in the world they have more than one major orifice anyway (can you imagine having a tongue and teeth down there..) if this is really important to you then maybe this could be something certain namekians CAN do but generally dont, or its something that like . king piccolo can do specifically (because hes like. an evil demon or whatever. i dunno im not super familiar with dragon ball demon lore tbh)

also like... even if you REALLY wanna stick to the idea of namekians as a species that doesn't require food and never did, they should still have liquid waste. even plants have liquid waste. and since namekians dont seem to be shedding off big outer layers of skin on the reg (though this could be a neat concept, i like the idea of someone encountering a piccolo-husk) it makes sense that they'd have an additional orifice for shedding waste anyway. so it just makes sense to give that orifice one more job. even as narrow as namekian hips are, the egg has a whole lot more space than it would if it went through their fucking throat

NOW THAT WE'VE GOT THAT COVERED:

🟢⭐DISPELLING COMMON NAMEKIAN BIOLOGY MYTHS⭐🟢

or, stuff that's commonly assumed to be canon that i think is not

FIRST MYTH: namekians cannot eat and digest food, and have always sustained themselves off of exclusively water

they CAN sustain themselves off of water, but i think of them as being able to eat and benefiting from food in certain ways. there's been some examples of them eating, but im not really concerned with the fringe examples of namekians eating from video games, rather we know namekians either have or used to have the capacity to consume food because they have teeth! (and a tongue, and a uvula!)

and from the looks of it, some serious canines too! they dont just eat, they eat meat! given their ability to fight and create weapons, i think of namekians as likely being or having at some point been omnivorous apex predators like homo-sapiens. if you wanna believe that they don't actively need to eat anymore, then id like to think that some dragon ball magic had to happen to accelerate namekian evolution, because there's just way too many vestigial structures otherwise - if you're hand-waving the amount of energy required for namekians to be able to move around as much as they do, and assume that they photosynthesize or something like plants, and don't mate (which im about to argue against but we'll get to that) then...why would they even evolve to walk around at all? what im thinking is that namekians do need to eat, just very infrequently as we see in canon, and just used to need to eat a lot more. im attributing this change in namekians need for food to the big ecological disaster that gets talked about in dbz, so you could think of them as having pre-disaster biology and post-disaster biology, which accounts for namekians being able to sustain themselves on so little while also being a species that has so many body parts just for eating, and that eventually farms and has advanced technology. pre-disaster namekians ate frequently, possibly requiring a calorie content comparable to humans, and post-disaster biology occurred so that namekians could survive the kind of ecological disasters that guru lives through - and that they likely have to live through quite frequently on a planet with the kind of tides namek would have, being a planet with three suns and all. lots of tsunamis, earth-quakes (namek-quakes?), etc. so maybe a sequence of these disasters caused them to evolve to need very little food. so, like i said, if you'd like to think of them as needing no food, then the dragon balls would have to be involved for me to find that believable that since a mouth full of parts clearly meant for eating is just too evolutionary expensive to stick around as vestigial structures for any other reason.

but assuming they aren't completely vestigial, then there's a few different options we can consider, like that post-disaster namekians can survive without food and under extreme circumstances for a very long time, but they still gotta eat, like, once in a while. my current favorite theory is that they're a bit like tardigrades, and post-disaster they've evolved (or magic'd) into extremeophiles. that is that, they can survive extreme circumstances, such as going almost indefinitely without eating, but they enter a sort of cryptobiosis-like state where some of their functions stop working, such as reproduction and development. in other words, not eating won't kill them, but if a namekian wants to grow or have children, then they're gonna have to eat. they'd also likely rarely experience a hunger or desire for food because of this.

this would explain why all the namekians who are stated or implied to have had children look like they're carrying body fat. they're the ones who eat food! it just doesnt really make sense for that to just be the results of them aging... the fats gotta come from somewhere. and even for humans, atrophying due to aging comes as often in the form of losing weight as it does gaining it, but we've yet to see an older looking namekian who's thin. rather it makes more sense to think that these namekians were eating since they were planning to produce offspring, and rather than eat too little and have their egg come out underdeveloped, they eat more than they need to develop the egg and the rest of the energy gets stored away as fat, possibly never to be used since their cryptobiosis-like state where they don't need food is sort of a default for them once they're fully developed.

