#or that i should go and accept being in physical agony

[miinos]

wah

[stellamancer]

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) || playlist

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? There’s really something 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.

[ddarker-dreams]

play wresting — gojo satoru.

(Warning for mild not sfw implications)

“So this is it, then? I’ve finally… finally been bested.” 

From this vantage point, you tower over a certain melodramatic man, whose long limbs cover the king sized bed at awkward angles. His soft, snowy hair blends in with the stark white comforter. He tries lifting himself up, but his arms buckle from the exertion of such a physically demanding act. The feigned helplessness comes close to breaking your composure. 

“Humor a dying man’s final request,” Gojo rasps. “Did you ever love me? Or were you just after the money and status all along?” 

The term money and status reverberates in your head, taking you back to the rumors whispered behind closed doors by those opposed to your engagement. Gojo, being the person he is, delighted in playing into your supposed alternative motives whenever a ‘well-intentioned’ member of the more conservative factions tried tipping him off. 

“Babe? Did you hear that?” He had called you over once, a hand to his chest, as if he’d learned the most scandalous news. “This man here said you’re only after my assets. Is this true? I thought for sure it was my devastatingly good looks and charm that won you over.” 

(The face of the man in question went beet red over how loud Gojo spoke these words. Unsurprisingly, he slunk off at the earliest opportunity). 

You try assuming your role as the indifferent black widow here, looking down your nose at him. “Nope. I’ve been biding my time all these years.” 

You’re not sure what spurred him on to flex his acting muscles. When you entered the room, you were overcome with the urge to tackle him onto the bed. You’ve both loved roughhousing each other since you were in high school. Given the sheer, unfathomable extent of Gojo’s abilities, he was perfectly capable of dodging you or standing firm against your attempts. Alas, those two options must not have interested him. 

And so he’s writhing in faux agony, putting on a show, as he is wont to do. 

“Do I get any final requests?” 

“Hm,” you hum, fighting how desperately your lips wish to curl into a smile, “That depends. What is it?” 

Whatever he murmurs next is unintelligible. 

Curious, you step forward, urging him to repeat himself. He does. Despite speaking slightly louder, the syllables and consonants blur together, spoken in such rapid succession that your brain can’t piece it together. You draw close enough for your knees to hit the side of the bed. Whatever he’s planning, this must be the grand finale. 

This time, you understand him perfectly fine. You don’t know whether you should laugh or roll your eyes. Perhaps both. 

“Let me hit it, just one more time,” Gojo says these words as if in actual pain, successfully melting your apathetic facade. 

You can feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves over the fact you broke first. Not willing to accept total defeat, you huff and pivot on your heels. You can feel his eyes boring into your back as you saunter toward the door. You answer the question that’s undoubtedly burning his tongue before he can speak it. 

“Consider your request denied. I need to start searching for my next rich husband — time is of the essence.” 

You gape as the once open door is now shut, faster than you could blink. In front of it is your apparently resuscitated Gojo Satoru, who acts as a human barricade. He extends his long arms out to ensure you’re not going anywhere. His grin is all teeth and his brilliant blue eyes gleam. 

“Sorry babe, this rich husband’s still alive and kicking. Better luck next time.” 

[sepublic]

            So thanks to @coulrology the revelations on Osran knowing Kikimora’s mother and helping her get into the Emperor’s Coven (and there being ‘resentment’ from this) are driving me insane because what happened during Follies at the Coven Day Parade?????

            Did Osran have any thoughts about Kikimora’s mother telling her to abandon her duties to go visit??? After all, HE wouldn’t dare to do that, and of course he’s a Coven Head who genuinely matters for the Day of Unity whereas Kikimora is just another interchangeable tool (Ignore that Osran canonically has an unseen replacement sshhhhh). Did Kikimora consider going to Osran, having him vouch for her since he’s a senior?

            Dana mentions ‘resentment’ which makes me wonder if Kikimora feels humiliation at having to rely on Osran, on ‘owing’ him a favor perhaps. So maybe she never brought this up to Osran for this exact reason, it’d be a second favor. Kikimora definitely likes to rely on her connections, but it points to a paradoxical self-loathing at having to depend on others, on not being the one in charge and pulling the strings. She wants to manipulate, not beg!

