#if you read through all this you are a trooper and you're the best ever

[cryptidcorners]

Josh Futturman x Reader Headcanons

= Character: Josh Futturman

= Media: Show!Future Man

= Prompt: N/A

= Description: Just !Platonic & !Romantic mixed Headcanons!

= Request: N/A

= Tags: Fluff ! Headcanons, Shy/Awkward Josh, Romantic + Platonic, Established Relationship, Some Comfort + Reader is !GN

= Warnings: None.

= Please Read my INTRO before interacting !

Josh has always struggled to maintain relationships, including ones with friends. Not only because he's incredibly socially awkward, but his escapism within videogames plays a major factor. So, he treasures what he has with you much more seriously than anyone you knew.

Rambles about his games all the time. His interests are something you can never get him to shut up about. Josh is usually into strategies, lore & development, his favorite being "Biowars", which you already knew had quite the reputation for being a challenging videogame.

He's pretty bubbly, especially around you. Josh is an absolute sweetheart and will get flustered at almost anything. His childish personality roots out much more when you're around, mostly because Josh feels more comfortable.

He isn't very open about his feelings, mostly because he's afraid of losing people. Josh desperately wants to be a part of something and refuses to mess it up somehow. Josh, however, is very different when you're opening up. He'll advise, comfort and try to cheer you up. (It's actually crazy how good his advice is sometimes.)

Josh is content with following you anywhere, as long as it doesn't involve his house or hear his parents. If I'm going to be honest, if he's particularly choosing somewhere to lounge, it'd be an arcade. It's a field where he specializes in and he can impress you easily. It's also somewhere he can discard his low self-esteem and indulge in his skills.

Praise is like a drug to Josh. Compliments or any sight of you liking him (or what he's doing), he feels intense dopamine. He really enjoys making people happy.

He's pretty charismatic sometimes, even when he's not trying to be. Josh is usually awkward when directly talking to somebody with a set question or goal in mind, but when he needs to go with the flow, it's much more grounded. With you in mind, Josh is much more relaxed, so he isn't as shy as he is with strangers.

Wouldn't exactly say he's very affectionate, but he wouldn't mind hugging either. Again, Josh is pretty awkward, and I doubt he rarely showcases soft intimacy around anyone (whenever it's platonic or romantic). He would love to do it, but he's very shy. Though, he isn't afraid to try. If you ask, he's perfectly fine with holding your hand or sitting close.

As I mentioned, Josh is very tentative on affection, especially receiving it, but he loves getting his hair and face touched. Dude needs love.

Digs through your trash. He doesn't have any ill intents, but Josh will take time out of his day to scavenge through waste instead of asking you a minor question. I know I mentioned he's very relaxed around you, but Josh definitely overthinks, especially with relationships. He tries his best.

Will cry real tears of joy if you ever give him something. Josh really appreciates gifts, no matter who it's from. Even if it's not game related, he's definitely holding onto it for a while. (Bonus Points If: It's an animal toy, a decoration or handmade.)

Romantically speaking, he enjoys kissing you or indulging in anything sweet. A lot of giggling & sweet talk. Josh isn't very experienced in relationships like this, so he tried to wing it. Needless to say, he probably gets advice from Google images and it's adorable to see him try his best to impress you.

Will always defend you, even if he fails miserably. Absolute trooper.

Josh will one hundred percent get emotional at any piece of film he is watching with you. Especially if it's a game cutscenes and it involves animals.

Huge softie. I don't think Josh can handle saying anything remotely mean to you or reviving it. If he does, expect a flood of apologies.

Can get way into character sometimes, whatever context this is. You know what I'm talking about.

Very clingy. No other words.

Lastly, he'd definitely call you nicknames in the cutest way possible. If he lets you call him "Joshy", you've probably earned the highest pillar of his trust.

[crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf]

“Are you hungry or not?”

Crosshair x F!Reader One Shot

Summary:

Prison life is already unfair as it is, but when a clone guard ends up being your solitary warden you may have no choice but to do what ever he says.

WC: 4405- Read on Ao3

*this is just my general "mature rating" specifics:

Content Warning:

Smut. Coercion/Questionable consent, Uneven power dynamic, Unethical Dom Crosshair, Oral (f receiving), Orgasm denial, begging, humiliation (?... sure), Unprotected PiV and creampie, Light restraining, mind games. Rough all around.

Authors Note: I was not able to make in universe swearing work with this one, so FUCK it is. Also, I took all of One Shot Cross's ethic points and gave them to Disgrace Crosshair so now this one is just an utter menace. Hope that helps.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Hours had passed. 

Normally, there'd be an orderly with a food tray, then the inquisitors with their scowling guard, but today…

You sprawled on the bunk and  looked at the clock in your plain cell and your stomach growled. Hours since the usual meal time. 

Are they trying to starve a confession out of me?

It wouldn't help, you weren't an insurrectionist. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn't stop them from locking you away. They had no intention of letting anyone suspected of treason see trial anytime soon. Stuck in holding limbo while they questioned you day after day... Till days became months. 

But not today. 

You jumped as the door swished open without the usual warning clamor of boots or the rattle of the food cart. Bolting upright you turned on your bed to face the door. 

A single clone trooper was framed in the doorway holding a tray of food casually in one hand. 

This one was odd; Overly tall, slim with narrow features and a shock of white hair. He was a familiar sight, usually standing behind the Lieutenant that was leading the questioning for the day. He was the one that snickered when you suggested your inquisitor eat his own testicles. 

The light glinted off the ominous black armor as he paced through the harsh white room and set the tray on the metal table in the middle with a sharp clatter. Then he stepped back, twirling the toothpick between his lips as he observed you,

“Well?”

“Well… what?”

“Are you hungry or not?”

You were, but you eyed the soldier suspiciously,

“Where’s everyone else? Why's it just you?”

He smirked,

“Seems they forgot about you… guess that makes you my problem,”

You weren't sure what that meant, but it looked like the best answer you'd get for now. Standing, you cautiously crossed the few feet to the table and perched on one of the attached metal seats by the tray. 

It had the usual: protein gel, fresh piece of fruit, portion of hard grain bread and water… and…a dessert. 

That's new…

You eyed the small canister of sweet custard before flicking your gaze to the soldier. 

“You… sticking around?”

“Mm”

You picked up the utensils on the tray and poked at the jelly mass that represented most of your daily calories. With only him standing there it felt… awkward. 

“If it's just you, why don't you sit?... This feels too… watched.”

It wasn't just the situation. He was watching you. Intently. You could feel his eyes boring into the top of your skull every time you looked down. You offered again,

“Sit.”

“You're in no position to be giving orders…”

…

He sat. Elbows on the table, hands folded under rested chin, eyes… focused on your face. 

You gave up trying to eat the undignified nutrient paste under such scrutiny and picked up the stone fruit instead, biting into its soft flesh to fill your mouth with tangy juice that ran down your chin. 

He watched. 

“Seriously… What are you doing here, Trooper?”

“Commander.”

“Commander trooper.”

“Crosshair.”

You glanced over the tattoo around his eye. 

Yeah, that makes sense. 

“You still haven't answered me Commander.”

“I already did. They. Forgot. You. Fallen between the cracks.”

“But you didn't?”

His cheeks tinged the most subtle shade of pink. He didn't answer. 

“So, now I'm your problem…”

“Indeed. No one will be coming to feed you, No more questions, Just you, this cell… and me,”

There was a growl to his voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You didn't want to guess at what he was implying, though you didn't need to. He stood leaning on his palms against the table top, a devilish look in his eyes. 

“Do you want to keep eating, inmate?”

You gulped, taking in his posture, his expression, his eyes boring hungrily into you. 

“You're not suggesti-”

“I am.”

“You can't be serious.”

“I am.”

You sat straight, shifting uncomfortably. There wasn't denying you had looked at the soldier before, even had the intrusive thought to ask him to stay behind once or twice… but this…

“This is an abuse of your position, soldier…”

He snatched out, fingers digging into your cheeks as he roughly turned your face up to look at him. 

“It's a risk, sneaking food down here, what's a little… mutual benefit? I bring you food, you give me whatever I want,”

He leaned in breath hot against your ear,

“You get to eat… and so do I.”

Your breath caught as an unbidden heat warmed your inner thighs… those long months of isolation making you easy to tease. This was unfair and you bit your cheek in indignation. 

“Think about it. I'll be back tomorrow… but if I stick around after that… that's up to you.”

He moved from the table, punching a code into the door and slipping out in a fluid motion leaving you to stew with what might possibly be your second to last meal. 

~~~

You sat at the edge of the bunk, leg bouncing in distress as you looked over the dirty tray from yesterday. No one had come for it. The automated lights clicked out and then back on again and no one had come to get the tray. They always came to get the tray. 

The door swished open. Crosshair, laden with food, scanning till he saw your jittery form on the bunk. 

“Hey, asshole, what's the big idea?”

They can't have really… 

But he just shrugged,

“I told you the deal,”

He placed the tray on the table, more carefully than before, and lowered himself to the bench opposite it. Elbows up, chin on folded hands… watching you. 

“Eat.”

…

“And if I do?”

His lip twitched into that mirthless smirk again,

“Then I'll take it you've come to terms with your… predicament.”

You stifled a shiver, already feeling naked under his intense gaze. 

“Wh-when… how soon… after?”

Your voice wobbled slightly and his eyebrow rose, like he wasn't expecting you to play along so easily. You flushed and turned from his staring.  

I can't believe I'm even-

“Tomorrow.”

Your heart fluttered, confusing you, and you turned back to him.

“I'll be back tomorrow… be ready for me,”

He left quickly, leaving you with your conflicted thoughts and lackluster meal.

You could swear this was… anticipation. 

Your thighs clenched against the warmth pooling through you. 

~~~

Your heart was in your throat. You could feel it, you knew that if you just opened your mouth in the mirror you would see it beating there. So you stared at your reflection with your jaw clenched, hair dripping cold rivlettles down your skin.

You looked at your last pair of clean prison scrubs and wondered what it was gonna cost to get a fresh set from your new clone warden. 

Speaking of,

The door swished open, and you looked up to catch his eyes in the open fresher mirror. He was looking bemused over your toweled, dripping visage. 

“I said be ready but I wasn't expecting you so… eager,”

You flushed, snatching the scrubs and slipping them on over the towel, dropping the damp cloth once you were properly clothed. He snickered, and you spun back to face him. Crosshair took a measured step towards you but hesitated, turning instead to gesture at the tray that had appeared on the table. 

“This… is your half,”

“I'm not exactly hungry, right this second…”

He shrugged, then rushed you. You felt the cold panels of the walls against your back as you were pinned to them. 

“My half then.”

“Wait!”

He rocked back, letting you slide out from under him to catch your breath. 

“Don't just… come at me like that,”

His hand closed on your wrist, tugging you back around.

“The food is for you, inmate. This,”

He tugged you into him squeezing your ass through the rough fabric,

“This is for me, My pleasure. Don't mistake that,”

You were tossed roughly into the bunk, the matress hitting the back of your knees to buckle them and you sat with a thump. He loomed over you, tugging off his gloves, a dangerous fire in his sharp eyes. 

“The only thing you decide is who gets theirs first,”

You trembled, looking up at the man knowing with all assuredness that he was going to take you. You knew it would be rough. You knew from every little intrusive thought you had when your eyes would meet his over some suit shoulder or another the past few months. 

…

“Take yours,”

A wicked smile broke his intensity, and he stripped off more armor. You noticed he hadn't brought a gun today… Clever. 

His outer shell dropped away, leaving him in his tight black under suit and boots. 

“On your knees,”

You made to protest but he caught your jaw, hooking his thumb between your teeth to hold you by your pallet. 

“Not your decision, On. Your. Knees. ”

You made a noise in your throat, all you could really manage. He nodded your head for you with a flick of his wrist before releasing you to position yourself, tugging you by your hair when you made to angle your ass to him; instead, he positioned you parallel to the edge. Pressure on the back of your neck and you collapsed, cheek pressed to the sheets and ass high over your knees. 

“Perfect,”

He purred. The mattress dipped as he sat behind you, firm hands brushing over the fabric guarding your rump to rest on your pelvis just before the small of your back. Fingers toyed with the hem of your useless scrubs, before slipping into them; feeling your hips, he traced them down your navel till he could feel the heat of you. You gasped as he brushed against the tender lips at the apex of your thighs. He ventured further, dipping his fingertip into the warmth of you to slide the evidence of your arousal back over the petals. 

A groan escaped him when he felt how wet you were. Dipping into your again, too shallow, but you wouldn't admit you needed more even as a small moan played across your lips. 

“Have you been wanting this?”

You didn't answer, hiding your flushed cheeks against the mattress. 

His hands withdrew and the bottoms were yanked down to your knees. 

You couldn't see him from this angle, just his legs casually sitting behind your exposed thighs… and his fingers, gripping those thighs hard. You could tell he was looking you over and you flushed even hotter. This was no good, it had been too long…

The muscles of your sex twitched in need, and you could feel slick fluid drip down your heated cunt to fall from your lips onto the sheets. You were growing more sensitive with your increased pulse alone. Not good.  

You felt him reach for your wrists, pulling your arms to fold behind your back. He held them like that one handed, and you could feel him shift closer to you, sitting on your calves to pin them, legs draping over yours and face almost even with your raised buttock. You felt his breath stir against your quim and you whimpered. 

“Remember, inmate,”

He had sensed your eagerness for what he was possitioning himself for.

“My pleasure, not yours.”

His leg wrapped around your arched back, bringing the distinct feeling of a boot sole against the back of your head. You almost turned to look but your head was pushed back down, ground under his heel. You whimpered again, unable to move with him restraining your body so efficiently with his own. 

“My pleasure.”

And then his tongue plunged into you, making you jerk and gasp as the sudden intrusion. 

He worked his tongue in and out of your cunt with slow, even drags that had you moaning weakly into the sheet. Groans rumbled through the sensitive skin whenever your walls would clench around his flexing muscle and he’d push deeper, digging his nose and teeth against you as he attempted to reach fully into your depths. 

Anytime you jerked too violently his boot would crush you down again, arms tugged tighter together to pull your hips firmer against his face. His lips moved lower, sucking your sensitive bud into his mouth with a whisper of satisfaction that made you squirm. A soft sob choked from you.

He held you tight as he flicked his tongue against your clit, making you jolt and tremble. Your legs began to shake as the mounting pressure started to build up to a crescendo…

And he pulled back, eliciting a pathetic whine from your lips. 

“You'll come when I want you to.”

