#easily a great theme

[light-wrath-analysis]

Castlevania’s Death aka Oh God I Am Reaching: A character analysis

Preface: You may have seen this already a few years back. This is because I did in fact post this a few years back. However, that blog of mine is gone, so I am reposting it anew. I removed some fluff past me put in and I believe i should make sense without it, but please do shout if it does not and I will attempt to fix my mistakes. Thank you in advance.

Contents

A few useless fun facts

The sauce Core question Evidence Traits evidence Conclusion Traits and speech but wrapped in sauce (check „Hard“ data, „General“ section, for TLDR)

„Hard“ data (aka just a list of everything The Sauce covers. Think of the actual statistics in a research. The paper tells you about them in complex senteces but then provides you with the numbers.)

My personal shitty little observations

To make things easier, when referring to Death as a whole, I’ll be saying just Death. When referring specifically to the true form of Death, I’ll be saying „Death (true form).“

The Sauce (and my fruitless attempts at maintaining a coherent chain of thought)

Without further ado! Ladies, gentlemen, creatures of other titles and/or genders, I have asked myself the age-old question, my friends have asked themselves the age-old question: Is Death a theatre kid? Now, I come to you, bearing what you may choose to accept as an answer, or throw it out and beat me up behind an Albert.

I’d like to clarify that I employed both meta and in-universe thinking, but threw out chunks of meta thinking A) for convenience’s sake (depite my core principle never to give any author more potential credit than they are due) B) because my friend looked like they were about to beat me with a stick if I once more said the phrase „But this is probably just a mistake on the writers’ part and should be ignored.“ I will mention where I did this so you can decide for yourself if you desire to make a potential reach or discard it.

Core question

So, to start off bluntly: Is Death a theatre kid (and to what extent)? Lol. Lmao. No. Never (okay, that’s a lie). To elaborate: Death is not a theatre kid unless it is absolutely needed and even then he sucks at it.

What I am saying is that the disguises are both most likely manufactured by Death, and even if they aren’t, Death does not assume a role, or, in the case of The Alchemist, does not do it well.

„That is a bold statement, where is the evidence?“ I am glad you ask. Let us continue to:

The Evidence

Our first problem was the oddly common misconception that Death can only shapeshift into existing beings, even more specifically dead beings. Since this was a prevalent thought in our group, I am addressing it. It is, in fact, not even implied anywhere in canon. To be extra sure, I tried cross-referencing the game canon even though it is a completely different universe. Some aspects remain similar in those two universes after all. While the character of Death works a little different (and if the wiki is to be trusted it is unclear if game Death is supposed to be a Shinigami or the wester concept of Grim Reaper), the abilities seem to be the same, however, while there is an example of game Death shapeshifting, the wiki did not address nor specify whether or not the disguise (Zead) existed as a pre-established person before game Death took his form. If this is addressed in the games, I would like to know. With no further information, we decided that our common opinion was simply a bias most likely caused simply by the word „death.“ (and in one acquaintance’s case by DnD).

With that thrown out, we took a look at the designs of the disguises. This is where I am reaching and throwing out meta. If you wish to silence my tongue and accept meta as your god, that is completely understandable. As we all know, designs have both out of universe and in-universe implications. A design should convey a character’s role. However, this sometimes produces unintended implications in-universe (for example the ever classic question in JRPGs and anime: Who would wear bikini armour into battle?). Varney’s design is not really remarkable in this regard, its coat does have a scythe-like collar (as is stated to be intended in the art book), however, this could well enough be a coincidence in-universe. The odder one out of the bunch is The Alchemist. While the early designs in the art book have remarkably little to do with what most conceptualise as death (with the exception of the ever-present cape), the final design looks like what the average person might draw if you tell them to draw death – the colour scheme is cold, only brightened by the light blue, which could be considered a cold colour, it includes a cape reminiscent of the one the Grim Reaper is traditionally depicted wearing, and the gown is similar to the robe death tends to be depicted in as well. Out of universe, this makes complete sense, in-universe, it is a little odd but nothing major. Who’s to say that there couldn’t have been a random woman who looked like that? The thing that seals it for me in universe are her earrings. While the animators seemed to have taken some liberties with every frame, the general pattern actually mimics the patterns of Death’s (true form) rib cage. Again, out of universe? A normal design choice, a pretty cool one at that. In universe? Now where would you get a woman who has such earrings? Of course, there is also the possibility that Death can simply alter parts of the disguises. The mental image of Death adding specifically rib cage-patterned earrings is a hilarious one ngl.

Before we get to the next points, it is import to note that, as I mentioned, Death seems to have no interest in acting out a role and isn’t even good at it when he is. When posing as The Alchemist, the speech pattern is noticeably different (no swear words, more formal language in general), however, it very quickly starts shifting towards shortened verbs, and starts being formal again after a pause. Then it devolves into shortened verbs again. Varney and Death (true form) have a pretty much identical speech pattern, the only difference is that Death (true form) has a higher swear word percentage, but that may be due to the prevalence of pissed off scenes. All forms also pronounce words the same way (a fun tidbit that is not really meaningful is that The Alchemist never say can’t, only cannot). To add to that, Varney and Death (true form) sometimes speak in the exact same tone of voice as the other form. Out of universe, the usage of the same VA for Death (true form) and Varney might be some kind of indication as well („Oh dear author, that was most likely for budget reasons!“ Okay well I don’t see how that’s my problem.)

Now we can talk about a question that is related to this issue: Let’s say the disguises are pre-established people. Why would Death pick Varney as a disguise? There were, in general, two ideas. One mine and one was proposed by a guy on Discord, whom I thank for an outside perspective. He proposed that he may have been chosen because Death knew nobody knew him and as such could do fuck-all undetected. Although that makes sense, we must consider that Death repeatedly appears to be weirded out by the fact that nobody knows Varney, even in situations where acting in character (if Death even cared about acting in character in the first place, and he does not) is not necessary, which leads me to believe that Death genuinely didn’t expect that. Which is where my opinion comes into play. I believe that in this proposed scenario, Death would have chosen Varney as a disguise because he knew (or assumed) that Saint Germain knew who Varney was. Both this and the apparent expectation of Varney being known make me think that if this were the case, Death would have attempted to act in character as not to arouse suspicion. He, however, doesn’t act any different, not in general and not in front of people who were supposed to know Varney, and Saint Germain doesn’t get suspicious, implying that Death’s behaviour and mannerisms align with whatever Saint Germain knows about Varney (it is fair to note, however, that Saint Germain at this point probably wouldn’t notice even a brick flying straight at his face, so perhaps this is not the most reliable source.)

To add to that: I have noticed that the dates given by the show do not add up. What I will now be describing is another reach that is most easily explained by a simple mistake or lack of care for precision. If you desire to to disregard it, you may do so, however, I am bound by my friends’ annoyance at my too out-of-universe thinking and I must consider it as not to test their wrath. At this point, Castlevania takes place when? 1497? Saint Germain and maybe one more person (unsure, 100% certain only about Saint Germain) remark that Varney is 1000 years old. I do trust Saint Germain on this and take it as factual. When Varney gets annoyed that nobody knows him for like the third time, he asserts that he was mighty when London was a Roman ghost town. Except that London wouldn’t have been a Roman ghost town by the time Varney came into existence. Now, I did not have internet when I was making all my notes, but a source on the phone double checked the date when Romans definitely left London for me, because I had a feeling it was off but wasn’t sure due to the repeated migrations in and out of London. IF she is correct, the dates just don’t add up. If I bend to the will of my friend group, this effectively means that Death outed himself as not Varney, or at least admitted to being older than Varney should be. Might also imply that Death was in Londinium. What this says is that he definitely doesn’t care to be in character to the point of just straight up saying something that would immediately make anyone who knows history really suspicious. He says more things that could be taken as suspicious but not so much as this one, as the other lines could very well be interpreted metaphorically by everyone around („-you do not know what I am, but I tolerate you precisely because you’re good at death – it nourishes me.“) and some things that seem to align exclusively with Death’s (true form) goals and likely wouldn’t align with the average vampire mindset („He owes us death. Death in volumes unprecedented.“)

Now that we are past that: If Death doesn’t care about being in character and just does whatever unless it’s absolutely required for him to attempt to assume a role, why does he keep getting so weirdly offended when people don’t know Varney? Why does he keep asserting who his disguise is? I am of the opinion that a situation like that might happen only when you have a disguise for such a long time that it basically becomes you in a sense or when there was never a pre-established person in the first place.

And we arrive at one of my last points, this one ties in nicely with the first one. I, once again, cross-referenced the games’ canon because there was one thing that slightly confused me: During the 9th(?) episode, Trevor refers to Death (true form) exclusively as „it,“ but uses „he“ when remarking that Varney was likely a part of Dracula’s court. If taken as objective, this would draw a distinction between Varney and Death (true form). Plus the show says that Varney joined Dracula’s court one hundred years ago. I am unsure how reliable this piece of information is but considering that Varney does say that he’s of Dracula’s original cohort, I’ll believe it. Due to all of this, I wasn’t sure if I should be of the opinion that Death has been going around in this disguise for at least 100 years or if Varney himself was the one to join Dracula’s court. I decided to assume that the writers meant Death to be, in certain aspects, similar to the game’s canon (a factor in this decision was once again the uncertainty if game Death is the Grim Reaper or a Shinigami. A Shinigami could, in the realm of medieval fantasy that takes its artistic liberties, especially if it’s one made by someone with certain opinions, technically be described as an elemental spirit. Consdering that, one could argue that the Deaths are meant to be similar in at lest some aspects.). When I allowed myself to take this liberty, I then proceeded to take into account the fact that the game’s Death is second in command to Dracula and that it has been for quite some time. After doing so, I came to the conclusion that if the disguises were pre-established people, Death (true form) had to have been moonlighting as Varney for over 100 years, which would fall in line with the previous paragraph.

