#i have so many more fics to read i just need to find the time!! need more hours in the day
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I wrote this because I needed to get it off my chest. But then I didn't want to put it on my own blog because I didn't want to deal with the discourse. So, I decided to send it to you in the hope you'd put it up.
I've been in many different fandoms, and I think the only fandom where I ever very actively shipped a canon couple was Torchwood. (If there are people not shipping Jack and Ianto, please never tell me.) That means, of course, there were always other LI of my ships to deal with. And somehow, no matter the fandom (NICS, Hawaii 5-0, Sherlock (mostly), Stargate, etc pp) it's always the same: If the fic takes place at a point in canon where one or more people in the desired ship are currently in a relationship usually one of two things happens: 1. The canon LI just doesn't seem to exist in the fic. 2. There is somewhere one line about "Oh, what about Character A?" "Ah, we broke up. No big deal." (And writing this, I'm kinda laughing now about the Buck/Natalia break-up between seasons 6 and 7.)
So, it's very strange and confusing to watch this part of the Buddie fandom that's so enraged about Tommy and has made hating him their whole fandom personality, who instead of doing what's always been done with LIs that were in the way of a ship created this whole subgenre on 9-1-1 fics now whose whole focus is "How do we overcome the obstacle of the unwanted LI to get our ship". (As I write this, there are 800 fics on ao3 tagged with both ships!) Where did the mentality of "ignore the LI in the way of our ship" vanish to? It was there for other LIs of Buck and Eddie in the past, why isn't it there for Tommy? Why can't a multishipper go into the Buddie tag in peace without being slapped in the face with Tommy bashing everywhere? (And why do you have to bash Buck and Eddie, too, while doing so? I know you don't recognize it, but that's what you're doing with many of those takes about the cheating. That's what you are doing every time you make Eddie into a violent caricature just so you have someone who can beat Tommy up.)
The hate against Tommy has a very different quality and edge to it than the hate for other LIs in the past, and this new genre you all created is a huge part of that.
And before anyone starts, yes there are a lot of bashing fics about the other LI. I've read a lot of them. The vast majority of those are not about finding a way to get the LI out of the way for Buddie (especially not by glorifying Buddie cheating on their LIs) They are about exploring little things of the characters people find jarring or exaggerating those things to use as a plot or plot device. (e.g. Ana's ableist take after the whole skateboard incident. Or her unprofessional behavior of flirting with a parent during parent-teacher-conference.)
As for the very worn-out mantra/whine of "Why could I peacefully hate on the female LIs in the past but aren't allowed to do the same with Tommy?" No one would bother you if you stopped pushing your hate on everyone else.
But you're trying to infiltrate every single nook with your hatred because somehow you don't understand while you're entitled to your hate about Tommy, other people are just as equally entitled to their love and appreciation of the character and the representation he provides. It's not just the Buddie tag people are bombarded with your hate in. No matter what tag â Bathena, Henren, Madney, every single character tag â you'll stumble over Tommy hate pretty fast. Because you tag them all if they matter for your post or not. (I mean, you've done that with Buddie in general for years, which also was never okay!) Or find cheap excuses to include them in your post.
People would let you wallow in your hate peacefully if you wouldn't attack anyone who didn't agree with you. Especially those gay and bi men in this fandom who are full of gratefulness and praise for the representation of their lived experiences 9-1-1 has given them through Tommy and Bucktommy. Who've been calling you out for your hateful and phobic behavior because there is no avoiding being confronted with it.
No one would bother you if you wouldn't post public lists of people you plan to bully in the future!
I guess the point of this long-ass rant is: Get in your fucking lane and let everyone else enjoy the fandom, too. Keep your hate where others can avoid it. It's not that difficult. And believing everyone has to agree with you about your hate is a huge red flag.
Perfectly said, anon đ
"You" = bestie boos btw
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we could make it better (breaking every habit)
Spencer Reid x fem ex-famous!reader
Summary: After Spencer overcomes his addiction, he seeks out the company and forgiveness of an old flame. cw: talk of addiction, a little sad? mostly fluffy though a/n: technically a part 2 of my fic based off making the bed by olivia rodrigo, but it can definitely be read as a oneshot. maybe they are a bit unhealthy, but they're cute and that's all that matters. also this was so incredibly delayed cause my phone drowned so I'm posting this from my dad's computer
Part 1
They say time heals all wounds, and standing at the door of his past mistake, Spencer hoped it had healed hers the way it had his. It had taken him too long to find her, for his pride to break down enough to ask Garcia to search for her. A few years ago it would have been all too easy, a few years ago she was on the cover of every magazine. Now she was the public's favourite conspiracy theory, the biggest where did she go? post made on some website full of self important nobodies.Â
Where did she go? A small house in a small town, a few hours from D.C, just close enough that Spencer had gotten in his car without a second thought the moment he had her address. Maybe it was a slight invasion of privacy, but Spencer had seen much more of her than the house she lived in.
As he lifted his fist to knock, doubt crept in for the first time since the beginning of his endeavour. Was he right to apologise, to show up at the doorstep of the person he hurt worse than anyone else in his life, and say sorry? Sorry. âSorryâ was a puny word that could never hope to mean anything compared to what he had done, how he had used her. But it would have to do, because he had not come all that way to turn back at the flashing neon sign that said âCLOSUREâ.
Knock, knock, knock. Was three knocks not enough? Knock. God four was too many and the last one had been so separate from the others it was clearly an afterthought that she would think was weird before she even knew it was him on the other side of-
âSpencer?â The door opened, just enough for her face to be visible through the small opening. She was so much more beautiful than he remembered, although he really didnât remember much from back then.Â
âIâm sorry.â Well that was one way to get to the point. He smacked himself internally, scolding himself for being so stupid and inconsiderate, not even saying hello or asking her how she was doing.
âDo you wanna come in? You look like you need to sit down.â She pulled the door open, stepping back to let him in, and Spencer froze. She was allowing him into her home, her space, he who had squeezed her dry, used her up and tossed her aside when he didnât need her anymore.
Unsure what else to do, Spencer found himself sitting on her couch, the awkward tension between them palpable as he sat silently in regret of every decision he had made in the last week.
âSo,â She prompted, gesturing vaguely in his direction, âHow are you?â
âGood, yeah, better. You?â He looked around the room, trying to find something that would tell him anything about her life, about her. She was a stranger, really, a stranger that used to be someone he knew. He wanted to know who she was then, on that day, in her house sitting across from him.
âIâm good too. You look better.â He knew what she meant â he didnât look high out of his mind. The far wall of the room was covered in framed pictures of her and what he assumed were her family and friends. Some were from her childhood, some were taken in front of the very house he was sitting in.Â
What surprised Spencer were the photos, though few and far between, where he made an appearance. The Fourth of July party, a bright, sunny photo full of smiling faces. The poor quality of the picture did nothing to disguise the bags under his eyes, nor the dead look in hers. Her birthday, a photo of her blowing out the candles on her cake, blurred from his shaky grip on the camera.
âI donât remember that one.â He pointed to a picture of the two of them, a dark photo that he nearly hadnât recognised as himself. The ability to not remember had been his favourite thing back then, now the haze left him with a pit in his stomach.
âMakes sense, you were⊠you were bad. It was taken right near the end.âÂ
âI am sorry, really.â Neither of them spoke after that, the silence a warm blanket rather than a thick smog. The apology wrapped around them in a warm embrace, they did not choke on it.
She moved first, after what felt like the most peaceful eternity, slipping her hand around his, holding it in the space between them. He looked down at their joined hands, his gaze slowly drifting up until it landed on the soft smile spread across her face.
âI missed you.â She squeezed his hand gently, although it felt like she squeezed his heart instead, âI missed you from the moment I met you. Itâs nice to get you back.â
âI missed you too.â He didnât know how to explain the way it had taken him a month to get sober enough that reality hit and he realised what heâd lost. At least, he didnât know how to explain it without having to actually say something about his addiction. Heâd always been good at avoiding the topic, skirting around it with suggestions and subtle confirmations. The word âaddictionâ made him feel weak, like heâd been defeated. Heâd talked about his problem once, in a room full of people who had been through the same thing, and even then he hadnât been able to say it.Â
âYouâre so strong, Spencer. Youâve come so far.â It was like she could read his mind, see every fear that haunted him and soothe it accordingly.
âSo are you, I mean, you got out of everything.â His eyes dropped to his lap in shame of everything that he hadnât noticed, all of the obvious signs of just how not okay she had been. All that she must have been going through, that he had been too far from reality to know existed, even when it was staring him in the face.
âYou say that like you didnât.â It was a simple sentiment, but maybe that was what hit him like a freight train. It wasnât some mantra heâd heard hundreds of times, or a complicated conversation with his friends where they tried to talk to him without saying anything that actually mattered.
He got out of it.
âYouâre perfect, you know that right?â The way he looked at her in that moment could only be described as reverential, she was the brightest star in a sky that he had never truly seen before.
âNo Iâm not.â The way she said it like a definite fact made Spencerâs heart start to crack, âDo you know why I have those pictures up?â
Spencer shook his head, âTell me,â he said the words under his breath, as if they were surrounded by people in the empty room, âIâm not going to find you any less perfect.â
âHope. I could never get the thought out of my head that you would come back.â She shook her head, gaze locked on the ground like she couldnât bear to look at him as she spoke. âIt was stupid, and then you actually did, and thatâs stupid all over again.â
âYouâre even more perfect than I thought.â Spencer laughed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, happy and sad and something he couldnât put a name to. She was still holding his hand, he realised, and he used that information to interlace their fingers, placing their joined hands in his spare palm.
âIâm stupid and lucky, thatâs what I am.â She snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
âNo, not stupid.â Spencer drew circles with his thumb on her palm as he spoke, âLucky, maybe.âÂ
âWeâre gonna have to talk about this, us, you know that.â
âEventually, yes. Not right now.â
âNot right now.â She confirmed, nodding slowly. They were both there, and that would have to be enough, at least for the moment.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#dr spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid criminal minds#doctor spencer reid#criminal minds fic#criminal minds one shot#criminal minds angst#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds spencer reid#criminal minds hurt/comfort#Spotify
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My tears, oh my tears, I just read your Lilia ficđđđđI don't think I'll be able to get through my day well. I really need a happy ending for him with herđ€§đ€§đ€§
HI ANON! Thank you for your request â€! I had to think pretty hard for an idea and I settled on this I hope it's satisfactory! I'm not very good at writing fluff and happy endings so I tried my best:p
Lilia Vonrogue x Reader
â„ part two (part 1: here)
Content warning: none
fem reader
Lilia had spent countless years as a hardened warrior, fighting on the front lines and keeping his heart guarded from attachment or sentimentality. But when she died in his arms, all his strength and resilience seemed to dissolve. Now, he was left with only her memoryâand the child sheâd entrusted to him, Silver. Raising Silver should have been a way to honor her, but each day felt like a reminder of his failure to protect her. Despite this, he kept her memory close, never sharing the truth with anyone else.
When heâd returned to Briar Valley, he had simply told others heâd found the boy abandoned. He didnât want their sympathy, their prying questions, or their pity. She was his secret, a part of his soul he guarded as fiercely as any territory heâd once protected in battle.
Though he loved Silver fiercely, Lilia struggled to raise him properly. Silver was human, fragile and dependent in a way that bewildered him. Malleus, though eager to help, was just as lost. He was unused to anything so delicate, and his fascination with Silverâs human traits sometimes did more harm than good.
âI do not understand, Lilia,â Malleus said once as they watched Silver wail at the unfamiliar taste of solid food. âWhy does he reject this nourishment? Fae children devour their first meals.â
Lilia only chuckled, masking his own frustration. âHuman babies donât always eat everything, Malleus. Theyâre⊠unpredictable.â
But when he was alone, Lilia was less assured. How could he teach a child when his own life had been war and solitude? He often tried to remember the warmth of her smile as she held Silver, the way sheâd cradled him with a patience and gentleness he could never seem to match. Heâd even picked up books on human parenting, flipping through pages with an intensity usually reserved for military strategies. Yet, with every attempt to follow the words, he felt her absence even more sharply, the emptiness of her laughter lingering in the silence of their small home.
Silver was growing quickly, and with him, Liliaâs feelings shifted. At times, Silverâs big eyes, so much like hers, would look up at him with a trust that made Liliaâs heart ache. But he was also reminded of his failings. How could he raise this child with warmth when he had none left to give? He was a warrior, not a father. And yet⊠he couldnât let her down. Each time he saw Silver sleep, curled up and peaceful, heâd lean against the doorway and watch, feeling something unfamiliar and gentle soften his battle-worn heart.
â§âË âïžâ
âĄđ àŁȘ ÖŽÖ¶ÖžâŸ.     Years Later
As he grew older, Silver began to notice things that didnât quite fit the stories his father told him. Lilia had always said he found Silver, abandoned and alone, and that heâd taken him in. But there were gaps in the story, inconsistencies that left Silver questioning his past.
Sometimes, late at night, Silver would wake to find his father sitting by the fire, staring into the flames with a distant, sorrowful expression Silver had rarely seen. And sometimes, Lilia would hold a small trinketâa ribbon, or a faded piece of clothâthat he quickly hid whenever Silver approached.
âFather,â Silver asked once, âwere you alone when you found me?â
Liliaâs gaze shifted, and he masked his expression with a wry smile. âYou were all I found that day, Silver. Just a bundle of trouble waiting to happen.â
But Silver couldnât shake the feeling that there was more to it. Over time, he learned not to ask too many questions, knowing they would only be deflected. Yet, the mysteries lingered, especially in the moments when he saw a softness in Lilia that he couldnât quite understandâa gentleness that seemed to speak of someone else.