            And I guess Kikimora’s mother never brought it up to Osran, Hey you got her into this job, tell her to leave it! Probably because she was talking to Kiki herself the whole time, no need right? Does Osran feel any resentment himself, did he feel he ‘owed’ one to Kiki’s mom and sees Kikimora as just a nepo baby he helped create? So seeing Kikimora struggle because she never earned it and is still beholden to her mother who actually got her that is like. His cruel vindication. Maybe she should leave and Osran just bluntly tells Kikimora to do so, furthering her breakdown and desperation to (initially) accept Luz’s help.

            Osran was basically confirmed to come from the same hand as Kikimora, which does ruin my little gag I always had in mind of her appealing to him over this, only for Ozzy to flatly correct her, “I’m from the right hand.” AKA the Bonesborough area. Titan, what did they feel about Palm Stings being displaced, being made colder than the Knee because of Belos? Did Kikimora and her mother have to move out, or did they adapt the way witches can somehow live on the side of the Knee?

            The ecological devastation must be insane; I bet Kikimora soothes herself knowing she basically single-handedly ruined Belos’ entire work of centuries, when he could’ve been nicer to her. It was her actions that led to him wasting away for months in agony and humiliation, building himself back up just to start falling apart when his regeneration reached its limit. I bet that made her feel REAL good.

            But yeah, we know now that Kikimora is stuck doing community service via physical labor; Or maybe it’s not even community service, it’s just a regular job because her outfit may or may not be a uniform. Did she have her mother come back to her, asking for help? Did Osran ever meet up with Kikimora and attempt to talk her down, subdue her, feel some responsibility because maybe she wouldn’t have gone so far if he hadn’t gotten her into the coven to begin with?

            On the other hand, as I’ve said; Kikimora actually ended up being the lynchpin, which must’ve been an empowering realization that she unfortunately took the wrong lesson from in attempting to become a shadow empress during the Collector’s reign. Did Osran ever think to himself, Wow I helped save the Boiling Isles! He’s not seen vying for power like Terra, Adrian, and Vitimir are; It could point to him actually caring about the isles on some basic level.

            So maybe in contrast to Kikimora, Osran uses this feeling of importance for good; He decides to help the CATTs rebuild the Boiling Isles into a democratic society, hence the Boiling Isles Council. I don’t recall anyone or anything saying that Raine, Darius, and Eberwolf are the only members, maybe Osran is among them. But maybe he isn’t because he’s old and retired, happy to know that maybe he ultimately undid more damage than he caused as a coven ehad.

            Though, he might certainly mourn the damage he indirectly caused to Palm Stings; But given the alternative was Belos committing genocide, a displaced landmass is tolerable. But does Kikimora care? Or did she renounce her home like she renounced the family that lived there? I would not put it past her…

            Augh this reminds me of a Post-Hoot where they mentioned a scrapped concept for S3 of the protagonists wandering a desert in Abomination mechs; And we know Kikimora has Roka, AND she comes from a desert. That’s a glimpse into a Kikimora storyline, and probably Osran too; And probably Blight Industries because of the use of mechs plural, and we know Kikimora got hers from Odalia. So maybe Odalia and/or Alador, and some of the Blight kids, would be there.

            And Darius why not? He’s got ties to the Blights and might want to keep an eye on them and Kikimora and Osran; Esp Kiki since Raine seemed to clock her as a potential asset in the rebellion, which obviously proved to be good judgment. Imagine Raine telling Darius to keep an eye on Kikimora and Osran, esp if Osran is ultimately well-intentioned; And Darius melds an Abomination spy into one of the mechs, or even fuses with one of them to replace its goop components and hide within it! Haha, man…

[starryluminary]

Honestly I want to know your opinion on Nemma. Because honestly I don’t like the ship either and want to see if someone agrees with me.

Oh my god hiiii nerd-chocolate!! I will GLADLY detail why I don’t like nemma. Buckle up cause I’m not exactly normal about this subject

I will preface this by saying I understand why it’s Noah and Emma. I get why if Noah had to have a girlfriend it would be someone who would match his intellect and someone he could hold a competent conversation with. Logically, on paper, I understand. It’s not so much the concept of Noah and Emma dating that I dislike, it’s the execution. The development of the relationship was a train wreck. HERES WHY!!!

From the very beginning Nemma showed problems. The Noah that couldn’t play a game of dodgeball for $100,000 and was so standoffish he could only make a good friend in Owen is now suddenly falling in love at first sight with a girl that did a front flip and I’m just supposed to accept it at face value??

You could argue that it’s been three years and a person could change in three years. I’d like to argue back: this is a cartoon. If the development happened offscreen, it didn’t happen. Noah had a drastic change in personality out of nowhere because they give us no reason to believe otherwise. This is just the beginning. It’s all downhill from here, honey.