it would also explain why dende ages so much differently from both piccolo and gohan (besides retconning) piccolo just kind of jumps to adult form - much faster than both humans and saiyans, while dende's development kind of seems to freeze for a few years. their development, rather than being stunted, can just be frozen indefinitely if needed. (why dende is choosing not to develop i have no explanation for... he's just in no hurry i guess? or just isnt hungry? maybe there's some cultural explanation there) this goes well with namekians being a long-lived species too. if there's no food or very little food available until they're 100 years old, then they can just wait until they're 100 to finish developing and reproduce.

there's also something to be said here about how namekians dont have separate sexes but there are still kind of two types: "warrior" and "dragon clan" namekians, and maybe they have differences in development too, like warrior namekians needing to eat more often than dragon clan namekians, who might only ever feel the need to eat while developing or while producing offspring. although, i'd personally rather think of that distinction as more cultural than it is biological, as it's just more interesting to me that way. like, the natural genetic diversity that makes some namekians more equipped for fighting would cause them to choose or be chosen to become battle-types.

SECOND MYTH: namekians reproduce exclusively asexually

a lot of people assume this since asexual reproduction is the only type of namekian reproduction we see or hear about, BUT I DONT THINK ITS TRUE! they CAN reproduce asexually, but they have a LOT of genetic diversity, even more than most sexually reproducing species. so WAY to much to be an exclusively asexually reproducing species. just look at any picture of a group of namekians, they're clearly not all clones of each other.

toriyama said in an interview that they "may be hermaphrodites" and i like that! being a species of simultaneous hermaphrodites that can also self-fertilize goes well with the whole slug thing too, so thats the reproduction method that i think makes the most sense.

some species produce a small number of offspring at a time and invest more heavily into their offspring, and some species produce a large number of offspring at a time and don't invest very much into each individual, using the larger number as their reproductive strategy since the majority of their offspring will die off (think elephants on one end of the extreme, and spiders being the other end). given that namekians appear to only be able to have one child at a time, and seem to have tight-knit social groups that seem to care a lot for their children indicates a lot of investment into each child, so it just doesn't make sense to me that they would only be able to reproduce asexually anyway, as that tends to fit better with the reproductive strategy of having a large number of offspring who mostly die off. i think of sexual reproduction as being their preferred method, and asexual reproduction as being the alternative method they've evolved as extremeophiles, only choosing this method when there aren't any other namekians around to get genetic material from.

🟢⭐WHAT IM EXTRAPOLATING FROM THESE THINGS⭐🟢

knowing that namekians reproduce sexually means we can do some fun extrapolation about how they do about that ! (or, fun to me at least. are we not all excited about namekian junk??)

SO namekians obviously have to breathe, we see piccolo breathing all the time - android 17 even points it out at some point - and like i said i think of them as having digestive tracts (again, whether you'd like to think of them as vestigial or otherwise is up to you) so it kind of just makes more sense for their internal stuff to be structured like us primates in the same way so much of their external stuff is. seeing the way piccolo breathes (and like. has a nose on his face) indicates that their respiratory systems are in their chests too, and their clothes seem to cover all the same bits we cover, so they probably have at least one other major orifice down there. either they have just one orifice for both expelling waste and mating like a cloaca, as amphibians and reptiles do, or they have more than one like we and most other mammals do. you could pretty much justify any genital situation you want, hermaphroditic slugs have penises*, and so do primates of course, so if you like the idea of piccolo having a dick there's justification for it 👍there's honestly ways to justify all kinds of genital situations. its the only external part of namekian bodies we never actually see, so if this sorta thing interests you like it does me, get creative! use ur imagination! the only thing that i feel would have to be pretty set it stone for me to believe it would be at least one orifice for expelling waste and eggs and for in-taking sperm (or sperm packages...yknow how it is with slugs) and this same orifice could also expel sperm as cloacae do if you wanna go no-penis route, it just doesnt have to. they could be mostly internal or mostly external, or internal until they're about to be used, or internal until a certain stage in development, whatever boats your float. again, many options here. i encourage you to imagine the version of namekian genitals that pleases you the most.

im also imagining that namekians can store sperm for later fertilization too (like slugs!), since it kind of doesn't make sense to me that such a small population would have so much genetic diversity after all descending from a single member otherwise. so im imagining that guru had sperm stored up from various other namekians before the big extinction, and that guru's first batch of sons had two genetic parents - that is, guru himself and whatever namekian's sperm he had stored. and possibly even more than two! some species can have three or more genetic parents, which would do a lot to help increase the genetic diversity of a population after a huge population wipe-out like the one referenced in the namek saga of dbz.