One night, Silver dozed off after a long day of training, only to find himself drifting into a dream unlike any heâd ever had before. It felt unusually vivid, he realized he were stepping into someone elseâs memories rather than his own. He was in a dimly lit forest clearing, and through a haze of recollection, he saw his father, but not as he knew him. This version of Lilia seemed slightly younger, sterner, his gaze sharper and full of fire. And beside him was a woman Silver had never seen before.
She was human, with soft, gentle eyes, and the way she looked at his father was unlike anything Silver had ever witnessed. In one scene, she was gently binding a wound on Liliaâs arm, her hands steady and careful. Lilia was grumbling, clearly unused to being cared for in such a way, but there was a tenderness in his eyes, a look Silver had never seen directed at anyone before.
The memory shifted, and now she was holding a small childâan infant Silver realized with a start was himself. She whispered to the baby in her arms, her words too soft for him to hear, but the expression of love on her face was unmistakable. And when Lilia glanced at her, it was with a mix of admiration, something deeper and unspoken lingering in his gaze.
Silver stirred, feeling an ache in his chest he couldnât explain. Who was this woman, and why had his father never mentioned her? The dream faded, but the questions remained, and the next morning, he couldnât hold back any longer.
âFather,â he began hesitantly, watching Liliaâs face, âI had a dream last night⊠or maybe a memory. There was a woman with you. She looked⊠kind.â
Lilia stiffened, his usual mirth fading as he met Silverâs gaze. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes betraying a depth of pain Silver had never seen before.
âShe wasâŠâ Liliaâs voice was barely a whisper. âSomeone I lost long ago.â
Silver remained quiet, sensing the weight of the memory and the love his father had hidden all these years. Though Lilia didnât offer any more details, Silver understood that this womanâhis motherâhad been someone truly special.Â
Silver felt a quiet desperation gnawing at him. Now that he had glimpsed a fragment of herâa woman he felt connected to yet hardly knewâa hollow ache settled in his chest. His father had always kept his sorrow hidden, masking any sign of grief with his usual humor and lightheartedness. But after seeing her, Silver couldnât ignore the emptiness left by her absence, and he couldnât accept that this was the end of their story.
The longing grew sharper with each day, his mind drifting back to the mystery of herâa mother he barely remembered, a bond he could only dream of. How could he let things end like this? To never have truly known her felt wrong. Still, he was just a human, and what power did he have over something as final as death?
But the thought wouldnât let him rest. He was not as helpless as he felt. He was strong, he knew magic, and he was connected to some of the most powerful beings in Twisted Wonderland. Surely there was a wayâsome forbidden knowledge, some hidden path he hadnât yet considered.
And then he remembered the rumors, whispers of a witch who resided far beyond Briar Valley, somewhere between worlds, where human souls and fae magic brushed against each other. A powerful sorceress who understood the mysteries of life and death and could speak to the spirits themselves.
The path to this witch wouldnât be easy, but Silver knew he couldnât turn back now. This was something he had to doânot just for himself, but for the one who had given everything for him, the one he knew his father had loved in a way he had never spoken of.
Silver set out quietly, keeping his journey a secret from his father, Sebek and Malleus. He ventured through dense forests and past enchanted lakes, traveling farther than he ever had before. His heart remained steadfast, though fear began to settle in as he neared his destination.
Finally, after days of travel, he reached the borderlands between the human world and the realm of the seaâa place where twilight lingered, where ancient stones rose from the mist, and the air was thick with enchantment. In the shadows of the rocks, he caught sight of her: the witch he had heard of. She was cloaked in dark robes, her figure partially obscured, but her gaze was piercing, as though she had been expecting him.
âYou seek to bring back a lost soul,â she said before Silver even spoke. Her voice was calm but held a warning, laced with an unsettling wisdom. âA dangerous wish, young one. Life and death are not to be tampered with lightly.â
Silverâs resolve held firm. âI know itâs dangerous, but⊠she was taken from us too soon. I just want the chance to know her, even if itâs only once.â
The witch regarded him in silence, her expression unreadable. âTo bring back a soul from beyond⊠it requires a great sacrifice,â she finally said. âNot in gold, not in power, but in spirit. To restore what was lost, you must be willing to give something of equal weight in return.â
âWhat do you mean?â Silver asked, feeling a shiver of uncertainty.
She gave him a steady look. âIt will cost you a piece of yourself. Memories, perhaps, or a fragment of your own life force. To give life, something must be taken. And even then, it may not work as you hope. The dead do not always return as they were.â
Silverâs heart raced, but he nodded, his determination unwavering. âIâll do whatever it takes.â
The witch watched him, assessing his resolve before finally nodding. She led him to a clearing at the edge of the shore, where she instructed him to gather rare herbs and light a circle of candles in the shape of the full moon.
Silver could feel the energy drain from him as the witch chanted in the language of old, his very life force spilling into the circle they had created. He closed his eyes, focusing on his motherâs face, the brief glimpses he had seen in his dreamsâthe gentle smile, the warmth that lingered even in a memory. He barely noticed as the witchâs voice faded, the mist thickening in front of him until it nearly obscured the world.
When he opened his eyes, she was there.
She stood just beyond the edge of the mist, her form wrapped in simple robes of soft, muted colors, somewhere between the shades of twilight and dawn. Her hair, flowing, caught the light in a gentle, silvery sheen. Silverâs heart stilled, his breath caught in his throat as he took in her familiar featuresâthe softness of her gaze, the contours of her face that mirrored his own.
For a moment, she looked around in confusion, her brow furrowing as her gaze settled on him, lingering with a glimmer of recognition that hadnât fully settled. She studied his face, her eyes taking in every feature as if piecing together a puzzle from fragments of memory.
Silverâs lips parted, and the word slipped out like a breath. âMotherâŠâ
Her eyes widened, the dawning realization flooding her expression, and then, as if nothing else in the world mattered, she moved toward him. At first, a tentative step, and then, as recognition and emotion surged within her, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him with a force that belied her slight frame. Silverâs arms moved instinctively to hold her, his heart pounding as he felt the solid warmth of her, the reality of her presence.
They held each other for a long moment, both too overwhelmed to speak, both still trembling with the fragile wonder of what had just happened. She pulled back slightly, gazing up at him, her eyes studying every line and shadow on his face. She let out a soft, incredulous laugh, a sound both joyful and tearful.
âSilverâŠâ she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. âYou⊠youâve grown so much. Youâre so big now.â
Silver managed a shaky smile, barely able to contain the overwhelming surge of emotions. âI⊠I never thought Iâd see youâŠâ
Her hand reached up, brushing his cheek, her fingers lingering as though she was still trying to assure herself he was real. âI donât understand how⊠or why⊠but I felt something calling me back, a longing I couldnât ignore.â Her voice faltered, softening. âI thought Iâd lost you both forever.â
Silver shook his head, his own hand moving to cover hers. âNo. I had to bring you back. I had to know youâjust once.â His voice broke slightly, but he didnât care; he needed her to know the depth of his longing, the years he had wondered about her.
They shared another silent moment, just taking in the wonder of being reunited before Silver finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. âThereâs someone who needs to see you⊠someone whoâs missed you even more than I have.â
Her gaze brightened, and she nodded, a glimmer of emotion flickering in her eyes as she realized who he meant. âTake me to him.â
When they returned to Briar Valley, Silver led her to the castle, his heart racing with anticipation and awe. Lilia was there, his usually cheerful expression softening as he spotted Silver at the entrance. But when his gaze landed on the figure beside him, he froze.
For a heartbeat, Lilia seemed unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His eyes widened, his mouth slightly open as he took in the sight of her, standing beside Silver, alive, her eyes shining as she met his gaze.
âLiliaâŠâ she whispered, her voice breaking as tears pooled in her eyes.
Lilia took a hesitant step forward, his composure slipping away, replaced by an expression Silver had never seen beforeâa vulnerability, a disbelief, and a raw, overwhelming joy. âHowâŠ?â he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Unable to hold back any longer, she moved toward him, her steps quickening until she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as if he might vanish. Liliaâs arms encircled her, holding her tightly, and a tear slipped down his cheek as he buried his face in her shoulder.
They stayed like that, the two of them locked in an embrace, their reunion marked by silent tears and whispered words of comfort and disbelief. Silver watched, a warmth filling his chest, his heart swelling with quiet happiness as he witnessed the reunion he had always longed for.
When they finally pulled back, Lilia placed a gentle hand on her face, brushing away a tear. âI thought Iâd lost you forever,â he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes softened with a depth of love that Silver had never seen before.
She placed her hand over his. âYou never lost me. I was always there⊠watching over you both.â
Lilia looked toward Silver, his gaze filled with gratitude and something elseâa newfound pride, a warmth that he struggled to put into words.
â§âË âïžâ
âĄđ àŁȘ ÖŽÖ¶ÖžâŸ. BONUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Silver led his mother, Y/N, through the stone corridors of the castle. She held herself with quiet grace, her steps soft, but she was clearly a bit nervous. As they approached the courtyard, Malleus and Sebek stood waiting, expressions guarded yet curious.
âMother,â Silver began, a touch of pride in his voice, âthese are my friends: Malleus Draconia and Sebek Zigvolt.â
Y/N gave a small, respectful nod, her gaze briefly meeting theirs before she glanced aside shyly. âItâs⊠nice to meet you both. Iâve heard a little of you on the way here.â
Malleus tilted his head, regarding her with a steady, thoughtful gaze. âItâs a pleasure to meet you as well.â
âWait,â Sebek interjected, brows drawing together in confusion, âSilver, you⊠have a mother? Thatâs not the story Master Lilia told usâŠâ His voice was skeptical, yet respectful.
Silver shifted slightly. âI uhâŠ. Well, itâs complicatedâŠâ
Just then, Lilia approached, hands behind his back, giving the scene an amused glance before his gaze softened on Y/N. She caught his eye, a bit of warmth there, even if neither spoke right away.
âLilia,â Malleus finally ventured, âperhaps you could enlighten us?â
Lilia gave a faint smirk, his tone dry. âOh, I do seem to have forgotten a few details, havenât I?â His eyes flicked to Y/N with a hint of warmth. âShe has a habit of showing up when you least expect it.â
Y/N chuckled softly, glancing at Lilia. âSome things havenât changed.â
Sebek was still gaping, while Malleus studied the quiet exchange between Y/N and Lilia with a thoughtful look. Lilia only shrugged, his voice nonchalant but his gaze carrying a deeper feeling as he said, âEvery family has a few secrets, after all.â
Bonus 2: Y/n: Oh⊠You cut your hair. Lilia: Yes, I did⊠Did you like it longer? Iâll grow it out. Y/n: W-what? Itâs okay! I love it now too. Itâs cute. Lilia: I love you tooâoh, I mean I love it too, yes.
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#lilia x reader#general lilia x reader#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia vanrouge#twst lilia#lilia#malleus draconia#malleus#silver#silver twst#sebek#sebek zigvolt
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my musings on how to leave longer & more regular comments on fics:
We all know comments are good - readers have probably heard authors on tumblr talk about how valuable comments are for ages, and I hope most of the authors reading this have felt that validating joy first hand.
But we also all have lives, and only so much energy in a given day. Maybe you have worries about leaving a comment that's too "weird", or "awkward". Maybe you LOVE a fic, but have no idea how to put those strong emotions into words. Maybe you leave short comments, but wish you felt comfortable crafting the paragraph-long detailed comments that some readers gift to their favorite fics.
If you've ever thought about trying to comment more often, or trying to leave longer comments, then here are some ramblings of mine that will (hopefully!) bring comment-inspiration your way.
A quick table of contents:
Lower the mental stakes
How do I comment on porn?!?!?!?
My approach to paragraph-long commenting
My call to action: challenge yourself to go one step further
Lower the mental stakes:
When I first joined a writing discord, I was genuinely blown away at the amount of support and love the HRPF community contains. I was also blown away at the amount of people that were actually reading my works and messaging about them!! It is still one of the coolest feelings ever.
In my mind, this is an example of a "lower stakes" ways to talk about fics: messaging a friend, or a group chat, or a discord server.
It takes a lot less energy for me to type a rambling text about how much I love the fic I'm currently reading vs. typing a cohesive, well-thought out comment for the author themselves.
One of those two options is much more intimidating!
I want so badly to tell the author how much I love their fic, but I'll never find the time to write all the things they deserve to hear!! So the tab sits open on my phone for months, and the comment never gets written.
If you relate to this: try to lower the "mental stakes" of writing your comment. Remember: this is a fun thing!! Fic is fun!! And I promise, you don't have to write the "perfect" comment to make an author's day.
A potential solution: treat the comment box a bit more like a message to your group chat. Not in a rude way - let's stay polite to the writers in our community, and recognize when unsolicited feedback isn't wanted.
But instead of forcing yourself to always have the "perfect" comment, think of something lighter. Think of what you would text to a friend if you were going to send them a link to the fic: maybe "dude this fic is so funny you need to read it", OR "this is INSANELY good", OR "i've been reading this all morning you need to check it out right now".
Then write that!
Comment: "this fic is so funny oh my god. love it!"
Comment: "this is INSANELY good"
Comment: "SCREAMING. I LOVE THIS"
Comment: "i haven't been able to put this done all morning! sooooo good!"
Comment: "i read the first chapter of this fic and instantly knew i had to send it to all my friends. i love this so much!!!"
Also, this might just be personal preference but: a discord message can get lost to time. AO3 is an archive, and comments there are much easier to look back on!!
So send that discord message to the author in a server you're in - they're going to appreciate it so much!! But consider copy-pasting that as a comment in AO3 as well, no matter how short it might be. It means a lot!!
How do I comment on porn?!?!?!?
PWP fics are known to have a large number of hits, with less kudos and even less comments.
Listen. I get it.
Especially in a fandom like HRPF, where many fics are user-locked, it can be intimidating to comment with no chance to hide behind anonymity.
But remember this: anybody who might "see your username" has also clicked into that very same fic and gone alllllll the way to the end. We're all in this together!!! I promise!!
