#verse:default

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@tenkoseiensei said:

' scared ? ' he doesn't expect an honest answer. chances are his smile may seem threatening enough already, wry but without any puncture, teeth unbared. 

he realizes now he's asked hopeless questions. ( will you defend yourself from me? ) if his attempt to reach out and touch the other through their infinity demonstrated anything, then it was the idea that even if satoru wanted to, (shell, ward, protect, repulse and retreat,) he couldn't. the doppelganger's hand slips through invisible forces and makes contact with all the delicate, albeit flimsying effort of someone pushing a hand through the walled sheen of a bubble. the tips of his fingers tentatively touch the other's skin, until he intertwines their digits then lifts the other's limb to swing and shake it. 

he can't help but grin with the quiet, subtle pride of someone who's just won a grand prize. ' i can feel it. ' could witness the other from myriad new eyes and angles as well, but what he clung to was nothing more than that very touch. he could feel them, a privilege so few, if not any other at all, were privy to. ' --- it's warm. '

Satoru’s breath hitched in his throat, his body stiffening in surprise and apprehension. YQ’s little repeat performance hadn’t entirely been unbidden- after all, he’d been curious (foolish) enough to hint at an encore. 

So seeing himself had been disconcerting enough. But then YQ had reached over and literally perforated his boundaries, fingers pressing through and through until he’d crossed the threshold of the invisible barrier which he by now only erected by habit. 

               ‘do you know what you’ve done?’  

The question lingered on his tongue.  

He didn’t ask it. YQ had singlehandedly evidenced the reasoning behind why he’d been in that cell to begin with. This demonstration was an indictment, and one which Satoru couldn’t ignore. This was dangerous, poison in a cup, a viper in the reeds. A problem which had to be dealt with quickly, with a firm hand and iron will, past relationships be damned-  

“Warm.” He smiled and let his weakness briefly consume him.

“That’s what I’ve always thought.”

[claygobs]

@maskiisms continued from here

He expected this would’ve been another instance of ‘let’s see how I can piss Deidara off’, but there was something a little pointed about the way Uta had suddenly taken his hand, and when he looked at him he realised those onyx-ruby eyes weren’t looking out for his reaction in that usual amused way at all. He could have sworn he’d made a weird sound as well, though he half expected it was just that sleepy bastard yawning.

❝Hey, what’s up?❞ Deidara murmured, giving the hand a tug so their arms brushed together as they walked. This was weird as hell for him, but... not too arguable, he guessed?

[cho-no-shonen-archive]

I have 2 verses I’ll be using!

Default, its pretty much the canon. (i might be a bit canon divergent tho)

and

Forget me Not.

Forget me not is a verse based on an au where, Ino had been told to go on a mission she didn’t want to go on, and so Choji took her place.

There was huge miscommunication with the information about said mission, and Choji and his team had gotten caught out in the open, where everyone was seriously injured. Luckily there was one person who was always hiding, keeping an eye out for them, and they sent a messenger bird to request some back up. Choji had suffered head trauma, only one of many wounds. He was in a coma for about a week or two, and upon waking up, he’s got no memories of anything. Not even his own name. 

I’ll addmore verses!

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@tenkoseiensei said:

will you defend yourself? from me, i mean.

"Why on earth would I ever need to do anything like that? After all- heh-" The smile he wore was curved as a sickle though it wholly lacked any discernible edge. If anything, it was more clearly an expression of mockery than that of malice. 

Hardly anything out of the ordinary. Riling up his unofficial intern never got old!

"You're pretty weak."

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@tenkoseiensei said:

' i see it on your face ,  you’ve had a bad day . '

“Well, how lucky for me that I’ve got you to pick me up.” 

As relaxed and blasé as his words were, his frame drooped across the lumpy cushions of the old couch in a lazy, exhausted sprawl. One blue eye peeked out from behind sunglasses jarred askew, yet the relentless searching quality of his had been momentarily dispelled.

“It’s your day off, remember? Go... do whatever it is you do.”

[infinitxes]

@tenkoseiensei said:

I AIN'T YOUR INTERN!!!!!

“You sure? You’ve been following me ‘round for ages now! Hope you’re learning lots!”