Teeth sank into your ass and you cried out only for it to be muffled by his boot shoving your face into the mattress. Then he was working your cunt again, lapping at the dripping petals to make you gasp. 

Torture. 

They had sent him to torture you. 

The seemingly endless cycle of being licked to an edge just to have him stop cold, lean back and watch as you shook and squirmed for some semblance of relief… it was torture. 

You're not sure when you started to beg, but as another climax was yanked from you a choked pleading tore from your throat. 

“Please, Crosshair, let me cum!”

Boot. Mattress. Then his mouth back to your folds, lapping hard against your swollen and sensitive clit. 

You groaned lustily against the sheet without that pesky dignity from before, he wasn't gonna be able to keep you from going over for long. Every brush, every lick felt like it could be your undoing. 

You felt weak, trying to twist your wrists away from his grip but it was useless; his hand closed over them like a vice. Your body had started to shake and wouldn't stop. He pulled away again and you bucked against his hold, 

“Krriffff, Crosshair, please,”

He chuckled, drawing his tongue across the length of your slit from front to back making you sob and your pelvis to clench. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want t-to cum… please,”

He pressed his thumb to your entrance with his free hand, adding the smallest hint of pressure to make you moan. 

“Be more specific.”

“Please, I want to cum… make me cum,”

It wasn't exactly coherent, the words spilling from you,

He clicked his tongue,

“If you just want to cum you can do that yourself,”

Another jolt of pressure, his thumb pulling your lips open slightly to expose your opening more clearly. 

“What. Do. You. Want?”

You whined under his boot heel, trying to wiggle your ass to push against his thumb, desperate for any contact. 

“I want you to make me cum, Crosshair, please make me cum! Kriff, please?”

He made a contented noise that rumbled through his chest, sliding his thumb forward to spread your petals, lifting the hood over your clit… and blew. 

Your senses exploded, all your muscles going tight at once and he lunged, sucking your button roughly, nipping his teeth against the bundled nerves driving the climax deeper through your brain. You came, rigid against his firm hold, unable to even cry out as your lungs were crushed by your own spasming. Fluid ran down your legs, chased by his tongue. There were sparkles in your vision, your synapsis on fire… and then you were spent, falling limp and gasping against him. 

He kissed your ass cheek, then bit it lightly before pulling your bottoms back up and untangling himself from your numb limbs. 

Crosshair rose from the bed, stretched, then reached for his discarded armor… confusing you,

“Was that really all you wanted?”

He looked over his shoulder at you, now sprawled prone over the bed, and smirked. A triumphant look danced behind his eyes. 

“What else might I want?”

Your gaze roved over his tight muscles, barely hidden under the tight black fabric of his under clothing. Down his shoulders to his hips, the tight buttock and thighs. Your appraisal wasn't unnoticed and he turned slightly, letting you look at him more. His chest, his abs… your eyes darted down to the straining fabric at his groin and a small, needy moan escaped you as your pussy twitched. 

“Don't you want to fuck me?”

A slight smile played across his lips, dancing behind his eyes. 

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Stars yes…”

There was no use denying it. Now that he was here, partially stripped and hard for you there was no way you were letting him leave. 

“Fuck me, Crosshair,”

He turned fully towards you, stroking himself thoughtfully through the fabric of his pants. 

“I suppose I could fuck you, How ba~dly… do you want me to fuck you, inmate?”

“Badly… awfully, Please take me, Crosshair,”

You ground your hips into the mattress, watching him standing there, stroking himself lazily…so nonchalant…

Damn it…

“Take your close off, inmate.”

He stepped back, leaning himself against the table. 

 You obediently say up, tugging the hem of your shirt up.

“Slower.”

The command hit you in your core, and your breath came shaky as you, slowly, tugged the shirt up over your breasts, then head… and it was off. Your nipples hardened at the sudden cold air, having dressed too hastily to find under things. Next came the pants, and you hooked your thumbs into the band. 

“Stand for those.”

You stood with a wobble, legs still feeling more like jelly than flesh and bone. The waistband slipped down your hips, your thighs, then fell to the floor. 

He palmed his covered cock as he took in your nudity. 

“Be a good girl and give me a little turn,”

His fingers made a spin motion and you swallowed, waiting for a sense of indignation, an urge to stop this that never came. You obeyed. Turning slowly, letting him see your back and ass, then facing him again. 

“Very good… now get on all fours, facing me,”

You flushed, but did as he said, lowering yourself to your hands and knees to look at him from the floor. 

“Come here, like that. Crawl to me, sweetheart.”

You balked for the first time in this new routine, flushing a deep red at the humiliating command. He cocked an eyebrow,

“If you don't want to I could always leave…”

You gritted your teeth, knowing you weren't likely to deny anything he asked from this point, and crawled forward. The bare panel flooring was hard against your knees but you closed the distance, coming even with his legs casually leaning against the table. 

“Now tell me… what do you want?”

You gulped, your vision completely dominated by his visage poised over you. Relaxed, in control, slowly stroking the outline of his length to tease you more than himself. 

“I-i want you to fuck me, Crosshair,”

“You can do better than that… what exactly do you want?”

He gripped himself pointedly through his blacks and your vision blurred with need. Lips trembling, a hint of pleading back in your voice,

“I want your cock…”

“Where do you want it?”

…

“Inside me.”

Flushing, you looked away, his knee nudged your chin to meet his eyes again. 

“All together now, from the top…”

“I want you to fuck me, Crosshair, I want your… cock inside of me.”

Your eyes stayed obediently on his, his knee still pressed to your cheek. 

“You can be nicer than that,”

Exasperation forced a frustrated sigh from you, causing his eyebrows to raise again and your jaw to clench. 

“Please, fuck me, Crosshair… I want your cock inside me… please…”

As the first plea left you a shiver went down your spine, a small thrill from the submissive action. You nuzzled the knee pressed to your chin, forcing his eyes to widen for a brief second. 

“If you want it so badly, darling, why don't you just take it then?”

He slid to sit on the bench proper, legs spread wide to either side of you, crotch jutted towards your eager, lustful expression. 

“Why don't you fuck yourself on my cock?”

He smirked down, rolling his hips subtly to challenge you into action. 

Perhaps he didn't expect you to take the invitation, but as your hands lashed out to hook his waistband, the fasteners pulled open with a sharp snap… he stilled. Elbows on the table behind him, still leaned in a relaxed posture, but frozen in a temporary trance. You tugged the fly the rest of the way open and his heavy cock sprang free, bopping you lightly in the nose making you flinch involuntarily. 

This broke the spell as he failed to repress a snort of amusement. You narrowed your eyes at him and he composed himself as well as he could with that glint in his eye.

“Sorry, go on,”

You nipped at the head of his bobbing member making him hiss between his teeth. A hand roughly caught the back of your neck pulling you up off your knees and into his lap. 

“I believe I told you to fuck yourself, inmate,”

His free hand grabbed your hip, grinding your bare sex against his shaft for emphasis eliciting a needy groan from your chest. 

You decided to comply, tucking your feet over his thighs for leverage, you angled your torso up over him. He rested his arms back on the table once more as you balanced your hands on his shoulders. His length slid along your folds as you moved and you shivered, poised with him resting against your entrance. Rivulets of arousal trickled down his velvety skin to catch in the soft brush of pubic hair nested around its base. 

“Well, I'm waiting…”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath counting a heartbeat before opening them again. Meeting his eyes you couldn't help but think his features seemed softer from up here. 

Easing your thigh muscles down, you carefully pushed him into yourself, slowly… an inch, then withdrawing, dropping an inch further, making sure he was lubricated with you from base to tip. When he was fully docked inside you ground your hips into him, feeling his hard length pushing deep against your inner limit and you moaned in satisfaction. 

Finally, 

He was biting his lip, keeping his reactions to a minimum as you began to move on him. Desperate little hops with your hips to bounce yourself. He seemed to enjoy you doing all the work, eyes dropping to watch how your breasts bobbed in front of him. A sliver of his tongue darted across his lips but he didn't move, didn't react, as he watched you ride him, desperately using him to get your self off. 

You were frustrated, wanting it harder but knowing better than to ask for help. That wasn't what you were told to do. So you rolled your hips, bucking against him to find that bliss yourself. 

Leaning back, you put your hands on his knees, tightening your pelvis and putting more power into your hips. His calm veneer broke and he grabbed onto your hips, keeping you anchored on his shaft as climax started to cloud your vision. Your motions and breathing became erratic, taking his guiding force on your hips as permission to let go you ground against him with reckless abandon, hurtling yourself over the edge,

“F~u~...”

Your voice cut out with a strangled cry and he pulled you down on him, sheathing himself in you with an ecstatic groan as your muscles convulsed and clamped down on his shaft. 

He lifted you up, carrying you back to the bunk, plunking your ass against the mattress before pushing you over to lay on your stomach. 

Your arms were grabbed and held behind your back once more as he angled himself back into your warm cunt. His weight dropped onto your back and you were pressed flat under him. His hips started to pump into you, quick and sharp as he grew comfortable with your shape under him and he started to ramp up the force. 

A vulgar clapping of skin echoed through the room as he pounded into you, grunting from exertion as he took you hard. His free hand turned your head to look over your shoulder at him before dropping to grip your neck. 

“Do you like this, sweetheart?”

All he got for an answer was a series of sharp, high pitched gasps from the rapid snapping of his hips. 

“Getting wet for me like that…”

He groaned in his throat, grinding deeply into you making you sob in pleasure.

“You like the thought of being my cock slave?”

“Yes… kriffs sake yes…”

“That's right.”

Your breathing went ragged as he pushed himself up on his knees, pulling your waist with him. He moved his arms and hips in tandem to pump his full length in and out of you and you broke, orgasm driving your walls to slam around his thrusting rod until he couldn't take it any more himself. 

He pulled your shoulders up, arms sliding around your chest and hand cupping your jaw hooking fingers into your mouth. You were held against his chest as his cock twitched violently inside of you, a throb for every spurt of seed he shot into your warmth. 

He nuzzled into your neck breathless, tone softer than it had been,

“You were so good for me, darling… so good…”