To take a break and enrich your reading experience, have a picture of the local ZOO’s echidna:

Traits Evidence

Let us move on to the even more subjective and questionable area: traits, speech patterns, movements.

The general traits of all forms are seemingly the same. All three forms are quick to take everything personally when questioned, are conceited, manipulative, arrogant and, in general, they’re pricks. All three use rhetorical questions (though The Alchemist uses them the most), and all three use similar hand gesticulation (specifically they orient their hand movements outwards. In other hand movement regards, there are some differences: The Alchemist moves both arms/hands outwards or keeps them both by her body; Varney usually has one hand by his body and the other oriented outwards, Death (true form) usually has both arms outwards). All three forms gravitate towards semi-formal language, using shortened forms of words with the occasional use of full forms (The Alchemist is a bit of an outlier in that, as mentioned, she starts with formal language and descends into a semi-formal one). All three forms also tend to start sentences with „and,“ with both Death (true form) and Varney using „well“ to start sentences as well. They all tend to end sentences with either the name + surname of the person they’re talking to, or their name + title, or „sir.“

There seems to be basically no line between Death (true form) and Varney. Obviously a lot of these things rely on the accuracy of general information provided by other characters though, as I am at the mercy of nothing if not accuracy. In addition to the common traits of all three forms, Death (true form) and Varney are both also entitled, power-hungry, often, they take a mocking tone and are loud even when it would be better to shut up. They are both cruel and have a peculiar vocabulary.

Varney and The Alchemist both also use the phrase „[somebody’s] Great Work,“ which would not be odd in my opinion if it was used for the same construct, as it might simply be the correct term for it, however, it is used in a different context each time.

(Author's 2024 note: Have a simple old as balls Varney doodle in these trying blocks of text)

Conclusion

All of this leads me to believe that The Alchemist and Varney are either forms fully made up by Death, or they are pre-established but Death has been disguising as Varney for a damn long time now. I personally do not think that either of those options is the more likely one, however, if you are of a diferent opinion, I would like to hear it. Personally, I choose to go with the first option, simply because I find the mental image of Death just making up a guy some 1000 years ago, the way you’d create some kind of -sona, incredibly hilarious.

Traits and speech but wrapped in sauce

After reaching this conclusion and choosing the option to go with, it came to the part that actually wasn’t originally planned but considering I got this far, I decided I might as well do it. It was time for using all three forms to determine the exact speech patterns (I actually don’t know why I did that. I think it’s a reflex because I usually only analyse a character when I need to write them, and when I wirte them, I obviously need o understand how they talk, preferably as perfectly as possible lest I commit the heresy of being out of character and then die out of shame), traits, and peculiar tidbits.

When he talks, Death seems to sometimes use rhetorical questions, the Alchemist form uses them the most but they are sparingly used elsewhere as well. When it comes to opening a sentence, there is a pattern of starting sentences with the words „and“ or „well,“ as I mentioned earlier. It is not too often that this happens but it isn’t rare enough for me not to write it down. When ending a sentence, a lot of the time, Death ends it with the name of the person he’s talking to, or with „sir.“ I found this a little unusual because, at least in my experience, that is not what people do when talking to someone 1 on 1. There is only one example of this, so take it with an even bigger grain of salt than the rest of this, but it also appears that when Death is angry, he starts putting the name in the middle of the sentence instead. Not sure why anyone would need to know this but like idk I feel like if I would need this if I weren’t me. Death also talks in an informal way most of the time, occasionally employing a more formal vocabulary. Interestingly enough, none of the forms actually ever use anything that I would consider to be an advanced word, making it entirely possible that Death wasn’t messing with Saint Germain when he (as Varney) told him that he was looking for a really big word but couldn’t find one. Which is useless but it’s funny. This is not mentioned in the “Hard” Data because I have it noted down in the line transcriptions in the form of various forms of underlining, but Varney specifically tends to stretch some words out, I can’t really describe it (author's 2024 note: I believe that what past me was attempting to describe was simply a British accent. I have analysed a lot of Brits since this analysis and am pretty confident that that is just how a lot of them talk). Instead of fair it’s more like faaaair, or instead of word, sometimes it sounds more like wrrrrrd. Useless as well but part of analysis nonetheless.

When it comes to the body, as I already said, all forms tend to make a fair share of hand and arm movements that are oriented outwards, with The Alchemist having her arms right by her body the majority of the time and emplyoing both of her arms and hands in those outwards oriented motions. Varney gesticulates a lot more than The Alchemist, however, he usually does so with one hand, the other tends to be by the body. Death (true form) nearly always holds both of his arms/hands in an outwards oriented gesture. The forms with eyes also appear not to have their eyes fully open, though I admit it is hard to tell in the case of The Alchemist if her eyes are just like that or if they are half closed.

Next, the emotional expressions. Death doesn’t really laugh/chuckle/etc whenever he is amused, instead, he seemingly does it when he is satisfied with himself, when he is nervous, or when someone does something he himself considers to be a fail of sorts. His amusement is more general: He seems amused whenever anyone says something seemingly stupid or nonsensical, when someone fails at something,… In general, he’s amused whenever your idea of a typical malicious person would be. He gets frustrated when he is challenged or questioned in any way, often appealing to his authority as a retort. However, when the person questioning him backs their words up with facts, he gets nervous instead.

I will leave the traits in the “Hard” data as I have no sauce to say about them. No, I will not elaborate on bulletpoint #2.

“Hard” Data

This is basically just a transcription of everything on the physical papers used for our notes, minus all the character lines transcriptions, which greatly reduces the numbers because most of those pages are just line transcriptions. I originally wanted to just scan the notes but I don’t think anyone could read my writing. Some of it is incomprehensible, especially because at the start we couldn’t really agree on what exactly certain things meant, as we just noted them down as they were to remember.

Small note: The notes make a distinction between a fight, conquest, war, and slaughter. This is further elaborated upon in „My personal shitty little observations"

My personal shitty little observations

1. Observation: There is a substantial difference between several types of „combat.“ There is war, then there is conquest, then there is battle/fight and then there is slaughter. To define what I mean, war is, ideally, a fair battle on a battlefield conducted under a moral code. Conquest is sometimes a consequence of war or planned when a war starts. It should also be conducted under a moral code. Both are mass battles. A fight is a, usually, one on one hands throwing. Or knife throwing. Or anything. A fight does not need to be fair but for it to be a fight, either party needs to have a chance at winning. Otherwise it’s just slaughter. Slaughter is a farmer culls a goat. Slaughter is when one party has practically no chance of winning, so much so that it cannot be called a fight anymore.

Death, for one reason or another, does not participate in a fight, any kind of fight, even when he has a high chance of winning. Death participates only when it’s slaughter, or at least when it appears to be a slaughter to him. Him and Ratko set a trap for Zamfir, when they could have likely demolished her and that one guard themselves. In the argument with Ratko, he mentions that he could easily obliterate him where he stands, yet he avoids any kind of confrontation even when it looks like Ratko might just resort to a good old hand-throwing (he says that he tolerates him because he’s good at death, which is understandable, but it’s odd that he doesn’t reiterate even when it comes close to blows.) When in the underground, Varney uses stealth to avoid a human guard, even though it would probably take the exact same amount of effort to one-show him in a way. He only murders an unarmed civilian and fights Trevor in his true form. That leads me to believe he only „fights“ when he considers the other party absolutely incapable of winning. I am not drawing any conclusion from this, I’m just saying. Draw whatever you want from that.

(nearly unreadable diagram to give you a break from the walls of text)

2. Observation: I find it absolutely hilarious that a character who is an inhuman being technically totally removed from humanity since its inception, probably closer to something like a rusalka or hejkal than a man, is ironically incredibly human in its traits and motivations.I mean, what are some traits beings like hejkal, rusalka or anything like that usually have? They tend to be more or less emotionless, soulless, cold but not in a mean way, they’re cold the way a stone is cold, impersonally, indifferently. They toy with humans but not to achieve anything, but the way a cat toys with a mouse, the way a kid toys with ants. These beings just…exist with nearly no emotions whatsoever, on a higher level, no anger or hatred or disgust. Would you be disgusted by an ant? In most depictions, they don’t even have the capacity. That makes them inhuman.