Maybe the actual logistics are difficult for you - how do I leave a comment on an 8k porn-no-plot fic?? how do I explain that I love this fic without making the author uncomfortable?? - so in that case, let me give a few brief ideas for you to work off of.
Some words I like to use a lot: dirty, nasty, HOTTTT, sexy, intimate, vivid.
If you're feeling especially blindsided by the Everything of it all: i like to throw in a good "stupidly hot". "my brain is melting out of my ears". "soooooo dirty nasty hot". "WHEWWWW this is making me feel insane".
Don't overthink it!!!! Speak your truth!!!
And, final point: don't be afraid to highlight specific favorite parts, like you would with any other fic! Say it with your chest! If you liked the frottage, then say "the thigh riding was sooooo stupidly hot". I promise, the author put it in because they also thought the same thing!!!! It's going to make their day (and maybe result in more fics with that same favorite part of yours).
My approach to paragraph-long commenting:
I just want to reiterate: there is no right or wrong way to write a comment. But here's the general breakdown of how I think about leaving more detailed comments, if you want some ideas.
I copy snippets from the fic that call out to me as I read
I go into my clipboard to paste them all into the comment box
I write 1-2 sentences about WHY i copied down that specific snippet
Sometimes, it might be hard to know exactly why you were so affected by a given line. Here's some things you might especially appreciate in a fic:
Characterization: maybe the dialogue felt especially realistic. maybe the character's decisions made a lot of sense to you. maybe the way two characters interact is just exactly how you picture it. write that down in one sentence!! done!
Prose/writing style: maybe the line was a really gorgeous metaphor, piece of dialogue, etc. copy and paste that shit into your comment + add some "!!!"s, or maybe a single sentence like "this is so so gorgeous" or "INSANE metaphor" or "beautiful prose i'm chewing on glass"
The plot: "I have no idea where this is going next, and I can't wait to find out" / "OH MY GOD THE CLIFFHANGER"
The emotions you felt while reading it: this one's an easy one I promise! "the way you wrote [CHARACTER]'s pain hurt sooooo good" / "this is making me feel ill" / "i actually gasped out loud on the bus" / "i'm so nervous for the next chapter" / "i'm SO excited by where this fic is going" / "i teared up reading this"
A long comment will come organically & very easily, even if you only have 2 copy-pasted snippets!! And the author gets to hear very specific feedback about exactly what you're enjoying - that's SO unbelievably rewarding to hear.
So, my personal call to action: challenge yourself to go one step further!
If you don't usually leave comments: try leaving one or two one-line comments this week. Throw in a quick "i love this!!" next to that kudos!
If you usually leave one-line comments: try leaving a couple sentences! describe one specific thing you liked about the fic, or one specific emotion you had.
If you often leave comments on the fics of people you know: try going outside your comfort zone and commenting on a stranger's fic. you got this!
Push yourself one step further, whatever that means for you! It's such a beautiful thing, to be able to read and love and discuss fic in a shared community, and it's worth the effort!
If you've read my ramblings the whole way through: thank you!!!! This was mainly an outlet for me to put all my thoughts into real words, and I sort of can't believe you read all the way through. <3
I welcome any and all additions to this post!!!! The more we talk about commenting, and the more we comment, the more this community grows - and that's a positive thing for all of us, readers and writers alike.
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hi! this is on anon (because i donât have an f1 blog) so I canât attach links, but you asked for gpda strike fics and i love the gpda and eat up fics that mention it! so im going to include the full titles and authorsâ names of various ao3 fics that fit your request (of which there are really not very many that I know of, sorry :/)
firstly, a note - if you are interested in fics that deal with the 1982 GPDA Strike (which actually got the union disbanded for some time), there is an officially wrangled ao3 tag for that event with a few fics: â1982 Formula 1 Driversâ Strikeâ.
outside of that tag, i have only found 2 modern strike fics! unfortunately both rpf so if youâre not a fan of that then thereâs not much out there for you
âhave your words and eat them too,â peppermintstreets [longer and not strictly about a strike, focuses on striking/union activities as well as a pretty thick sebchal plot, so if you donât like shipping/rpf, avoid this one]
âLike A Pawn Checkmates A King,â Meova [ironically ALSO sebchal though this one is more focused on strike activities, also a longer one, less shippy than the first one but still avoid if you donât like rpf]
outside of THAT there are 2 driversâ protest fics I know about (and one that I know exists but cannot find anywhere)⊠also both rpf.
âFuck the FIA,â dropofaurum [recent fic about Maxâs swearing punishment, involves the drivers protesting but also involves lestappen]
âitâs not queerbaiting, itâs saving the world,â buildyourfences [lestappen are outed in a photo of them making out, george proposes that various drivers kiss each other on camera, but the fic is much more focused on landoscar kissing each other for the protest and then getting together at the end than the protest itself]
i canât find this anywhere but i know for a fact thereâs a fic somewhere thatâs about Lewis coming out (or maybe being outed) and all of the grid giving him kisses in the paddock to show support, and itâs much less ship focused than the above fic despite having a similar premise and 1000% more kisses lmfao
so yeah sorry I donât have more and thereâs not much variety,,,,, but I ALSO love gpda/union fics so figured Iâd offer up what I had :]
oh my goodness anon I LOVE YOU!!!! I hope both sides of your pillow are always cold!! thank you so much for your time and your research, I can't wait to read them!! đđđ also, no need to worry about them being rpf seeing as I write rpf myself đđ
I'll add links to the fics in this post so anyone who's interested can check them out with me!
Here's the 1982 Formula One Driver's Strike AO3 Tag.
Modern Strike Fics:
have your words and eat them too by peppermintstreets, sebchal
In 2024, an accident at Spa and Wurz's simultaneous absence forces Sebastian to fulfill the role as GPDA chairman. And really, who thought high-speed racing and sausage kerbs were a good combination? As time keeps ticking and the discovery of a mole comes to light, the looming threat of a strike grows stronger as a desperate means to counter the FIA's wrath. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.
Like a Pawn Checkmates a King by Meova, sebchal
When a provisional calendar for 2025 gets leaked, Sebastian is shocked to see 27 races on there. That can't be right. Getting all of the drivers to agree something must be done is surprisingly easy. Actually getting something done... isn't. They'll have to take matters into their own hands, then.
Driver's Protest Fics:
Fuck the FIA by dropofaurum, lestappen
It was bullshit. Mohammed bin Sulayem, the FIA, the Red Bull car, the McLaren flexi wing. All bullshit. Most importantly, the fact that drivers canât swear on radios and interviews is bullshit. or, the 2024 grid stages a protest by all swearing in their native languages.
itâs not queerbaiting, itâs saving the world by buildyourfences, landoscar
Lando bursts into Oscarâs room without knocking. Heâs red in the face and panting, sweat collecting on his forehead like he just ran a marathon. âYou need to kiss me.â or, the drivers stage a protest, of sorts. Oscar might lose his mind.
and no. 3 sounds like it could be this one!!:
an ode to political statements by this_is_my_associate_mr_mc_clap_yo_handz, lewis/everyone
Lewis comes out. The FIA⊠donât take it very well.
I'm so excited to dive into these! and a note to authors, i messaged some of you about sharing these links just to be safe but i figured that my 18+ rpf tumblr blog counts as a safe space. however, if any of y'all want your link taken down, just message me and i'll do so, no questions asked! alternatively, if you want me to tag your tumblr accounts lmk and i can do that too!!
#f1 rpf#f1 rpf fic rec#formula one fic rec#driver's strike fics#sebchal#landoscar#lestappen#lewis/everyone
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sorry if youâve been asked this before but how do you interpret Zeus in Greek mythology?
I know you like to keep the details of your comic a secret but can you at least elaborate on your perspective about his canon?
Like me personally, I see Zeus as kind of a force of nature, probably cuz he kind of is. Heâs the man made character created in order to further understand that which man did not know, like all the gods. And also like the other gods his actions are hard to rationalize cuz theyâre so dam inconsistent. One moment heâs treating women as disposable then the next heâs giving Hestia the respect and permission to never marry without any question.
sorry for the Yap sesh lol, love ur art and ur comic btw!
I think this is the first time someone has asked this and I am very happy to answer!
*THIS IS TO BIG SORRY!! ;-;
First, I need to make it clear that the Zeus of ancient myths and my Zeus will be different, even though its based on mythology. I am just contributing with my two cents to this range of fanfics that have existed since ancient times.
I truly believe that all the myths we love and explore are basically fanfics based on a religion and that people in the past used them to spread knowledge, comedies, tragedies and just to have fun while keeping the image of their gods alive. That is why the gods are so inconsistent in mythology, since we have many variations even of a single myth and it will always depend on who is telling the story (I wish it were easier to make fics like this about my religion, but I am afraid of the reaction of extremists).
I interpret Zeus in mythology like all the other gods, I no longer make a distinction based on the prejudice of him being a compulsive pervert, he has many sides. As all gods re natural forces, natural as in animal and plants, but also human feelings and urges.
Zeus has some basic pillars that myths tend to respect: He is THE father, he is the fairest one, he is the executioner, he is seductive, he is good-humored (sometimes he makes some bad jokes kkkkkk), he defends natural balance more than anything and he respects the will of others (this seems ironic, but calm down!!). After reading more myths about him and different interpretations, I understood that this modern view of him as a player is completely distorted and ignores all the other myths he participates (I understand that it became his joke, but⊠some people take it to seriously). So I started to form my own view of his myths.
Most of his adulteries are consensual and when they are not, they remain in that confusing area of ââwhat was once consensual, since it is always mentioned that he seduces (for example, how he turned into an bull or a shower of gold because he knew that his potential partners really liked those things - and I find it hilarious that it seems like he didn't even intend to get Danae pregnant kkkkkk, but it ended up happening). This doesn't mean we can't understand that some of these seductions are abusive (like taking the form of a husband to have a night with Persephone or Alcmena), but saying that he discarded them doesn't seem right either. He often protected his lovers and bastards in the most intelligent way possible and sometimes he just walked away too for the good of others. And in a way, as the father and lord of the sky, he is always watching. I also hate how we take away any woman agency when it comes to Zeus, like, there re myths that they wanted a casual nigth with a god... stop ignoring that!! (the bad thing is that Zeus is also a pilar for fertility ;w; so if he sleep with someone with a uterus... they will get pregnant).
Going to the non-literal side, we have to remember that Zeus is a god and his adultery should not be seen as the same as that of mortal men. He cant acuatlly be with a mortal on the mortal realm and be a husband there... I also want to say: Hera wasn't that jealousy (I think she herself knew that Zeus needed to spread his blood/goodness in the world - yes, a strong interpretation is that Zeus' affairs are a metaphor for spreading goodness). On the contrary, she respected the bastards who faced their challenges and thus deserved to be close to them on Olympus. Hera tested the heroes for two reasons: So they understood that she and Zeus were in charge (so that no one would think they could usurp the throne, and she protected both her and Zeus, as well as Zeus do his best to also prevent the bastards to die and have some help - both Zeus and Hera do all this from a distance, they want to be fair with eachother) and to see if they deserved to be with the immortals.
It seems ironic today, but Zeus respected everyone's will, but it was in the Greek terms (more of in atenians terms, bc we don't have much of the other states). He accepted the decisions of Hestia, Athena, Artemis⊠I don't remember seeing him laying a finger on them or wanting them to get married. On the other hand, we have versions of him as father of Persephone, 'selling' her (but the myth was about an arranged marriage and I think it makes sense that it's Zeus, since the focus ends up being Demeter's suffering and this encompasses more complex feelings when losing her daughter because her 'husband' gave her away, while he is still respected and loved socially).
Now the bad side of Zeus in how fair he is. He punishes Apollo in some situations, even though I understand why he needed to do it⊠But he is not shallow enough to be evil for the sake of evil⊠It left a impression on me when he killed Asclepius and hurt Apollo (obviously), it is sad and I doubt he enjoyed killing his grandson, but if he didn't do it⊠the balance of the cycle of death would collapse and he is the one who sustains this cycle with the greatest respect. In fact, my theory is that he doesn't face Nyx, not because he fears her, but because no matter who wins the fight, the world will end (if Nyx dies, the night and everything that comes from the night, for the Greeks like sleep and death, will be disturbed / if Zeus dies the throne will be empty and no other god would do what he does, maybe Athena, but the world was too sexist back then to let her become sovereign and I also think she would be colder than Zeus when making decisions and would have no descendantsâŠ). But sometimes he just wanted to prank and have fun! So like, no straight answer here.
In the case of Ganymede, I believe that his myth is more one of those in which Zeus is merely a narrative tool, more than an active role. People just started shipping them and that's when the pederasty boom happened, but before that Ganymede was just a boy who was handsome and got a 'dream job' (poor thingâŠ).
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With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?
Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T
Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3
Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit
It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one â it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang â but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.
The house is warm enough, anyways.
There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.
Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.
During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking â he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.
Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.
You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikesâ but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.
Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.
Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran â the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system â had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.
"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.
"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.
Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.
Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.
The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.
He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.
Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.
For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.
Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.
Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace â too cold outside not to crowd close to it â after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.
"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.
"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.
The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.
The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed â not enough money, not enough time â yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.
It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.
Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.
"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.
"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."
"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."
"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "Iâ uh, I love you."
The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.
A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.
"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."
The army knife was Hosea's.
"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"
"Yessir."
He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"
"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."
He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.
"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"
"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.
Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.
"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uhâ it's f'both of us, really."
Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"
Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.
"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.
He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.
Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy â distract? â himself but clenching hard at your heart.
One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.
Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.
"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."
"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."
He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.
Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.
The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming â Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.
"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.
"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."
Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.
Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.
"December twenty-fifth, nineteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," â rubbing his mouth, sighing some â "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."
Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.
And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.
"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.
The way your bones catch on one another, wellâ it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.
When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"
Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."
His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweetâ not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.
Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.