This is very much subjective and a personal thing but do you know how irritating his face is.

It makes me ill. Who is this.

Back on track, Noah is out of character the rest of his time competing (not that he was perfectly in character to begin with.) Both the way he treats Owen and how he acts regarding Emma is not believable to me. He’s tragically mean to Owen almost the entire time and he’s insufferably… inconsistent? When it comes to Emma? Like they didn’t exactly have pinned down how he should act when he’s in love so it changes with every episode.

[I did a bit of research regarding the more important Nemma episodes and their writers, but couldn’t draw any good conclusions from it. I did find out Laurie Elliot wrote both Slap Slap Revolution from World Tour (notorious for the most significant Noco moments of the season) and New Beijinging (where Nemma is at its worst in my opinion.) This isn’t all that relevant but it IS fucking hilarious. The writer responsible for “Cody’s got a tiny sausage!” being made to (co) write a Nemma episode and subsequently butchering it is reeeeeally funny to me.]

On the topic of New Beijinging. I cannot watch this episode uninterrupted and it’s because of Nemma. I despise it. It’s not that I don’t believe Noah would act like a bumbling fool in love… in concept. In CONCEPT, I can buy the failed one liners and the speaking your thoughts out loud and the acting out to try and impress her. In practice it’s so painful to watch. The Noah that said he’s incapable of being embarrassed in his WT biography is now spitting hot food in his love interests face and physically recoiling every time he tries to talk to her. I can’t express through text the pain and anguish it causes me.

This is ALSO after giving her a suave one liner in the previous episode. How does he go from cool and collected to cringing at her I- AAAGGHHHH.

They don’t suddenly get better when the feelings are mutual, either. They just become insufferable together and it’s tragic. This is specifically about Māori or Less and Got Venom? (though admittedly I haven’t gotten that far in my rewatch and don’t remember Got Venom? too vividly. I do know they’re annoying in it even to Owen and Kitty so.) They just become so infatuated with each other they forget the rest of the world exists and while I enjoy the CONCEPT……… it just manages to drag down both characters. At least they treat Emma with a little more respect and have her snap out of the haze to play the damn game but THEY END UP KNOCKING OUT NOAH INSTEAD. Pain agony suffering and woe. Noah going catatonic and leaving Owen to struggle is the worst it gets but he still never truly focuses on the game and even hopes to get kicked off. He won’t even play for Owen.

Do I even have to mention Owen. My poor guy Owen. Owen suffers an unnecessary amount for Nemmas development. It hurts my heart even thinking about it but I’ll list off examples. Ways Owen has suffered for the sake of the relationship include:

Being made to carry dead weight (Noah) on more than one occasion.

Being used as a flotation device, offered by Noah to Emma, after being frozen solid.

Being forced to wait for the sister team, making his team go from first place to seventh.

Being victim to Noah’s snark and insults, which he does to either impress Emma or to reprimand Owen because of something Emma related.

LOSING THE RACE CAUSE NOAH COULD ONLY FIND THE ENERGY TO MOVE WHEN HE WAS OFFERED A KISS FROM EMMA.

(Side note: have I ever mentioned that RR Noah is my enemy? I feel like I don’t mention it enough)

To wrap this up, I do genuinely believe Nemma could have been great. I don’t hate Nemma cause I thought Noah was gay, or I’m a Noco shipper, or any other superficial reason. I hate it cause it’s a terribly written relationship that had to completely destroy my favorite character of the series to try and make it work. It’s a damn shame, really. I wish I could look past how different Noah is and how badly he treats Owen and how sickly annoying he and Emma can be and just, at the very least, tolerate Nemma. But I can’t, and I never will.

[thatdebaterguy]

Your abortion opinion is dogshit. “Just have safe sex. No child is unwanted” tell me you’re middle class and sheltered and you’ve never done any research without telling me. Childbirth, if you’ve never had any experience with it, is an extremely long, painful, traumatic, and dangerous experience. If a pregnant individual at any point decides they do not want to experience this, they should be allowed to terminate the pregnancy. Are you really going to make a full grown thinking feeling ADULT unwillingly go through +12 hours of agony and potentially a fucking massive surgery while conscious (if you don’t know what a c section is) to prevent the termination of a fucking fetus that doesn’t even know it’s alive and has no capacity to suffer?