But he does behave in a typically human way., and is clearly not aware of this as he does attempt to separate concepts like need or greed from his existence by labeling them as “human.” He doesn’t label greed as just that, simply greed, a general concept anyone can experience, he labels greed as human. True, inhuman creatures in folklore and mythos usually do not experience greed, the exception to this rule being creatures like the gods of polytheistic cultures. Greek, Egyptian and Norse gods are, however, generally agreed to be pretty human. Ancient gods squabbled like humans, loved like humans, fought wars like humans. Which is where it comes back to showing very human behaviour. We have labeled greed as a human trait and we have established that ancient gods were, in a way, very human despite their higher standing (Most of them owned it though). Death does, in fact, experience this “human” greed and to a fairly big extent. Depending on the definition of experiencing need, one might also conclude that the character does experience need. Constructs do not experience need as is currently defined (the awareness of a lack/deficiency with the intention of changing that), I mean, fairies, rusalky, they just wait, they do their “job” and nothing more, nothing less, they don’t actively try to do anything about it.

It can also be safely said that Death does experience anger, frustration, disgust, amusement (possibly an inhuman emotion if treated as malice considering most inhuman creatures do in fact experience malice, although not personal malice, again, it’s the malice a child feels when emotionally torturing ants. Whether this character experiences personal or impersonal malice is unclear to me personally and I would have to consult this with my co-insane person and adopt their opinion as my own, for I have none on this matter), shock (do fairies feel shock? Do they give a shit if something unexpected happens? Is shock a human emotion?), nervousness, conceit (is that an emotion? I don’t know how to say that specific emotion when someone’s arrogance gets hurt, I know it IS a specific emotional state, I just don’t know what it’s called. Like when someone tells your grandpa that he’s wrong about something and he’s just super miffed about it the whole day and keeps trying to argue about it. I’m sure that’s a very specific emotion.), etc. Those are human emotions. Death, who should, in theory, be above the needless human squabbles and things, is very VERY human in behaviour, much like the gods of Ancient Greece. Which isn’t really odd or anything, I just think it’s interesting because the character himself separates himself from humanity and should be separate from it in theory. But he very much…isn’t. He thinks he’s on a high horse but he’s actually bonking people with a stick in the middle of a mud puddle like the rest of the polite society.

[marseafish]

girl is guts

[take-care-of-it]

Getting real tired of some critics of Mouthwashing acting like Anya is the least fleshed out/least active character. Outside of Jimmy, she is the most active character. (and that's excluding how many of her ideas and actions directly influence Jimmy's, such as getting the extra painkillers.)

You can have your gripes and grievances abt how horror can overly rely on sexual violence in general, but I'm baffled that there seems to be some sort of consensus that there is no way you could ever do it well. That because it's overdone, no one can attempt to say something with these themes in the horror genre and it ever be meaningful. (DESPITE the fact that Mouthwashing is like, achingly aware of this. Half of the commentary in the game, the nail in the coffin, is peeling back the veneer of Jimmy's POV and assumed impartiality to show how his perception of the people around him don't fit into the boxes he's shoved them into.) That's not cope or making the game more complicated than it actually is (and even if it was, I kindly direct you to the actual definition of the concept of Death of the Author), the co-director basically says as much in an interview she did.

Also, I respect a take on Mouthwashing that claims general disinterest in seeing these themes trod out again in any context, infinitely more than one that claims the game just uncritically engages with these themes. And also takes that straight up lie about Anya as a character. Next you're going to be telling me you'd prefer if the game was about a young witch in the Alps.

[rake-rake]

So I finished Lilim Harlot today. Thoughts: it was fucking great.

[sarasade]

Part of me almost hopes that Viren's story arc will end in a disproportionately cruel way, you know.

I'm just so tired of seeing a character doing one good thing before they die or trying to change before they die and instead of the audience taking that as purposeful ambiguity the discussion will center around if the character was "Redeemed".

But imagine if he was punished so harshly that even the Viren haters would feel bad for him. Now that would be interesting! I've seen some dark speculation around season 5 so I'm looking forward to seeing how the show will contextualise his arc.

I don't understand why "Redemption" is such a popular talking point when centering villains (ok I actually do. I'm looking at you, Zuko).

"Sin and Atonement" and "Redemption" are deeply Christian themes. I don't think those should be a universal frame of reference to all stories.

Yes, yes, this is more of a fandom problem, not a show problem. But if people want to see a bad character harshly punished for their crimes maybe they should get that for once. I don't really mind because I think Viren, while unlikeable, is a sympathetic character already. Of course I feel for a character even if they are "irredeemable". That's what stories are for.

I don't mean it's a completely useless way to look at art but it's just- I don't know- I'm bored? Especially YouTube commentators talk about redemption constantly instead of engaging with the themes that actually are there.

Sometimes villains can't even really make up for everything they have done, just like some people in real life. Viren has committed so many crimes- like how do you even fix that? However it'd still be interesting if he tried to change. That's what I'm here for. Like Viren and Claudia are not just an antagonistic counterforce to our heros but they have a lot of going on as unique characters.

Viren has his saviour complex and values domination over cooperation. Claudia is interesting because she's both the victim and the perpetrator. It's interesting how self-sufficient she is while being deeply emotionally codependent on Viren. She has a ton of agency as a physically (magically?) strong person but not a ton of agency as an independent, emotionally strong individual. Viren and Claudia love each other but it's isolating kind of love where they don't really have anyone else but each other (Terry is really trying to get in there. Like sorry Terry you don't know how fucked up these two are lmao).

No wonder it was so easy to Aaravos take Viren's place as an authority figure in Claudia's life after Viren died. Or at least that's what I took away from Lost Child short and TDP season 4 in general.

I still think about the first information we got outside Viren and Claudia's POV about Aaravos's mirror: Runaan's warning about "A Fate Worse Than Death".

This framing device sounds really important. I've been wondering how it'll play out eventually. Is it something about Viren losing his old life he worked so hard to build, or will he lose Claudia in some metaphorical or literal way? Is it something even more personal?

Personally, I'd love to see Viren live and change as a person. There are plenty of high-fantasy male characters like him who go through that kind of transformation: Guts from Berserk, Geralt of Rivia, Jaime from GoT, Ged the Wizard... You know, characters who realise that the things they value are unsustainable or even harmful to themselves and to people around them and even to the world as a whole. Or they realise that superficial things like status and power are unfulfilling and only serve status quo. There are some parallels to toxic masculinity/ hegemonic masculinity, too.

However, I think it'd be interesting if Viren's story will be a deeply tragic one. Anyway I'm here for this.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Lord of the Empty Isles

sci-fi/fantasy

set on a supposedly utopian planet recovering from a climate crisis, where bonds between people are able to be seen and manipulated (by some people)

follows a young man whose brother was cursed and killed by an infamous outlaw 5 years ago, and he’s finally able to curse him back - but it rebounds, as he’s somehow fatebound to the outlaw

to find a cure and save them both they have to team up, and he quickly finds out that the resources the outlaw is stealing go to the thousands of people neglected on prison planets, and he has to go against what he thought was right to help them

no romance, aroace MC, focus on platonic relationships

arc from netgalley, out june 6

[alangdorf]

Oh ya speaking of sewing. Updates to old projects I forgot to post: new blouse & apron for the dirndl, and I added a smocked panel + some barely visible blue embroidery at the hem to Ephy’s pink dress

[uten4]

Do yuo guys ever get so insane about two characters that you start drawing the most random comparisons between them. No? Me neither. Anyway did anyone notice that Gordeau and Chaos are the only UNI characters whose theme titles include a body part and they also follow the same format ("Rushing Heart" and "Erudite Eyes

[misterbaritone]

Damn Akira Konoe is a cool villain.

[garrettbeowulf]

just read a post talking about how absolutely ridiculous watson is in the sherlock holmes source material sometimes and now i’ve got to know what they were talking about

[ahalliance]

im all for movie critiques but it’d be great if people actually watched the films beforehand . why did i read a comment by someone who was “disappointed barbie didn’t apologise to ken for how she treated him”. she literally fucking did?

[angelmotifs]

every critic says this is like an all-timer broadway season but until i hear a cast recording as good as a strange loop i will be doubtful

[tonycries]

We Neva Play!

Synopsis. Turns out, the “r” in rivals stands for “really good séx” when a mission becomes a little too hot to handle.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, séx pollen, innappropríate use of jujutsu (like a LOT), pússydrunk Gojo, limitless, both are teachers, creampíes, oraI (fem), síxty-nine, banter, breaking the bed, FÉRAL Gojo, pússy-slappíng, BRÉEDING, spítting, reader’s CT mentioned, Yaga’s had enough, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 6.3k (cries)

A/N. Lacked Gojo in the manga so I present to you more Gojo <3

“Gojo, I will kill you before that curse can-”

“Aw, man!‘ Yuji whines over Nobara’s cackles, reluctantly slapping a few thousand yen onto her outstretched palm. He thuds his head frustratedly against the cool vending machine they were crouched behind, “That was rigged!”

The girl scoffs, counting her hard-earned winnings victoriously, “I told you they wouldn’t even make it until the school gates before fighting. It’s not rigged, it’s common sense - not that you’d know anything about it.” Satisfied, she sneaks a look over the side of the machine at the shrinking backs of you and a too-happy Gojo Satoru. “Besides, we’ll get a rematch soon enough. My money’s on her, double or nothin’.” 

“You really think they’ll kill each other before the mission is over?” Yuji muses, eyes locked on Gojo’s infamous smirk - only widening the closer he drives you dangerously towards an aneurysm. “I bet-”

“No.” Megumi’s deadpan interruption startles them both. And as much as he’d like to pretend he wasn’t cramped with the two idiots stalking their squabbling teachers, he unfortunately, very much, was. “I bet ten thousand yen they kill each other before the mission is over. Or worse - end up dating.”