You couldn't answer around his fingers, so you sucked them, sliding your tongue between them as he groaned. 

~~~

The last piece of his armor latched on with a click as you dried your hair, thinking about this new arrangement as you looked at the food still on the table… you weren't sure you could complain. Well you could but…

You glanced over at him, adjusting something at his wrist before he looked up, finding you fully dressed as well. 

…

…

“Alright… come on then,”

“What? C’mon where?”

He paced over to the door, tapping at the panel. 

“You’ve been released. The doors been unlocked for days,”

“Wha-”

As the realization hit you anger washed through your senses and with out thinking you grabbed the fruit from the tray, chucking it at his head. 

He caught it deftly and with a smirk in your direction, took a big bite out of the flesh, letting the juice run down his chin. 

[vodika-vibes]

Hey Vod’ika, hope you’re having a happy new year! I was wondering if you could do a f!reader x Fordo piece(or with and alpha arc really). Reader is a special ops officer and works closely with them, and has the most devastating crush on him. The thing is reader is really depressed and has a very low opinion of herself for a lot of reasons so she doesn’t think she even has a shot. The trooper himself thinks otherwise, and all it takes for everyone’s feelings to come to light is reader accidentally finding the trooper’s sketchbook which is filled to the brim with hand drawn sketches pinups of her(I like to headcanon the clones sometimes had a natch for art because Jango had a natural hand for it) and she’s shocked and honored but has a lot of questions. Que the embarrassing confession between reader and trooper ;) sorry if this is all weirdly specific pls don’t feel pressed to get every detail if you don’t want don’t mind me I’m just feeling crazy today

The Sketchbook

Summary: You've had a crush on Fordo for ages, and you're convinced nothing will ever come of it. And then you find the sketchbook.

Pairing: ARC Captain Fordo x F!Reader

Word Count: 1373

Warnings: Reader is not in the best place mentally speaking

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted. And I'm sorry it took so long!

You mumble under your breath as you walk through the halls of Topica City, your gaze locked on your datapad as you quickly parse through the information from one of the special ops teams. 

Once upon a time, at the beginning of the war, you would have been with them, going over the information in real time, but after a serious injury left you with a prosthetic leg, you were relegated to having to analyze information from Kamino, rather than on the front lines.

No one blames you. Which is fine, you blame yourself enough for an entire squad.

You turn a corner, and let out a startled noise as you crash into something very solid. Red and white armor, and jaig eyes on the helmet hanging from his hands…whoops.

“Captain Fordo, my apologies, I didn’t see you.” You internally swear at yourself, of course you didn’t see him, you weren’t looking. Gods, you’re so dumb sometimes-

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been lurking around corners,” Fordo interrupts your mental train of thought, his voice quiet. 

“Even so, I should have been paying more attention.” You say quickly, “I should know better than to try and read and walk at the same time-”

“Don’t worry about it, really.” Fordo interrupts you again, “It’s not like you would have been able to hurt me.” His harsh words are accompanied with a kind smile, and your heart lurches.

Now is not the time for your embarrassing crush to rear its ugly head, you think firmly to yourself. “Well, thank goodness for small mercies, right?” You say with a tiny smile, “But I’ll get out of your way, Captain.”

“Fordo,” He murmurs, “We see each other daily.” He clarifies, “You can just call me by my name.”

“I…of course.” You say, slightly awkwardly, “Fordo, then.”

He smiles again, seemingly pleased with something so simple, “I appreciate it. But I do have to go-”

“Right! Of course. I’ll get out of your way!” You step to the side, and Fordo steps past you continuing down the hall, and you sigh, as you continue your trek to your office. You’re not going to get anything else done today, that’s for sure.

After all, you never do when you get the chance to talk to Fordo. 

You push your way into your office and set your datapad on your desk, before you sink into your seat and press your face into your hands. 

Frankly, your crush on Fordo is humiliating. He’s literally perfect, and you’re…well you. 

You push your hands through your hair, and then sit up. Fordo will never look at you the way you look at him, because you’re not good enough, and that’s fine. It’s fine.

Totally fine.

…maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough you’ll believe it.

You focus your attention back on your datapad, and on the information that you’ve been parsing. And you slowly reach for it. At least this work will get your mind off of Fordo.

Maybe.

Several hours later, with your eyes burning with exhaustion, you finally finish for the day, and slowly make your way from your office to your suite. You walk the path blindly, exhaustion making you pay even less attention than you normally would.

Which is why you don’t see the notebook until you step on it.

You stare at it, puzzled, and then you sigh and pick it up, opening it to the first page. Surely someone wrote their name inside the book.

The notebook falls open towards a middle page and you stare, dumbly, at the image etched on the page.

It’s…you.

Page after page of you.

Images of you sitting at a table. Of you walking through the halls. Of you standing in the rain.

And every so often, there are images of you that could have only come out of the artist's imagination. Images of you clad in lingerie, images of you sprawled on the bed, you in every state of undress that you can imagine.

Your face burns with slight embarrassment as you slam the book shut, you shouldn’t have looked at those. They weren’t for your eyes. Carefully, you open to the very first page and scan for a name.

And then you nearly drop the book in surprise.

Fordo.

Fordo?

This is Fordo’s notebook?

Maybe…you should just put it back on the floor and let him find it himself. Maybe that would be better than letting him know that you saw his drawings of you. 

Nervously you rub the back of your neck as you try and decide what to do.

You jump when you hear heavy footsteps behind you, and you whirl around, an excuse already on your tongue for why you’re just standing in the hallway, though the words die on your tongue when you see Fordo standing there.

His gaze drops to the book in your hands, and he shifts, slightly uncomfortably, “That’s mine.” He says quietly.

You hold it out to him, “Um, I found it. I stepped on it, I’m so sorry-”

He lightly takes the book from you, “Did you, uh…look inside?”

Your face burns, “I…yes. I was looking for a name-” You pause and your face heats a little more, “You’re a very good artist.” You offer.

“Kriff, you weren’t supposed to see those.” Fordo mutters, “Why’d it have to be this one that I dropped?”

“Um-”

“I can explain.” He says quickly, “About…about the pictures of you. And the…less than fully clothed pictures of you-”

“You don’t have to,” You take a deep breath, “I know there aren’t a lot of women here, and I’m flattered-”

“It wouldn’t matter even if there were more women here, because I’d still draw you.” Fordo interrupts. “You’re the only woman I want to draw. Ever.”

Your thought process derails completely. “...oh.”

“Look, you’re…” He pauses to gather his thoughts, “Gorgeous. Funny. Clever. And so very competent, which is unfairly attractive, so you know.” Fordo looks at you, and then he continues, “You also lost a leg and it barely slowed you down at all-”

“Fordo, you-”

“Let me finish? Please?”

You stop talking immediately, “I go out of my way to talk to you when I can, but you’re so busy all of the time, that all I can do is just put myself in your way and hope that you run into me.” Fordo continues, “And I know I’m just a clone, and I know I have millions of identical brothers, but I just want-...” He trails off with a sigh, “You. I just want you.” He pauses, “You can talk now.”

Millions of half finished thoughts spin through your mind, “You and your brothers aren’t interchangeable, Fordo.” Is the first coherent thought that slips from you, “And I’m hardly…I’m barely holding myself together most days. I’m not…any of those things that you say I am.”

“I disagree. If you could see yourself the way that I see you…” He trails off with a sigh, “Stars, you’re perfect.”

“I’m really not-”

“I want you to be mine.” Fordo says quickly, “I want to…to kiss you and hug you and make you believe me when I say nice things about you. I want to wake up every morning and see your face first thing, and I want your face to be the last thing I see before I go to bed, but I know that I don’t have anything to offer you except my affection.”

You stare at him, your lips parted in surprise, “I…don’t need anything more than that.” You finally say and his gaze snaps to yours. 

Fordo scans your face for a moment, and you shift uncomfortably, “You mean it.” He finally says.

“Yeah. I mean,” You nervously twist your hair between your fingers, “I’ve had an embarrassing crush on you forever it feels like, so…yeah. I don’t want or need anything more than just your affection.”

Fordo takes a step towards you and reaches out to brush his hand against your cheek, “I can do that.”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” You ask, your voice a whisper, “I’m not the best cook but-”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” Fordo says with a small grin, “Right now.”

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 20: The Confessional II

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din has left it all too late as his fears are realised.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, Mo blood, injured Reader, Hurt/Comfort (if I have ever written a self-indulgent hurt/comfort fic in my life, it’s this chapter), lots of feelings.

A/N: We're nearly there, omg. Every single one of you who's joined me on this journey and let me know you're enjoying this story, you're SO wonderful. Thanks for reading!

--

Din rips at your flight harness, nearly pulling it from the seat in the effort to get you up. He shouts your name but you’re limp and silent, lifeless. Grogu watches with wide horrified eyes as Din hauls you, limbs dangling, into his arms. 

He yells to R5 to keep the ship on an even keel.

‘Grogu. With me. We need. Lay her down.’ He grunts out the words in stuttered bursts of breath, moving to the door.

‘Pah!’ Still in his pod, the baby unbuckles to follow the hulking shape of Din carrying you through the cockpit, dropping into the hold, across to the cabin. He floats into the cabin behind the frantic Mandalorian and your unconscious form, hovering nervously and murmuring as his father lays you down before turning to him. 

Din lifts Grogu from the pod.

He settles the child next to you, by your hip so his little hands are just in reach of the wound, and seats himself on your other side – framing you between the two of them. He takes out a small knife and slices away your leather tunic to expose the short metal object that Grogu spotted when you had leaned back in your cockpit chair. It is pulsing with a low hum and the skin around the foreign object is riddled with gooseflesh. Sweat pools across the plains of your abdomen and in the hollow of your neck. You shudder. 

‘Grogu,’ Din hovers above you both. He takes one, steadying breath. ‘I need you to be strong for her now.’ 

He points to the small hilt sticking from your middle. Grogu murmurs, gazing between it and Din with unease.

‘This is a phase blade,’ he explains. ‘It is an ultrafine weapon that a war trooper must have slipped in when she was fighting. She would have barely noticed it going in, but now it is buried deep and is making her bleed inside her body. Do you understand what I mean by that, Grogu?’

‘Ebbe?’

‘It’s hurting her inside her body where we can’t see. And if I start to pull it from her, it will activate an energy field that is going to make it worse, more bleeding, more damage inside of her.’

His voice cracks for a moment. He blinks back tears from behind his helmet, seeing the charts on his vision array showing your staccato heart rate and plunging BP blur and distort. He shakes his head and focuses on the child’s face. 

‘It’s designed that way, d’you understand?’ he goes on. ‘They use it to kill even after a battle ends. It’s impossible to remove without killing her.’

Grogu gives a little wail of despair, leaning into your limp form.

‘But y’can save her, buddy.’

‘Eeeh?’ Din’s son gives him a disbelieving look. He really doesn’t know - how powerful he is?

‘Remember Greef Karga?’ he says, leaning closer to the tiny child. ‘Remember the creature’s attack on Navarro? You saved him. You can save her.’

From where you lay, you convulse slightly and thick blood oozes across your hip and onto the bed. Your chest rises in shallow, hyperventilating breaths. His voice gets urgent.

‘You’re stronger now than you were then, so much stronger. You can do this. As I draw out the blade… heal her as it goes. Make the bleeding and the hurt stop. Can you do that?’ 

The baby’s ears twitch as he looks up to where your head lays lolled on its side. He looks terrified.

‘Please, kid,’ the desperation in Din’s voice pulls Grogu’s eyes back to him. ‘Please, you have to do this, I need h—’

Fuck, take a breath, Fuck.

‘I need you to try your best.’

Grogu seems to steel himself. He reaches out and presses both hands to your entry wound. Din takes the petite hilt of the blade in hand and braces a forearm against your ribcage. He watches as the child closes both gigantic eyes and focuses, tilting his head progressively up and up like he’s summoning the universe to him. Din observes his breathing pick up and his little forehead scrunch tight. 

‘Ehhhhh,’ Grogu looks pained, straining. His little mouth opens and closes a few times before settling into a hard frown. Then, without opening his eyes, he gives one tiny resolute nod.

Din takes a long breath in and counts… three, two…  

He pulls.

‘Hhhhrrrrrngh!’ You wail and arch off the mattress, pushing into Din’s forearm with a surprising force. He leans forward to put more weight on you and grips the blade tighter. It’s barely moved a millimetre but you and Grogu are both shaking violently. 

Just keep going. Stay steady.

Another pull and hot crimson spurts from the wound, splashing across the view of his visor. You jerk as if struck, arching again. His grip slips off the hilt. Panic rises. He feels like he might black out. Flushing hot and cold, the air in his lungs turning icy and his blood setting to boil.

Furious regret tears at him. Worlds, curse him. He’s wasted so much time. Holding onto the hurt, onto the shame, and the anger. Why? Why couldn’t he have let go sooner. Why couldn’t he have just talked to you. If he’d just tried. Just understood you better.

Fucking focus.

Retaking the handle, he channels everything down to his hand and the blade. It’s not you he’s killing right now; it’s just his hand and this blade. That’s all it is. His hand, this blade, he chants it over and over as more of the quivering weapon comes free.

His hand, this blade. His hand, this blade. His hand, this cursed, evil, fucking, going to kill his--

The weapon draws out, deactivating the second it breaks contact with flesh. Din hurls it into a med tin and shakes his hand, as if to get the menace off him. He looks back to you, reads your still sporadic vitals. Your lips are white and you’re puffing hard through clenched teeth. Your wound is still leaking blood. Too much blood.

He’s on the verge of weeping. But he concentrates instead on Grogu, whose claws are sunk deep into your skin as he continues shaking and grunting. The child is giving everything he has. 

Din Djarin looks between the two of you. His whole fucking world. He’s losing a part of it. Maybe for good this time. He’s been so foolish. 

Fresh tears come. His vision shifts out of focus and, instead of your two quivering bodies, he sees the spray of blood across his visor. Your blood. A wretched reminder of how tortured he’s been since you returned. Empty while you were gone, he’s been on fire from the moment you looked at him as you stood at that damned forge saying you’d fight for them. Each time he’d watched you from afar, desperate to go to you but drilled to the spot, it burned. His desire to see you, to actually see you. 

It’s time. It might be too damn late, but it’s time. 

He reaches and pulls his helmet up, off. Deposits it over you onto the bed. He sits back and puts a hand to Grogu’s back and the other to your uninjured side, drawing the two of you together, holding you as close as he is able.

Whatever happens, he needs to hold you both close, for as long as he can.

‘Come on, Grogu,’ Din leans in. ‘You can do this, you can. You’re so strong, stronger than any—’

Grogu gives a long pained sigh of effort and flops forward, head resting next to the spot where – thank all the worlds – your wound has closed over into a puckered, angry looking scar. Your breathing is evening out and you slowly come to stillness.

Even as the child lays there wheezing, the wound continues to lighten and shrink, the connection between you and he potent and enduring.

Din becomes aware of his own hammering heart, his staggered breathing. Sighing out every ounce of fear and panic that had consumed him these past few minutes, he looks at you. 

He gives himself a moment to take you in. Traces the side profile of your face where your head has turned away. Relishes in the way your eyelashes flutter, and your lower lip quivers a little. The way you’re breathing more normally with each passing moment. 

He gives himself a moment to think about the colour of your eyes, wonders if his visor’s vision array has ever truly conveyed their beauty.

Then he gives his son a reassuring pat.

Grogu’s eyes slip open and he looks at his father in wonder. Din smiles.

--

It’s so much pain. 

Great crumbling walls of it. Savage spikes impaling your very core. You fall back away from it, toward some dense murky nothingness. That’s what you’re aiming for – just for the relief – when something else reaches down and wraps around you. A coil of earnest embrace. A branch of tender love. It takes hold and gives a single strong entreaty. Come back. As it strengthens its hold, the excruciation eases. The agony releases.

And so you turn back.

Push through a dense fog, swim back to consciousness. It feels endless. White haze claws at you, but the warm light waits not far away. You drag yourself to it. It takes effort. So much effort. You have to call on the weary presence within you to rise up, haul on it like a rope out of there. Reaching, grasping, breaking the surface tension with a long, strained inhale.

The first thing you sense is Din’s voice.

‘Sshh, cyar’ika,’ he’s whispering. ‘That’s it, take it slow. There’s no hurry.’

You hear yourself groan then. Feel filtered cabin air settle on your skin. Smell earthy sweat and the tang of blood, and under those something achingly known. More out of curiosity than any desire to expose them to light, you blink one eye open a little, then the other. And then you feel confusion. Because through blurred eyesight, what you see makes no sense. With your head rolled to the side, you’re looking at the unoccupied half of the bed. Except it’s not totally unoccupied.

Maybe you haven’t woken up, after all.

Din’s helmet rests on the blankets. Empty and cold, no life behind the visor. 

You sense him sitting on your other side. Hear his steady inhales and exhales, clear and unmodulated. Feel the heat of his thigh pressed into your side. 

‘Din?’ you say, voice croaky and weak, still staring at the lone helmet. You can’t bring yourself to move, to turn. You can only raise a shaky hand to press a finger to the cool metal. A flood of feeling at the contact you’ve ached for, you trace over it, follow the streak of dried blood spattered there. Draw a thumb down the high arch of its side. A caress you’ve longed for.

‘I’m here,’ he says.

‘You’re not…’ Still looking at the helmet. You notice his gloves and gauntlets also discarded on the bed. ‘You’re…’

‘It’s okay,’ he says, throaty and barely above a whisper. ‘You can look.’

‘Are you,’ you struggle to keep tears from blurring your sight even more. Blink hard to clear them, hiss in a breath. ‘Are you s- sure?’

The sensation of two fingers gently pressing to your cheek makes you gasp. If you weren’t already lying down, you’re sure you’d collapse. You screw your eyes shut again as, with a tender push, he tilts your head to turn to him. 

He sighs, pulls his hand away. ‘Please,’ he rasps. ‘Let me see you.’

Come on, you tell yourself. This is all you’ve ever wanted.

So you focus where you think his hands will be, likely resting in his lap. You blink a little when you see them there – those strong, capable hands. Thick fingers, veins tracing over knuckles, over his wrists, and up to where his forearm disappears into a sleeve. You follow that up to one shoulder, dart from it across to the other. No pauldrons. Land in between. No cuirass. 

In your peripheral vision, above the chest you’re staring hard at, you register dark hair framing indistinct features. Dark hair you already know to curl around his ears and fan over his forehead, from touching him blind and from that one scant glimpse before the battle. You’d been so eager then. So desperate. And now…

He murmurs your name. ‘Look at me, please.’

Tracing the line of his neck, the edge of his jaw, you sweep your eyes up to meet Din’s. 

A plush lower lip purses just a little, as he releases a breath like he’d held it his whole life. You struggle to breathe at all, drinking in the glorious sight. Lungs burn as you slot each tiny detail into the image in your head. There’s so much to take in, but his eyes… My gods, his eyes.

Deep, and dark, and bottomless. They match his voice so perfectly, that velvety timbre you know so well, you’re amazed you hadn’t known their hue and tone all along.

He gazes back, absorbing you. Irises like onyx marbles roll over your face, opening you up and exposing you completely. Tears start to threaten you again just from the sheer overwhelming sensation of making eye contact with Din.