#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 fanfic#arthur morgan x reader#gender neutral reader#neutralreader#arthur morgan#ask#oneshot#fluff#sfw#rdr2#reader insert#proposal fic
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Silly messenger
đ: Epic: The musical
đ§: Hermes
đ«: Poseidon
Summary: After Hermes decided to play a little trick on Poseidon, the god of the seas decides that instead of kicking his ass, heâll try something a little different.
A/N: this is a sequel to Special Delivery by @amazingmsme ! Read that(and their other amazing fics) first!! Also, I know Iâve said it many times before but Iâm saying it again I LOVE HERMES GRAHH. Also, youâll know why Iâm saying this when you get there, but I HC that Hermes likes being tickled and is very open about that. That man does NOT care. Lastly, the last line feels a little dumb but I didnât know how else to end it so whatever. That all being said, ENJOOOYYYY!
Cw for swearing and some more intense tickles, but thatâs it!
Silly messenger
Oh, Hermes was so screwed. He could tell by the mischievous smirk on his uncles face.
Was it worth it? Abso-fucking-lutely. But that doesnât change the fact that he was still screwed. Royally screwed, even.
Yâsee, Hermes was an opportunist(and a trickster) by nature, so when he found out that his pissy, grumpy-pants uncle was ticklish, he just couldnât help himself!
And now he was about to face consequences.
Poseidon faced the first challenge of trying to get revenge on Hermes. Catching the fucker. He is the good of speed, and therefore ridiculously fast. The exit was blocked, but within the cave Poseidon still had to find a way to get Hermes out of the air and into his mischievous clutches.
âGrr, get your ass down here, feathers!â
âHahahahaha! And why should I?â Hermes didnât actually want to get away all that badly. But he wanted to tease his uncle, so he was putting up a fight anyway.
âBecause if you do, maybe Iâll go easy on ya.â Poseidon smirked, picking up his trident.
âYeah, right! I know mercy isnât exactly your thing, uncle.â
âWell, if you comply, maybe Iâll be swayed otherwise.â
âHahahahaha! I have absolutely zero belief in that, Poseidon. If you want to get to me, youâll have to catch me first!â
Poseidon growled. He was expecting that. Didnât make it any less annoying. So, the hard way it was then. He didnât even bother trying to chase Hermes, he would get absolutely nowhere, the feathery fucker was far too fast.
Instead, he used his trident to summon the water around the cave to block Hermes in and hopefully get his wings wet so he couldnât fly.
âWoah there! Smart move, but youâre gonna need to do a little better than that if you want to catch me!â Hermes ended the taunting remark with his signature, shrill giggle.
âOh really now?â
Hermes pretended not to notice the small little trail of water that was sneaking up behind him. Again, he didnât actually want to get away, after all.
The wings on his sandals got wet, making it so he had to fly back down or risk falling, landing right in Poseidonâs grasp.
âGot yaâ
Hermes was still smiling, on the verge of giggling because of what he knew was about to happen. Poseidon took mental note of this. For later.
The sea god wrapped his arms around his nephew, and then started to wiggle his claws at his sides and ribs. âReally, youâd think you wouldâve seen that coming, you getting sloppy?â
âNohohoho!â Hermes responded, the protest infested with giggles. His hidden eyes were scrunched up from the wide smile across his face as he giggled.
âHmm. Then what was that about, huh?â
âYohouâll sehee! Hehahahahaha!â Hermes laugh was a little less.. annoying.. when he was being tickled. Poseidon was expecting to sacrifice his eardrums to the loud, glass-shattering, infuriating laugh. But surprisingly, while it still held that infuriating, bird-like tone, it was much less high pitched.
He took his claws and scribbled his way under Hermes arms, causing them to clamp down to the youngerâs sides as he laughed louder.
âHehahahahahaha ohoho nohoho!â He called out, his instincts finding it unbearable no matter how much he liked it.
Poseidon noted many things. One of which being, âyâknow, I donât think youâve asked me to stop once.â
âHehahahahaha thahahatâd behehehe cohohorrect!â
Poseidon narrowed his eyes with a teasing smirk âso does that mean you donât want me to stop?â
âWhahahahat doho yohou thihihink!â Despite the situation Hermes was in, he couldnât help but tease a bit.
âHa, thatâs what I thought. Of course you would enjoy this, you silly messenger.â Youâd think that since it was revenge, Poseidon would stop when he found out the other enjoyed it, but he didnât. It was still revenge, he knew how unbearable the sensation could be, even for someone who liked it. So, he upped the ante, scratching his claws faster and faster against Hermesâ sides and underarms.
Hermesâ loud giggles echoed around the walls of the cave, kicking his feet lightly as Poseidon tickled him ruthlessly(ha, see what I did there?)
âHehehehehahahaha! Thahahat reheally tihihickles! Hehahahahahaha!â
âWell, thatâs the point. Iâm tickling you, dumbass.â
Hermes didnât try to conceal whatsoever how much fun he was having, smiling widely and never once trying to push at Poseidonâs hands or ask him to stop. What can he say, it was fun! Laughing like this was always a blast, no matter what caused it.
Poseidon decided to be a little mean and without any sort of warning, blew a loud raspberry right in the center of Hermesâ stomach. The messenger squealed and giggled louder, resembling his usual, ear-shattering laugh a little closer.
âEEEE! Ahahahahahahahahaha ohoho nohoho! Eehahahahahaa!â
âWhat? You donât like raspberries? Theyâre a pretty tasty fruit, if I do say so myself.â Poseidon teased before doing the same thing again.
âEehahahahahaha ihihi dihihidnt sahahay thaHAT! EEE!â
âHeh, you are an absolute dork, you know that?â
âThahahank yohohou!â Hermes giggled out sassily in reply to the teasing remark.
âIt wasnât a compliment, stupid.â
âIhihit ihihihis toho mehehe!â
âUgh, shut up and laugh.â Hermes response was cut off by another squeal as Poseidon blew another raspberry, followed by changing the scratching at his underarms to drilling and digging, making Hermes laughter even louder and more hysterical.
âEHEHEHAHAHA! OHOHOHO GOHOHODS! HHAHAHAHAHA!â
âHeh, thatâs more like it.â Poseidon finished the taunt with another raspberry, assaulting Hermesâ torso with lingering waves of tingles that made him feel so giddy.
Hermes wings were flapping and he was kicking a bit, trying to expel some of the energy building up within him from the bubbly feeling. It was a lot of fun and he was not afraid to show it, smile splitting his face in half with small happy tears pricking his eyes. Poseidon continued his relentless digging and raspberries, using his facial hair to make it tickle the younger god even more.
âEHEHAHAHAHA POHOHOSEHEIDON!â
âWhaaaaat? I thought you liked this!â
âIHIHI DOHO- BUHUT- EEEHEHEEEE!â His words were cut off with more squealing laughter. It was so intense and unbearable but also so amazing, sending giddy waves of laughter and tingles through his whole body.
As much fun as this was, Hermes laughter was starting to get shrill and high pitched again, so Poseidon stopped in order to spare his ear drums, letting go of Hermes who then stood on the floor, letting out remaining giggles.
âGods, youâre loud.â
âIhihi- hehehe.. Iâm sorry, I canât help it!â The smile in his face made it seem like he wasnât actually sorry, although the latter part of the statement was true.
âOkay, whatever you say.â Poseidon walked back up to his throne and sat down with a dismissive wave.
âGo on, Iâm sure you have more deliveries to take care of.â
âThat I do! Ta-ta, uncle~ this has been fun!â
Poseidon rolled his eyes with a huff as Hermes left, hiding a small smile.
Maybe Hermes wasnât so bad.
âââTHE ENDââââââââââââââââ
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#my art#homestuck#dave strider#rose lalonde#i keep having scrappy ideas of a non-sburb au where they're separated twins.........#and literally the way they find out is rose sending a selfie after she bleaches her hair for the first time and dave's like wait what#and then shenanigans. but i'm not a writer so in the sketchbook it stays!#but for clarity's sake: dave actually dyes his roots and eyebrows. for the irony.#my most unpopular headcanon is that the kids have brown eyes. lol.#i've just. i've drawn dave with dark roots since i was 16. i'm not letting go of it.#[kicking my feet] siblings..... <333#i've been reading so many dave&dirk fics. i need to find more dave&rose.#please give me hs fic recs btw. just in general. i love reading
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That one post of my mine predictably aged like fine wine. Never let somebody on comic twitter in the writer's roomđđđ Like imagine a 1 to 1 adaptation of literally any event?? -1b at the box office. "Who are these people???"
#Anywayyy I'm writing a retelling of DC and it is honestly so fun to imagine the characters in a new but familiar light#Like the biggest reason why I was never interested in writing fanfic before 2 months ago is because I never felt like those characters were#I felt... uncomfortable writing it not because i thought fanfic was bad or anything but because I felt it was weird to write for example#âXYZ DID THIS AND DID THAT AND DID THISâ like maybe he did?? I wouldn't know I don't know him like his creator!!!#But comic characters feel like more flexible due to the many interpretations over the years but firm enough where I can decide how to take#Certain traits and minimize them or expand on them#Also 1 to 1 adaptations suck balls to write. I'm not sure if that's universal but the whole fun of writing is coming up with new ideas#Writing a straight adaptation would be kind of writing a translation into a new medium. Which isn't bad. Novelization are literally those#But a common sentiment among writers I've seen is that Novelizations aren't that fun either unless you get to experiment either#Adapting comics into a new format and retelling them is kind of hell because you have all these intersecting plotlines and insane events#That's just tangled up in a story with a timeline that literally makes its contradictions into plot lines. But it's FUN coming up with ways#To condense a character's origin and sort of rewire it into the story you want to tell. Because yeah I think a lot of people miss is#that at end of the day#you tell stories about people and their struggles. You need to find a way to fit those moments of joy sadness love.#Like a movie about Jason Todd being RH will never be emotional as Jason Todd dying because you'll have less time to feel the love and pain#that Bruce felt for him. Like sure#flashbacks and exposition but that can only go so far. At the end of the day#It will always be about RH vs Batman. That's what people came to see. But that's not all Jason is. He was Robin before he was RH. A 1 to 1#Adaptation will never translate that to screen. Plus you (sadly) have shared universes now and a movie can only jump around in time so much#For example in my fic if I wanted to add Tim and faithful to his source material I would need to add so MUCH about Jason death#About like Bruce grieving without skipping all over that and missing the human element. It would severely mess up pacing.#I don't know i love how adaptations can make you see the characters in a new light or elevate the source material#Iwtv my beloved doesn't adapt the books exactly but reimagined in it a way that I like much more#Anyway this proves my point about comic fans being weirdly childish and omfg I hate to use this term...anti intellectual đźâđšđźâđšđźâđš#Everyone who writes or yknow reads should like understand this on a fundamental level. One to one adaptations are safe but boring.#Like the Psycho remake was bad not because it made bad changes but it barely made any changes.#Anyway watch amc iwtv to understand good adaptations better than your average comic stan on twtter#Not a rant I just love discussing adaptations#Long tags
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i refuse to let clamp off the hook for underutilising himawari's fucking fascinating character setup and traits but on a less serious level im obsessed with the concept of her as an instigator of chaos.
like she's way less airheaded than she seems and it doesn't come off like Default Airhead Girl Behaviour or even Default Girl Companion That Ships Her Friends primarily (like not as hard as some other series by comparison I mean she's very I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE by default) specifically she just seems like someone that thoroughly enjoys being a little shit in a sincere way and giggling at her dumbass friends and has a shade of high emotional intelligence about it all. like she's just girl of all time. she's i don't know where im going with this just take this low effort meme from when i watched the holic stage play on youtube this isn't a coherent thought it's like 2am ill come up with better thoughts later
#ive seen kaguya sama and i know chika is a little bit rotted as a human being but we need to think about himas agent of chaos potential#this is all my personal intepretation but in general i find her a very cool character and working with the barebones framework is still fun#shes got so many interesting character traits#like how shes totally hooked on horror and spooky stuff more than the guys#but it has a distinct contrast with her deep fucking trauma and daily struggles with her curse-but-not-cause#theres smth that feels part coping mechanism part catharsis and part just straight up gap moe abt that#like....girl of all time#also her being depicted a lot either in rly bright sunny tones OR gothic lolita and no inbetween#i mean the joy of holic is everyone is basically posable dolls dressed up in whatever outfits you want but like its still a theme#and like we are given tidbits and small bits and pieces of her personality and interests and its not enough but its rly cool to think abt#they underused her frfr but what we do learn in how she reacts to stuff and bounces off other characters is so AAA#its wild how shes kinda a main character but kinda not in such a deeply fleshed out character driven story#i know shes a key player w loads of strong emotional moments but shes overshadowed a lot and it makes me wanna write mad headcanons#i find myself wondering how she copes day to day with her situation and how itd impact her personality around other people and self image#IDK you could write entire books abt her#but mostly: shes sillay#shes a little bit of a blank slate fill in the gaps but my brain is more than happy to supplement vibes and guesses#hima does not read as het to me because queer friendship groups work on stand user logic#i have a few fic ideas where it deep dives on her life as an adult and her push and pull w social interaction#but its early days on that so any details would b not very interesting past the conceot stage lol#i rly gotta get my ass to writing more fic but brain is a fuck writing longform is haaard unless its like idk visual novel formatting#anyway this is just nothing im not aiming for interaction here i just have half baked thoughts abt himawari the girl of all time#also hima kinda goes through hell and back so doing her dumbass 3 person comedy routine w her dumbass frisnds must be of big fuckin solace#its like that post about just being a girl who wants to have fun . she wants to have fun w friends#AND THAT IS OK justice for hima idk i love her even if she got the short end of the stick for deeply long term focused character writing
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Iâm sorry but I have so many people ask for SPECIFICALLY MALEs/o and all you say is there is no need for pronouns but you do female. Bffr
what
#i dont know what ur referencing. i dont think ive ever said there is no need for pronouns.#if someone ever requested male reader then i wrote male reader.#if they requested fem reader thats what i wrote.#if they requested gender neutral thats what i wrote.#REGARDLESS i dont even write requests anymore. so this ask is genuinely useless to me.#maybe other writers would be open to this critisim!#but i am not because i dont take requests!#there are a lot of writers out there. u can always use ao3 to more easily find m/m relationships.#and if you cant find the stories you want to read then write them yourself instead of barking in my ask box.#i dont write stories for other people anymore. my blog hasnt been that for a long time now#all my fics are literally about me and an anime boy. they are literal self instert i am insterting Myself.#and i am fem! so i write fem!#so. there u go.#anyway im assuming u thought u were making Points but u simply didnt make a single one#obviously i understand ur frustration for there not being a lot of m reader but im just not going to be the writer to solve that issue#like 2019 em could have pumped out as many fics as you wanted but not em now. like you missed the deadline#if u want more of it then just write it urself. like thats the solution ur looking for.#instead of getting angry at other ppl for not doing it for u
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actually, no. you know what? i am so sick of this âmarinette is just a friendâ bs. okay. cool. adrien said she was just a friend a few times. whatever. itâs not that big of a deal and everyone in the mlb fandom like. hyperfixates on that??? idc if itâs a âjust a jokeâ because itâs utterly ridiculous at this point. i have literally seen people go on heated rants about how stupid or clueless adrien was during the umbrella scene because he called mari just a friend. are you kidding me??? yâall are really going to take away that moment for him? he just made like his first ever friend in nino and when he called her a friend, he looked so excited because this boy has only ever had one friend before. of course heâs going to call mari just a friend because he just met her and the only time sheâs actually spoken to him outside of the suit at this point is to yell at him like... yâall...