---

“A love hotel.”

“A love hotel~” Gojo echoes, with a hand clutching faintly at his chest. Swooning over you with each word, “Now, usually you’d have to take me out to dinner first, but for you I will make an except- mmpf-”

Now, Gojo knew he could’ve easily blocked your attack - hell, he didn’t even have to bat an eye to activate limitless. But where was the fun in that? Giving into your elbow digging sharply into his side, he’s only cackling at your venomous words, “I could take down both you and those special grades, y’know?”

“Oh yeah?” he hooks a long finger underneath his blindfold, showing off that infuriating wiggle of his snowy brows. “If you’re so great, then why did Yaga have you assigned with me, pretty girl?”

You sigh, rubbing your throbbing temples, “Only because someone-” And oh, if he had the most renowned eyes in all of jujutsu, then you had the most withering glare. “-completely skipped out on his last mission to stuff his face with sweets, n’ now I’m wasting my time babysitting. So this time, I’m in charge.”

Ah, a woman after his heart - in more ways than one, for sure. 

“Yes, ma’am~” 

Dramatically, he mimics the zipping of his lips shut, readily following you towards the flashy building standing out amongst the bustling Tokyo street. Walls painted such a suggestive pink, neon lights flickering special discounts at passersby - it would have almost been scandalous to be caught outside such an obvious love hotel such as this - if it hadn’t been for the mission, that is. 

“Didn’t think our first date would be at a love hotel.” he chuckles as soon as you reach the gaudy, perfumed reception. And that flickering, wide-eyed stare of the woman behind the counter is enough for Gojo to prattle on, “Now, tell me what room you want, honey-” Throwing an arm around your shoulder, you’re pressed helplessly against his toned front. “-they’ve got candy-themed, anime-themed- oh, they’ve even got a train station-”

“Best to keep our train station fantasies to ourselves-” You simper, subtly stepping on his foot with your own, but that only topples you against him. Instantly, another strong arm snakes around your waist to support your weight, as if second nature, “-isn’t that right, dear?”

And you swear, you could spot a tiny dimple when the ends of his mouth curl even wider into a saccharine sweet grin. “If my memory serves me right, you were the one that dragged me here. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Shivers run down your spine - ones he runs the soft, rounded pads of his fingers up and down along. You’re sure you looked like a disgustingly loving couple to the poor lady working at the counter. And to put her out of her misery, if anything, you recite, “A-anyways- apologies. Room 143, please.” Managing to plaster on a weak smile, it only falls flat when the receptionist hands you your key - and two complimentary condoms along with it. “I- uh- thank you?”

And it’s all you can do to not just shove off the 6’3 thorn at your side when he steers the two of you to the elevator with a disbelieving, “Only two?” 

Though, you’re sure it wouldn’t do much against him, anyway. It never has - because ever since you’d stepped foot through Jujutsu High’s towering gates as its newest teacher, Gojo Satoru seemed to make it his mission in life to get on each and every single one of your nerves. The only mission he’d willingly do, mind you. Insisting on interrupting your classes, hiding you little sweets in your office, pushing your buttons in front of-

“Well, that went as inconspicuous as ever.” Gojo hums, reeling you out of your little reverie. “Of course, it did, thanks to me.”

“‘Inconspicuous’ my ass.” you groan, hastily punching in the ground number for your room. Yaga had said that the veil was already completed around the entirety of the curse-infested floor by now, good - the faster you could get away from Gojo, the more intact your sanity would be. “If it wasn’t for me smoothing things over, she’d be filing a complaint against the sleazy man in a bad Kakashi cosplay at this very moment.”

“Hey! I didn’t see you putting on any Oscar-worthy performances. And my Kakashi cosplay is gre-”

DING!

The elevator doors open to a seemingly normal, barren hallway - not a hair or person out of place - though, you knew better. And as much of a fool as Gojo acted, he did, too. 

His steady arm drops from your side when you stretch out your limbs in preparation - shit, you forgot it was still there. “Watch and learn, Gojo.” you hum.

“Hell yeah, I’m watching.” 

A beat of silence. Two. 

With his thick blindfold, Gojo’s expression was almost indescribable - but your skin prickles with the slow, sultry sweep of his eyes down your figure. But before you can snap back at his loaded tone, it happens- “Don’t fall behind, sweetheart.”

Curses burst out of the fourteen heavy, wooden doors along the narrow corridor - some small, some big, all crushed easily under the power of your cursed technique. And neither of you had to utter a word to know you’d both be trying to best the other. 

You’ve got one slobbering mess of a curse trapped underneath your heel, locked in combat when Gojo calls out from somewhere across the hallway. “Still stuck on that grade one?” Your jaw ticks, pressing the curses face deeper into the carpeted floor of the bedroom, “I’ve already located one of two special grades- better keep up.”

Fuck, curse him and his six eyes. 

Not wasting any more time, you easily exorcize the remaining curse, feet carrying you door after door. Most of the infestation had been cleared out by now by the both of you, splatters of red and limbs lining along the hallway - you only felt bad for Ichiji having to organize a clean-up after this. 

The next time you saw Gojo’s flash of cerulean eyes was from outside another bedroom. Goading, “Heh, need a little help, Gojo?” 

“Oh fuck-” he wraps two arms around the special grade’s flowered horns. Powerful legs bowed, cloudy hair mussed, blindfold dangling somewhere around his neck - he was beautiful. And it was fleeting moments like this that you held an ounce of begrudging respect for him. Ripping those offending appendages, “-off. Roughed up the other special grade for ya since you were so slow, sweetheart - consider it a lil’ gift for this date.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

In the midst of it all, Gojo still manages to flutter his long lashes your way, “Well, we are in a love hotel, after all. Just say so if you wanna get those pretty hands on me.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last person on Earth, Gojo Satoru.”

His loud bout of laughter follows you to the final hotel room - 143, coincidentally. It was decadent, almost-spotless - had it not been for the towering curse hunched over in the middle. You could tell that Gojo had been here, because its pink, scale-like skin was already bruised.

You slam the door shut behind you, better to keep the property damage to a minimum. Hastily getting into action - it wasn’t anything new, after years of exorcizing curses you’d grown used to predicting their pattern of attack. But it was only after a pressurized, finalizing punch of yours lands right on the curse’s thumping neck that you find yourself growing weary. Cautious of the tiny, red flower that’d sprouted out of thin air on its skin. Immediately, you think back to Hanami, because it was blossoming - unnaturally fast - petals unraveling to explode in sparkly pollen-

Shit. Your head whirled, eyes watery at the heady scent, “Wh-what the fuck-”

It takes only that split-second of distraction before more blooms pop! pop! pop! all down the curse’s figure. It just heaves with fatigue when they all burst out the same powdery substance from before.

“Fuck- what is this-” your thighs clench together, teeth clenched so hard it hurt. You stagger back towards your opponent, and it seems this last-ditch Hail Mary caused more damage than good. Because the curse was lethargic, barely even flinching when you’re back to pummelling it with your cursed technique. Again. And again and again-  “-if only you’d taken to making perfumes- instead-”

It falls to the ground with a last ringing screech, the flowers withering away instantly. 

But the damage was done.

And you’d never felt so drained - even after your most difficult of missions. Never sinking down onto your knees this way, skin heated, mouth salivating. The air in the room was just thick with something so delicious - syrupy, with hints of pine and cherry - traitorously, you find yourself inhaling deep, addictive lungfuls of the scent. 

“Smells so-” your brows furrow, digging a hand into the plush bed beside you to clamor back onto your feet. “Smells like-”

Gojo. 

Your entire body jolts with something so dark - visceral, gasping when you feel your underwear just drench. Mind such a melty mess filled with only Gojo Gojo Gojo - and before you know it, you’re stumbling towards the door-

Bang! 

The aroma only grows heavier near the door, blood thunders in your ear at the deafening crash from outside. Shit, had you locked the door- 

Bang! Bang! BANG-

Fuck, neither of you were making it out alive. 

It’s the first clear thought headlining through your mind for the first time in what feels like ages - only several, syrupy-slow seconds later does it follow up with the realization that you’re now standing face-to-face with Gojo. 

Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru.

Who looked absolutely crazed right now - teetering unsteadily on his feet, his head was bowed, fingers trembling. The mahogany hotel door in mere splinters under his hands.

“F-forgot you could teleport?” It comes out a yelp - pained, almost - and the very first note of your strained voice is enough to have his entire, powerful body wracking with a gasp. Goosebumps pricking along his milky skin, he finally - finally raises his eyes.

Shit, he’s finally lost it.

Because Gojo’s gaze was burning, lids hooded, dark pupils blown so wide that his eyes looked almost black. He didn’t look at you with that usual teasing glint, no, he looked like he was going to rip you apart. Twitchy, drinking in a shaky, drawn-out gasp of the scented air. You almost had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade masked as your coworker. 

But it’s real - it’s so, so real and you can’t deny it when he’s baring you with such a vicious grin. Plump lips pulled back to show off those glinting canines, “You.”

“Satoru.”

His lips are on yours - pressing and pressing so hard you were sure it bruised. But fuck- you’re kissing back - because how could you not? The candied seam of his mouth was addictive, breathing you in like his last breath of fresh air.  