‘Mmm, weh,’ a gentle murmur pierces the spell, has you glancing down.

‘Baby, hey,’ you whisper to Grogu, who’s tucked into your hip squinting up at you. You prop yourself on an elbow. ‘Oh, you look so tired. Why aren’t you resting?’

‘He’s been waiting,’ Din says, drawing your eyes back to his, where you struggle not to get lost in their fathoms again. Gods, this is the face of the Gods. ‘To make sure you’re alright.’

You look back to the child, whose own huge eyes blink languidly. You can see the effort he’s making to keep them open. You remember then, what he did. Grogu reaching for you as you sunk into a murky oblivion. Giving you the life raft to let you drag your way back. Saving you.

‘Hey, kiddo,’ you reach over and let him take hold of a forefinger with his little claw. Enclose it with a thumb. ‘See? I’m okay now. I’m okay.’

‘Emm?’

‘Yeah, you did good. You can rest now. Thank you.’

Grogu gives a lazy nod of his head, exhaling and cooing to the two of you. He pushes himself up and moves toward his pod, tentative little steps and huffs of air until he’s seated comfortably among the blankets. Pawing at the controls, he drifts out of the cabin and you listen for the shift of his hatch, open and then close.

Moving the hand he’d grasped to rest on your stomach, you feel it. Raised skin, threaded and uneven. Fingers trace back and forth over the new scar.

‘What was that? What happened to me?’ you ask, gazing up at the man sitting beside you, at his soft mouth, his sharp nose, his knit-together brow – his gorgeous features. 

A shadow crosses them as Din leans down and picks up a little metal tray. A tiny hilt with no blade rattles inside it. He lets you get a look at it before tossing it back on the floor like it’s tainted. You suppose it is.

‘Fuck,’ you huff an exhale, lean back. ‘Dicey.’

‘That would be putting it fucking mildly,’ he says, glaring at the offending weapon. How had you failed to notice a damned phase blade? When did it even happen? What would have happened to you if Din hadn’t— If he hadn’t been with you? You pull in a long breath of air.

‘How many times is it you’ve saved my life now?’ you ask. 

Eyes so soft and deep lock onto yours. You’re not prepared. They’re so expressive, you can read every single ounce of feeling in them. Longing, and fear, and some deep sad pain that breaks you wide open right from your chest.

The swell of emotion rises so swift it chokes you and slurs your words. But you force them out. As fast as you’re able over the short shallow panting that starts ramping up a staccato beat.

‘I’m sorry,’ you gasp. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Gods. Din, I’m so- s- I—'

He’s leaning in, head shaking just a little.

‘I was scared,’ you push on, words bursting out over rising sobs. It’s been too much. It’s been too long. ‘I was just so fucking sc- scared. And confused. And like I was just lost? I’m sorry, fuh, ah, I’m so--’

‘Stop,’ he speaks over you. ‘Stop, please.’ 

But you can’t. You can’t stop. The dam you’ve been straining against dissolves into a torrent. Chest heaving and hands shaking, you scrunch your eyes shut and weep.

It’s when Din bends forward and takes your face in his hands, swipes a thumb over a tear-streaked cheek and whispers, ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ that you still. At the sound of your name, murmured and desperate, you open your eyes to see his own just inches away.

‘I understand,’ he says, looking right through you, brows pulled in and expression pleading. ‘I understand now.’

He holds you there for a long, agonising stretch. Faces so close your breaths merge, brush against the cooling moisture on your skin. It’s when your mouth parts just a little, and his gaze drops there for a second, that he seems to return to himself and sits back.

Bereft for a moment, caught off guard by how just a few moments of his touch has your body thrumming, you stay quiet. You lay still and watch him gather himself, readying his words. You know this posture, know what it looks like when he’s preparing to open up. The added details of his jaw working and forehead creasing in contemplation are not lost on you – in fact, they put your heart in your throat. Yet still, in this moment, you have no idea what he’s going to say. 

Sure enough, his words take you out.

‘A while ago,’ he says. ‘Through a misstep in fate, I possessed a weapon that could have allowed me to rule Mandalore. As Bo-Katan does now.’

This out-of-nowhere revelation has you asking before you can think, ‘Why didn’t you? Why aren’t you?’

‘Well, among many other reasons,’ he makes a gesture like politics and such. With a head tilt you know well, you nearly die to learn it comes with a single eyebrow arched high in sardonic humour. You feel giddy, but keep still and listen. ‘It was… heavy,’ he continues, expression dropping to neutral again. ‘Too heavy. Being a part of my Covert is about belonging. But this was something different. I did not have the want to carry that weight. To be pulled down. Bound.’

The word pierces right through your chest. ‘Bound?’

It’s a tiny squeak, the way you say it. Bursting out of you as you see him in all new light. Familiar light. He moves a hand over you to touch your forearm, strokes there in comfort – a reflex that he doesn’t seem to make note of. It makes your skin sing. 

‘Mmhm,’ he says, looking at you. ‘The thing you fear? I understand it. I should’ve understood it all along, but I was blinded by—’ He cuts himself off, swallows hard. 

‘Anyway, I am sorry for that,’ he says, whispering your name again. ‘I am so, so sorry.’

You’re trying to find the words to say he has nothing to be sorry for. To tell him you’d carried remorse and guilt with you across most of the galaxy. That you’d do anything to go back to before that cursed day and talk to him. Tell him these things before it had all become too late. But he continues before you can. 

‘And I’m sorry that I have been… since you got here, that I’ve…’

‘It’s okay,’ you say, when you see him struggling to keep going.

‘It’s not,’ he says. ‘It’s not okay, I was just- Shit, I was just so furious…’

‘I know,’ you murmur, ready to accept this and beg forgiveness. ‘I know you were angry with me, and, and I underst—’

‘I wasn’t angry with you,’ he interrupts.

‘But I- I hurt you so badly, I--’ you say, unable to believe him. Tears encroach again. ‘And- and I was here and you weren’t, and I didn’t know if you’d ever speak to me again, and I--' 

‘I was hurting, that’s true,’ he says, warm hand continuing its motions on your arm. It hasn’t stopped for one second. ‘But so were you. And I wasn’t angry with you.’

‘What?’

He leans the elbow of the arm not caressing yours on a knee, shifts a little closer. Drawing a deep breath to speak, he gives you another wounded look. An intense wave of gooseflesh ripples over you.

‘You being here,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t stand it.’

You must look fit to break because he rushes on. 

‘You being here, in danger. From the moment you stood in front of everyone and said you’d fight, I’ve been,’ he drags a hand through mussed curls, searches for words, ‘drowning, in fury and fear. When you told us your plan for the walker… Fuck-- I was livid.’

Paying attention to the tender muscles in your abdomen, you nudge yourself upright. Shuffle a little until you’re sitting up facing him, drawn in by what he’s saying.

‘That’s what you were angry about?’ you ask. ‘That I came back to fight?’

He shakes his head. ‘I was angry that you were risking your life. That you wanted to fight our battles. That they were letting you. After what I did? How I let you go?’

Din stops there for a moment, works his jaw some more and swallows like he’s trying to not choke. Grips your arm hard. He looks tortured.

‘I should never have let it get to that moment by the forge, that day you left,’ he whispers, voice tight and just under control. ‘But I wasn’t, wasn’t paying attention. I was so afraid… The idea of you in a war that wasn’t yours to fight… All I could think about was how I could protect you. If I even could.’ 

His eyes are glossy as they stare over your shoulder. Your fingers itch to touch him. ‘And when you did run… I thought at least, at least you’d be safer that way.’ 

Din takes a sharp hiss through clenched teeth.

‘But I was a fool,’ he says. ‘To not realise that whether you had run that day or not, you still would have ended up here, because of your bravery, and loyalty. Because of me. And I couldn’t stop it-- I couldn’t-- Fuck.' He lets go of you to drop his head into both hands. ‘And you almost just fucking died, right here-- All my fears were—'

This time you’re the one reaching out, clutching at arms and wrists and trying to shush and still him. You lift his head and you’re inches apart again. You mutter at him to look at you, look right here, I’m okay … Just look. I’m here.

He sighs hard and stares. Tears shining in the corners of his eyes, they shift back and forth across your face. Your fingers tingle where they dig into his hair. Heart thunders. A white hot current crackles through your arms and across your chest, sends sparks up the back of your neck. 

‘I’m here,’ you say again, voice breaking only a little.

‘You’re here,’ he whispers back. As he calms, clenched jaw relaxing, he leans into one of your palms. Just a little, without breaking eye contact. Although you do see, for the barest second, a soft pink tongue dart out to swipe his lower lip.

But he doesn’t move, just keeps looking at you – waiting for you to choose what to do next.

It’s not that you don’t want to keep holding him like this, to pull him closer, wrap yourself around him entirely. Not let go. It’s not that you wouldn’t give anything in the galaxy to simply press your forehead to his, nudge his nose with yours, press your mouth to—

It’s just that you’re on a threshold you’re not yet ready to step over. There’s things you want to say first. Answers you still need. Somehow, doubt there still about whether he wants the same thing.

So you pull back. Not much. Just enough to bring his features into focus again. Drop your hands to rest between you. He seems to will himself to relax and settle back as well, understanding the air between you is a volatile thing, and you should move forward carefully.

Into the silence, picking at the covers on the bed, you do let a little insecurity out. Just let yourself say it.

‘Well, here for as long as I’m allowed to be anyway,’ you mumble, hoping it conveys the question you’re too afraid to ask. Can I stay?

Din doesn’t say anything at first, but his eyes roam over you and you have to fight not to squirm under his gaze. Not react to the heat it’s building within you.

He moves a hand to you again and that heat flares. But rather than touching you, he lands it on the armour guard still clipped to your shoulder. A piece of the set the Armourer had had made for you.

‘You have come to be more accepted here than you realise,’ he says. You sense his thumb tracing back and forth over a specific spot, a tender caress. Tilting your head to the side to try to see, you can just make out a scorched tear where an enemy weapon must have grazed over the leather – and the dark grey steel underneath it.

‘What?’ You move your hand across as Din fluidly unclasps the piece so you can take hold of it and get a proper look.

Cradling it, you gaze up in disbelief. 

‘Beskar?’

‘Mmhm,’ he affirms. You look back down, draw your own thumb over the split to feel the cold bite of sacred steel.

‘I don’t understand.’ Tears prickle your eyes. One falls to land on Din’s thumb where it has come to rest over yours. He palms it into a fist, draws it back.

‘You will,’ he replies, voice soft. ‘Soon. There’s things for you to know, when we return to the Covert.’

His tone draws you from the shoulder piece back to his face – he’s nervous, hesitant, trying to not spook the wild thing before him.

The you of several months ago would have let what he just said set you on a panic spiral. Let it burrow into all your insecurities and trauma. Let it put a wall around you.

But the you of right now fends it off, reminding yourself that the price was just too damn high. The cost of giving in to fear and paranoia would end up destroying you. You know this now. Just trust him, you tell yourself. Remember what he said. Just be patient.

So you give a nod, an acknowledgement that you’ll wait to learn more. He relaxes a little.

Still, you have to work to not fret about what’s to come. So in the quiet that follows, your mind wanders back to the battle instead. Scenes and snippets dance across your consciousness. One thing jumps out at you, and you blurt it out.

‘Hey, why’d your jetpack cut out?’ you ask. He starts at your sudden turn in this conversation, but goes with it.

He looks embarrassed though. ‘Um, that’s…’ he mumbles, rubs palms together. ‘It’s only really powerful enough to carry just the one… person.’

‘Ah, too much weight?’ you ask.

At his chagrined look, a short laugh bursts out of you – breathy and full of relief. In response, Din smiles, with lips curving and teeth showing. The sight punches the air from your lungs.

‘Guess I’ll have to see about an upgrade,’ he says dryly.

Hells, and you’re gonna let that sit with you for a bit.

More bits come back. The miraculous course of events is overwhelming now that adrenaline and shock aren’t flooding your system.

‘And how would you have taken out Cephlate’s ship if I wasn’t here?’ you wonder aloud. ‘If I was still on the ground with…’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’

‘You had the second controls installed…’ Din shrugs, tips his chin and looks up at the ceiling, you see the faintest crawl of a blush on his neck. It’s charming as hell.

‘Let’s call it… hopeful planning,’ he offers. ‘I wanted to be prepared for anything.’

‘You were,’ you breathe. ‘You always are.’ He smiles again. You could get so used to that.

Another question bubbles up, but Din senses it and shushes you.

‘We can do a full forensic later – and talk more, I swear. But I think we’re about to—’ R5’s binary burbles a warning over the ship intercom. ‘Run low on fuel,’ Din finishes. 

He examines you with an ‘okay to move?’ kind of expression and you nod.

As you each move to stand, careful to give space to the other, the sensations of your body rush into your awareness. Unpleasant, irritated, and clammy.

You stop in the doorway, turn back. ‘Um, D- Din?’

He straightens from collecting his helmet and turns to you, listening.

‘When we’ve landed, can I-- would there be time for me to…’ You raise an arm covered in dried blood to rub it across your neck, caked in dust. Drop it to the cut-away hole exposing your abdomen, also bloody. Dither before thinking hells with it. Just ask. ‘Would it be okay for me to use the fresher quick?’ You mumble it out in a rush. Grubby and self-conscious. ‘I just…’

‘Of course,’ he says, voice a low rumble. ‘Anything.’

Not long later, you stand under the warm stream of water revelling in the sensation. You know you don’t have much time, but you linger long enough to feel yourself seeping back into your skin. Coming home. Rivulets of cleansing moisture travel down your body, as you let the dirt and the blood and the months on months of heartbreak wash off and away.

--

Prev | Next

[lamaenthel]

Obedience

[read on ao3][masterlist][Febuwhump prompt: obedience]

Jesse tries to hold out against the flaying of his mind, but Darth Maul won't be denied what he wants to know about Ahsoka Tano.

Characters: CT-5597|Jesse, Darth Maul, Original Mandalorian Character Wordcount: 1942

Jesse spat into the sewer water at Maul's feet and fixed him with a glare. "We can go round and round in this circle if you want," he snarled. His blood was still burning from the battle—from the humiliation of being captured—but the commander was safe. As long as Rex kept her from doing something stupid, like trying to come after him, she'd stay that way. "I ain't telling you anything."

"It is not up to you." A shiver went down Jesse's spine at the look in Maul's burning eyes. "Your mind will speak, or it will break." He raised his hand and flexed his fingers; a cold sensation like icewater spread out under Jesse's skin and shocked him. While he twitched, Maul started rifling through his brain like a holodex. Jesse pushed him out with everything he had, falling back on the tricks that his commander and general had taught him in order to resist mental manipulation. Enclose yourself in a box. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. The only thing that exists are those walls. Make them sharp, make them cut whoever reaches in. With every breath in, your walls are fortified. With every breath out, your intruder is repelled.

"Tell me."

Jesse tried to breathe in and fortify, but the Sith's intrusion squeezed his brain like a vice. His eyes rolled back in his head with the effort of trying to breathe and push the bastard away at the same time. He clenched his teeth and shoved to no avail; the weak mental walls he'd erected were effortlessly swept away by an icy red tide.

Maul breathed out the heavy scent of old blood and sulfur inches away from his face. "Who is this Ahsoka Tano?"

Jesse threw his head back and screamed, helplessly pulled under by the Sith's wave. It forced the air from his lungs and left him violently shaking in its wake, memories rising to the surface like a school of dead fish.

"That's our commanding officer? Shabla haran, she's barely out of diapers." Jesse stared at the little Togruta that stood at attention behind General Skywalker, all gangly limbs like a newborn orbak and eyes half the size of her face. Those oversized eyes snapped to his through his visor. His cheeks went hot and he squirmed, suddenly afraid that she could hear helmet comms with those horns of hers.

"We coat them in metal to protect them,” Ahsoka said proudly, removing her headdress for the three troopers to see. Jesse leaned in to get a better look at the iron-coated trophies. “Akul teeth are sharp but break easily. They’re like lampreys, they’ve got something like ten rows of teeth and are constantly regrowing them.”

Jesse punctured the hydropouch with a straw and handed it to Ahsoka. She was still too dizzy to stand. The static burn his stunner bolt had left on her big forehead was getting redder by the second. "I'm sorry, Commander," he said, too ashamed to meet her eyes. She laughed and patted him right on his fresh ink as payback for tagging her.

"Bobi!" Ahsoka piled out of the larty tumbling over her gangly legs, eager to dive into the arms of General Kenobi. She frantically rubbed her head on his weary, ash-smudged face. Jesse raised an eyebrow under his bucket. "Give you ten warra nuts if you call him General Bobi," he whispered over comms, making Kix snort.

Maul growled like a rabid massiff. "She is of his lineage. Of course."

"Kix said you're going to be on bedrest for at least two weeks while your nerves regenerate, so I brought something to keep you from going totally insane." Ahsoka set up the holoprojector at the foot of the medbay cot and slid onto the covers, stretching out beside him like a sleepy tooka. "Ever watched a sholo—erm, a Shilian holovid? Shili makes the best in the galaxy. This one is a series, it was only released off-world a few months ago. It's called Princess For A Year. The premise is a little sketchy, but the reviews are good." She rested her big head on his chest and dimmed the overhead light with a wave of her hand.

"Let me be very clear with you, Ahsoka." Dol Sylen rested his chin on folded hands and fixed the commander with a hungry look. "I am no fool. I'm sure you already have a plan brewing in that pretty head of yours. You're going to play nice, do your best to convince me that you return my affection and try to gain my trust." He fondled Ahsoka's lek. "It's not going to work. You're going to do whatever I want you to do. Not because you like me and want to be obedient, but because if you don't, I'll hit this button—" he held up a small remote, " —and shock your pet until he pisses himself. If I want you to dance, you'll dance. If I want you to bend over this table and let me fuck you, you'll get fucked." Ahsoka inhaled sharply as he yanked hard on her lek. "Or maybe I'll watch your clone fuck you."

Jesse screamed and shoved Maul out of his mind. The Commander's humiliated, tearstained face swam in his vision, her mutilated lek dripping blood, the wild-eyed look of a prey animal that she didn't shake for a full month afterwards… 

"Stop fighting and obey, clone." Maul spat the words like they burned him. "Give me what I seek, or I will return you to your beloved Commander as a drooling husk."

"I'll die before I let you touch her." Jesse spat a thick glob of saliva in the Zabrak's eye and tried to headbutt him. The Mando dalgaan holding him kneed him hard in the spine. He fell to the ground gasping.

"As you wish." Maul's eyes brightened, burning with hatred. "But you will show me what I want to know before you do."

Maul peeled Jesse's brain apart like an onion to get at what was hidden in the meat. His vision went black around the edges as Maul ripped him open with tooth and claw, spitting out the memories like viscera.

Jesse held Ahsoka tight and desperately begged the Force that she trusted so dearly to not let her die. "I think you need a transfusion," he said. She purred weakly and shivered, cold despite the humid heat of Xior-Cal. He helplessly watched another drop of blood leak from the tip of her right lek. She nodded off in his arms for the second time.

He dragged Ahsoka to the ground and started chest compressions. He felt her ribs crack and swallowed down a sob. Kix always said that if they didn't break, you weren't doing it right, but he was still terrified that he was driving shards of bone into her heart.

They'd brought an oversized bed into the halls of healing to accommodate Ahsoka's need for physical touch while she recovered from surgery. Jesse lay at her front while General Skywalker curled around her from behind; he met Jesse's eyes between her montrals and smiled gratefully.

"S-stop…" Jesse said weakly. "You…"

"Quiet." Maul flexed his hand. "Your childish affection for Skywalker is of no importance to me. What happened to this Mandalorian?"

"She killed him." Jesse caught his breath, fixed him with a glare. "She'll do the same to you, demagolka."

"His name was… Sylen. That was your kinsman, Ijaan, was it not?"