and this is not me hating on mari because i love her so so so much. i just hate how passionate and heated fans get about this. i mean... yâall... adrien didnât even think mari liked him??? like, in puppeteer two, he is literally upset because he came to the conclusion that mari hates him. also, of course heâs not like in love with or crushing on her when sheâs barely spoken actual sentences to him! again, not me hating on mari and her nerves because like i get it, itâs hard. and also this is like adrienâs first time interacting with people as peers, so 1. of course romance is not his main priority 2. he doesnât understand social cues or situations very well At All which is made abundantly clear in the show 3. i donât... i donât think adrien knows what affection is??? i mean, heâs definitely learned some over the course of the show, but heâs used to a neglectful / abusive father, his stoic assistant, his bodyguard who doesnât really talk like at all, chloĂ© being chloĂ©, and hoards of fans declaring that theyâre in love with him, hanging all over him, acting like heâs a shiny thing rather than a person, etc... so like. how is adrien supposed to actually comprehend that mari likes him???
and okay no my last point: so so so sick of the double standard. i have seen countless people rant and rave and scream and shout about how stupid adrien is for not returning mariâs feelings or knowing he has a crush on her and then these same people will turn around and berate chat noir and say things like âgosh ladybug isnât obligated to return his feelings:/â like... hELLO??? why is ladybug not obligated while adrien is??? itâs ridiculous and disgusting and iâm so so so tired of âjust a friendâ jokes on tumblr, in art, in fics, in youtube compilations... like... canât we be normal about this? and i donât mean normal as in âcasually enjoyâ i mean normal as in can we stop being so aggressive and harsh and hostile towards literal fourteen year olds my God theyâre children theyâre allowed to make mistakes and mess up and my God the way yâall talk about lila is disgusting, too like i hate her but i donât want her tortured and killed??? and the way people characterize the classmates as physically and verbally assaulting mari because of lila??? like... my God they would never??? they would all honestly side with mari chameleon is a bad episode and is poorly written and everyone is out of character please use your critical thinking skills and understand that chat noir is not harassing ladybug anymore than mari may be harassing adrien (aka they are not harassing each other at all my God) and stop insulting and demonizing fourteen year olds so your otp can get together thanks
#i have. feelings.#sorry y'all#this may be harsh but i am so beyond sick of it#i've been going through the classmates tag on ao3 and filtered out all the s.alt fics for all the characters and the majority of the fics#i'm seeing are aggressive lila takedown fics or like unproperly tagged s.alt fics#where the classmates are still rude and aggressive and bully mari when even lila doesn't really bully mari that badly??? like yes it is#awful that she tried to get her expelled and lied a bit about her but lila has never been physical nor tried to kill mari and nor would any#of the classmates actually turn against her like. they may disagree with her or think she may be acting on her crush and yes lila did#threaten mari in the bathroom but like... what has she done since then? try to get her expelled and then... nothing. like. this is Not me#saying not to take bullying seriously but people take it to the extreme with lila and how she treats mari in fics and i am so so so sick of#it!!! i just want to read mlb classmate fics where they're all silly and being teenagers without mari being unreasonably and uncanonically#bullied and without the tags 'alya/adrien/classmate redemption' HELLO??? WHY DO THEY NEED TO BE REDEEMED??? THEY AREN'T VILLAINS??? THEY ARE#FOURTEEN??? as a rule of thumb i refuse to read fics with those tags like sorry but if you tag fics like that then you obviously don't know#the characters. i'm sorry if this sounds mean or harsh it's just exhausting trying to find fun or sweet or found family mlb fics because so#many of them are so negative and ooc and involve like extreme hatred towards fourteen year old fictional children... like... how do we not#see the problem with that??? like... am i overreacting??? please someone tell me they agree with me!!! i've been working on this really#stressful assignment that determines whether i graduate my future career and also costs three hundred dollars to take so i've been really#stressed and every time i try and take an mb fic break i end up more stressed because the fandom is so cruel to children ahhhhhhhh#okay i am. done. maybe i'll delete this later... i just need to see if someone agrees with me because i am. :))) on the verge of losing it#lol#mlb
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so iâm done outlining my two current destiel wips
#i am so normal#i say through gritted teeth#i am not normal about destiel at all#theyâre my everything#my lil meow meows#my silly gay homosexuals#and writing alternate universe with them is just so fun#this is the most fun iâve had in a very long time#destiel fic#can someone sedate me i havenât slept more than four hours for weeks now#i have too many wips and so little time#i want to give my idea at least a 50k fanfic but then i have another idea and all i can do is oneshot#at least iâll make it worth#maybe turn it into a several chapters fic later when i have time and if people are interested#i still need to find someone willing to beta for me#ugh how do i ask people to beta read my work without making it a burden or cringe#beta reader#looking for beta readers#beta reader destiel#beta request
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Today I wrote about 900 words \o/ But only 100 of those were in the thing I wanted to add words to :( And most of them are in the wrong chapter. :( :(
#i know i need to finish the next AU chapter - just today i thought âthey've been stuck mid-shag for ages. her legs must be sore by nowâ#but it's okay! fictional characters don't experience the flow of time when they're not being written! i assume!#i also thought âoh for fuck's sake stop wangsting [sic] about your illegitimate weanâ oh no i am sick of the main plotline!!!#look as long as this next chapter is posted before march of next year i won't have broken my âlongest time stuck between chaptersâ record#this is why many people don't read WIPs isn't it?#one scene requires the main characters to talk about their feelings for each other - URGH!!!#(but everyone who was worrying about how far AU!Sylvie is just in this for the sperms can relax as you will FIND OUT in chapter 5!)#(also i'm pretending it's making An Ironic Statement that i wrote fic about the woes of historical queens and she's not the PoV character)#(but actually i just didn't want to have to write lots of pregnancy stuff. this way i can lock her in a darkened room for much of that)#(oh god i'm so sorry AU!Sylvie the Confinement thing seemed like a good idea at the time... well no it always seemed fucked up. but.)#(and! chapter 6 makes things a bit clearer about what Unspecified Tasks AU!Loki has been doing off-screen. clue: it involves knives.)#(chapter 7 will be Mostly Filth but also a Shocking Cliffhanger!)#(and chapter 8 brings The Ending! gosh what a thrilling ride lies ahead when/if i actually finish writing this story! stay tuned!)#but no i'm gonna go now and see if i can at least get her legs into a more comfortable position#the sylki au that got longer and wronger#don't believe the hype#fic related
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:((((((((( i ran out of tags . tumblr hates to see me thrive!!!!!!!
ok niku just . read the tags first and then come back here ok đđ i have a lot i still need to say this is so important to me . this fic changed my life .
(WARNING this got long âŠ.. really long âŠ.. mysteriously. i got carried away đ PLS donât feel the need to respond to any of this btw i mean that sincerely i know this is kind of a Lot i just need you to know much i adored this fic <3333)
BACK TO GOJO ok so his talk w readerâŠâŠ it was just so satisfying to see them finally get to tell someone about their experience. it mustâve been such a great feeling for them !!!! to get some of it off their chest :((( ⊠and to have Gojo Fucking Satoru our safe harbour of a man there to believe them and listen to them and reassure them. heâs so mature when it comes down to it and you captured that so wellâŠâŠ like as much as he acts childish and teasing this is exactly how i picture him interacting w someone he doesnât know in a situation like this!! heâs flirty and unserious but he tells you heâll protect you and means it. (iâm so down bad it physically hurts)
sorry iâm abt to go on a tangent i think BUT I JUST đđ really⊠REALLY love their dynamicâŠ. how it evolves so much even though he doesnât even know reader exists for most loops!! and to them heâs just this beautiful Something that they canât help but look atâŠâŠ âinhumanly attractiveâ is a great way to put it like heâs justâŠ.. this magnetic forceâŠâŠâŠ.. and i feel like even before they speak to him for the first time they probably find some kind of hope in him.
AND thatâs so important bc to me thatâs like . the main Theme of the fic? hope. reader has to find some kind of hope to make it through shibuya and more often than not they find it in gojo!!! in just seeing a familiar handsome face, in learning how to navigate the timeline through his actions, in talking to him and finally having him on their side. their choice to trust him fully at the end just made me soooo insane. and obv the hope theme continues even after that because gojo believes in them!!! believes that theyâll be okay in the prison realmâŠ.. more on that later actually bc i Still. have a lot to talk abt đđđ iâm just wildly flipping through my notes at this point iâm sorry to throw this at u when weâve barely interacted but in my defense this fic reached into my actual skull and started rewiring my brain so!!!! yeah.
i got completely sidetracked there but . yes!! the conversation between them when gojo gets sent back in time is. so good!!!!! so wonderfully written!!!!! i havenât mentioned it that much yet i think but i love your writing i devoured every lineâŠâŠ i struggle w the flow of my own writing SO much but this just flows so incredibly well??? it was sm fun to read????? and the rhythm of the paragraphs (that sounds. Insane but i hope u know what i mean đđ) is so distinct!!! and ofc there are SO many banger lines in this in generalâŠ. the gore descriptions and the lines abt reader and their fixation on hope. on gojo!! âHe's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.â <- this is just one example but!! idk iâm just so enamored by ur writing style.
and the dialogue!!!!!!!! i cried!!!!!! itâs so consistently gojoâŠ. him going all âoh?â âinterestingâŠâ but not explaining anything ⊠the âding ding ding!â after making reader guess what he should just be telling them (itâs the teacher in him <33) AND AND AND these too!!!! :3
âJust think of it like having a lot of MP.â
âYou know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.âÂ
THEY JUST FEEL SO CANON thatâs our gojoâŠâŠ thatâs exactly what he would sayâŠâŠ heâs so unserious and so funny and so charming đđ sigh.
ANDDDDD reader telling him good luck!!!! gojo beaming and squeezing their shoulder!!!!! the lil wave!!!!! đ„șđ„ș that made me smile so wide niku heâs so infuriatingly cute . it felt so genuine!!!! pls know that this gojo will probably live in my brain forever like genuinely . iâve been brainrotting over him all week and this was the final nail in the coffin. iâll never be free.
ok but also !!!! extremely important !!!!!!! before i get to the ending i just need to tell u . how much i loved kenjaku in this âŠâŠâŠ.. kenjaku nation (me & six others) will never forget these crumbs of content like he just feels so real!!!!! and heâs so interesting!!!!! made me realize how truly down bad i am for him bc these lines made me so fucking happy đđ brain started releasing serotonin like CRAZY iâm so ashamed.
âYou can come out, you know.â
âHow interesting.â
"I'll be nice, though. I'll make it painless."
âŠâŠ.. heâs just âŠ.. yeah. yeahhhhh. đđ iâll never be normal abt him. i think itâs SUCH an interesting detail that he always makes readerâs death painless in every single loopâŠ. he never lies about it. that feels so in character to me too!!! heâs kinda fascinated at first and when that interest disappears he kills them. but he doesnât make it unecessarily cruel because thereâs just. no need. kenjaku is a sicko but heâs oddly polite at times and iâm justâŠâŠ. yeah. gonna need you to take over for gege akutami actually đđ get in the writerâs chair!!! the fandom needs u!!!!!
wait while weâre on this topic pls just know the entire confrontation between reader and kenjaku was one of my favorite moments in the entire fic <333 not JUST because iâm a kenny stan okâŠâŠâŠ readerâs resignation and âI appreciate it.â made my brain spin because itâs just . kinda chilling? kinda sick? that they arenât even really afraid of death anymore⊠or more like theyâre just so frighteningly used to it.
AND AND ANDDDD niku your writing in this scene đ”âđ«đ”âđ«đ”âđ« gutted me like a fish.