“Kiss me-” he spits into your slack mouth, as if he wasn’t already. Two hands surging forwards to cup your cheeks even deeper, “Kiss me kiss me kiss- fuck-” That last little swear almost comes out as a whimper, and you can only keen when Gojo wraps his pretty lips around your tongue, sucking lewdly. “Y’smell so sweet- taste so sweet-”

“Sa-t-toru-” you’re managing out. It just then hits you how weak your knees have gotten, sinking down to straddle his muscular, jutted-out thigh. It makes him throw his head back when you’re just dragging your hips in a long, languid stripe. “Look what you’ve- what you’ve gotten us into.”

Pulling away to lick lazily up, up, up your neck, his teeth bite just at your thundering pulse. “Me?” he hisses out, voice a few octaves higher than usual. “You think I’m the one fuckin’ responsible for this?” It almost hurt - but it hurt so good. “I’m responsible for this-” And his startling eyes sink down to the darkening wet patch on the middle of his leg, your flimsy panties sticking to his uniform. “-am, I?”

“Yes.” your defiant fingers are trailing down the hem of his shirt, ripping apart those buttons in hasty, urgent tugs until it was off completely. “If only you hadn’t half-assed it with this special grade then-”

Gojo huffs out in humorless laughter into your lips - the same one he’d give a persistent little curse, and it makes your hairs stand on end. Wondering how high the kill count would really be. In the hundreds? Thousands? “I thought you were supposed to be the babysitter, huh?”

Millions. 

“And aren’t you the strongest?” A trembly hand of yours ventures its way down his flexing body - down, past those plush pecs, past his flinching abs, dipping teasingly just above where you could feel the hiking tent in his tight pants. “How did you end up this hah- bad?”

You’re holding back a groan at the long, solid inches straining to break free of his thick fabric, you could feel the rapid thump! thump! thump! of his throbbing length under your palm. Fuck, water was wet - Gojo Satoru, unfortunately, had a big di-

“You.”

It’s low, ragged - so quiet that for a second you think you almost imagine it. 

“You.”

His lips are sagging open once more, greedy gaze widening - and you knew it was glowing now. Tiny flickers of blue lightning flickering at the ends of his eyes with every mindless gyration of your palm down his bulging, clothed shaft.

“It’s all because of you.” 

Yeah, you would be lucky number one on his kill count when he breaks - or maybe he would be on yours

Your back is hitting the mattress, and the buttons of your poor uniform are hitting the velvety floor - absolutely nothing against the strongest, who was now tearing through your clothes the same way he was ripping apart those curses from before.

Shit- did he teleport you two?

“Don’t know-” Gojo pants out feverishly, and at that moment you weren’t sure if you’d simply babbled your thinking out loud or whether he could read your mind. “Don’t- don’t know- fuuck.” Low, feral groans crack at the back of his throat with each inch of your exposed skin, and before you know it, he’s surging forwards into the naked valley of your breasts. Breathing you in so filthily, “Just know that I need you- fuck m’gonna fuckin’ kill someone if I don’t-” 

Each spat out little word is punctuated with an intoxicated push and pull of Gojo’s hips. Angrily rutting in-between your thighs until it was just a clingy, syrupy mess of slick and precum between you two. 

“Oh-” your lips drop into a soft gasp, reaching out your fingers to smear a sinful sheen down them. It glosses all the way to your wrist with each newly beaded wave of his precum. 

It feels so dirty the way you’re pushing the very tips of your fingers into your mouth. Gojo can only look - can barely even breathe when you slur, “You taste so good, too, Toru.”

Oh, that was it.

Gojo Satoru had finally thought he was getting control of his sanity - he finally thought the effects of that cursed technique were wearing off. But now - at that little nickname - he feels something snap. The lamp on your right bedside table shatters.

And usually, Gojo’s taunting was tinted with a little laugh, an inkling of fondness in them - but right now they sounded pained. Wrenching out of his broad chest, “Fuck you. Need you- do you know what you’ve done.”

Your useless skirt - along with your soaked, see-through panties - are ripped off of your squirming body. And for once in his life, he’s speechless - eyes almost bulging out of his skull, nails digging into the plush of your thighs. 

Your clothes end up in a pile of sad tatters on the floor, and you felt a strange inkling that maybe you’d end up much the same. 

Smack!

Two, large fingers slap down harshly right on your drooling cunt, slobbering down a glistening coat of your pretty juices down his wrist. “Pay attention.” He’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your neglected nipples, your stomach, down, down, down in a flurry until the very tip of Gojo’s nose was nudging at your pulsing clit. “Because if m’losing control I need you to stop me.”

The dim hotel lights flicker when Gojo meets your cunt in a sultry, self-indulgent kiss. And through it all, one thing burns into your dizzy mind - his eyes. Maddened, gleaming with slight blue cursed energy in-between your legs. 

“Oh.” you’re gasping at the sheer burning stretch of your thighs being pushed to their limits. Gojo didn’t need that much space - he just loved the way you whined. “You’re s-so much better when you shut- hah!”

His tongue shuts you up by flicking harshly over your puffed-up clit, letting your syrupy juices slide their slow way down his eager tongue. “There we go- good girl, good fuckin’ girl. Hah- all it took was some shitty curse to get you hah- honest like this f’me, huh?” 

“Don’t act like- ngh!” you’re barely able to drawl the words out, which makes him grin a dangerously content grin. Sharp teeth clenching teasingly around your angry clit, throbbing and slicked glisteningly with his spit, “Don’t act like I’m the only one- this way- hah-”

It was true - every hollowed-out suck on your needy clit had him grinding onto the mussed-up mattress. Those silken sheets hiking up with every drag of Gojo’s weepy erection down onto the bed - imagining you underneath him. It wasn’t enough - it never will be. 

That realization was enough for him to break out into a drunken grin, hot tongue smearing open your folds over and over- “Yeah? What about it? Does it scare you that I want to fuckin’ break you, sweetheart?”

He was crazed. 

Dangerous. Depraved. 

“N-no-” you give such a harsh pull on his soft strands, he’s leering up at you with a dragged-out groan. Looking for the life of him so used - you just knew there’d be thousands that would kill to see the strongest so fucked-out, ear blearily blinking open, flushed your favorite shade of pink up to his cheekbones, mouth chasing those thin spit strands to your glossy pussy. “Jus’ think s’unfair how I’m the ah- only one havin’ fun right now.”

You’re shutting up his pussydrunk protests about how he is having fun and to “please, please, please don’t stop” by crashing your soft lips against Gojo’s. Wrenching him upwards, he lets himself be so used. 

“Need you-” you’re gasping, biting into his pouty lower lip. Nosing slowly up his bobbing Adam’s apple, you gasp in that heady combination of pine and candied cherry. “Wanna see if you hngh- taste as good as you smell right now.”

“No fuck- fuck you.” he hisses, wrangling you to straddle his angrily fidgeting hips. 

Running a hand down to fumble with his metallic belt - already loosened. But you don’t have the patience - or the sanity - for that right now, because you’re tugging, shredding. The tell-tale buzz of jujutsu fizzing at your fingertips when you tug down the entirety of Gojo’s pants. Kneading the soft peaks of your palm over that sensitive divot on his head, “Who’s fucking who?” 

“Me.” And there’s another smack! to the heated place of your cunt, Gojo’s own fingertips having you see stars with his power. 

He takes the distraction to just drag you upwards like some ragdoll, easily maneuvering you around. “Turn- turn around f’me- thaaat’s right, fuck-” You’re jostled until your shaky thighs straddle either side of his head, puffed-out pants condensing hotly against your cunt. Your own coming face-to-face with the fat head peeking out from the hem of Gojo’s boxers. Head swimming with how angrily pink he looked, already winking with a drenched sheen of precum up at you. “Arch that cute back a lil’ more- lemme see.”

You’re whirling your head over your shoulders to catch the fucked-out grin on his lips, dragging his tongue out to lap up every bead of your sweet sweet juices, he tilts his pliant head back against the pillows to let it slide down his bobbing throat. “Y-you’re really that pussydr- hngh!” 

Another branding smack! leaves you gushing even more down his tongue. “Yeah, s’what I fuckin’ thought.” he spits out a thick wad of spit into your messy cunt. Gliding his wet fingers over the dripping mess that puddles onto the his chest below. “-can’t even run your mouth- so desperate f’me. Taste so good-” Using his inhuman strength to haul you down onto his pretty face.

Before he knows it, he’s slotting the thin tip of his tongue past your quivering hole. Taking him so greedily, the elastic ring of muscle stretches all around his form, clamping down as if to milk something delicious. 

And Gojo knows - he thinks with whatever’s left of his rationality that maybe he should slow down, take a second to fuckin’ breathe. But, no, he’s making out with your ravaged pussy like he’s angry he hasn’t done this before - way back when he first met you.

A slender fingers pushes past your swollen folds to curl deftly into your gummy cunt, molding up into that easy divots at your walls. He’s feeling around so depravedly for your g-spot, aching to make you feel just a drop of the sheer need he does. 