The hulking blue Mandalorian behind Maul removed his helmet and smirked at Jesse. "He was."

Jesse snarled at the sight of Dol Sylen's lone surviving clanmate. "Shabuir. Naasade ru'partayli gar."

"Ni'cuy mav. Gar vi'tayc, ara'goten."

Jesse flinched at the slur; stillbirth, the most favored word by the Deathwatch to describe him and his brothers.

"He was the one that suggested you." Maul clenched his fist. "More."

"I thought Appo was joking when he said you adopted that little shabuir, Commander!" Jesse stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders with a pleading look. "Tell me you're joking, Commander." Her big eyes filled up with desperate tears. "I couldn't just leave him in there, Jess!"

"Sentiment." The bastard snorted. "She adopted the brat of your progenitor? How compassionate of her." 

"Get down!" Jesse blasted the first two Weequays in the face, caught the knife of the third and shoved it into his own throat. The fourth got flipped and a gutshot from Tup. Boba plugged the next two that ran in and cried out for help as long, spidery white arms wrapped around him like a flytrap and disappeared behind the tent flap. "Boba!" Jesse cried, stepping forward without seeing the Nikto break off from the three fighting Tup behind him. Scaly fingers yanked his head back and a long knife opened his throat.

"I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me." Skywalker held his hands on either side of Jesse's neck. The tissue rapidly closed, forcing Tup's finger out of his artery as it knitted back together with the Force. He sank back once the wound closed with a final tingle, panting and pale. "Aurra Sing," Jesse croaked as soon as he drew enough breath to speak. "It… it was Aurra Sing."

Ahsoka sat with her legs dangling over the side of the catwalk and picked at her cuticles miserably. "I… I love him. I'm in love with him." She closed her eyes and squeezed out a trail of tears. "I am so kriffing in love with that man that it hurts, Jess, and I can never, ever tell him."

"Adorable," Maul said, his voice a sickening coo of mockery. He kept going, shredding Jesse's mind in search of what he sought. He flipped through memories like picturebooks and examined every tiny cranny that Jesse kept his deepest, darkest thoughts in. By the time Maul's hunger for knowledge was finally sated, Jesse could barely kneel upright. He'd pissed himself long ago and tasted vomit, though he didn't remember throwing up. His whole body dripped with sweat. When he looked down, he saw a small puddle of blood. He sniffed and choked on coagulated clots.

Maul finally withdrew his choking, oily presence from Jesse's mind. "Take him away. Ensure he is fed and watered. We do not want our hostage to perish before it is time." 

"Yes, Lord Maul." Ijaan Sylen yanked him to nerveless feet with one massive hand and shoved him forward. "Move it, chakaar."

Jesse stumbled over his clumsy feet. Maul…Maul knew everything. Every memory that Jesse had ever shared with Ahsoka had been sucked up and devoured for analysis, then spit back out with the meat cleaned from the bones. He knew about her Empathy and how her synesthesia turned people's emotions into colored auras. He knew that she left the Order after Barriss Offee had framed her for bombing the Temple and the Council had let her hang. He knew that she had a soft spot for the clones, that she had a deep adoration for General Skywalker and General Kenobi, that she believed in justice and in helping people and doing what was right even if it killed her. 

He knew she was in love with Rex.

He knew everything. Jesse had given Maul everything he needed to know in order to destroy her. He hung his head and wept as he was led away, wondering if it was possible to die of shame.

MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS Shabla haran: fucking hell Demagolka: monster Shabuir. Naasade ru'partayli gar: Motherfucker. Nobody will remember you. Ni'cuy mav. Gar vi'tayc, ara'goten: I'm free. You're a slave, stillbirth. Chakaar: asshole

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo

Divider: @saradika-graphics

[warsamongthestars]

My absolute canon (headcanon for others), about the fates of the Bad Batch post TCWshow, would be exactly as TCWshow intended--they fall under the chip, and go from the super-special-awesome-squad to "uh oh you fucked up now" bad guy agent team.

And no, there is no happy ending here.

One the best, most heartfelt things that just, utterly crushed me for months, was the concept of the chip, the long term effects and the absolute utter tragedy.

The tragedy that these men, these soldiers, who knew nothing but war and military, who were given the promise through the Jedi's treatment of them that they could grow and live once it was all over...

... only to be snatched away, near permanently, into the darkness and to never been the same again. Even if to wake from the Nightmare, would only result in worse state from actions performed.

And many, if not all, would never wake again.

That's a beautiful tragedy, a beautifully written tragedy, a build up of years to solidify a single moment (Order 66). Its part of what kept me with Clone Troopers, part of how there's the "need to save them" in imagination.

We can make a happy ending in our minds, but the story NEEDED the Utterly Crushing Tragedy. The idea that "No, until the Emperor is Dead, there will be no Happy Endings".

Hope strikes with the return of the Jedi and no more, no less.

( Hope is not a dove delivered, its a soldier that picks its self up from the mud and marches again in the no man's land. Its the thing that find beauty in the starlight reflection of muddy waters, admist the death and destruction of an ended battle )

[ You can guess that I've read Tolkien ]

Clone Troopers are meant to be, by TCWshow weaving, the Biggest Tragedy of Star Wars. To be cursed as manufactured men when they were alive, and to be cursed as the Jedi killers after the war ends, utterly bound by the purpose they were created for unwilling.

( They're also the biggest symbols of Hope. )

( Leia was the first one in the whole of Star Wars to ever mention the Clone Wars, to make it an element as part of the world-build and to pull Obi-Wan Kenobi back into the fight. All the way back in the first, the beginning. Where do you think she would've learned what Hope was, when faced in impossible circumstance? )

( Her dress was as a white as a Shiny's shell, and she painted it in camouflage for battles won. )

[ She did say her father fought in the Clone Wars, together with then General Kenobi... Why imagine a Jedi father, when there were thousands of Clone Troopers? ]

To add my personal twist, Clone Force 99 would've become Vader's personal special forces. After all, he had the 501st and the 212th, why not 99?

Vader's 99 would've been clever enough to even kill wayward Inquisitors. ( Of course, something would've had to happen before the Deathstar Plans were caught, or there wouldn't have been an original trilogy--but that's a story to be created another time. )

I would've loved it.

The idea that these once good if flawed men, playful and goofy brothers, outcasts one and all--now monsters, unrecognizable even with their unique faces? And the only help that could be given, is impossible to give as you're trying to survive them now?

The only option in war to take the enemy out.

Now that's a painful story to live and breath for.

[kaijusplotch]

Started writing the separated bad batch fic....

And shit young Cody is a doll and I love him. Alpha does too.

Story bit under cut

Cody didn't bother knocking on Alpha-17’s door, instead walking into his office with a datapad in hand and sitting down at the free chair across from him at the desk.

Alpha simply raised an eyebrow and sighed, putting his stylus down, folding his hands on his desk at the young Commander.

“Can I help you, Kote?”

“I assume you know that I'm losing my Captain.”

Alpha nodded. “Commander-sorry General Skywalker has his own battalion now, so I would imagine he would take Rex.”

“Exactly.” Cody said, putting his data pad on the desk. “And I need an ARC to replace him too. Not that I could ever replace my little brother.”

“No one could replace Blondie. I suppose you are here for suggestions on who would fit well from the last graduates who are waiting to be assigned.” Alpha picked up another datapad and moved to open the list as he spoke.

“Actually, I already have my ARC picked out. But there is a small problem,” Cody smiled charmingly at his former Commander.

Alpha’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he took a deep breath through his nose. “You have been taking lessons from Kenobi. What is it?”

“He hasn't technically graduated, and technically not cleared for active duty from the Kaminoans. EC-9902.” Cody pushed his pad toward the man who was the closest thing to a father. “And maybe I've been taking some finer lessons from General Kenobi on negotiations.”

“Don't let him charm you. He's a menace.” Alpha took the pad and read over the report Cody had written himself. “You and your personnel reports. You realize that he hasn't even been cleared by Nala Se for active duty. Not to mention his status as an EC means he potentially has detriments that haven't been discovered yet in his testing.”

“That's not my concern. He's skilled. Not just as a spotter. His academic tests are off the charts, not to mention his skills as a pilot and shooter.”

“His physical prowess, though, is above average at best, acceptable at its worst.” Alpha countered.

“For an ARC trooper. But he is still well above average and into exemplary performance in his training sims.” Cody argued, still smirking.

“I take my words about Kenobi back. You are a menace. I can't just approve him without informing Nala Se. The 99s are her special projects that she is desperate to keep on Kamino for fine tuning.”

“He's the one I want, Buir. I have a feeling about him.”

Alpha narrowed his eyes. “A feeling? What? You're a Jedi now?”

“No, but General Kenobi has helped me trust my gut. Something you honed in all of us, Alpha.” Cody leaned forward. “And I have a feeling that EC-9902 and the other 99s may have a bigger part to play. I know I can't take them all, but they need to be in the field.”

Alpha sighed and pushed the data pad back to him. “I already was going to put him into the graduating class, and I can bring up his potential and your interest to Nala Se. She has the final word. Don’t get your hopes up.” he warned.

Cody simply beamed and nodded. “I won’t. I know you’ll pull through for me.” He stood up and walked to the “I leave in three rotations. I’d like to have him on the shuttle with me to get to know him.”

“Menace. I'll have news in two rotations. You’ll have an ARC either way.” Alpha-17 watched as his oldest son; the man who took over Command of the 212th, beamed at him.

“Thanks, Buir. I’ll see you for late meal.” Cody waved and left his office, smiling to himself as he looked down at the datapad, showing a bright eyed, goggled clone. EC-9902 would make a perfect edition to the 212th, he knew it.

[cheapsweets]

The nocuous Shonweak

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge from @maniculum

Jinhao shark fountain pen with fine, hooded nib, with Monteverde Raven Noir ink, over initial pencil sketch. I'd considered adding some colour, but didn't have time this week; imagine it's got telltale orange/yellow and black warning colouration :)

It's been interesting trying to relearn pen shading techniques from scientific illustration again (as ever, suspect going a bit bigger would make this easier, I'm also going to have another rummage through my pens to see if I can find an even finer nib, since the one's I've been using don't come close to using a dip pen).

Reasoning under the cut;

The Shonweak is so called because it is proof against fire.

Okay, first things first, we get no indication about what type of creature this is. My default assumption when the bestiary authors don't give us any more detail is that is must be a Beast, but I've been wanting to mix it up a bit. But what to go for...?

Of all poisonous creatures, it has the strongest poison. Other poisonous creatures kill one at a time; it can kill several things at the same time. For if it has crawled into a tree, it poisons all the apples and kills those who eat them. In addition, if it falls into a well, the strength of its poison kills those who drink the water.

Okay, a poisonous critter, and not just poisonous, the most poisonous...! Okay, this narrows it down a bit. We get some creatures that are occasionally poisonous due to their diet (including certain birds, and snakes!), but mostly we're looking at amphibians, insects, echinoderms, fish, flatworms, and some others too.

This also made me think about the line between poisonous and venomous. We've all been on tumblr a while, so we've probably seen the memes, but technically the main difference is that poisonous animals deliver their toxin passively (in this context, being eaten is passive...)

We also know that this thing can crawl into a tree, so must be able to climb (that eliminates most fish, for starters).

I've gone for a beetle, since drawing an arthropod is pretty different from anything I've done thus far. Main influences are;

The diabolical ironclad beetle, a tiny awesome critter that is nigh on indestructable. It has a flattened body, fused elytra, and a cool, knobbly surface to its armour; I gave the elytra a bit of an overlap, so it could consider clamping its body down if it gets into a sticky situation (like a fire).

Bombadier beetles; in case you're not aware of them, their defence mechanism is spraying near-boiling noxious chemicals at attackers (you'll also be familiar with them if you've ever read the Spider World books by Colin Wilson!). The most famous ones are yellow and black, and you can see the nozzle on the end of its abdomen.

While the bombadier beetle does actively spray toxins, keeping them in its body also makes it poisonous - best of both worlds!

Also can't deny the influence of the blue death feigning beetle, a very aestheic insect indeed, and if I'm honest, the tanker bug from Starship Troopers...!

I did look at large beetles like the goliath beetle for some inspiration, especially around the legs (I imagine the Shonweak to be pretty big as beetles go), but decided against it since they're a lot fancier, and I figured a tough, fire-braving critter like this to be a little plainer and unadorned.

It resists fire and alone among creatures can put fires out. For it can exist in the midst of flames without pain and without being consumed by them, not only because it does not burn but because it puts the fire out.

Okay, if this is the creature I strongly suspect it is, this is an interesting wrinkle to the mythology around it; it's proof against fire because it puts the fire out (not something I've heard before). I'll have more to say if it does turn out to be what I suspect...

Okay, hear me out... The bombadier beetle combines exothermic chemicals in its body to produce its boiling, caustic spray... What if a creature could do something similar for a seriously endothermic reaction; it would be almost like a tiny, living fire extinguisher... I imagine the Shonweak as a bomadier beetle relative, spraying freezing toxins at enemies (or just generally if stuck in a fire, or if it falls down a well, or if those apples are looking particularly hostile...)

[momojedi]

━ PINNED POST

This story happened long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.

It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst.

It is the story of the end of an age.

A strange thing about stories…

Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here.

It is happening as you read these words.

This is how twenty-five millennia come to a close. Corruption and treachery have crushed a thousand years of peace. This is not just the end of a republic; night is falling on civilization itself.

This is the twilight of the Jedi.

The end starts now.

For my masterlist, please check this post here!

I. ABOUT ME II. RULES III. REQUESTS IV. TAGS V. SOCIAL MEDIA

Hello there! I'm Milo, or Momo, a 19-year-old freelance illustrator and writer from Germany. I'm a huge Star Wars fan and have been influenced by it as well as other scifi franchises ever since I was a little boy. I'm not very good at interacting with other people based on my interests or being social in general but I really wanted to change that, so I created this blog to share my love for Star Wars and its story on!

As many things, I too have a set of rules I'd like you to read through and respect, though I know I have little control over but then again, the block button isn't very far ;)

No real-life politics: Politics are an important subject in Star Wars considering it revolves a lot around, well, wars. However, this blog was made in order to be able to leave behind reality and escape into our beloved galaxy far, far away every once in a while and despite there being a lot of bad things in the world, I intend to keep it that way.

No bigotry/sexism/racism/etc. I'm aware that especially sexism is a huge problem in the Star Wars franchise and I'd like to make it very clear that I absolutely do not stand with that. I want my Jedi girls and trooper sisters to know, that they're loved and appreciated on here!

Be patient! As much as I'd rather be a cool Jedi, I'm afraid that I too have a busy schedule, especially considering I'm a physically disabled student who spends a lot of time either studying or going to various therapies. With that in mind, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd be a little patient with me when it comes to requests.

Regarding clonecest I'm aware that the topic of clonecest is a very heavily discussed topic in the fanbase. Despite me not being a shipper of such kind, I do not necessarily care whether you do interact with/enjoy it or not. Your interests don't matter to me as long as you don't harm anyone while acting upon them. (This however does not count for lolicon or anything alike.)

If you want to request something from me, please sent me an ask following this template:

Character Reader (gender, type, etc.) One-Shot or Headcanons? Prompt/Idea (can be a sentence, a scenario, etc.)

I write for the entirety of Star Wars, with an exception for minors where I only write platonic relationships.

I write all from fluff to angst to spice/light NSFW, except for full smut.

Usually my readers are gender-neutral but I'm willing to twist it a bit if that's what you're looking for

#my writing - everything I've written so far!

V. SOCIAL MEDIA

Ko-Fi: CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE! AO3: WHERE ALL MY FICS CAN BE FOUND! ART BLOG: @thepaintingjedi (potential nsfw) OC LORE BLOG: @sw-waterguns COSPLAY BLOG: @mossplay

[littlemissmanga]

Heeheeeee how fun! Smiles all around.

Personality - I'm an aquarius sun and a leo rising. That translates to: I am deep in my thoughts and innovative with my solutions. My outside is entertaining and personality personality personality!!! Everything can be a presentation or a show. Perhaps in perfect harmony, my career goal is to be a drama therapist.

I love reading folklore and mythology of other cultures besides my own (white english). Currently enjoying Hindu mythology.

I love to curl up and play video games, and I love to embrace my geeky side. I also enjoy deep conversations with people. I tend to think that everyone has the best of intentions, even if they're doing something shady - they're just protecting themselves or doing what they were trained to do to survive.

I prefer cats over dogs.

I read fiction over nonfiction. And fantasy or classics over modern day explorations.

Yen Ori'ken's Valentine's Day Matchmaking Services

Yen: What a lovely profile, @madameminor! Thank you for sending it in.

I believe your best match this Valentine's Day is ...

Clone Medic Kix, of the 501st Legion. Kix is calm and collected, but his passion often shows through. He cares deeply for his brothers, feeling their wellbeing is his responsibility. While he isn't as loud or ostentatious as some other 501st troopers, he can definitely keep up with them. But he does tend to be more introspective than the others.

Kix can and absolutely will meet your extroverted and lively personality. You won't ever have to feel like you're carrying the show OR being carried - Kix is an equal partner kind of man. He loves seeing you light up about what you're interested in and he'll match your excitement. He is also incredibly soft over your outlook on life and people. That positivity is something he tries to carry with him.

He's also someone safe to share your quieter, deeper thoughts with. He loves that you study culture the way he studies medicine. I imagine the two of you will have more than enough to talk about on your date, and I pity anyone who tries to interrupt or catch your attention (you'll be too deep in conversation to even notice).

I think a classic date night will serve you two the best - dinner at a nice restaurant, you two dressed to impress, then dancing (NOT at 79s, though. Kix should know better to take you to a nicer club).

I hope you enjoy your Valentine's Day date with Kix, and thank you again for writing in!

[sketchguk]

Part Time Lover was so good 😩🦋❤️!!!! Your words painted a picture of a deep, passionate connection between the characters that left a lasting impression on me.

I couldn't help but be drawn into the intense sensuality of your writing. The way you described Jeongguk's desire to take his time and make love is truly enchanting.

Your ability to create an atmosphere of raw, unbridled desire is unmatched. The way you crafted each scene with such attention to detail and emotion is simply 😩😩🦋. I'm in awe of your ability to convey the depth of their connection.

Exploring the characters' first-time experience with such care and detailis a testament to your dedication to your craft 👌❤️✨️. I've never read a first time experience beautiful. (I manifest this type of 1st time for myself(

The way Jeongguk whispered sweet nothings to distract her from the initial discomfort was incredibly alluring and added an extra layer of sensuality to the scene!!

It took me 2 hours to read the SMUT scene I was taking every all in and taking it slow like jk 🦋, my stomach was a zoo of butterflies.