Time doesn't flow in the box. He didn't lie. You die again.
i exploded btw . ackkk i wish i could explain it better i just!!! :< adore your writing. these lines made me go completely batshit theyâre just so good. and the âtime doesnât flow in the boxâ line ⊠how that ties in with the ending and readerâs choice. whewww.
segway time <3333 this is the final rant i promise!!! i just need to talk about the ending bc it was so perfect and like many other things in this fic it made me insane âŠ. have i said that already âŠ. probably at least a couple times đđđ itâs true ok!! itâs just sooo interesting to me and obviously so wellwritten and fitting and just. thematically ties everything together so well? i was FLOORED
hhhhh i donât know where to begin so iâll just start w the final convo between reader and gojo :> he asks for their name !!!!!!! i cried !!!!!!!!!! calling someone by their name or knowing their name as a form of like . Closeness or Affection is one of my greatest weaknesses and i also think itâs soooo telling that GOJO wants to know Your Name. he wants to know you. to hear that from someone who seems so inhumanly beautiful and violentâŠ.. for him to kind of extend a final olive branch and attempt to connect w you :((((( it just says so much without spelling it out and i. started chewing at my desk. itâs so good!!!!!!! such a genius way to tie everything together!!!! and readerâs final words to himâŠ
âThank you, Satoru Gojo.â You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind. And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.Â
first of all!!! so so sooooo pretty. wowow. second of all THE THANK YOU âčïžâčïžâčïžâčïžâčïž thatâs also such a perfect conclusionâŠâŠ.. reader finally put their trust in someone and had that faith returned. and they thank him!!!! i like to think it means something to gojo tooâŠ. likeeee how often do people really thank him for what he does? how often is his hard work to protect people acknowledged and appreciated? sorry to bring gojo back into the discussion all the time sadly i AM in love w himâŠ.. đđ and this fic made it worse so technically itâs your fault. kind of.
okay so my brain is kinda spinning away again so iâll get to the final final thing!!!! for real this time!!!!! readerâs decision to be imprisoned in gojoâs stead⊠thatâs so . genius? iâm so in awe??????? it makes so much sense from a character perspective based on what theyâve been through â after being at the mercy of time for so long, wouldnât it be nice to be free of it? completely? itâs almost kind of chilling and just the idea of it scares me LMAO but it makes sm sense that reader would be drawn to it.
AND like i mentioned before!!! how it leads to a deeper connection between them and gojo, and how at the very end of the fic heâs the one who has faith in them. faith that theyâll be alright, of sound mind.
âŠâŠ and that brings me to the final final final thing because. itâs just like the opening poem!! reader is the cat in the box. nobody can say for sure if theyâre alright, not to mention alive, until the box is opened. and we donât get to know!!! you leave us on a cliffhanger and thatâs so good bc it really is like the cat in the boxâŠ. we can only wonder but it also gives us the freedom to decide for ourselves if we think they come out okay or not and iâm justâŠâŠâŠâŠ.. in love. with this fic. and the ending and the reader and gojo and you.
hopefully youâve noticed atp but i really did go completely insane reading this đđ i said it at the beginning but just to reiterate!!: for SURE one of my all time favorite gojo fics . AND loopfics in generalâŠ. thank you sm for your hard work :â3 aaaa i canât tell u how much i admire the time you spent working on this??? your storytelling and writing and characterization skills????? i genuinely feel sooo giddy and excited and happy rn bc. i just adored this fic!!!! iâm so lucky i got to read it!!!!! :33 pls pat your gojo on the head from me and let him know i love himâŠ. itâll boost his ego but thatâs a risk iâm willing to take đđ i hope you have theeeee loveliest day or night a human being can have bc you made mine <3333333
beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)
notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.
contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.
please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.
wc: 21,883 read on ao3 (account required)
Please tell me what happened in this night. It's like the cat inside the box.
Please tell me what happened in this night. You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive. Please tell me what happened in this night. The cat in the box was dead.
The first time, it is instantâ you donât even know whatâs happening.
The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel itâ a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.
The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain followsâ a moment of pure agony before nothing.
The fourth time you realize whatâs going on; whatâs really going on.
You realize youâve been dying.
You think your head is going to explode.
At first, you think itâs because the subway platform is crowded, insanely soâ there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. Youâve never been one for crowds, but itâs the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, youâve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadnât listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you donât even like partying.
Thereâs a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.
Itâs the night of October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
For the eighth time.
Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mindâs eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracksâ spontaneously bursting into flameâ their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut openâ
Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. Thereâs a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You donât have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.
Your corpseâ lifeless on the ground.
Your corpseâ burning to ash.
Your corpseâ bleeding out.
You canât hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.
Thereâs a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you canât be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it beforeâ
The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. Youâre swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.
Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now beforeâ
The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpsesâ beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.
Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. Itâs only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But itâs too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.
Itâs too late.
You die an eighth time.
You think your chest is going to explode.
At first, you think itâs because itâs so hard to breathe, frustratingly soâ there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but itâs the reality of things when youâre in Shibuya. For the most part, youâve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.
Thereâs a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someoneâs hollering at you from a loudspeaker thatâs been installed in your brain.
Itâs the night of October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
You think it's the ninth time now.
Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that youâve never seen her before and yetâ
Before you can ruminate more on it, imagesâ memories assault your mindâs eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you bothâ Your stomach churns violently,
and you feel like youâre going to puke, but you force it downâ can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.
Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.
â...hey,â you say softly.
Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. Thereâs a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. âYou! You know, donât you? That weâre going to die?â
If it werenât for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought sheâs lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.
You canât help but feel a little relieved tooâ glad to know that youâre not the only one experiencing this nightmare. Thereâs a voice in the back of your mind thatâs confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.
Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're peopleâ two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.
Wait. Isnât it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?
âWe have to get out of here,â the woman says. âBefore they kill us.â
Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, youâre as good as dead.
People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or elseâ
The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but itâs a mistake.
The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. Youâre both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll beâ
âHelp! Help!â
Itâs the womanâs voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. Sheâs staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.
And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.
Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You donât know what to do.
You canât save her.
There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.
You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your bodyâ your soon to be corpse.
It's too late.
You die a ninth time.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
This is the tenth time.
Your head hurts, but you ignore it. Thereâs something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.
For now.
Sheâs not screaming this time and while thereâs a little voice in the back of your mind thatâs concerned by this, you try to ignore it.
âUm, excuse me?â you say when she doesnât acknowledge you as you approach.
The woman turns to look at you. Youâre taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.
âDo I⊠know you?â she finally asks when you donât say anything.
Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You donât know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldnât save her.
If you explain all of this you know sheâs just going to think youâve lost your mind. Maybe you already haveâ youâve died nine times after all.
You give her a weak smile. âI⊠just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.â
She blinks, taken aback by your words. Thereâs no doubt that she wasnât expecting you to say that. Itâs the truth though, her costume is nice; sheâs dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.
âThank you! I made it myself!â The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments sheâll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.
âSorry,â you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
âFor?â
For watching her die. For not being able to save her.â...I just kind of came up to you all of a suddenâŠâ
She laughs. âItâs okay.â
Itâs not.
You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You donât want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.
You donât.
âStay safe, okay?â you say. It almost sounds like youâre begging.
She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think youâre far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. âYou too.â
âIâll try,â you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.
You die for the tenth time.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
This is the fourteenth time.
Thereâs a slight ache in your head, but itâs subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think itâs a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that youâre in.
Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costumeâ
You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. Thereâs not a lot of time: you need to move.
At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, youâve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously itâs not enough to keep you alive. Youâre not sure why you didnât realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?
Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.
Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where youâre unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You donât have time to think about it.
Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the nightâs events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize thereâs something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You canât quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldnât even try; you donât have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.
Youâve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. Itâs hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to whatâs actually going onâ or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.
Itâs obvious that youâre missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.
âIf I run away, youâre just gonna kill everyone here, right?â the man in black asks.
Thereâs a pause, and if your heart was still beating itâd be long enough for just four heartbeats.
âIf you run away?â The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. Itâs happening soon. You brace yourself. âWeâre going to do that even if you donât!â
You die a fourteenth time.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
This is the seventeenth time now.
Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that itâs not the first time youâve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time youâll be lucky and live, thereâs still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.
You have to make the most of each and every death.
Itâs such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.
The spot youâre in is a good vantage point; itâs easier to see everything happening below you. Itâs so good that itâs actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like youâre going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.
This is borderline horror.
Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didnât know better, youâd think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that youâre just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.
And this, youâve found, is where you start to get in trouble.
You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still donât know what it is. You havenât had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you canât keep your eyes off of him.
He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.
You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.
You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.
You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.
Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You canât lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.
You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monsterâs shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the manâs eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where youâre standing. He says something to it and thenâ
With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.
Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.
Thereâs a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like heâs slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.
The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesnât hear it. He doesnât hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you canât really see. He doesnât hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monsterâs entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesnât hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.
But you do.
Satoru Gojo.
You make sure to remember that.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
And this is the eighteenth time.
You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.
It does not work.
Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.
He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.
No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowdâ anyone in between is just collateral damage.
But not you.
Especially since youâve made it this farâ youâve never made it this far before.
A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize itâs the automated announcement.
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
You can hear everyoneâs relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence thatâs been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line theyâve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.
All you feel is dread.
It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. Thereâs something wrong here. You canât be sure because youâve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.
No.
You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. Itâs normal. Itâs natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyoneâ rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.
It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.
But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?
The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because thereâs no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.
The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.
You.
Hope is gone.
What do you have left?
You die for the eighteenth time.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.
If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.
Whether you want it or not.
You check the time. Itâs 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You donât have time right now.
With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. Youâve done this enough times to know where the gaps areâ who will yield and who wonât. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. Youâd noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). Itâs not a perfect plan because you donât know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that youâve been on.
Youâd tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but youâd just missed it. You hadnât been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. Itâs just one minute, but itâs enough. You know it is.
The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to itâ you donât want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?
With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojoâs hair as he descends upon the platform.
You need to get up those stairs.
Now.
If you remember correctly, the roots and vines donât close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you canât leave it to chance.
The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesnât seem to be working. You donât have time for this. You clamber onto the escalatorâs rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You donât have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you donât care, you donât listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think youâre steady you try to run.
But you trip.
And you die for the twenty-sixth time.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
This marks the thirtieth time.
And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you donât dwell on it.
A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what youâre feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; itâs weird, but not unwelcome.
That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isnât over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.
Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think itâs probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.
Itâs packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldnât meet up with their friends andâ
A thought hits you like an eight car train.
You were supposed to meet up with your friends.
Thatâs why you were on the platform in the first placeâ you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say theyâd come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.
You check your phone, though, for once itâs not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friendsâ group chat. Thereâs no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you havenât received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, youâre the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.
Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them ifâ
The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that youâve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldnât help her, you canât even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You donât know if you could do it.
Would you even have a choice?
No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didnât then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.
That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.
You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.
You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.
You will make it out of this nightmare.
No matter what.
A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.
Itâs not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies youâ by now youâve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesnât faze you in the slightest. The thing thatâs the most mortifying, thatâs the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.
You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like theyâre barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.
The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that youâve died.
And youâve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so whatâs once more?
âListen up!â one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you donât think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly sheâs stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.
âI said listen, you dumb monkeys!â the girl shouts, and this time sheâs caught most of the crowdâs attention. âIf you donât want to end up like these two, youâll listen to what we have to say!â
There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think itâs a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.
âAbout damn time!â The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. âAll of you move over there!â
You have a bad feeling about this.
Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positiveâ thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.
Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable⊠but for how long?
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their fleshâ
It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.
And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.
As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid airâ falling, falling into the abyss below.
You die for the thirtieth time.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
You've done this nearly sixty times now.
After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the dropâ but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.
If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.
It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loopâ it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.
You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times beforeâ it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.
You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.
It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.
The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.
When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commitâ his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.
He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one manâ can he truly defeat all those monsters?
You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.
The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.
Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to lookâ they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodgeâ disappearing into the crowd.
You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.
And then, you're not sure what happensâ it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.
The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.
Maybe you can do this.
As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.
He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.
Satoru Gojo is doing something.
You just can't tell what.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
And you are utterly confused.
Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have goneâ of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.
You do not remember dying.
In fact, you don't think you did.
And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.
You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.
Something else must have happened.
Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.
You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.
Miraculously, you do.
The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojoâ trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth moveâ he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?
You don't know.
You do know.
Your brain feels like it's going to explode.
Again.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
Again.
You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.
What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.
You do prefer it to dyingâ it's far less painful.
But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.
Unfortunately, you know better.
The only good thing youâve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually youâll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.
But by the time that happens⊠will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You donât even know how youâve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do itâŠ
There has to be a breaking point.
For both your mind and this time loop.
If youâre lucky, youâll reach the latter first.
Thereâs a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.
Groggy.
It feels as if youâve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? Itâs been a while⊠You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didnât matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.
As you think this, you realize that something is different.
Youâre used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you havenât looped. This is completely uncharted territory.
You need to find out whatâs going on.
The first thing you notice is that itâs quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you donât know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly⊠Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojoâs doing?
More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. Itâs almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodiesâŠ
Were you like that too before you woke up?
You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them isâ
Your heart nearly stops: itâs Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.
Honestly, you canât make heads or tails of the conversation theyâre having; itâs more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesnât seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.
âAre we gonna do this or what?â he asks. âThe view sucks and Iâm just kinda bored.â
âI wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,â the monk says. âI wouldnât want anything to happenâ gate, close.â
When he says that, Satoru Gojoâs restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until itâs small enough to fit in the monkâs hand.
You gulp and hope they donât notice that youâre awake. The fact that they havenât slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you donât want to find out what happens if they know youâre cognizant.
Itâs not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else youâve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monkâs allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monkâs fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monkâs face makes it clear that itâs a problem he wasnât expecting.
You donât know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.
The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe theyâre looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.
Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of reliefâ youâre still safe.
For now.
You listen to their following conversation and while you still donât fully understand everything, itâs clear theyâre talking about what to do next since theyâve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but itâs clear heâs their next target.
Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once theyâre gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think heâs talking to you, but it becomes clear heâs addressing someone else. âThose cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.â
âGive him back!â a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; itâs one of the high school girls from the upper floor.
âWe cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,â says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.