also, sexual reproduction means sexual selection! since we're assuming all namekians are the same sex, any primary or secondary sex characteristics would apply to all namekians, but that doesn't mean there wouldn't be any selection. whether an individual in a breeding pair would choose to take on the male or female role would depend on a LOT of factors, for example being the male would be less costly, but if sperm can be stored it wouldn't guarantee it would be used, and in circumstances where few breeding partners are available, taking on the female role would be more advantageous (which, as we've established, is a situation namekians would be frequently subjected to). not to mention all the cultural circumstances that would influence which role is more advantageous at any given time. im thinking that most namekians would probably experience being both roles at some point in their lives, depending on these circumstances.

anyway, i find it fun to think about the traits that namekians would consider desirable in a mate. for a species like namekians, a lot of those traits would probably be cultural, which id like to tackle later in another post, but in the mean time i wanna talk about what physical traits that namekians might register as secondary sex characteristics. like i said their primary sex characteristics, like genitals and internal organs, are a bit of a mystery, BUT there's one trait that namekians have that i don't think can be explained any other way than as a secondary sex characteristic!

WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE PINK MARKINGS!! there isn't really any reason for their skin texture to be different in these sections, and it's obviously not providing any sort of camouflage. they're super bright, and contrast directly with the rest of their skin.

also, it looks like its absent on babies! so... LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE A SECONDARY SEX CHARACTERISTIC! im thinking that these markings are a sign of sexual maturity and health, like pubic and armpit hair in humans, or like peacock plumage. they also look kind of... muscle accentuating? the horizontal stripes serve to emphasize these curves a bit. which means that this is a trait that at least some namekians are selecting for. apparently some namekians find big muscles sexy... NEAT!! though given their variety, and given the fact that "warrior" namekians are in the minority, it's certainly not the only thing they're selecting for. as a long-lived species with no gestation period (because of the eggs), namekians would probably benefit from mating with a diverse variety of partners over the course of their lives. lots of fun material for cultural worldbuilding here!

🟢⭐OTHER MISCELLANEOUS IDEAS⭐🟢

~another fun reproduction option~

so... namekians dont actually have to be simultaneous hermaphrodites. dende doesn't seem to have any concept of sex, but it might just be because his concept of sex is inextricably linked to his concept of age, so the "two types" of namekian may just be old and young. namekians are hierarchical, and their hierarchy isn't linked to any sex they have at birth or assigned gender role from that sex, but it is based on age. this hierarchy could easily just be cultural, possibly a cultural consequence of the oldest namekian being responsible for preventing extinction of the species, but if it isn't just cultural, then their hierarchy actually kind of resembles clownfish hierarchy, and clownfish are sequential hermaphrodites. they're all born male, and then whenever the dominant female in a group dies, the largest and strongest (and generally, oldest) male becomes female and takes over. fish are also pretty much the only hermaphroditic vertebrates, so it makes sense to model namekians after them, too.

other people have pointed out that older namekians are colored a bit differently than younger namekians, but we never really see this happen gradually. that is, we never see a middle-aged namekian with a skin tone between these two tones, so there isn't really any reason to think that it's a gradual consequence of them aging. you can kind of assume from this then that the color change comes from a sort of second puberty, as a result of their sex change - or rather, sex addition, as they still have the ability to self-fertilize after this. so before they change their sex, namekians only have the ability to fertilize other namekians, and can't produce their own off-spring asexually, whereas after changing their sex namekians can produce their own offspring, and can self-fertilize but can't fertilize other namekians. also for some namekians, it also looks like the pink and red part turns yellow and orange, so that could be indicative of a part of their sex change too? we do see the pink on king piccolo, but it seems strange to me that it would "fade" to that color as a result of atrophy due to aging, so im thinking it might be something that triggers when they change their sex too.

~alternatative explanation for the canine thing~

if you don't like the idea of a species as peaceful as namekians being meat-eaters, i have another explanation for you! having teeth at all definitely indicates a species that consumes food, however those sharp-looking canines don't have to have evolved as a consequence of eating meat. there's at least one herbivore with big sharp fangs too!

CHECK THIS FREAK OUT !! water deers have fangs for the same reason other hooves animals have antlers! so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to think of namekians as having their sharp canines for the same reasons. it could be a fun secondary sex characteristic!

ALRIGHT THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW THANKS FOR READING!! I HAD A LOTTA FUN WRITING THIS feel free to argue abt any points made here btw!! if anyone's got any ideas about namekian biology id love to hear em!

#namek posting #i seriously cant believe how long this got #am i insane an crazy in the head .... yes #but at least now namekians make sense 2 me...#dbz #dragon ball z #namek #namekians #speculative biology #spec bio #spec evo

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