[infinitxes]

@tenkoseiensei said:

❛  that’s  not  even  remotely  funny .  ❜

"I'm trying my best here! Give me a break!”

Despite the indignation in the stubborn hitch of his shoulders, his face was twisted into more of a pout than any indication of honest vexation.

Maybe he ought to have left him in that cell after all. Then again, this mission would have been made so awfully dull lacking the company. Satoru grinned privately to himself. He hadn’t exactly been supposed to grant him his freedom (no matter how transient), but he’d only thought that there would be no better avenue through which to prove his naivety than through action.

The alternative of course was indefinite incarceration, which was hardly productive to say the least. The higher-ups could whinge all they wanted, but he could always execute him if the need arose, even if he did find the option abhorrent given that the other had yet to assure him of his guilt.

“You know what?” Satoru crossed his arms in exasperation, then jerked a thumb at the vending machine that still stood innocuous to their altercation. It had been quite the surprise to find one on the side of such a derelict road; its only companion a bus station clothed in winding kudzu and worn with disuse.

“Deal’s off. I’m done telling jokes. How about this- you lend me a couple yen for a coke and I’ll carry you up the remainder of these steps, ‘kay?”

[infinitxes]

@regensia said:

"how long was i out?" ( & one modern Sukuna for pure indulgence ty )

“Morning, sleepy-head!"

To say that the disgruntled look of confusion he was met with wasn’t even the slightest bit amusing would have taken the most stalwart of liars to be convincing.

“I’d say fairs-fair! I mean, this is hardly anything to talk about, what with all the times I let you put me under, wouldn’t you say?” Satoru made no such attempt at deceit, instead choosing to grin widely down at his quarry, both his hands perched idly on his hipbones and radiating a blistering amount of confidence.

“What?” He feigned puzzlement. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know!”

[infinitxes]

@shinanai​ said:

saint where is my 2k drabble ?

The night had come on quickly with the tedium of the car ride, a quiet journey during which he was accompanied only by the drone of the engine and the disembodied chatter of the radio cutting in and out of static. Ijichi murmured something every once in a while- largely irrelevant blather on the weather, the current state of the stock market (of which Satoru was already well acquainted- Nippon and Daikin had both their edges trailing in decline), or commentary on the recent accomplishments of the Yomiuri Giants on the pitch. 

For the most part, Satoru turned to mindlessly scrolling through his fifteen pages of unread emails and messages, each urgently blinking icon left calculatedly unaddressed. If there was anything truly urgent to contend with, he was sure it would be brought up during his impending meeting with Yaga. There was nothing particularly riveting about the notion of giving his bimonthly report; which would in the end, likely amount to very little. His complaints, after all, were routinely ignored; the higher-ups generally unsympathetic to the plight of one they deemed both belligerent and recalcitrant. 

Which was to say, any meeting he was invited to attend was predictably an outright bore.

There was something to be said about fate’s fickle nature. Indeed, her mistress had skimped on her mercy towards him in the most recent months. Christmas Eve had been a debacle of gargantuan proportions. Following that, the emergence of Sukuna’s fingers and the deliverance of the boy who’d somehow decided to eat one into his charge; then the subsequent assasination attempts on said boy- the list went on. 

Yet now, it seemed that she’d had something of a change of heart. 

“Stop here.” 

“Huh?”

He left Ijichi’s spluttered protests behind, further muffling them as he swung shut the car door, attention already preoccupied. Thankfully, the man was smart enough not to linger or persist in questioning him. The car’s headlamps shrunk and dimmed with the distance, the vehicle following the winding roads and quickly disappearing from sight.  

Finally alone, Satoru pocketed his hands and drummed a heel patiently on the asphalt. For a moment, the only sound was the quiet susurration of the night’s cool breeze through the trees. Peace and tranquil. Not to last. The glow of the moon was abruptly blotted out by a rapidly descending silhouette which emitted a shrill and almost comically skewed cry. Like- Satoru privately considered, the mating call of an exotic bird, or a most egregious war cry of an assassin unused to subtlety.

But his visitor was no bird, exotic or otherwise. That said, whether he was some attempt at an assassin still remained to be seen. Satoru had seen his fair share of hitmen, so many in fact that they’d practically classed as a separate facet of his education growing up; day in and day out- daggers angled at a cradle, poison slipped into milk and food, hands grasping at the porcelain neck of a child with eyes too blue and indicting. 