“No child is unwanted” you fucking idiot. Is your idea of the worldwide foster system limited to Annie the Musical? Not everyone has a loving family who can accept the child. Foster systems are rife with abuse. Almost nobody who ages out of the foster system has had a good childhood. And that’s only talking about places like North America and Europe. What about places with no nationwide foster system? Do you know about post partum depression?? Do you know about the research done about the mothers that just straight up do not love their babies or their children and regret not aborting them?

Look at me anon. I don’t care if it’s physically impossible for you, thought experiment here, would YOU undergo 9 months of pregnancy symptoms (weak bladder, swollen ankles, morning sickness, baby kicking, etc) and then go through hours of agony followed by a multi-hour cesarean section surgery for which you are conscious. Just to have a baby. Starting right now. I don’t care if you don’t want it I don’t care if you don’t have the money. Right now. “No child is unwanted,” right? Also the baby you have has a 100% chance of being sexually assaulted within the foster care system and becoming a drug addict who dies of an overdose at a young age. Still doing it?

What exactly are you trying to prove? My mother was well into her 40s when I was conceived, I was premature by about 2 weeks, and I was a c-section. She happily reminds me of the pain she went through just to make me exist, but isn't that the miracle of life, of birth, of families? Millions and millions of women go through such hardship and turmoil, 9 months of their lives, to bring life into this world, and will quite frequently then do it AGAIN, and will cherish their children graciously with no regrets. Not everyone has a good family, a good relationship with their mother, not everyone even knows their mother, but they get to experience life, to experience the world, no matter how shitty it gets, they always have a chance at pulling through, reaching happiness, having their own family. Of course it's not as simple as 'just have safe sex' but you see so many abortions are due to those not ready for motherhood yet failing to have protective sex. Personally, I believe if you're willing to have sex, you should be mindful of the consequences, and being horny and immature isn't a plausible excuse for terminating a life. Since my first formulation of an opinion on abortion, I've given it time to think, and have come to somewhat of an idea. Life truly begins once the heartbeat begins within a human child, and conscious existence begins around 25 weeks. The cut-off for abortion should be 25 weeks at latest, as that's when consciousness begins. However, at the development of the heart would also be ideal or acceptable in my eyes.

But of course every family isn't perfect, of course many people don't have a family, I grew up with an absent father who was more invested in booze than my life, I know many people who grew up in foster homes, and sure yes of course it's better to have a supportive family, but growing up adopted or in a foster home doesn't make your chances of a happy life impossible. And every child is wanted. By someone, somewhere. In America alone, there are 2 million couples on the adoption waiting list. Those are 2 million couples who'd greet any child with open loving arms, who'd try their best for that child. Being unwanted by your biological parents is a painful fact that could haunt you for life, but it doesn't negate from the value of life and the countless amazing experiences it has to offer. It just poses a greater challenge for you to overcome, and the greater the risk, the greater the reward. Knowing you've overcome being unwanted by your own family by building your own loving family is genuinely one of the greatest achievements in life, and if you've taken lessons from your parents to better your own parenting skills, to learn from their mistakes, to give someone a father when you didn't have one, then shoutout to you. Shoutout to mothers, to my mother, to single fathers, to loving parents, to orphans, and to those enduring through the hardships of life. We're all proud of you.

[missacidburn928]

Go Ahead And Cry

Eff Being Friends Interlude

Ex!Steve Rogers x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci” Bucky x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

Summary:

Some time has passed but the wound from letting Steve go is still fresh. Everyone is trying to navigate the shift in their own way. With the return of Loki & Thor for the annual Halloween party, buried emotions resurface. Maybe another lesson is in order for America’s Golden boy?

Warnings:

18+ MDNI, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Gods and Goddesses, Exes, Voyeurism, Halloween

Notes:

Hello Heathens!Thanks to “Cry” by Benson Boone (link in lyrics used), I felt compelled to write a little interlude for Eff Being friends as I continue work on the next installment. Steve still has some pain to go through before the groveling starts.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Banner by @cafekitsune

I always did enjoy Midgard in what was known as “Fall”. Being able to blend in during the so-called Spooky Season was always a treat. Allowing me a chance to let my darkness stretch its legs and play. 

This year, I must admit that the wickedness that resides within me has reached a new height. 

After all that jealousy and bruised ego business with Steven that happened over the summer; my claws have a newfound taste for blood it would seem. And while Bucky more than satiates my thirst. I must admit that feasting upon the agony of a man torn apart by his own misdeeds, unwilling to accept fault in his own demise, tastes all the sweeter.