“Shh, shh, angel,” he hushes before dropping a thick glob of spit onto your entrance. He can’t believe that you’ve never come in your life. Have you never played with your cute little cunt before.😩✋️💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

“Just breathe for me, angel, okay? Relax, ease up for me. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but you’ll feel so good, I swear.��🦋🦋🦋🦋✨️

Thank you for sharing your incredible talent with us and for bringing such a special moment to life in yourfanfic. Your writing is a gift to the fanfiction community. Keep up the fantastic work!

😭🫶❤️👌

😭😭 Come here, let me kiss you with consent !!! Thank you so much for sending me this thoughtful message !!! You seriously think too highly of me

With this couple specifically, after all that they've been through, being together was like living their first lives! They got to experience "childhood" all over again. We got to see mc have her first kiss 😭 (they grow up so fast)! They got their puppy love which also happened to be their first love!

Mc means everything to me because she's a reflection of myself. She deserves nothing but the best! So I packed as much emotion as I could into the build-up/tension of their first time together ahaha. Sexy time with Jeongguk is exactly what we all need and deserve :') 2 hours to read the smut !!!!! You're incredible and such a trooper for that 💛 I had the most fun writing that scene!

Writing all of this intimacy was healing for me <33 Even if it wasn't easy, I'm happy I pushed through it !! It definitely made me emotional with a #yearning desire !!

I'm happy I could provide you with content !! As a writer, all I ever want is for my readers to feel the sincerity through my words. If I could pull some heart strings or earn a visceral reaction, I would be the happiest girl in the world :')

[tiredassmage]

7 & 8 for the swtor asks? :)

Saving this for after work was the correct choice (and also I overslept, oops >.>) bc bOY WERE WE BUSY. So thank you, this kept me a bit more sane, lol.

ask list here!

7. Which player voice actor is your favorite and your least favorite?

To probably no one who has seen an ounce of my content ever, I'd listen (and... have... by playing) to the Male Agent for hours. I think I'm up to 3 male agent ocs and the urge to make more? Constant. Inescapable. More than likely inevitable, tbh. I'm a glutton for the punishment of Imperial Agent story, apparently. Just leave me where I lie, there is no saving to be done.

Female Smuggler gets an honorable mention as well because I adore her. I adore the humor of smuggler. I adore the sass, the take no shit.

THEY HAVE THE RANGE!

Anyway, my least favorite is... probably either of the Jedi Knights, I think. Side by side, they don't feel as distinguishable from one another as some of the other classes. The job is done; I've played both at least through the class story and I wouldn't mind doing it again just looking at voice acting, but I feel like other classes have a bit more pop and variety. Or maybe I've just played my Knights too predictably akdfnlksdnflsdf.

8. Name your top favorite companions.

Oh man. Oh boy. How do I pick??? Y'know what, maybe I'll choose violence. Maybe I'll pick my favorite from every class. I've played them all. I could do that. (It's just as daunting to consider as it may be to read.)

Preface: I think my faves are largely story-based in my reasoning - I like their story, I like how they're engaged in the story, etc. Very rarely do I swap companions because of a felt need in gameplay given everyone's capability to do anything, but I have done so for story reasons.

Okay, I decided I'm insane enough to try to pick one from each, so since that's quite a list, find that beneath the cut:

We'll start with Agent, my beloved, and Vector. The Friend The Agent Needs. No more need be said. I want to hug them. I hope he's having a good day. One day, I'll do his romance, too. Dot stop playing male agents challenge. (I'm such a creature of habit.)

Bounty Hunter's a tough call because I found myself fond of practically the whole damn crew. Real found family vibe. Idk if I love one of them so much over the other as much as I just appreciate the crew's dynamic overall so, so much. The level of interaction and mingling with the crew just felt so much higher or hit so much harder than a lot of the others that I'd rank BH as a class story relatively high on my list solely for companion interactions.

For Sith Warrior, again, to little surprise if you've heard me open my mouth, Malavai Quinn. Ironically and slightly unironically my "he did nothing wrong" bastard. I'm, unfortunately, so incredibly attracted to this smart idiot of a man. The repression of feelings to explosion of passion and dedication in his romance is chef's kiss kind of shit. They're lying if they're trying to convince me that this man isn't a disaster bisexual. He's just. So insanely pretty. I'll forgive him even if I ever make a character that won't.

I think Talos is probably my favorite Inquisitor companion. Whoever said we were robbed because we don't have an Inquisitor x Talos romance in-game? You're so right. Dude has a cool name. Love this history nerd. He's so incredible. I am so pleased he was still being bright and bubbly on Elom. Miss him.

Trooper is hands down Elara. Constantly tip-tapping like a very excited, happy dog when I see I can talk to best girl. I love her story. Her romance is incredibly sweet. She's the single thing that got me through a 2nd Trooper playthrough.

Smuggler's another no competition in favor of Bowdarr. I want to give this Wookie so. many. hugs.

Kira Carsen for Jedi Knight. Again, no competition. The friendship is so, so sweet.

And Jedi Consular is a tough one to round out on. I have a lot of love for basically the whole crew, but I think I'll have to go with Qyzen for being bestie original MVP. I'm so glad we get to build a friendship with him because I don't think we get to see Trandoshans in quite this same light anywhere else in the game.

And also Theron Shan. I can't do this list without him. Sir, I'd die for you. Sometimes you're an idiot and I love you. Insert, after all, why shouldn't I romance Theron again meme here.

Honorable mention to Major Anri. I'm love her. If I have to fuck with her directly in saboteuring of the Empire, I'm going to feel SO many emotions. Keep me in your thoughts kan;fladnkfl;dsf.

[vodika-vibes]

And a follow-up to the last thing I posted. As a story! With no proof-reading, because now that it's typed it's no longer my problem.

And, I'm tagging @starrrgazingbunny

CC-2224 woke slowly, though he didn't want to. He had been having a wonderful dream. He was back in the GAR, and he was sitting with his brothers, and they were just having a good time.

He fought waking up. He didn't want to go back to being a Purge Trooper. He was so tired of fighting. Of killing.

But, despite his best efforts, he found himself more and more aware. And it definitely wasn't helped by the whispering coming from nearby.

He cracked open his eyes, grateful that the lights in the room he was in had been dimmed, and he rolled his head to the side.

"Look, he's awake!" A tiny wookie said through his translator.

"Shhhh! Rhawl. We're not supposed be be in here!" A teenage boy with white hair hissed frantically, "if buir finds out-"

"He'll ground you for disobeying? You're right." A deep, familiar, achingly familiar, voice came from the doorway, "You're all supposed to be in lessons now."

The man came into view, carefully maneuvering his body so that he was between him and the children. There was the sound of a wookie grumbling, "yes, even you. I know you love your lessons." There was the sound of light feet on steel, and then the door slid shut, and the man turned.

CC-2224 felt his breath catch in his throat. Long hair pulled into a neat bun at the back of his head, an ear clasp on his left ear, and a very unique tattoo curling around his neck.

The man carefully settled in a chair and watched him thoughtfully, "Are you back with me, vod?"

"Dusk-" and oh, was that his voice?

Dusk smiled, tension draining from his body, as he leaned forward, "Do you know who you are?"

"I'm...I'm CC-222...I..." He faltered and his eyes closed, memories flooding back, "I'm Cody. I am, was, Marshal Commander. I...God's. I killed General Kenobi! I-"

"Easy there, ori'vod." Dusk reached out and grabbed his hand, "Easy. It wasn't your fault. It was Palpatine's fault. All of it." He paused, taking a moment to consider Cody's state, before he continued, "We had chips in our heads, vod. It was designed to overwrite our feel will. I had yours removed."

Cody was still. Very still. "You're chip-?"

"Never triggered. Never did figure out why it didn't. But when the order went out, I snuck away from the Guards and into the Temple." Dusk grimaced, "I walked in on the Purge, vod. I was only able to save those three...and had to kill some vod'e to do so."

"They wouldn't blame you, Dus'ika." Cody said immediately, naturally falling into his ori'vod voice. "Hell, they'd probably thank you."

"Doesn't stop the nightmares," Dusk admitted, leaning back again, "anyway, we're on my ship, the Starsinger. I'm a Bounty Hunter now. The question, vod, is what do you want to do."

That...was a good question. What did he want to do?

"I want to shoot Vader in the face." Cody said hoarsly.

"Good start, but let's try something a little less likely to end in our untimely deaths." Dusk countered sarcastically.

"...I want to be a good ba'vodu to your kids. And maybe help the rest of our vod'e?" Cody offered after a moment of thought.

Dusk stared at him intensely, and Cody was suddenly reminded of the fact that Dusk was much more dangerous than he ever acted. "Two conditions,"

"Name them."

"One. If you even look at my ad'e wrong, ori'vod or no, I will kill you." His voice was tinged with promise, and Cody was so, so proud. "And two. Tell me where Fox is."

Cody stared at him. He knew, of course, that Dusk's loyalty had been to Fox first and then the rest of the vod'e, he was surprised to hear that it remained even after all this time.

And then he grinned. Something sharp and dangerous, "Fox is still on Coruscant. You have any armor that doesn't scream Purge Trooper?"

Dusk tilted his head slightly, "You want to help?"

"Fox is my brother too."

He nodded slowly, and then a grin full of dangerous promise crossed his face, "Once you're feeling up to moving, I'll show you my armory. For now, let me get my ad'e. They've been eager to meet you."

[stellamancer]

okay ari, i know that you said that i didn't have to respond to what you said, but how could i possibly!! stay silent after you wrote me that entire essay!!!! i read through it all but i'll be responding bit by bit plz bear with meeeee.

I FEEL LIKE CALLING THIS FIC ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE GOJO FICS EVER IS!!! SUCH A NICE THING TO SAY I WANNA CRY AUGHHHH.

actually when i was starting out i wasn't quite sure which poem i wanted to use, there were a couple that i was considering (and if i had split the fic up i would have used them all), but i ended up choosing this one because throughout the entire fic, due to their looping reader is constantly in a state of being both alive and dead. not just physically i think, but mentally as well. i guess the loop itself serves as a kind of box when you think about it.

i'm glad that reading the loops was enjoyable! i felt like i was really straddling the line between being repetitive enough to convey the loops and being too much LMAO. i was afraid the repetition would be a turn off. especially since it was repetition of canon events, albeit through reader's eyes.

AND I SEE U TOO ARE A PERSON OF CULTURE. i wouldn't say that i seek out time loop media… it finds me. LMAO. and this is low-key a love letter to those series very low key though.

aND YES THE ARC WORDS. it's october 31, 2018!! halloween in shibuya!! i actually did a live reading of the fic after i finished and someone said when they were reading it later that they could hear my voice when they read it LMAOOO. in normal circumstances i love my thematic repetition and it felt even more appropriate here to hammer in that time loop.

reader in this fic is… they're such a trooper. like honestly, as i was writing i was actually a bit worried like!! maybe they are too calm!! but i've rationalized it as… they are very focused on getting out their situation and. i think there were probably some loops where they were just losing their shit and. it ended the same. doesn't help so might as well try and be productive.

AND YEAH FIXATING ON GOJO. you're right, reader is so real for that. because like, you're stuck in a time loop where you keep dying but at least there's something nice to look at. even if it's a hot guy committing violent acts. beggars can't be choosers LMAOO.

'a very twisted one sided slow burn…' omg i guess it is huh. though at the same time it doesn't feel like one… LMAO. but wrt to romance… i've said before that i would have done it if i thought it was possible, but it just… wasn't. hilariously enough, there wasn't enough time for that kind of development. i think ultimately, it would have detracted from the narrative too LMAO. all of reader's oogling of gojo was me in disguise wishing that i could smooch him LMAOOO.

I AM SO FLATTERED THAT YOU THINK I DID HIM WELL. characterization is always my top concern and EVERY SINGLE TIME i write him in a new scenario a new au it's like staring all over again, worrying that i'm doing it right. and in this fic in particular… it was all about balance. with the time loops and then gojo's behavior. unserious but serious enough. YOU CALL HIM CHARMING BUT ISN'T HE JUST BEING INSUFFERABLE??? though i guess that IS his charm. the mochi receipt… he's so… AUGHHH i need to punch something.

MAN IF I WERE GEGE THEN SUKUNA WOULD BE DOWN RIGHT NOW but alas. he's so… gojo is so GOOD. or he tries to be. bUT THE DID YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH ME LINE. it's just so funny to me. because he's sO…. AUGHHH. like OF COURSE SOMEONE WOULD AFTER U TELL THEM IN THAT NICE VOICE THAT YOU'D PROTECT THEM!!!! and thank god. i love kaiji tang's voice so much and as gojo!! this is an aside, for one of my mobile games he plays a character and. i didn't care for them before until gojo and i went back and listened to their voice lines and it was like 'oh hell yeah.'

honestly, once i got to the parts where reader started interacting with gojo was just. the best. LMAOO i hate him but he's so fun to write. (not true i don't hate him but i hate him).

i'm always so!! wahhhh everytime someone tells me they like my writing style. i think it's rather plain and barebones, like i don't… think it's particular poetic most of the time so i'm just… wahhhhh. BUT BRINGING UP DIALOGUE. if there is one thing i think i'm good at, it's THAT. and it KILLED me in that there is SO LITTLE OF IT in this fic (at least compared to the word count) because i am a dialogue writing kinda girl. i like doing a bunch of back and forth sO WHEN GOJO STARTED YAPPING I WAS JUST LIKE YES GOOD THANK YOU. the save scumming line was semi-thanks to my beta reader because that's how he described reader's CT.

i apologize for sealing your fate with him. if it makes you feel better i am also in gojo hell too LMAOOOO. but HE'S!! he's a good guy! a nice guy!! even if he's cocky and annoying. he probably recognized that reader was in a really rough spot since… they did do some crazy stuff to try and get him to just listen to them. AND LIKE. you say that he was believing in them…. but, gojo WAS thinking that… if it turned out that reader was his enemy he could definitely take them LMAO. a lot of his 'it'll be fine' things really translate to 'if this becomes a problem i can deal with it' this also extends to when he unseals them LMAO. with regards to reader… and reader does mention it at some point, but while he is being legitimately nice to reader because he's a good guy, he does have some sort of ulterior motive (that sounds so ominous LMAOOO).

A KENNY STAN THO!!! omg i'm FLOORED. but not like because you're a kenny stan, but because you feel like i did him well!! when i asked my beta for his opinion he was like 'i didn't read jjk to characterize that guy' so i had to rely on instinct (i actually re-read the chapters where he fights choso, yuki and takeba to try and figure out how to write him). but YEAH. he's oddly polite. and it is nice of him to make it painless. i think it's because reader did entertain him for the little bit that they talk and they're relatively respectful toward him (or maybe it's that their behavior makes it clear that they 'know their place' because they know they couldn't take him in a fight and they're obedient enough to not run away… well in the loops we see anyway).

AND THE I APPRECIATE IT LINE. when i was reading someone mentioned how that line is just so sad. because it really does sdhow their resignation. but you're RIGHT. reader is very used to death. and like. this is a secret, but that is something that i'm thinking will come up post unsealing for reader.

like i said earlier i love my thematic repetition and! time doesn't flow in the box!! i wanted it to start as early as i could so that when the reader got boxed it would seem like a natural conclusion, because from the get go my intent was for reader to be boxed LMAO.

sO. yes!! the name!! i mentioned elsewhere that i wanted to have their exchange of names feel like the completion of a bond. like. when you establish a social link in persona. like that LMAOOOO. contextually you'd think that would be a rank ten but…. remember how i said he does have some sort of ulterior motive…… it's not JUST so that reader's not just some person who gets lost in the carange of the shibuya incident heh heh heh… BUT YES READER'S FINAL THANK YOU. i really wanted that to be the last thing they say to him because. he really did save them. and it did mean something to him!! like!! we don't see it from gojo's perspective but just like how reader burns the glow of his eyes into their mind, the expression reader makes is also burned into gojo's mind.

actually, this is a tangent, but talking about how often people thank gojo reminds me of um… that one fic the witches brew which is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT than this fic, but there's a line about how people don't really thank him ask how he's doing and stuff. and like. i think earnest people like reader and yuji and yuta thank him… earnestly, but his whole personality… probably makes it hard for people LMAOOO.

AND YES. i did think of leaving it off before that scene, but i ultimately decided to write the cliffhanger. i'm actually surprised it's being as well received as it is LMAOO. well some people are asking what happens bUT it really is fun to leave it open ended to let you guys come up with your own conclusions (in case i decide/don't have time to continue because i definitely do have ideas on what i wanna do with this lmaooo).

AHHH BUTTT IN LOVE WITH GOJO I CAN GET… the reader i understand, the fic maybe… BUT MEEEEE????? i'm just a little niku….

THANK YOU!! I!! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the fic so much!!! AND like i definitely have been where you are- going absolutely insane over a fic where i won't shut up about it (ao3 bonking me at LEAST three times for exceeding comment character limit). reading your comments was really such a joy like!! seriously!! i do hope my secret reveals over what was going on in gojo's mind… aRE NOT TOO SURPRISING LMAOOO or disappointing? i feel while he did believe in reader he also… believed that he would be able to take things into his own hands if there were problems. BUT YES. dont't apologize for your comments or throwing it all at me!! i slurped it all up LMAOOO. i'll… i'll pat him i suppose… i guess he deserves it a little. but realy thank you so much for taking the time to read my fic and leave this treasure of a comment… i actually need to print it out and hang it on my wall. LMAO put it in my little gojo….corner. i hope you also have a wonderful week!!!!!

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 instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.

The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— 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 follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.

The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.

You realize you’ve been dying.

You think your head is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.

There’s 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.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

For the eighth time.

Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—

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. There’s 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 don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.

Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.

Your corpse— burning to ash.

Your corpse— bleeding out.

You can’t 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.

There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—

The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re 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 before—

The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.

Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.

It’s too late.

You die an eighth time.

You think your chest is going to explode.

At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve 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.

There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.

It’s the night of October 31, 2018— 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 you’ve never seen her before and yet—

Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,

and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— 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.

“...hey,” you say softly.

Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”

If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.

You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s 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 people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.

Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?

“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”

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, you’re 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 else—