Some things never changed. In the short span of five minutes, he was set alight twice, blown up once, been attacked by the curse’s attempt at emulating mosquitoes, then blown up again. His attacker engaged in this regrettably one-sided exchange with a good deal of enthusiasm, evidently immersed in a private fantasy revolving around his destruction and all its associated carnage. Each time he turned to take a few steps from his perceived victory, only to be halted in his tracks by the dawning and inevitable realization that he’d yet again been made.

Indeed, although Satoru recognised a peculiar variety of sadism lurking in the way he so gladly derived satisfaction from teasing his out-matched and clearly overpowered opposition, it did not jolt him. He made an unconventional Jekyll, unflinching in the face of his own mirrored Hyde. Evil this, kettle that. What mattered was not how despicable a foe was. He’d been called self-centered all his life and revolving around himself like some black hole with an insurmountable appetite lent itself conveniently to introspection. Gojo Satoru, white knight and respected teacher; still endlessly overjoyed with and unable to resist the juvenile schadenfreude that came with knocking down someone lesser who he deemed morally (subjectively) deserving, retribution taking the form of a reckless child pulling the wings off a butterfly.

Yet, it was almost sad to see his disappointment when he’d realized his folly.

It was…. cute. He had no answer to why he was feeling spontaneously magnanimous to someone who’d so recently tried to incinerate him. Perhaps his leniency was partly due to his having managed to eschew singing any part of himself, even if the smoke was something of a bother. Or perhaps it was because his newfound opponent bore a striking resemblance to a character he’d once seen in a Western cartoon movie- though that creature had been something of a lime-green if he recalled correctly, and this one was clearly a sickly shade of cyan. 

Much to Jogo’s putative chagrin, he hadn’t missed the curiosity gleaming in the other’s lonely eye. He was a proud curse, a staunch believer of his own strength and influence, of his god given right to walk on the backs of the weak and tread the parted ocean of the divine. These were conceptions reinforced over thousands of years, and yet Satoru- shallow, vexatious human that he was, had managed to shatter them within the mere span of three hundred seconds. 

They were of a similar breed, having both partaken of the ichor of strength and become drunk on it, and having both once fallen into the haze of its stupor to be rendered foolhardy and hubristic. The only difference between them in this respect was only in that where Satoru had merely lingered, the curse had chosen to wallow and remain. 

Satoru knew intimately that he’d want to know- desperately, why and how he’d lost.

As if to illustrate his point, Jogo was practically radiating indignation. Copious amounts of smoke spewed from the sides of his head, giving him the appearance of a kettle left forgotten on a stove and boiling too long. His teeth, black in the Ohaguro fashion (how well-read) were gritted and clenched with force enough to break a human jaw. His single eye flitted over him with the pupil quivering with rage, irises dancing with the likeness of sparks. 

Rather than match the searing intensity of his displeasure, Satoru extended a hand, five fingers outstretched. He rocked it back and forth in an invitation to display his technique- 

“C’mon!” 

He was met with a look of pure reluctance. Jogo’s mouth pulled into a thin, bloodless line, his tone flat as he queried after his intentions. Satoru gave no answer, only extended his arm and waved a bit more, the infuriating picture of an overzealous fangirl reaching towards some esoteric idol of her fascination.

“C’mon!”

He could practically see him calling on the accessible repositories of his patience and coming up empty-handed. That ironclad will which had thus far enforced his adamance to refuse to oblige him rusted and wore thin. The curse whipped around in an instant, then slowly reached over, single eye going wide with shock as he came into contact with his Infinity. 

“See?” Satoru gestured with what could only be described as overbearing nonchalance. “My technique brings the Infinity all around us into existence…” All this he had repeated an infinite (ha) number of times before. Each iteration to a fresh opponent, all to garner the very same response. The monotony of it became dreadfully dull. 

Jogo’s expression was twisting with barely concealed rage; to his credit, he listened with all the enthusiasm of an unhappy spouse discussing the prenuptial agreement to an arranged marriage. Satoru knew he was pressing his luck. With a gentle tilt of his wrist, he dissipated that invisible barrier and pressed their palms together at leisure, fingers curving into the gaps between each of the curse’s own in a gesture of superfluous revelry. He grinned easily with all the skittish glee and shyness- in his case, false, of a maiden on her wedding night.