From across the room, a crowd of partygoers between us, I can feel the tension and envy radiating off of America's Golden Boy. Even clad in furs and leather like the hunters of old I can see the stiffness of his shoulders and clenching of his jaw. As Bucky returns with a fresh drink in hand, I observe as Steve's eyes take on that narrowed jealous glare they’ve grown accustomed to.

Sure, it's not present all the time. But it has been making a reappearance as of late. Come to think of it, once Thor & Loki showed up, the glare became almost permanent. Has this man learned nothing?

I can't get physical with him because this place is packed with mortals and well we mustn't spook them. Now providing entertainment on the other hand. That's just enough to make it sting while I remind him of his failure.

I can't help the smug smile that makes itself known as I ponder on my plan of action.

“That face looks like trouble. What are you cooking up in that dangerous mind of yours?” Bucky whispers in my ear.

“Nothing special. It's practically harmless. I said I'd be on my best behavior and I intend to keep my word.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don't you trust me Wolfie?”

“With my life.”

“As you should. Now if you'd please excuse me, I need to find Tony.” My eyes quickly scan the crowd. Finding him and his smoking jacket rather quickly. “Tony! I have a quick question…”

Continue: ao3 tumblr

[shoyosoneandonlywife]

INCOMING RANT

Yoshida Shoyo is a virgin and I stand by that😤

(with proof and analysis)

I definitely could have added more info on why I think that this is so cuz I have many more things that would stand as proof so ill add on a bit more. Read below 👇🏽

this is the same text but in video format but the scenes at the back in some places can be considered as back up for my post😭

MORE ANALYSIS BELOW 👇🏽

1. Total ostracism

He was ousted since he was a kid and it lasted for centuries. He was literally TORTURED for simply existing my man did nothing to warrant this hell but oh well that's humans of the past for you. It should be known that his whole 1000+ years of life, not one soul had bothered to help or stand up for him, because nobody knows what it's like to be in his state and never bothered to sympathise with him.

2. Disgusted by humans

He has literally called humans disgusting many times, and yet it's not even the most insulting thing he has called humans. He's a certified hater to the point that he could be considered a racist(discriminates the human race and kinda every other life form in the universe)

Mostly someone would say oh but he's been alive for over a 1000 years something definitely happened. Yes something did, hate and pain and agony is what happened😭😭😭 first few centuries, were different methods of killing and torturing him, then for about 500 years I think, he was rotting away in a cell in a cave.

And then the next 500 years he was killing mfs left and right. I can safely assume that after his break from jail, when he immediately started killing the first group of humans that he met, he literally means he wanted to get rid of anyone he laid eyes on💀 Man didn't just despise, he was REVOLTED.

An important qns that could come up is what if when he was yoshida shoyo (for around 15 years). It's a very short amount of time compared to his lifespan isn't it☠️ Also not to forget the fact as I mentioned before, he was still heavily discriminated and feared. Also He was chased out of every town or village he travelled to, hence the title that he's a wanderer(along with gintoki).

(This could possibly have been the fact that the people recognised him as either the immortal demon or as the leader of Naraku) However it could also contribute to the fact that his revolutionary teachings were bothering the townsfolk's norms, thus the community unrest resulting in chasing him out.

Idc what anyone says a man who was so intensely and ruthlessly tortured would have a dead libido, man has literally experienced death like a daily occurrence. It was frequent ritual to come back from the dead, he has literally seen death and had tea with it, and is used to it he would NOT gaf about his dick which probably stays dead too with how many times he's been killed.

I could say the same for physical attraction because, firstly, his deep hate,more emphasis on DISGUST and DISCRIMINATION he holds for humans as well as for living beings on every other planet in the universe as Utsuro is well known. But as for yoshida shoyo, the compassionate man, I would consider him a man above worldly pleasures, as his immortality, past lives and wisdom(along with how tired he is of everyone) can attest to that.

3. Man beyond societal pressures and standards

Considering that he's a certified menace to society from birth till death, along with the menaces he trained. Safe to say he would not give any fucks about being socially acceptable even as yoshida shoyo he was still a force to be reckoned with, he was in no way submissive(the scene where he rushes to protect his kids amd threatens a bunch of men that he'll collapse the whole government because HE COULD).

With the way he has lived his life and all the events he has gone through, societal expectations/cues would actually mean nothing to him(along with his lifespan), He had become numb to the minds and behaviours of humans long ago. He has no need to go out of his way to do or say anything that does not please him and has no one to appease to. The only reason he surrendered when the Naraku came for him was to not jeopardize the safety of his students.