âNow give us back Master Getoâs body like you promised!â
âDonât toy with Master Geto any further than you have!â
You blink in confusion. Isnât the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like theyâre talking about someone else⊠Is it possible that the body is âGetoâ but the person theyâre talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing youâve experienced tonight.
Your suspicions concerning this âGetoâ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, âNow begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?â
One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think itâs just you and whoever it is thatâs puppeting Getoâs body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think heâd called it) thatâs holding Satoru Gojo.
âYou can come out, you know,â he says after a while.
You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.
âI know youâre there,â âGetoâ adds, his voice casual. âIf youâre insistent on hiding, you should know that Iâm not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.â
Given everything his allies have done, thereâs no doubt in your mind that heâs serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you wonât be able to now.
Looks like this loop is a bust after all.
Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this âGetoâ itâs clear to you that heâs involved with everything thatâs happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.
That makes you even more nervous.
You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that youâre out in the open, âGetoâ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.
âYouâreâŠâ he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?â
Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. Itâs what theyâve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldnât be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling heâd see through your lie anyway. âIâm not.â
He hums. âHow interesting.â
â...what do you mean?â you ask before you can help yourself.
âItâs just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,â he explains. âThough, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."
You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"
He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."
"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"
"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."
One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo⊠"Won't he die first?"
"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."
Time doesn't flow in the box.
The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case thenâ
"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"
You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.
Time doesn't flow in the box.
"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you arenât a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But⊠it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."
As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentionalâ every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.
You're scared.
Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.
Time doesn't flow in the box.
"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You donât even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesnât matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."
"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.
Time doesn't flow in the box.
He didn't lie.
You die again.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
And you're trapped.
You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loopâ forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.
You are so very tired.
But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.
âTime doesn't flow in the box.â
Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.
You finally realize why.
âTime doesn't flow in the box.â
It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.
You need to find Satoru Gojo.
After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.
You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you donât know if youâll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.
When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you donât know where you should even start. Heâs pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but⊠there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. Itâs 8:35PM; you need to hurry.
Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.
The only problem is that heâs in a hard to reach spotâ squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.
You check your phone again. Itâs 8:38PM and heâs starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. Itâs good that you found him, but thereâs no doubt about it.
Youâre going to need more time.
The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.
You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. Youâve done this so many times, yet your body acts like itâs always the first. It sucks, but thereâs nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. Itâs 8:27â a new record. Hopefully itâll be enough.
The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where heâll be moving in just a few minutes warily.
Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.
You donât want to think about it right now; youâll deal with it when the time comes.
Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.
Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like itâs beating a million times a second. There isnât a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.
Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojoâs direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought thatâs echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?
You need to make him.
âExcuse me!â The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasnât real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that youâve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.
And his attention is on you.
All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojoâs eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you donât know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.
âI need to talk to you!â The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. Youâre not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you havenât really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Getoâs body in nearly forever.
Satoru Gojoâs lips slowly start to form a smile, âOh, yeah?â
The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. Thereâs something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe itâs because heâs talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. Itâs almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojoâs voice sounds like. And the fact that heâs actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that heâs not ignoring you.
He hums thoughtfully, âSorry⊠but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.â
âIââ You start to say that you know that heâs headed down to the platform below to fight withâŠChoso and Jogo, you think their names areâ you donât know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. âItâsâ itâs really important!â
Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. Youâre not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because youâre running out of time right now.
â...mind handing me your phone?â
You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you donât move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.
âKind of sucks that cell service isnât working right now,â he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. âBut! Here's my number.â
You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. Heâs even added a little star to the end of his name. Thatâs⊠a little unexpected. Why his number though?
âAre you⊠hitting on me?â you mutter in your confusion.
He laughs, âWell, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!â
Youâre not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you canât. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.
This is not good.
He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, âIâll talk to you later!â
You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.
Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didnât expect things to go well anyway.
You'll just have to try again.
Every time youâve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just wonât give you the time of day, and in some ways you canât blame him; heâs clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. Youâre fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.
Plus, it probably doesnât help that in the times that youâve approached him, you havenât been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. Itâs gotten better with each attempt, butâŠ
Itâs just so frustrating.
It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. Youâre not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, youâd figured heâd be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations youâve had with him heâs come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You canât help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesnât really matter.
What really matters is that youâre able to convince him to help you.
You have to convince him.
âExcuse me!â you say, stepping in Satoru Gojoâs path. You donât stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.
âYes?â
His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojoâs gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that heâs sizing you up, but thereâs just something about it that makes you feel like youâre being picked apart.
You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, âI need your help. Iâm trapped.â
He chuckles a little, âI know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough youâll be all free to go on your merry little way.â
Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically youâre not the only one âtrapped.â Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that youâre confined to this night alone.
âThatâs not what I mean!â you sputter.
âThen what do you mean?â Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that youâre trapped in a time loop? Youâre honestly not sureâ in the movies and manga youâve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, butâ âOh, I get it.â
You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?
Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. âYouâre hitting on me, arenât you?â
âNo!â The word comes flying out of your mouth. You canât deny heâs attractiveâ youâve thought it all this time, but that is not whatâs happening here.
âNo need to be embarrassed,â he continues, ignoring you. âI totally get it, so if you want, Iâd be happy to give you my number!â
Again? Youâve received Satoru Gojoâs contact details in every loop youâve talked to him, star symbol and allâ you even have his number memorized. Thereâs something kind of odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if heâs got some sort of ulterior motive, but you havenât thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.
âI donât need your phone number,â you say. âI need to talk.â
Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.
âLike, I said, Iâm sort of in the middle of something, butâŠâ Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever heâs looking for, he turns his attention back to you. âGot a pen?â
What?
Gojo tilts his head. âWell?â
âI do, butâŠâ You trail off, unsure why heâs asking.
He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still donât get it, but you reach into your bagâs front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.
You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receiptâs print.
Itâs Satoru Gojoâs name and number.
He even drew a little star next to his name.
âIf you change your mind later, just give me a call!â he tells you cheerily. âI promise Iâll make it worth your while!â
You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didnât need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you canât even begin to understand why. It canât have been something you said or did, right? Unless, heâs actuallyâ
âLater!â Gojoâs voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.
You canât let him get away.
Again.
You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. Itâs good for you. Makes him easier to chase.
âWait!â you yell, but Gojo doesnât even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you wonât be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before heâ
Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.
âWait!â you yell again. âSatoru Gojo, wait!â
He does not even acknowledge you.
Youâre almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that itâs useless; youâve never been able to touch him. But, you donât care, you donât care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.
Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, itâs too high. Thereâs nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.
This fucking sucks.
Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesnât budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and thereâs no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.
If only you could fucking break it.
Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojoâs image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.
You donât.
The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows whatâs going onâ not even you. But you donât care. Itâs gone. The barricade is gone.
You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. Heâs on a beam thatâs about a two meter drop from where youâre standing. Thatâs fine. Thatâs okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jumpâ
And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojoâs attention is back on you. Heâs finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you canât decipher or even comprehend, butâ
Somethingâs wrong; your world is turning on its axis, butâ
Satoru Gojo is looking at you, andâ
Up is very quickly becoming down, andâ
Satoru Gojo is coming closer, butâ
Youâre slippingâ
But heâs right there, andâ
Youâre falling, butâ
Heâs trying to catch you, butâ
Itâs too late. Itâs too late.
The last thing you think you feelâ
âis Satoru Gojoâs arms around you.
Itâs October 31, 2018â Halloween in Shibuya.
And you are causing a commotion.
âShit! Fuck!â you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you donât really care.
You were so close, so fucking close and yet⊠yet here you are again. Itâs quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You donât know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didnât die.
Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you donât think so. You donât know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.
And he caught you, you definitely remember that.
You still donât understand why you looped, but thereâs not much you can do about it now; itâs not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if youâd talked to him.
Or he would have come after you for⊠whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd⊠But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?
You donât know.
All you know is that you have to try again.
The only problem is that you donât know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where youâll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasnât you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. Thatâs the only thing that makes sense. You just canât figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. Itâs not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.
Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PMâ a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesnât show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.
Exceptâ
Except Satoru Gojo is already here.
The thought that maybe youâre mistaken flashes in your mind before itâs quickly dismissed; thereâs no way youâd mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and youâre actually late but sure enough you read it rightâ Satoru Gojo is here early.
What the hell is going on?
Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. Itâs likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojoâs arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.
And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.
You realize that thatâs not the only thing thatâs strange: heâs not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, heâs walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, heâs just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.
Or someone.
This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. Youâre not sure what you should do. No. This shouldnât change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.
The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. Heâs not heading in his usual direction, rather heâsâ
You stop breathing.
Heâs headed toward you.
All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojoâs eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is absolutely mind numbing.
He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, âSoooo, you needed to talk to me?â
You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, youâve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?
Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, â...how did you know?â
He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. âI remembered, of course!â
All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time youâve met and while it shouldnât be possible for him to remember thereâs something in your mind thatâs keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.
Gojo laughs, âI take it from the look on your face that youâre not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?â
âNo.â The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your headâ a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costumeâ begging you for help as she burns to deathâ smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. â...it happened just once a long time ago.â
ââA long time ago,â huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.â
â...unfortunately.â
Gojo hums. âSo when you said you didnât need my phone numberâŠâ
âYouâd already given it to me a few times,â you say, figuring thatâs where this conversation is going.
âReally now?â
Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? Youâre not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojoâs phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.
Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. âSeems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.â
Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, âThe time travel.â
You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is⊠âWhat do you mean by âtechnique?ââ
âYou mean you donâtâ oh. I get it; no wonder youâre trapped.â
That does not answer your question in the slightest. âCan you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by âtechnique?ââ
âRight, right⊠So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,â he finally explains. âLike I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.â
What he's saying makes sense, but⊠âHow come you were sent back too?â
He laughs again. âIsn't it obvious? Think back to beforeâ do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?â
You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. â...is it because we were touching?â
âDing, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!â
Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. âHow do you know that for sure?â
âWell,â he continues. âYouâve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldnât be having this conversation right now, now would we?â
When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.
âThatâs honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so Iâm hardly ever wrong.â
Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, youâre glad that this conversation is actually going really well.
âEither way,â he says thoughtfully. âIt doesnât look like you can control your technique. Usually a personâs technique manifests when theyâre a kid, but you seem to be a special case⊠in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonightâ probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.â
â...dying counts as an âextreme circumstance,â right?â
âOh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that youâre gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why youâre trapped.â
âSo, if I could control it Iâd be able to make it out of this time loop.â
âYeah, but in this case it probably wouldnât end very well for you,â he points out with a chuckle. âItâs not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldnât even activate in the first place.â
You donât; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You donât think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, thereâs no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer isâŠ
âAnyway!â Gojoâs cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. âI highly doubt that youâre the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that youâve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.â
The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it werenât for the fact that youâve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesnât. This is the Satoru Gojo youâre familiar with.
You do have one concern though. âThat⊠wonât create a time paradox or anything, will it?â
âNah,â Gojo shrugs. âYou wouldnât cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if youâve only been going back at most an hour or two in time itâs hard to believe youâd be making a really big impact⊠unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.â
Youâre still not quite sure.
âTrust me, itâll be fine.â
His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.
â...okay.â
Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, itâs probably best that youâre as concise as possible. There isnât much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.
Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojoâs expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.
It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.
âWait,â Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the nightâs events for him. âEveryone is able to see the monsters?â
You stare at him. What a weird question. â...yeah?â
His mouth twists and it looks like heâs thinking about something. You canât even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, âMakes sense.â
It does not, but you donât ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.
âAnyway, in the middle of all that, you⊠you do something.â Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. âI donât know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to⊠activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.â
Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what youâve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. Itâs the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. âDo I do this?â
âYeah.â
He hums. âInteresting.â
You wait to see if heâll explain. He doesnât. Great. Even if he doesnât think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. Itâs annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. âI canât tell you what happens when Iâm knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.â
âI probably do,â he says casually. âBut what about Volcano Head?â
â...you don'tâŠget a chance to kill him,â you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, butâŠ
You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.
There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.
âCome on now,â Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. âDon't keep me in suspense here.â
It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.
You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case⊠you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.
Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.
âBefore you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,â you say slowly, âby someone calling themselves⊠Suguru Geto.â
The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojoâs laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.
You almost wish that it would.
âYou canât be serious,â Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.
âIââ You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.
The both of you know full well that thereâs no reception here, but you donât think that heâs planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three peopleâ a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses andâ
âWhen you say âGetoâ is this who youâre referring to?â Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frameâ a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.
âYes, butââ
âThatâs impossible. It canât be him,â Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. âHeâs dead.â
Thereâs a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesnât stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojoâs stupid blindfold and say, â...being dead doesnât mean a damn thing! Iâve died hundreds of times and yet Iâm still fucking here, butââ
âYour situation is different,â he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. âI killed him almost a year ago. There's no wayââ
âYou didn't get rid of the body properly!â You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember âGetoâ saying. âYou should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didnât and now some⊠some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!â
The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. Heâs definitely having second thoughts about everything youâve said so far. Thereâs a chance he might even think youâre his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. Youâve made it this far, you canâtâ you wonât back down.
â...youâre not lying, are you.â Gojoâs words are more of a statement than a question. Thereâs no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet heâs still asking. You wonder if maybe heâs clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke thatâs gone way too far.
âIâm not.â
Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. âFuck!â
â...Iâm sorry,â you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You donât know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, butâŠ
It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.
Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. âOkay. What happens after that?â
You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but âGetoâ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Getoâs body back, Gojo snorts loudly.
âFat chance of that,â he says derisively.
You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. âAfter they leave, he⊠talks to me.â
âProbably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,â Gojo remarks offhandedly.
You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. âWhat does that even mean?â
âExactly what it sounds like, though⊠probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?â
You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.
âJust think of it like having a lot of MP.â
â...Like in a video game?â
âExactly!â Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.