“Fuck!” Your velvety walls come crashing down around his fingers, knuckle-deep inside your ravenously swallowing cunt. Only getting faster - dipping perfectly to press up against your spongy sweet spots. Shit, he really was good at everything, huh? “You’re so…”

“What was that?” Gojo’s tittering, “Can’t hear you over your cute cunt, sweetheart.”

You don’t answer - you don’t need to, because all the breath in his lungs exhale out in a low cascade. Hiccuping around your candied clit when you take Gojo’s thick, weepy tip just past your lips. Wrapping just around the sensitive slit, it makes him gasp, it makes him keen, it makes him spit out some sloppy swears into your cunt.

“What was that? Can’t hear you over my cunt, Toru–” you bat your lashes, humming around his velvety head. Fuck- if you were in any better state of mind you’d have taken longer admiring him.

Because he was so massive, so pretty with prominent veins thumping at the roof of your mouth. Girthy, rotund end a throbbing red, gradiating into a creamy pink that meshed in delicately with those neat tufts of white at Gojo’s toned pelvis. So delicious. Big enough that you were already wondering just how you were going to walk out of this bedroom - if either of you are in a walking state - or even alive - that is. 

“Fuck- fuck you little-” his mouth refuses to part with your puffy pussy lips, even if it was to talk back to you. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ think this is-”

The new angle has his sharp jaw grinding up into you, jostling your body up and down all over his face. He’s whining - heaving - at this point with every sultry swirl of your soft tongue around his twitchy head. Coating down every inch of your silky soft mouth with a hot sheen of precum, he tastes so good on your tastebuds - slightly salty, with a tinge of something so sweetly Gojo. 

Powers acting before him, he doesn’t even realize it before he cheats - just a little. Eyes burning with power when Gojo uses his six eyes to plunge scarily accurately into the plushy bullseye of your g-spot. Greedy fingers hitting it again and again and-

“Satoru!” your scolding tone has his globular tip twitch ferally into the back of your throat. “That’s not- I can feel your jujutsu, y’know. S-so-” 

“What? Good? Heavenly?” Gojo rattles off. You’re fucking your drooling pussy back into him - you can’t stop the mindless, shallow little grinds in an attempt to meet his mean pace. “Never said anythin’ about a jujutsu ban, pretty- you’re sounding like a sore loser to me.” As if on cue, your cunt is gushing out in more silken sweet juices all down the lower half of his face, squelching so obscenely. His droopy eyes admire your glistening cunt, riding his face to his insanity. “Well- not this cunt, of course, in fact- I think she’s gonna cum.”

He didn’t have to tell you - you already knew, with the trembling in your thighs, and the white-hot pleasure stemming from his incessant making out. Without answering, you only swallow up a few more solid, rock-hard inches of his painfully hard cock, lips stretched obscenely. 

“Y-yeah- fuck, now I definitely know you’re close, pretty girl-” he’s lolling out his tongue to let you drag your pussy across harshly. “Don’t be stubborn- cum f’me,” Rough patches of his tastebuds massaging you just right, fingers still pumping recklessly. “Cum f’me- please. Wan’ it on my tongue- want you- want you to use me- please.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re finally cumming, fucking your high over and over Gojo Satoru’s pretty face. He’s wrapping a free hand around the small of your back, just crashing you back into his drunk mouth over and over and–

“F-fuck, Toru–” you whine, toes curling with each crashing wave of pleasure. It was so violent - so dragged-out, like no orgasm you’ve had before. And you didn’t know whether it was because of the technique or the lazy drag of Gojo’s mouth all over every beading inch of your pussy. Your fist tightens around the thick, heated base of his cock, “Need- need you to-”

“No. Fuck-”

In the fleeting millisecond it takes you to blink, your front is being pushed back onto the now-damp sheets again, a grinning Gojo hovering over you. He looked so ruined - smile gleaming with your trickling, dripping precum, eyes crazed. Suddenly, you almost understand why every breathing thing fears him - almost. His eyes were blazing, flushed angrily. “I’m burning- think m’gonna die if I don’t fuck this cunt right now. Fuck-”

“Havin’ to use your powers for everything?” you’re quirking a brow over your shoulder. “Don’t tell me the only reason you brag about being so hah- good in bed is because of that?”

He’s narrowing his glowing eyes, tiny sparks of lightning flying furiously, “Ohhh s’that a challenge, sweetheart?” Gojo’s sharp canines tug on your bottom lip, and you moan into the messy clash of a kiss - all spit and teeth and the taste of you two. “Tell me.”

“So what if it is?” you’re managing to push back against his slender waist. “Without those stupid powers, m’the better…”

Whatever insult was on the tip of our tongue dies down at the glint of the foil in his hand - the condom from before. That tiny square looking so pitiful held between two fingers, “The receptionist gave me an XL, funny, right?” Gojo murmurs, so dark. “Such a shame it won’t fit.”

One daring glance downwards proves him right - because Gojo was sitting so heftily sandwiched between your swollen folds. Painfully beading needy pearls of translucent precum all over your front - fuck, your cockdrunk self from before didn’t recall him being so large. Big enough that you were sure any rubber would be on the verge of shattering into little pieces.

So then go in raw- you think. But before the words can tumble out of your mind, he’s giving a slow, slippery slide on your cunt, “S’alright- with these ah- ‘stupid powers’ m’still gonna get a taste of this pretty cunt.”

And then you can’t breathe - fuck, you can’t even think straight.

You feel like you’re being split-apart, because Gojo’s just barely pushing in the fat, round girth of his head. Managing to pop in his long shaft past that sensitive slit, before his body starts moving in hurried, impatient little grinds. Frantically trying to squeeze himself in deeper- “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, even with limitless you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Limitless - fuck, that’s what it was. You could feel the slight pinch of the pressure around your body, the way he was reaching in so deep inside your velvety cunt despite not even being halfway inside yet. 

“Satoru-” 

“No-” his flickering eyes bore deep into yours. “Not that- call out f’me properly now, I know that smart mouth of yours can do it.”

Your words are barely a whisper, “Toru–”

The remaining lamp at your left goes out - cracking into tiny shards. And that’s all it takes for him to push and push in, distantly, Gojo knows he should slow down, maybe give you a second to relax - to think. But he could feel his sanity dancing away with every fucking inch fed into your sopping wet pussy, your elastic walls contorting to massage every ridge and vein of his so heavenly. Fuck- he’d fight a thousand more of those special grades just for another taste of this feeling. 

“Oh-” Gojo’s jaw hangs slack when he finally bullies past that feeble resistance of yours. The very top curve of his head nudging deeply in a glissading glide down your spongy cervix, heavy balls kissing against your ass. 

He lets himself be pulled, used like some filthy toy when your hot tongue cranes to lap up the trail of drool down the corner of his drunken mouth. 

“Wanna feel you-” you’re gasping through each thorough, steady ram into your snug channel. “Wanna feel all of you.”

Another memorable slap! resounds through the heady air, sending sparks exploding behind your lids. “Heh- s’this your way of hah- having me stop using my powers?” he chuckles. “I’m onto your dirty, dirty tricks, y’know.”

Truly, he wasn’t. Gojo didn’t think he had enough of his brain unfried to even contemplate that right about now. But it was just so much fun to watch you mewl in protest, your cunt dripping even further down his twitchy balls with each taunt. 

“Please- fuck m’burning up-” you spit. “Scared s’gonna have you c-cumming early?”

As a punishment - or maybe a little reminder about who really was the strongest, Gojo infuses his next sharp smack on your clit with an ounce of his jujutsu. The curve of his thumb gliding over in tiny circles to soothe over the buzz, “Talk to me when you can say “cumming” without hngh- stutterin’-”

“Talk to me when you-” Growling into the crook of your neck, it’s all he can do right now to bow his hulking body even deeper into yours, kneeing apart your stutteringly closing thighs. There’s a sloppy, milky ring forming where your folds kept smacking repeatedly against the sharp lines of his pelvis, “-can fuck me without your limitless going haywire.”

Fuck- fuck, how he wanted to prove you wrong. To have you crying out for mercy.

But Gojo’s throat drags out in what almost sounds like a cry when his limitless flickers on and off - just for a second. The mere touch of your slippery soft walls around his hot cock making him just slam down an arm on the headrest. It breaks - shattering into tiny wooden pieces, though, neither of you notice right now. 

He’s maneuvering the two of you so easily to push you onto your back. Stuffing your gaping entrance back full again, this time throwing your limp legs onto his broad shoulders to pummel you in such a mean mating press. Just the sight of your fucked-out, pretty face has his ragged breath hitching, “S-sweetheart…” 

Whatever answer you give is tangled up in Gojo’s drunken tongue, lapping at your words. His cock feels so heavy, so hot shoving between your legs. And the stretch - fuck, the stretch was something you’d always remember. Stretching out that tight hole into the very girth of his shaft - all the way down from his leaky, flinching head to the thick circumference of his hilt. “I don’t think I can- fuck, can I feel- please, m’dying to know what this cunt feels like-”

Your nails rake down the pale display of his back, those red, red jagged lines making him rut even deeper into you. “Do it then-”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Oh.

Fuck. 

It’s like something shatters - maybe limitless, maybe his restraint. Because Gojo’s eyes just fall shut in pure ecstasy, aching cock growing even larger inside you - as if that was even possible. Expanding tautly at your walls, he’s forming you so sinfully around his shape. 