He COULD have easily fought them off, but after twenty years or so he probably got tired again of constantly running from the naraku(he did say at one point he was tired of running). And he was also confident in the beginnings of revolution and strong spirits he had sowed into the students he taught.

His teachings were considered as revolutionary and forward thinking, he took a new approach to life that breaks away from the stigmatised version of what was initially taught to young people and his method encouraged individualism and soul searching along with self sufficiency and inner peace, atleast to pack all of his teaching's purpose in a nutshell(definitely encapsulates much more than these ideas).

The new outlook he had begun to teach was seen as rebellious and as a fire that had to be snuffed out before its influence could spread. This further solidifies the idea that he was rather more taken with the notion that each individual pursues their own ambitions and their own rules of life, rather than conforming to the society's expectations upon them at the time he was a teacher. The principle of a man following his own rules set upon his own soul can be found in Gintoki as well, which were the concepts of individuality Shoyo had passed down to his students.

In the current years as far as I know nobody really judges you for your sex life but hookup culture was more "normalised" a few decades ago, cough cough millennials cough cough. E.g. sorachi making constant cherry/virgin jokes. No matter how normalised or societal standard anything maybe, shoyo was FARRRR from normal, bet that he would be the polar opposite of any type of expectation society normally has. And society does largely normalise as men sleeping around or even encouraged to sleep around, some reasons for that is to prove they have a sex drive yappa yappa bunch of bullshit.

Further emphasised by my point that Yoshida Shoyo is a Man that Never conforms to societal expectations, no matter what personality he was in, from his original birth till his last death(1,700+ years when he died) in silver soul and I stand by that. As to why he would never even bother to get involved in romantic or sexual intentions is also explained in this post.

The ordinary person who has been through many struggles in their life would already stop caring about what society thinks or says even when we would have been indoctrinatedfrom young, at one point. And as for Yoshida shoyo who has been treated nothing but cruelly and inhumanely from the start, a treatment to an extent no other being would ever be able to experience. And then found compassion and humanity within himself to go forward, even if it was only a mere 15 years, would never even stop to think about what other people expect or would say and criticise, always.

Moreover, despite shoyo being human, he is not ordinary as I have repeatedley stated, and the way he was born human is also not the way anyone else has been created and come into existence.

It's clear for us throughout gintama that shoyo viewed being alive and having a body as a burden, immensely. So it's obvious that a body that pains his soul to have would not be worried about pleasure in a physical sense. As aforementioned in the first part(twitter post), he would not even bother to think about it given his life incidents.

And as an individual, for 1. he is very mentally ill and at war within himself,

2. he's seen too many things in life and is traumatised to an unimaginable extent.

3. nobody would ever be able to truly understand or sympathise with him.

4. with the way his character is he seems self sufficient and independent, thus losing the need to find gratification in anyone else physically, emotionally and mentally.

Instead he had a lot of wisdom and knowledge to share and demonstrate to the world instead, hence his choice to become a teacher(starting/working in a temple school).

4. Not human nor programmed to be humane.

Shoyo was born human(but born directly from mother earth and came out of one of the dragon holes which each shrine monitors), but due to unforeseen circumstances he ended up becoming a being of altana or was born with altana in his blood. So from a very young age he was programmed to be much different from the average human. He himself, due to all the abuse and visceral disgust aimed towards him, stopped considering himself a human and instead became a monster, not human, and was even deprived from any sort of human normalcy. As Yoshida shoyo, he would have not valued anything the average person would, he is not normal. (in a good and bad way).

Moreover gintama has many references deep-rooted into Buddhism and Shoyo was basically akin to a monk during his teaching era.

He chose to run his private school as a TEMPLE school and I have a theory that since gintoki had found shoyo reborn and being taken care of in one of the shrines near the dragon hole, I assume that when shoyo had first come into origin, he was also taken in by the monks in the shrine at first, and raised for a while until he was discovered to be immortal, to which he was then subject to endless torture and deaths by the common populace during that era.

None of his personalities via his split personality would ever delve into pleasurable ways, because, exempting his personality of yoshida shoyo, every other personality was an extension of Utsuro, who wanted nothing to do with humans and wished for the extinction of them. So excluding his hundred other extensions of his mind(personalities), his singular personality, can definitely be perceived and considered as a zen master/monk.

Heres a link to a shoyo analysis(at the end of the post), it delves into the life and character arc of yoshida shoyo, along with his connections and references to Buddhism. And importantly how his death signifies nirvana, nirvana means to break the cycle of life, and to do that, some points to achieve this are to go beyond the worldly/materialistic aspects of life, which shoyo has already mastered in my opinion. Atleast as yoshida shoyo, excluding his other personalities.