âHe does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?â
âProbably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.â
âOrdinary peopleâ he says as if youâre not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doingâŠ
âDoes he kill you when you answer?â Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.
âNot right away. What happens next kind of varies,â you answer. âHe usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.â
âReally taking advantage, arenât you?â Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?
âIf Iâm doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,â you respond flatly.
âYou know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.â
Heâs definitely gone back to acting almost completely unseriousâ all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.
âSo what did you learn?â
âWell, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once theyâre sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.â
âI see⊠And what about our body jacker?â
âHe didnât go into detail but he said something about⊠striving toward the evolution of mankind?â You frown a little at the memory. He didnât explain further because he said that you wouldnât understand.
âHuh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.â
âI don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,â you say. âSaid youâd get in the way because youâre too strong.â
Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. âWell, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.â
You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.
âAnyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided heâs done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.â
âSo, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?â
âMore or less.â
âAnd all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?â
You nod.
âWhatâs it look like?â he asks. âA big cage with a bunch of metal bars?â
Now that you think about it, you havenât woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you canât imagine it looks that much different. âNo.. Itâs a small box with eyes⊠It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.â
âHuh.â He stretches his arms out above his head as if heâs trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. âShould be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.â
Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.
âDon't tell me you don't think I can do it,â he says, tilting his head.
âIt's not that,â you admit. âI'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.â
Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.
âYou've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?â
âYeah, but⊠Iâve messed up plenty of times.â More than you can even count. âThere's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.â
Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.
Gojo leans over to check your phone. âLet me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.â
âYeah, this is when youâre descending down onto the platform.â
âYou know where I am down to the exact minute?â He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. Itâs not exact per se, but itâs close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. âMan, I didnât realize that you were actually that into me.â
That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. âI doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.â
You certainly hope so.
âDon't worry,â Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. âYou won't die.â
Itâs hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to tryâ to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.
âI'll protect you.â
You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.
He grins at you. âDid you fall in love with me just now?â
That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. âHow could you even think of something like that at a time like this?â
Gojo laughs again. âWell, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; canât keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?â
You blink. Is that it? âWait, shouldnât we make a plan or something?â
âIsnât the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?â
Yes, but⊠âBut what about me? Is there anything I can do?â
Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. â...I donât know, is there?â
Youâve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and⊠all you can see is yourself getting in his way. Youâre no fighter, no⊠sorcerer, or whatever he is, youâre just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise⊠â...no, I guess not.â
His expression turns sympathetic. âYouâve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.â
You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where youâre less likely to get involved in the carnage, but⊠âWait, no, if I stay up here then Iâll fall to my death when those girlsââ
Gojo laughs, interrupting you. âDonât worry about that. Itâll be fine.â
âHow?â
âJust trust me.â
âIâŠâ Itâs hard to. After everything youâve gone through itâs hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though youâve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that youâll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.
Despite all that, you want to believe.
You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day youâll wake up and itâll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.
â...okay,â you say quietly. âOkay.â
Gojo chuckles then asks, âAnything else before I head off?â
You start to ask if thereâs anything you should say, in case things donât work out, but you stop yourself. Youâre choosing to trust him, to believe in himâ you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you donât remember the last time you did. âGood luck!â
For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then heâs off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.
When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if heâs giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later heâs gone, descending to the platform below.
Now, all you can do is wait.
You check your phone again and itâs 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojoâs arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that theyâll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but youâre not too sure.
Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.
Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes arenât going to change anything, butâ
No.
You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.
When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.
You are afraid.
There isnât a single loop where youâve really survived this fall. If you donât die in midair, you die right after landing. Itâs a death trap, and thatâs why youâve stopped coming up here. Thereâs a part of you, the part that knows whatâs about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you canât, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.
Itâll be fine, you tell yourself, itâll be okay.
You just have to trust Gojo.
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
You hear the announcement faintly below you. Itâs almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldnât die. You donât know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.
Itâll be fine. Itâll be okay.
The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fallâ will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?
As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.
Youâve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since youâve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. Youâre falling faster. The trajectory is changing. Itâs like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.
Is this Gojoâs doing?
Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; youâre on the platform right now and right in front of you isâ
Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.
His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though itâs much closer and at a different angle. Heâs about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.
Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.
Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!
Whatever heâs about to do⊠Is that his âtechnique?â And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, thereâs only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo andâ
A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.
âShit!â you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Orâ
Before you can do anything, something blasts the monsterâs head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monsterâs body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.
Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.
âDomain Expansion,â he whispers in a strained voice. âInfinite Void!â
Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And thenâ
The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, youâre familiar with it because itâs similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojoâs âdomain expansion.â The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.
The pressure from Gojoâs hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. âIf youâre squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.â
And then heâs gone.
You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness whatâs about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: thereâs no way you could possibly look away.
And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.
He is the one to kill all the monsters.
Itâs not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yetâŠ
Thereâs a difference between knowing and seeing.
All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcertingâ without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You canât really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.
Even though you donât think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but youâre afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?
Dying again when youâve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isnât being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again andâ
No.
Gojo said you wouldnât die.
He said heâd protect you.
Itâs hard to believe when heâs in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.
You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You donât know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when heâs just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.
Thereâs a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. Itâs not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.
Which you're not, not really anyway.
The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realmâ though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.
Disgusting.
If Gojo didnât realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, goodâ
âHey! Satoru!â Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcherâs voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. âLong time no see!â
Satoru Gojoâs entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? Itâs possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that thereâs a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesnât gather his wits and move now then heâs going to get caught and you canât let that happen.
Your body moves before you can even think about it.
You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. Thereâs no way you can kick it away from him now, not when itâs in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.
The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You canât look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, itâs dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.
A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.
The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. âDonât you think youâre being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?â
You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?
He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. âSatoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?â
You hear Gojo snort from behind you, âIt is⊠but this person here isnât a sorcerer⊠Just like you arenât Suguru Geto.â
The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. âSatoru, Iâm hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?â
âCut the bullshit,â Gojo snarls. âYou canât fucking fool me. You might be in Suguruâs body but I know with all my heart and soul that youâre not him.â
The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if youâve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.
Heâs going to kill you.
âI intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,â he says, raising a hand to summon a monsterâ the same one he always uses to end your life. âBut youâre in the way. So, I think itâs for the best if I just get rid of you right now.â
Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realmâs restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where youâve tried to escape the fakerâs monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, itâs always painless.
Something touches your back.
Your eyes shoot open.
Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its masterâs wishes and kill you but it doesnât move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.
Someone behind you clicks their tongueâ Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if itâs in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.
This is Satoru Gojoâs doing.
He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, âDid you really forget about me?â
Youâre not sure if heâs talking to you or the body snatcher.
Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojoâs quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the fakerâs direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the fakerâs arm.
The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. âDo you really think you can kill your best friend again?â
âI already told you,â Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Getoâs corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the fakerâs neck. âYouâre not Suguru.â
You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.
The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Getoâs body was some kind of parasite. âGojo! Wait! The brain!â
He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.
You almost relax. Almost.
But the body is still standing.
Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.
What the hell is going on?
âThose must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,â Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. âGuess he was empty before.â
You donât bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. âWhat do we do?â
âNo choice to exorcise them,â he answers plainly.
For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that thereâs not much that you can do. You still canât move and honestly, you donât even know if itâs possible to get out of the prison realmâs restraints. Not without dying. And if you die nowâŠ
Everything will have been for naught.
Youâll reset time and have to do this all over againâ assuming you can even get to this point again.
There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.
Or ratherâ
âGojo!â
He glances back at you.
âYou need to seal me in the prison realm!â you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. âThose things are going to attack any minute right? I canât move or try to hide and I canât expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then Iâll end up looping time again, butâ but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that wonât happen.â
Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. âYou donât think I can do it?â
âWouldn't it be easier if you didnât have to?â
He tilts head and you think heâs conceding your point.
âPlease,â you beg, staring at him desperately. âWe donât have much time. The other⊠cursed spirits will wake up soon too!â
You donât have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.
It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. â...how do you seal it? Do you know?â
âI think so,â you answer. âThereâs no guarantee itâll work but I think that if you say âprison realm, gate closeâ it should seal me inside.â
If anything, itâs worth a shot.
Gojo nods. âDo you know how to break the seal?â
âI⊠donât,â you confess. You never asked, and you donât think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and thatâŠ
That time doesnât flow in the box.
â...you donât have to break the seal.â
Gojo frowns, âWait a secââ
âEven if I make it past tonight⊠What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?â you ask. âI⊠I donât want to have to go through all of this again. Itâs better for me in a place where time doesnât pass.â
You donât know for sure if itâll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.
It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.
â...fine,â he agrees and you donât quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits havenât attacked yet. Maybe Gojoâs power is holding them at bay⊠for now anyway. You both know that he canât ignore them forever.
â...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?â
You blink. âNot sure what I can do for you in this stateâŠâ
He laughs. âI just want to know your name.â
What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you donât think that during this loop or any other loop really, youâve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since youâve known his for longer than heâs known of your existence.
You tell him your name.
He nods, looking as if heâs committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. âAny last words?â
You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.
Gojo takes a deep breath, âAlrighty then⊠Prison realm, gate close.â
Just as it did the many times youâve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.
You wonât see it, but once youâre inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someoneâs hand.
Will it be quiet inside?
In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. âThank you, Satoru Gojo.â
You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.
And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.
Itâs November 30, 2018â morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.
Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman whoâs been unfortunate enough to have been Satoruâs friend since high school.
âAre you sure this is a good idea?â Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.
âWhat do you mean?â Satoru responds nonchalantly. âAll my ideas are good ideas.â
Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesnât say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. âIâm just worried about their mental state. Didnât you say that time doesnât flow in the box?â
âIâd be worried if it was some normal person,â Satoru says. âBut after what theyâve gone through I think theyâll be fine.â
â...well, if you say so.â
The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.
He doesnât think it will, but itâs always good to take at least a few precautions.
âGojo, are you sure we should be doing this?â Shoko asks again. âDidnât they want to remain in the box?â
âOf course I am,â Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and thenâ
âPrison realm, gate open.â
if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride. 3
#OHHHHHHHH MY GOD.#okokokok this is gonna be. Really Incoherent sorry in advance đđ niku this made meâŠâŠ insane. fully. someone needs to restrain me#one of my favorite gojo fics Ever??? like genuinely????? this was SUCH a pleasure to read i have sm i wanna say :((( hhhhhh#FIRST OF ALLL the higurashi poemâŠ. what a banger <33 i LOVE how it ties in with the ending too but more on that later :33#but itâs also so perfect bc reading this fic rlly did feel like playing a vn in the BEST way possibleâŠ. just. seeing all the tiny variation#experiencing the loops along w readerâŠâŠ it was just SUCH an enjoyable experience i canât even describe it!!!!!!!!! iâm so floored!!!!!!!!!!#like i ADORE timeloops itâs my favorite trope Ever and this fic was just . a godsend?? perfection??? the best loopfic ive read?????#IâM STILL GOING FULLY INSANE OVER IT BTW it satiated every single craving i have for timeloop content. my brain is leaking endorphins rn đ”â#i LOVE the opening lines and the constant reusage of âItâs the night of October 31 2018â Halloween in ShibuyaââŠâŠ just so satisfying somehow#and readerâs mental state was also so thoughtfully depicted⊠it was so easy to insert myself into them but theyâre also. rlly charming?#them latching onto gojo as the one anomaly of the timeloopâŠ. fixating on him and his beauty (real as fuck btw)âŠ. and searching for hope!!!#finding hope in gojo!!!! learning to trust him!!!!! :((( it feels kinda like a very twisted one-sided slowburn ⊠and i ate it up.#i also rlly like that itâs not explicitly romantic!!! thereâs enough subtext to enjoy a romance aspect but itâs not the Focus yk??#and i like that!!! the focus is on reader and the timeloop and both of those aspects are woven into gojo rlly naturally :>#ok so iâm using that as a segway. bc OFC i need to rant abt gojo fucking satoru and how much i love him and ur take on him đđ#every once in a while iâll find a fic where iâm like. this author knows Gojo Satoru personally. they speak to him on the phone every night.#and this fic is ABSOLUTELY one of those likeâŠ.. this gojo is Canon to me. iâm so serious abt it like thatâs HIM !!!#and it just reminded me of why i love him sm bc this rlly does feel exactly like the gojo from the manga and thatâs SO impressive 2 me âŠ.#iâm in awe of u niku. i donât even know where to begin w gojo bc i loved SO many lines and lil details u put inâŠâŠâŠ. đ”âđ«đ”âđ«#heâs just. soooooo charming :/// he truly is. heâs beautiful and handsome and he gives you his number every loop . w a star symbol!!!!#asks you for your phone or a pen and gets all excited writing his name⊠the mochi receiptâŠ. đ„ș heâs so endearing we need to put him Down.#HEâS SO GOODDDDD I CANâT SAY IT ENOUGHâŠ. his convos with reader were a huge highlight for me and i loved loved LOVED#the moment he finally understands their situation. when they speak and he hears them out and heâs almost gentle. sooo reassuring.#starting to think youâre genuinely gege akutami btw like . gojo is so complex but you just. captured him perfectly???#heâs cocky and playful and teasing and a killing machine and heâs Kind. heâs playful even when youâre a stranger#and when he finally hears you out he speaks softly and says heâll protect you :((( reader is better than me i wouldâve cried LMAO#THE DIALOGUE IS SO GOOD N FEELS SO REAL âdid you fall in love with me just now?â NOOO âŠ.. âčïžâčïžâčïžâčïž âŠ. (maybe âŠâŠ..)#ack. heâs the most charming man in the universe my heart was fluttering like crazy this isnât⊠normal human behaviorâŠâŠâŠ#WAIT i almost forgot âŠ. i too adore the jjk dub and every time gojo spoke i heard kaiji tang in my head <33 10/10 would recommend!!!#writing â©
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