“Like this, we could even hold hands.”

While such an experience could only tangentially be compared to the far more gratifying concept of human intimacy- it was a frivolous distinction but nonetheless, Satoru couldn’t remember the last time he’d truly touched another living being in such a manner, much less a curse. 

His skin was an unearthly shade of mint that made him think of wads of gum chewed up and spat onto the sidewalk to bake in the Tokyo heat. His nails were an unadulterated stygian, uniformly opaque in shade and unblemished. They lacked any interfering impurities, no scuffs, no chips, nor streaks of gray or white, the edges curved perfectly and smooth as if frequently attended to by surgeon’s hands guided with a manicurist’s expertise. His gaze traveled to the threshold between skin and nail where the polished curvature, glassy like the surface of a dark sea, receded onto paler shores. 

He was not so inhuman that the skin did not wrinkle at the joints as to appear overly artificial or entirely alien. No, there were human intricacies even in this being which could otherwise be considered from appearance alone situated at an extremity on a graded spectrum furthest from humanity. 

Or perhaps the basis of his comparison had long been skewed in some figurative hyperbola spanning the years of his life, spent entrenched in this world of the impossible and the unseen. Ah well. So much of his fun was gleaned from the aberrant and bizarre, the threshold for piquing his intrigue having only been heightened and his tastes made perverse with reprise. He’d suitably morphed into something of the like- he was not so ignorant of his own circumstances to be oblivious of his reputation as an idiosyncrasy, known for his unorthodox methods and nonconformist attitude towards reform and melodramatic revolution. The reports would have him campaigning openly for flux and anarchy if some of the higher-ups would have their way- all the more convenient that they might finally produce a reason to be rid of him.

Alas, he couldn’t wander about throwing tea parties for each and every living curiosity he came across. Besides, Jogo was growing warmer by the second, his face a veritable rictus of fury, his frame shuddering with all the thinly restrained savagery like bubbling magma on the verge of erupting, over which his skin drew taut as if about to pop. 

“Not interested? Aw.” Satoru let his smile droop slightly, a tolerable shift in expression if only to accentuate the disappointment he tried to convey in his tone. “Well in that case-” 

His grip ratcheted shut like a vise, all pretenses of gentleness dispelled in an instant. He felt Jogo yank at their interlocking digits in a sudden and instinctive jerk, the curse going rigid as his fury bled freely from him to make room for fear. The abrupt transition from relative stillness to the momentous heave of his fist into the other’s gut was a well-practiced maneuver, and an effective one to boot. 

Inky droplets sprayed from between his parted black teeth to splatter harmlessly over the curtain of his reinstated Infinity.  Satoru let the follow-through of the movement carry him through, swinging one leg forwards to shift the weight of his body midair and power the rest of him through the spin. There was little risk in him releasing his hold with his opponent still stunned. He flexed his fingers once free, then let himself fall through the rest of the arc, his trailing leg coming up to deliver a devastating roundhouse kick. 

He caught himself there as Jogo went flying on impact, his stunted stature doing him little good in negating the propulsive force. There wasn’t a moment to lose- Satoru gave pursuit without hesitation, his cheeks aching with the effort of holding his smile.

He wasn’t ready to commit to a proper relationship yet.

[infinitxes]

@tenkoseiensei said:

if you won't pay me a salary then feed me

"Ooh! Nice bargain! I've got expired honey stars in the cupboard and some strawberry milk in the fridge. Take your pick!"

[infinitxes]

@ardenssolis​

“Whoa- look at that!”

“Is it Halloween already?”

[infinitxes]

for @nheioya​, continued from here.

The Zen’in heir’s blatant eagerness was more than enough to fuel Satoru’s drive.

He tolerated the position, allowed the fingers around his throat for no other reason outside of knowing that in doing so would be equivalent to watching the other unravel, conducive to procuring the opportunity to see his adversary debase himself. 

Satoru stifled the cutting gasps which escaped him, squeezed from emptied lungs by intercostals drawn tight with anticipation. 