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 it’s 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. You’re 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 be—

“Help! Help!”

It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s 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 don’t know what to do.

You can’t 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 body— your soon to be corpse.

It's too late.

You die a ninth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the tenth time.

Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s 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.

She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.

“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.

The woman turns to look at you. You’re 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.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.

Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.

If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.

You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”

She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.

“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.

“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

“For?”

For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”

She laughs. “It’s okay.”

It’s not.

You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t 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 don’t.

“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.

She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”

“I’ll try,” 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.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

This is the fourteenth time.

There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re 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 costume—

You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s 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, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t 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 you’re 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 don’t have time to think about it.

Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s 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 there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.

You’ve 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. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.

It’s obvious that you’re 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.

“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.

There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.

“If you run away?” 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. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”

You die a fourteenth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 it’s not the first time you’ve 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 you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.

You have to make the most of each and every death.

It’s 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 you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s 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 you’re 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 didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re 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, you’ve 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 don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t 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 can’t 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 monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—

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.

There’s 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 he’s 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 doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t 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.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.

But not you.

Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.

A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.

An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.

You can hear everyone’s 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 that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve 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. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve 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. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— 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 there’s 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.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.

With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d 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). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.

You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.

The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t 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 Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.

You need to get up those stairs.

Now.

If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t 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 can’t 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 doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.

But you trip.

And you die for the twenty-sixth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 don’t 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 you’re 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; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.

That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t 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 it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.

It’s 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 couldn’t meet up with their friends and—

A thought hits you like an eight car train.

You were supposed to meet up with your friends.

That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— 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 they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.

You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re 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 if—

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 you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t 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 don’t 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 didn’t 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.

It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s 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 they’re 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 you’ve died.

And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?

“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t 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 she’s 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.

“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”

There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.

“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”

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 positive— 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 flesh—

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 air— falling, falling into the abyss below.

You die for the thirtieth time.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 drop— 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 loop— 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 before— 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 commit— 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 man— 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 look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— 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 happens— 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.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 gone— 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 Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— 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.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 dying— 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 you’ve 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 you’ll 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 don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…

There has to be a breaking point.

For both your mind and this time loop.

If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.

There’s 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 you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.

As you think this, you realize that something is different.

You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.

You need to find out what’s going on.

The first thing you notice is that it’s 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 don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s 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. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…

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 is—

Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.

Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.

“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”

“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”

When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s 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 it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.

You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.

It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s 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 monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.

You don’t 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 they’re 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 relief— you’re still safe.

For now.

You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve 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 it’s clear he’s 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 they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”

“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.

“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.

“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”

“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”

You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.

Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”

One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.

“You can come out, you know,” 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.

“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”

Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t 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 ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s 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 you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.

“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”

Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”

He hums. “How interesting.”

“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, 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 then—

"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 aren’t 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 intentional— 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 don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t 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.

It’s October 31, 2018— 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 loop— 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.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

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.

“Time doesn't flow in the box.”

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 don’t know if you’ll 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 don’t know where you should even start. He’s 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. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.

Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.

The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.

You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.

You’re 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. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll 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 he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.

Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.

You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll 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 it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t 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 Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?

You need to make him.

“Excuse me!” 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 wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve 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 Gojo’s 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 don’t 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.

“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.

Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”

The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.

He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”

“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”

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. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.

“...mind handing me your phone?”

You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t 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.

“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”

You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?

“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.

He laughs, “Well, 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!”

You’re 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 can’t. 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, “I’ll talk to you later!”

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 didn’t expect things to go well anyway.

You'll just have to try again.

Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.

Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t 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. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…

It’s just so frustrating.

It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s 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 can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.

What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.

You have to convince him.

“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.

“Yes?”

His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s 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 he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.

You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”

He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”

Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.

“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.

“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You’re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve 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, but— “Oh, I get it.”

You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?

Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”

“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.

“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”

Again? You’ve received Satoru Gojo’s contact details in every loop you’ve talked to him, star symbol and all— you even have his number memorized. There’s something kind of odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.

“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”

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.

“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” 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 he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”

What?

Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”

“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.

He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s 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 receipt’s print.

It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.

He even drew a little star next to his name.

“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”

You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—

“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.

You can’t 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. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.

“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t 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 he—

Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.

“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”

He does not even acknowledge you.

You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t 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, it’s too high. There’s 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 doesn’t 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 there’s 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 Gojo’s 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 don’t.

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 what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.

You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—

And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—

Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—

Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—

Up is very quickly becoming down, and—

Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—

You’re slipping—

But he’s right there, and—

You’re falling, but—

He’s trying to catch you, but—

It’s too late. It’s too late.

The last thing you think you feel—

—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.

It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.

And you are causing a commotion.

“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.

You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t 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 don’t think so. You don’t 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 don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d 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 don’t know.

All you know is that you have to try again.

The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s 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 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t 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.

Except—

Except Satoru Gojo is already here.

The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d 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 you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— 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. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s 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 that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s 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. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t 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. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—

You stop breathing.

He’s 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 Gojo’s 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, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”

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, you’ve 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, “...how did you know?”

He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”

All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.

Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”

“No.” 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 head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”

“...unfortunately.”

Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”

“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.

“Really now?”

Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s 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. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”

Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”

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… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”

That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”

“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”

What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”

He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”

You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”

“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”

Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”

“Well,” he continues. “You’ve 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 wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”

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.

“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”

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, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.

“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”

“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”

“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”

You don’t; 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 don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…

“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”

The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.

You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”

“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”

You’re still not quite sure.

“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”

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.

“...okay.”

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, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t 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. Gojo’s 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.

“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”

You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”

His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”

It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.