The only thing stopping him from being freed was his suffering and absolute pain which even resulted in him becoming mentally deranged. His suffering was the only thing stopping him from absolution.

In a way, Utsuro yearned for nirvana too(shoyo is no different from utsuro in the ways of his soul no matter the amount of personalities, hes still just one soul, one man), but went about it in a more "all encompassing" method💀 because his nihilism was at its peak within him, with his history of genocide as a fuel to his ambitions. He wanted to truly end not just his existence and consciousness but everything that exists as a whole. As he believed as Utsuro it would be a more fitting way to end ALL cycles once and for all (perpetuated agenda by his hatred).

In the end, obviously as he has repeatedly stated, he yearned for death, the end of the cycle. And a man who yearns for death, would not consider anything else in his life other than leaving the very body that is nothing more than a burden to him. And vehemently strived to dissolve his soul to put a full stop to the endless agony that he knows and calls life.

Link: https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFGagoWo/

I greatly recommend u check out my other post too! where I delve into Shoyo's mental illness, Multiple personality disorder and how that made his journey tougher to make peace within himself and finally die as yoshida shoyo.

End of my post I hope that everyone realises I'm always right when it comes to my love, shoyo😝.

[object-headed-characters-yes]

Day 7- Doubt

I find RGB’s interactions with the previous heroes fascinating, and I like to wonder what those interactions would be like when RGB is alone/between heroes. So oops, this turned into a longer one-shot with RGB and Click.

Additional note: I still think about that panel of RGB seeing Click in the Market and Click pointing and making the shooting motion at RGB. In this one-shot, RGB isn't aware of where Click's eyes actually are. Some tags/etc. since this is longer:

Angst, torment/pain via shooting, violence, RGB/suffering, taunting, RBG running his mouth doesn’t do him any favors with Click, musing over the concept of pain both physical and mental for RGB, reminding one of one’s failures with a similar departure, some hurt/comfort (a lil RGB/Madras if you squint), despair/resignation/acceptance when the same thing happens again.

~

RGB didn’t notice the Doubts gathering nearby as the futility of what he was attempting to accomplish began to feel like a huge waste of effort. RGB should just give up, instead of fighting, and finally accept what was fast becoming inevitable.

And yet…

RGB can’t stop now.

Despite the hurt that came from becoming attached to his previous heroes who had failed, RGB just couldn’t stop now. Not after all he’d done to find the loophole that he was currently taking advantage of. And he knew better, now, after a few heroes, to be a little more careful so he didn’t end up in another situation where he had to abandon his hero to their doom.

Once was enough.

Once was enough to make the guilt linger, even if RGB told himself that it was for the best.

Click had not been what RGB thought he would be as a hero.

RGB’s walk had slowed as his thoughts briefly dwelt on the failed (and abandoned) hero. RGB could only hope that the next hero (after Click, and the last few) would surely be able to go on longer and succeed compared to those who came before? RGB needed to shake off the malaise that was plaguing him before he could not even accomplish going to find a hero again and-

Ah.

That explained his current train of thought.

RGB had come across the field of Doubts.

What terrible luck.

RGB was soon surrounded by many of the creatures, no longer squabbling amongst themselves. The telly-headed monster staggered along, occasionally tearing away Doubts that began to cling to him.

Almost out of the field.

Just a little further.

Click-click-click.

That sound…

Click-click-click.

Now, of all times?

Click-click-click.

RGB unwillingly stopped in place at the sound, wondering if he’d had a shadow the entire time he'd been going back to the beginning.

“Click.” RGB greeted, not turning around just yet as he raised his hands up and away from his pockets. No matter how much he wanted to go for something that might give him time to get away from Click, and any possible hurt that came with his appearance. Unless, of course, Click had changed his view of RGB, yet that was-

BANG!

Pain flared through RGB’s left leg, making him stagger then collapse to his right knee, swiftly using the cane in his hand to bat away a few Doubts that had wiggled closer as his other hand braced in the grass.

A bullet clattered nearby.

“Not even a greeting, Click?” RGB questioned, managing to speak without obvious agony; like he was just having a chat with an old friend. An old friend understandably upset with RGB’s previous action. “I thought a little repertoire might happen before you shot me, though as you see, it went right through me.”

The sound of the weapon could be heard being repositioned.

RGB knew what had Click after him.

Click knew as well RGB that the television-headed monster had abandoned him to a doomed fate. And now Click was within range of his guide turned enemy, again seeking to remove that which caused his inevitable demise in this world.