“Oh-oh– fuck you feel- how the fuck do you feel so good?” His free hand dips down to roll a depraved thumb over the nub of your neglected clit, catching on your bulgingly-stretched folds. “Holy shit- think m’gonna pass out- think m’gonna die.”

“Hah-” your back arches up sluttily into his around the fifth consecutive time his rough cockhead was grazing so perfectly against your g-spot, fingers buzzing with electricity at your clit. “You’re s-so weak-”

But it didn’t matter, did it? Because all you could do was hiss out a few wet gurgles into Gojo’s mouth, blinking in the sinful sight of him with his eyes so hooded, cheeks burning with a scorching blush, mouth dangling so addictively open while he sucked your tongue. Like he didn’t even realize what he was doing - how each pressurized thrust into your gummy pussy had the lights overhead flickering, sparks of blue lightning bolting from the corners of his mouth at the same sloppy staccato as his hips. How it made you cum. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re gasping at the feeling of your toe-curling high, shots of pure pleasure running through your body. Convulsing up over and over into his weighty body, “Feels so good- m’cumming m’cumming ah-” 

Crack! 

And then it’s dark.

Hell, Gojo barely even realized when he does, too, shooting out creamy white ribbon after ribbon of seed with a soft, shuddering gasp of your name. And it’s the only thing on his usually-sharp tongue - voice cracking pathetically, when he whines it like a little mantra over and over and-

“Oh-” his five, long fingers splay out across your lower stomach - right where he could feel his own cock twitching wildly at the very bottom of your gooey pussy. Pressing down, hard. “Oh shit- just look at how you’re painted white from the inside-”

The lights were gone out - in all the wards of Tokyo, actually - and yet in the light of the slight flickers of electricity surrounding you two, you could spy the slow, syrupy glob of his cum down your thighs. Coating his hilt in a milky gloss, it sticks to the two of you like a sloppy second skin. “And you expect me to- hah- not go insane.”

You manage out a wet chuckle, too tired to notice how the bed was missing a headboard now. How all the furniture in the hotel room was trashed - as if it’d been slammed down from several feet above. “Hah- b-blame it on the sex pollen.”

The technique has him cumming more than usual, every new wave sloshing at your insides is followed by another - and another until Gojo’s cock felt so raw. Twitching sensitively in a way that brought big fat tears pricking at his eyes, and yet, he still fucks you so harshly into the mattress. Sucking out every remaining dredge of seed in those fat, cum-filled balls thwacking! at your skin. Sloppy. Depraved. Oh, he looked so ruined - like a man that crawled back from death, only to drag you down with him. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Gojo drags his swollen lips down your earlobe. Voice shot, “I don’t think the sex pollen is done yet.”

---

“Trashed all across the floor, trashed furniture - especially in room 143 - Hokkaido still doesn’t even have power.” Yaga’s bellowing voice has you sinking ashamedly further and further into his office seat. 

Gojo, however, only beams, throwing an arm around the edge of your chair, “Damn- we should really try to send out the power in all of Asia next time, huh, my pretty girl?”

“Out!”

Across the hallway, three first-years eagerly (well, two of them and a reluctant Megumi) peer into the tense meeting. Wondering what exactly happened in your last mission that caused a record-level amount of property damage and the power to still flicker on and off throughout the day.

Yuji is the first one to speak up, “Well, no one’s dead but- why does the air seem so-” he gestures towards the almost non-existent space between you and Gojo - not anything out of the usual, sure, but the one thing different was the lack of threats. “-weird.” he finishes. 

“Tell me about it. That Gojo almost seems…” Nobara shudders in disgust. “...happy.”

And of course, at that very moment, the man of the hour himself turns to look straight at the first-years doing a poor job of hiding themselves behind the door. Sighing overly-loudly, “If you say so, Yaga~” Intertwining his fingers with yours to pull you up with him, “We had a date anyway.”

“A date?”

“A date?!”

“I win.” All eyes - including yours and Gojo’s turn towards the usually-quiet Megumi, his lips turned into the beginnings of a smile. Almost. “You both owe me ten thousand yen.”

A/N. Hope you babygirls have a good weekkkk!!!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[snekdood]

so august 2018 is when my peak being-crazy-made art craziness happened, huh

[mortisghost]

About the OFF Prologue

Thank you very much to everyone who played the Off demo! We're delighted that the response was so numerous and enthusiastic. Your comments and feedback will be invaluable to the team for the final phase of development.

Regarding the feedback that focuses on differences from the original version, which often necessarily involves the new soundtrack, but also a few other small changes : I can easily understand the difficulty some of you have in appreciating elements that replace those you've known and are attached to. But I want to remind you first and foremost that this version doesn’t intend to replace the previous one, which remains and will always remain available for free to everyone. At no point there's any intention of "removing" - one way or the other - the Alias ​​Conrad Coldwood soundtrack, which is a very important part of the atmosphere of the original experience. Constraints forced us to choose to offer you this new soundtrack, which should be seen as another musical dressing for the world of Off, and not as a "final edition," canceling the previous one.

Moreover, the creative process for this new soundtrack was not solely driven by an attempt to recreate the exact same atmospheres as the original. I personally asked the artists to maintain a certain degree of freedom, and thus avoid falling into the somewhat impossible exercise of identically recreating existing atmospheres. As an artist myself, I thought it was more interesting to give the musicians a certain amount of room for expression and interpretation, not only so that the pieces they compose are interesting in themselves, and not just as reproductions, but also because I believe this is one of the aspects that makes the experience of this new version surprising and interesting.

I also know that for several of the excellent artists tasked with creating new music for this version, it was a source of rather intense pressure! Everyone on the team loves the original game, and knows how important its soundtrack is.

All that being said, the Dedan battle theme, which seems to have been a specifically controversial point, will most likely receive some changes between now and the final release.

Finally, I've read a few times about Toby Fox's supposedly dominant role on the team. Please believe that, as involved as he is in the game's development process, not only does he have no final decision-making power (which is more in line with my position), but he also works with us with enormous respect (and fear) for the source material. Of the entire team, I think he's the one who felt the most pressure from the fans, and still does. I ask you, please, to be assured of his sincere involvement and humble devotion to the project and to the batter's messianic quest.

The idea of ​​replacing the dopefish with the dog from Undertale was mine, as the green fish is copyrighted; we were afraid Apogee would annoy us.

Well, that's all for now. I hope you're all well, thank you again for your support and your thousands of encouraging comments. I hope you'll like the final version!!

Have a great day everyone, go play Deltarune; my boss forced me to tell you.

Bye

[satoblue]

“REVERENCE” — gojo satoru

satoru can’t help but boast about himself — about how great he is. so, maybe it’s time you show him how much you agree with that sentiment. | wc: 2.5k

MDNI, f!reader, established relationship (dating), slight religious themes, cock worship, praise kink, handjob (which he helps with) then blowjob, fic is lengthy like his cock bc i can talk about him all day, i feel like my smut always sucks but my baby boy deserves the world so i wrote it anyway : ( | dividers made by me

if there is one thing your boyfriend, satoru, is not— it would be humble.

when he hangs up on yaga a short while after his most recent mission, he tosses his phone onto the coffee table with a casual flick of his wrist like it offends him by daring to interrupt his greatness.

then, he immediately launches into one of his post-call victory speeches.

“he practically begged for my help, y’know?” satoru sighs like he can’t help it, rubbing his nape like it’s just another day of being himself.

he gestures dramatically, pacing in front of the couch like he’s on stage for you.

“ahh, what a pain. i mean, what else was i supposed to do? they needed me — like always.”

satoru folds his arms over his chest, pristine white lashes fluttering shut with a smug grin plastered on his face as he talks basically to himself. his head dips a bit, snowy bangs falling forward at the tilt.

“honestly, i should start charging just for existing in a room.” he jokes, as if he of all people required the extra cash.

“though, can you blame them for depending on me?”

“oh boy,” you mumble under your breath from behind the pages.

“and when i stepped in, yaga sounded so relieved. like, ‘oh thank god gojo’s here.’ as if there was ever a moment i wasn’t.” he smirks, clearly proud of himself.

you stifle a laugh, biting your lip.

usually, you’d let him bask in the glow of his own superiority, nodding along absentmindedly. but tonight? tonight you were feeling a little bold.

so instead, you softly hummed.

“i agree.”

as soon as the words leave your lips, satoru halts mid pose. then slowly, his head turns in your direction.

“eh?”

you smile innocently at his confusion, setting your book down in your lap, your attention now fully on him. “i said — i agree.”

his brows furrow, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing — slightly skeptical.

“you— you agree with me?”

“mhm!” you hum, stretching and arching your back just enough off your seat to get his eyes to flicker to your tits — like he isn’t always ogling them anyway.

“satoru, you’re right.”

his jaw drops a little.

what the hell is happening?

you never say stuff like that. normally, you just roll your eyes in that cute, indulgent way that says, “yeah, yeah, you’re the strongest — now shut up and pass me the remote.”

but this time?

this time you said it like you meant it. with that tone. that smile — the ones that make his knees feel weak, his cock throb, and his brain short circuit.

“wha—”

you get up slowly and saunter over to him, each step deliberate.

“you’re big and strong and powerful. kind of intimidating when you get serious.” you let your scorching gaze rake down his body. “i’d say i’m pretty lucky to be your girlfriend.”

there’s a pause. a beat of stunned silence.

then his mouth parts slightly, blinking rapidly.