“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” 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. “I don’t 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.”

Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”

“Yeah.”

He hums. “Interesting.”

You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m 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.”

“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”

“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…

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.

“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”

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.

“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”

The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s 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.

“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.

“I—” 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 there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s 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 people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—

“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.

“Yes, but—”

“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”

There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”

“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”

“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” 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 ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”

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. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.

“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.

“I’m not.”

Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”

“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t 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, but…

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. “Okay. What happens after that?”

You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.

“Fat chance of that,” 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. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”

“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” 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. “What does that even mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”

You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.

“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”

“...Like in a video game?”

“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.

“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”

“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”

‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re 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 doing…

“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.

“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”

“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” 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?

“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.

“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”

He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.

“So what did you learn?”

“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”

“I see… And what about our body jacker?”

“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.

“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”

“I 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,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”

Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”

You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.

“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”

“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”

“More or less.”

“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”

You nod.

“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”

Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”

“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should 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.”

Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.

“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.

“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”

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.

“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”

“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”

Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.

Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”

“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”

That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”

You certainly hope so.

“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”

It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.

“I'll protect you.”

You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.

He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”

That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”

Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”

You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”

“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”

Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”

Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”

You’ve 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. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re 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… “...no, I guess not.”

His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”

You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”

Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

“How?”

“Just trust me.”

“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll 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 you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.

“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”

Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”

You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— 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 don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”

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 he’s 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 he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.

Now, all you can do is wait.

You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re 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 aren’t going to change anything, but—

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 isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.

It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll 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. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.

It’ll be fine. It’ll 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 fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?

As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.

You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.

Is this Gojo’s 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; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—

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 it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s 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 he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—

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.

“Shit!” 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? Or—

Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s 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.

“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”

Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—

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, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.

The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”

And then he’s gone.

You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s 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.

It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…

There’s 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 disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t 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 don’t 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 you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?

Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—

No.

Gojo said you wouldn’t die.

He said he’d protect you.

It’s hard to believe when he’s 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 don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.

There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s 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 realm— 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 didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—

“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”

Satoru Gojo’s 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? It’s 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 there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t 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. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s 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 can’t 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, it’s 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. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”

You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?

He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”

You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”

The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”

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 you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.

He’s going to kill you.

“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”

Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s 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, it’s 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 master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.

Someone behind you clicks their tongue— 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 it’s 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 Gojo’s 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, “Did you really forget about me?”

You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.

Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s 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 faker’s 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. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”

“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”

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 Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”

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?

“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”

You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”

“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.

For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…

Everything will have been for naught.

You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.

There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.

Or rather—

“Gojo!”

He glances back at you.

“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”

Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”

He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.

“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”

You don’t 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. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”

“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”

If anything, it’s worth a shot.

Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”

“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…

That time doesn’t flow in the box.

“...you don’t have to break the seal.”

Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”

“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”

You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.

It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.

“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.

“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”

You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”

He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”

What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.

You tell him your name.

He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”

You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.

Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”

Just as it did the many times you’ve 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 won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s 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. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”

You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.

And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.

It’s November 30, 2018— 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 who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.

“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”

Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”

“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”

“...well, if you say so.”

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 doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.

“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”

“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—

“Prison realm, gate open.”

if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride. 3

[ghostsxagain]

//hey friends. looks like I needed the weekend away from my computer. I had no muse and focused on other hobbies and tasks (yesterday Jamie and I spent the day running errands and hanging out and it was really nice to unwind with him - he woke me up with Tim’s breakfast he got for us, it was a good day). today I have an in class essay to write from 6-9pm and have to go to the pharmacy but I would really like to try bringing muse back later if I can.

I still haven’t really come to a decision about work though I think I’m getting closer. my gut is telling me to put my two weeks in now. and to take a few weeks at minimum off of work. just focus on the end of semester, do my assignments and take care of my mental health. then I can apply for jobs and take it slow. my mom thinks I may need to take a few months off to recover but I’ll have to look into what my options are (maybe if I stay jobless I can get a bigger osap loan to help with rent during summer sessions? no idea). I just dont have the energy anymore. under the cut I’m going to post what happened saturday. it’s long so don’t feel inclined to read if ya don’t wanna. I just wanted to get it out there//

so r, my supervisor started at 7am. I started at 8am. we had three open shifts throughout the day, with an operator set to come it at 9am and another at 3pm, then the manager, k, at 4:30pm. pretty baren schedule. well, the 9am tells r that she isn’t coming in today, so it will literally just be the two of us all day. naturally we panic because we can’t handle calls alone! and what about our lunch breaks! only one person will be on? that’s not fair! so r calls k and asks her what to do. k says to contact two other operators that don’t work saturdays and ask them to come in.... okay, helpful. neither of them answers us.

so we do what we can. thankfully call volumes are pretty low. k comes in at 11 and bumps our breaks up and she covers them. she sends me a message saying something like “thank you for doing this today. can you take lunch at 12 instead?” and I ignored the first half of her message and just confirmed the lunch time because I’m mad at her.

I come back from lunch and all hell breaks loose. k left and wont be coming back until 2ish. so its just r and I again and o m g. we keep getting calls from one of our property management companies. the residents received a weird note about the parking passes and that their cars will get towed if they dont go to the office to update the passes or whatever but no one is at the office so everyone is standing outside in the cold so their cars dont get towed. we took one disgruntled call and notified the property manager right away, as per our instructions. well, the calls wouldn’t stop. over and over residents called screaming at us. we have a queue of 5-8 calls for an hour, they won’t stop. after so many people yelling I snapped and just started bawling. I messaged r that I need a breather to take my medication so I leave for a few minutes. she apologizes and tells me to take my time. by the time I come back it seems to have quieted down.

then k comes in and she messages me another thank you message and I couldn’t handle it. I told her that this isnt easy or fair and this past week has drained me and I can’t continue working under these conditions. she apologized for the girl calling in sick, said she didn’t know that would happen, and that she tries to get people to come in. I said that my point is bigger than just today though, we’ve been understaffed for ages and haven’t brought anyone new on. we had three open shifts before she called in sick - thats a problem man. she said that she has the board outside (basically a wooden standup in the plaza the office is in that advertises that we’re hiring) and hasn’t found anyone yet. I got mad and said ‘look, I don’t think the board is sufficient. do you have an ad on indeed or kijiji? I referred someone to you and you passed on her, as have other ladies here. something more needs to be done.’ well she didn’t like that. she called me right away and was extremely defensive and was literally crying. she said that people hired need to work in the office for 3 months to see that they’re a good fit and that’s why she didn’t take on my referral (my sister who lives out of city, but its remote work so why does that matter BUT OKAY) and I said ‘K, I’m not attacking you. you can train however you like, I’m just bringing it up to say that us as operators have tried to help you with hiring and even that isn’t enough.’ she said that its been so hard and she’s doing all she can and blah blah blah. I told her frankly it isn’t enough. I shouldn’t have to be thanked for working BARE BONES shifts. I shouldn’t have to take 40 calls in one hour like I did last week. I told her I’m tired and have nothing else to give and that I’m being honest with her. she knows I’m a student, she knows I have depression and anxiety issues. yet she’s going to cry to me about how hard things have been???????? she didn’t want to talk or acknowledge my feelings, all she said back was “I guess I have to try harder” and I said YUPP and hung up. she immediately went on DND and didn’t take calls until I was about to leave for the day. 

so yeah I’m done. a manager that has been with the company LONGER THAN I HAVE BEEN ALIVE can’t take suggestions? complaints? concerns? can’t just listen to her employee without taking it personally? hm. yikes. I wrote my resignation letter and am just debating how I want to go about this. I’ve been with the company for 5 years. I can’t take it anymore. the callers are tough already, now my boss has to pile on and not hire. I shouldn’t have to be thanked for dealing with this shit - just don’t put me in these positions!!!!

[fluffyprettykitty]

Altitude

Pairing: Tony Stark x avenger g/n reader

Word Count: 460 words

Outline: Flying your first mission to space alongside your mentor Tony Stark.

Warnings: Swearing, age gap! Bad grammar, not beta'ed! All mistakes are mine!

Author’s Note: Day twelve of the over 200 words daily drabbles for February. Today's prompt is 'space'. First time writing for Tony! :D

P.S: dividers by @firefly-graphics​

🌟 Please reblog and comment if you want to, all feedback is appreciated and warmly encouraged and allows me to know what people are interested in reading🌟

Main Masterlist ・❥・ Tony Stark Masterlist

"Did you ever dream of this, Tony? To fly amongst the stars?"

"I didn't do a lot of dreaming growing up, Y/N."

"Later. When you were all grown up."

He chuckles shaking his head and lifting his head to look at you letting a couple of minutes go unspoken.

"Did you? Dream of it?"

"Hell yeah! This is space, I've always wanted to fly a jet and go to different planets."

Your enthusiasm is unmatched. A cheerful almost childlike excitement has overtaken you. Space has always been your favorite, your one true goal, one of your favorite things growing up. All these studies and endless hours just to become an astronaut and fly to outer space.

And now? You were an avenger, working amongst the best. You were skilled and intelligent, this job was made for you. How could you not be excited?

"Then you're going to fit right in the team, kiddo."

His reassurance makes you smile, a pleasant feeling overflowing you.

Giving him your warmest most inviting smiles you reach for the steering wheel, fixating your position and looking through the controls. The dark-haired man is watching your every move carefully making sure your every gesture is correct.

"You're a natural."

A compliment that makes your heart skip a beat. Not expected but most welcome. Is true that you wanted to do nothing more than to impress Tony Stark with your talent and your level of skills. But you would be lying if you didn't admit you were interested in something more ever since he had first started training you.

Evidently, you loved his intelligence, his accomplishments, his humbling yet magnifying nature, and the way he used humor for everything. Reminded you of yourself. But there was something about him, something underneath the surface and you would love to come in contact with it.

The space mission felt like the perfect opportunity to prove both of these things to him. It was only two months ago when you started training vigorously for the mission. All-day training and tons of books to read through each night. As to be expected since you were very brave and managed it all victoriously.

Once you were accepted to the avenger's program, you pursue studying even more wanting your knowledge to be unmatched. The lunar exploration might have only started a mere couple of hours ago and the take-off might have made you scream and electrify your body but you were handling anything else like a trooper.

With a soft sigh, you look up from the panel to look at the sight of the man sitting next to you while he is gazing happily at the stars and the sky.

You conquered space, now how could you conquer Tony's heart?