They both knew who between them truly held the power. Yet indeed, where was the fun in simply exerting it so? Their history of repeated altercations had made Naoya’s multi-faceted frustration conspicuous, and Satoru found it tremendously more entertaining to watch him break at the straining seams and betray his own stubborn diffidence and pride. 

In truth, he was far from a saint himself. His own internal frustrations had only bubbled and intensified with Suguru’s departure. Who better to take them out on, and how very convenient- considerate of him to practically extend an invitation?

With his shoulder-blades pressed tightly to the wall, Satoru sank onto his knees in a single smooth motion, his calves folding neatly beneath him, knees set out at a jaunty angle. His spine trembled, his chest heaving and his frame shaking as he gulped for air. Unperturbed, he lifted his chin defiantly, grinning dangerously nonetheless.

Already, proof of Naoya’s overzealous grip was blossoming across his throbbing carotids like a flowering scald-scar, a symbol of ugly, derisive passion. 

Hah. The higher-ups would go into conniptions if they caught wind of this sacrilege. Best to wear a low collar for the rest of the week. 

“Now, now, no need to be so hasty.” Satoru’s lips pursed, pupils shrunken and cheeks flushed with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. 

“Too weak to resist me in the end huh, Zen’in? How very crude.”

[infinitxes]

@tenkoseiensei said:

swings around in the baby backpack. ' why're you so damn tall? '

"Lots of reasons. So I can run fast, and eat lots, and see further, and get the best bargains when a popular brand goes on sale. I also technically take up less space relative to my body mass when I'm standing, so it's tons more efficient too."

He plants his hands on his hips, then begins sidestepping from side to side as he waits for the traffic light to change. "Isn't this fun?"

[infinitxes]

for @penvmbral​

There was a worrying trend emerging. 

Satoru had now personally supervised the unprecedented admission of a new student two years in a row. These were rushed, last-minute tributaries to their dwindling ranks that ultimately felt less like small victories, and more like jokes made in poor taste. Children treated like punchlines, soft in their lack of years and conveniently waylaid with promises of heroism as they were herded to death's doorstep. 

Though- that wasn’t to say he was trying to discredit the students themselves. Conventionally, years at the Metropolitan College were composed of trios. The way Satoru saw it, it was a stupid arrangement that made it unnecessarily difficult to pair students off for assignments. 

Whatever. They had four now. If nothing else, it was one way to make light of their situation. That said, Junpei had missed the majority of the first term and his blatant inexperience showed. Unfortunately, the curse to be exorcised would be a little above his pay grade, and Satoru had elected to have him sit this particular engagement out. 

Satoru sighed, thumbing through the contents of his pockets and fishing out his wallet, simultaneously rustling up a receipt that he flicked into the trash. They were en-route to a convenience store nearby since he’d estimated that the mission would preoccupy the other three for long enough that the two of them might grab a snack. It was a subtle and clever diversion, one he hoped to leverage in order to fit in some much needed bonding time with his new, very quiet protege. 

“Most teenagers your age won’t stop talking. What’s eating you?”

[infinitxes]

@night-divining said:

❛ people like that don’t deserve to live. ❜ little meow meow

“People like what?” Satoru interjected, feeling heat rise in his chest. His voice rose. “Like the old lady who sold fruit down the street? Like everyone minding their own business, going about life? Like Riko? Like your parents?”

“What makes you think you have the right to say anything like that?”

[infinitxes]

@strcw-dcll said:

"Senseiiiii! It's an emergency!!!!" Nobara throws herself onto Gojo dramatically. "I need a mango smoothie right now or I'm going to D I E!"

“You’re going to die? I’m going to die!”

The Summer Tokyo heat was bordering on nigh unbearable. With a day’s worth of toiling beneath the garish sun in mind, such a declaration could surely be considered no less than apt.

As per usual, no time was wasted in joining in on his student’s antics. Unsurprisingly, he too had developed an acute and abruptly insatiable craving for a mango smoothie- a slushee to be exact, and he wouldn’t say no to a scoop of ice cream if the option were to become available.

Fortunately, the great Satoru Gojo spent much of his time touring the local food-scene. If all went well, nobody would die of smoothie-scarcity related hardship quite yet.

“I know just the place!”