“...for now?”, he questions with a tinge of hope.

“for now,” you reaffirm with a coy smirk. “if you keep talking about yourself like that, i might not be able to resist forever, ‘toru.”

and satoru, not a man easily flustered, turns three shades redder at your flirting.

“you— you’re— are you making fun of me..?”

you’re standing in front of him now, tracing your finger down the center of his chest slowly until he shivers, gasping softly at your nail hooking into the fabric of his shirt.

“no — i mean it.”

satoru doesn’t move. doesn’t even breathe. just stares at you with wide, blue eyes — the flesh of his cheeks contrasting it with a beautiful, blooming red.

you lean in, breath caressing the shell of his red-tipped ear, pecking it — a feathery brush, before pulling back slightly.

“and the way you fight?” you sigh dreamily like you’re swooning, fingers slipping to his nape, toying over his undercut. “you’re like a god.”

satoru’s hands hover awkwardly over your waist, as if unsure whether or not to grab you and check if he’s hallucinating.

“i— okay. this is— you can’t just—”

“but i can.” you interrupt, smiling up at him like you have all the time in the world. “no one ever gives you the worship you deserve, satoru. but me?” your voice drops low — seductive. “i’d kneel for you anytime.”

his whole body jolts, an involuntary reaction. and then his hands move before his brain instructs them to — holding onto your waist like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth, pulling you in so close that your bodies are pressed together.

often, people tolerate satoru’s ego. they scoff or say he’s annoying. and they don’t look him dead in the eye and say ‘i’d kneel for you anytime’ either.

and now you’re touching his chest, looking up at him like he’s something worth worshipping. like he’s not just strong — but something more.

satoru wants to laugh — maybe even cry. maybe drop to the floor and beg you to say it all again but slower this time so it’s imprinted on his entire being.

if you keep talking like this, he’s going to lose. but be doesn’t exactly know what. satoru feels defenseless and vulnerable for the first time in his life — like he’s begging to be praised again.

he’s completely done for.

and he’s going to thank every god, every star, and every universe that you’re his.

for now, you said.

he’s about to make it forever.

“oh my god, you’re trying to kill me,” he mutters, breathless and panicked. “you— you’re being evil right now!”

you kiss his jaw lightly as he pouts. “no, baby. i’m just being honest.”

“okay,” he rasps, reaching behind him for the arm of the couch, his other hand dragging down his flustered face. “i-i need to sit down—”

you smile softly, eyes glimmering at the effect you have on him, guiding him so he doesn’t topple over. “of course, honey.”

he isn’t looking at you anymore — he can’t. his heart is pounding in his throat, and his cock is already twitching painfully in his pants that seemed so unbelievably tight now.

satoru isn’t used to this — not at all. he is the one who flirts — who teases. never the other way around.

but you? you’re giving it back tenfold.

no — you’re feeding his ego. fueling it. you sound like you are genuinely grateful the universe made a man like him and put him in front of you.

and it’s true. you have been thinking for a while that you don’t show or tell him much how you respect him. because to you, he’s not just a powerful sorcerer — he’s one of a kind.

there will never be another man like him. there will never be another satoru.

and there will never be someone like you in any world. to him, you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened. maybe even proof that if there is a god, they love satoru enough to give you to him.

without a word, you drop to your knees right in front of him, as if you were getting ready to pray.

“wha— wait, babe— what are you—?”

your hands are already sliding up his thighs, slow and reverent.

his breath catches, sentence stuttering to a stop. those legs of his jolt slightly when your fingers graze the huge bulge inside his pants. your touch is delicate — gentle even. gentler than anyone has ever handled him before.

you look up at him with a sweet, caring smile.

“i told you i’d kneel for you,” you speak softly, fingers grazing his belt. “did you think i was joking?”

satoru’s hips are lifting, betraying him as you successfully undo his belt with practiced ease.

you aren’t in a rush. you reveal him like a work of art — like something you want to admire.

his mouth opens to reply after a moment, but then it shuts again. oddly enough, he has nothing to say. he is rendered speechless, but his heart is filled with warmth regardless of the lewdness of the situation.

he loves you. god, he loves you so much it terrifies him.

if he could, he’d shout it from the skyline. hell, he’d tell god himself. that gojo satoru — your satoru — loves you so much that it makes his chest ache. like his heart was only made simply to hold you and only ever you in it.

but no matter how loud he says it, no matter how many times — it’ll never be enough. there aren’t words big enough in any language in the world to express what it is exactly that he feels for you.

when his cock springs free, flushed and hard and begging for attention — you actually sigh at the glorious sight.

“god, you’re so pretty.”

satoru cheeks are on fire now. “w-what…?”

you smile cheekily, tilting your head, fingers wrapping around the base.

“you heard me. you’re perfect. big, thick, and so… sensitive.”

you start lazy, like you’ve got all the time in the world and nowhere else you’d rather be than with your hand wrapped around your boyfriend’s cock.

he’s already hot and stiff in your palm, back resting against the couch with his legs splayed open, hair a mess from running his hand through it multiple times.

satoru’s breath hitches when your thumb sweeps gently over the soggy tip.

you give him a little grin. “already?” you tease though it’s affectionate by your tone, hand a mess due to his copious pre.

the chuckle he gives you is short and tense.

“for you? always.”

with a quiet hum of acknowledgment, you begin to stroke him slowly. so slow it’s torturous. small fingers glide down, then back up at a maddening pace — slicked up from the pearly white dribbling at the sides.

satoru releases a guttural sound, head tipping back, but his eyes stay fluttered open, half lidded just enough to watch you.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re so good at that it’s unfair.”

you huff, “i’m barely doing anything.”

and maybe that’s what gets him — because a second later, he’s reaching down. his large hand wraps around yours, firm and warm, and suddenly he’s guiding the movements.

not fast. just more insistent. needy and greedy.

his hand works together over yours up and down his cock in a way that makes his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“you’re—” he starts, then laughs breathlessly in a way that makes your heart stutter, his voice cracking. “you’re literally making me help jerk myself off right now.”

you murmur, watching his flushed, wrecked face. “you look so pretty like this...” it isn’t a response to what he said, simply a statement — a fact that you felt the need to say in the heat of the moment.

and the way your hand fits beneath his, nice and snug, makes it feel like something more than just sex. like something tender. something intimate and passionate.

then you squeeze just a little tighter, dragging a shudder out of him that makes you feel like the powerful one now.

“still feel like the strongest? because you are,” you whisper in reassurance. “look at this — so big, so perfect. you’re unreal, satoru.”

then, you kiss the leaking tip — and his thighs tense.

satoru makes a sound halfway between a choke and a prayer, watching you on your knees for him, mouthing at his cock like it’s something sacred.

your lips wrap around the head of his cock, slowly, and satoru’s hands fist the couch cushions like they are the only thing keeping him steady.

he lets out a wavering, “oh—”, voice cracking. you barely have him halfway in and already his chest is heaving, his blue eyes wide and glazed over.

you stare up at him as you slide lower, your lips wet and glistening, cheeks hollowing just a little. and that eye contact— fuck. it’s dangerous. you are dangerous. and yet, every warm inch of your mouth feels like heaven.

he exhales sharply.

“s-slow down,” he manages, a trembling hand brushing back your hair in an affectionate gesture just to see more of you. “i’m not gonna last if you keep—nghh—that thing you just— yeah, just like t-that!”

you lick a patient, wet stripe from the base to the head, keeping your eyes locked on his like you need him to see how much you adore this — adore him.

you aren’t bobbing or rushing — you were savoring.

you suckle gently on the angry red tip, tongue swirling in lazy circles while your hand worked his cock with precision — like you knew his body better than anyone, how to make him absolutely lose it. your other hand massaging his thigh, grounding him, as if to say ‘relax — i’ve got you.’

satoru’s breath comes in broken gasps, hips bucking into your mouth — but not too much as to hurt you.

“say you love me! pleasepleaseplea—!”

he needs to hear it, so you do.

a warbled ‘i love you’ around his cock is all it takes before satoru cums with a hoarse and desperate moan, pushing your head down all the way without a care, stroking your hair in apology as you choke around his girth along with the flow of his thick, heady semen — his mind too clouded by the pleasure as he fucks your face.

“oh my god, yes— yes—!”

you don’t stop, easing him through his orgasm as you swallow down his cum. you took it. every last drop. swallowed it all down like it was what you were born to do.

satoru continues to twitch inside your throat and against your tongue, fingers trembling where they are tangled in your hair, body shaking like you’ve just sucked the very soul out of him.

when you finally pull off with a pop, he’s absolutely boneless and weak — legs spread wide, chest heaving, flushed all over.

his shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of stomach and his happy trail — his expression that of pure awe and satisfaction as he stares down at you with half lidded eyes and parted, pink lips.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, giving him a smug smile.

“still need to sit down?” you tease.

satoru blinks at you in surprise.

then, he exhales a sharp laugh, dragging you up off the floor and into his lap, still breathless and shaky — but kissing lovingly and gratefully along the soft skin of your neck.

“i’m gonna make you forget your own name,” he mutters against your skin. “just— give me, like, two minutes first.”

he truly is blessed.