“You know, I thought we had quite a good chat before coming to this world." RGB had yet to reach for his suit coat, and every passing second he stood there meant being overwhelmed by the Doubts, or shot. "Surely, we could have that civil a conversation again? I am on a bit of a schedule here; I’m sure you understand that.”

A few clicks, a gnashing of unseen teeth, despite the fact RGB was fairly certain Click had none.

Not anymore.

“Even if I know you’re not precisely, ah, pleased with my previous decisions and actions, I’m sure you know it’s a, well, unfortunate 'duty' of mine to continue to find new heroes, correct?”

Silence but for the ever-sounding click-click-click that accompanied the former hero turned a tin solider in this place.

“My dear fellow, I don’t suppose we could take this conversation you clearly insist upon having to a less hostile environment?" RGB wheedled, doing his best to figure out a way to defuse the situation, so to speak. "I do think we may have had some sort of misunderstanding when first we met, and I can’t help but think that this has carried over after your…change in appearance, and the incidents that followed thereafter.”

“As before, you speak too much.” A voice of three in one spoke aloud at last. Another click, as metal creaked and moved, changing shape. “And I think this field is fitting, for someone like you.”

“How do you figure that?” RGB batted away another Doubt with his cane, his other hand’s fingers digging into the ground with unease.

The muzzle of the rifle lightly pressed between where RGB’s shoulder blades would be.

“Your doubts about me…your doubts about the ability of this place to be saved; despite trying again and again…you abandoned me. Left me to die, and become what I am now, after you killed the 'me' before that." Click harshly grated through the three-toned voice. “You’ve doubted all previous heroes brought to this cursed place, haven’t you? Doubted their skill to keep up with you in this madness. For your heroes to understand the rules without being told, unless pressed with a question for an answer." Click’s voice became rough and laced with fury underlying pain. “Doubted their ability to do what you were unable to accomplish, leading us all to be pawns in your attempt to make things right that you yourself couldn’t?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” RGB couldn’t quite hold his unease over being called out like that, but he figured some of the previous heroes, and now Click, had figured him out, and saw through his facade. Though RGB's thoughts were dashed when the muzzle of the rifle lowered a tad.

BANG!

A bullet whizzed through where his right thigh would be.

The cane fell with a muted thump to the grassy ground as RGB’s hand joined his other in the grass. He held himself up, arms trembling as the agony of both the bullet wounds traveled through him unseen, the second stringing pain traveling through his thigh. RGB’s other leg was as about to shift to balance on his hands and knees to not topple over, when Click moved.

Click-click-click.

RGB wordlessly winced when Click stepped on his wounded left leg, grinding the boot now a rifle butt down as the rifle made from Click's own arm moved with the lifting of said arm. RGB briefly found his voice. “I don’t suppose we could-"

BANG!

BANG!

Twice more the rifle went off, one shot going through RGB’s left shoulder blade, while the second shot flashed through the upper arm of his right.

RGB’s voice became wrought with static as he gracelessly collapsed to the grass, just barely turning his television head to the side to avoid having the glass crack upon impact. Seeing as it was grass, there was likely no need to worry, but RGB wasn't going to tempt fate further that dat.

The 'boot' moved off of RGB’s leg.

Click-click-click.

BANG!

Another shot, this time through RGB’s lower back. Then, the rifle roughly pressed to the back of his telly-head.

“If you want target, might I suggest the rather abundant population of Doubts that are surrounding us?” RGB wheezed out through the speaker, color dripping excessively down from his screen, several emotions overwhelming him all at once. RGB tensed when he felt the barrel of the rifle shift, almost thoughtfully, to one of RGB's vents. “Taking on those Doubts might be able to help with some of that built up anger of yours.” The rifle moved again to roughly press back against the back of RGB’s head. “Or you could do this, I suppose.”

“Like I said before-“ Clicking and metal sound overlapped before a hand reached around RGB's shoulder to seize the volume control on the front of his television screen. “You speak too much, but for what I have in mind-“ Click cranked up the volume to its max setting. “I want you to be heard. To scream.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. As much pain as you could cause me and the 'hurt' that it brings won't make me ‘scream.’" RGB commented, his voice now very loud. Conveniently, the Doubts didn’t like it and had moved a little way away from him and Click. “More of a static feedback, I suppose? I’m not really one for screaming and all that. I can certainly talk more if you’re keen on that conversation and are done with shooting me.” RGB’s arms ache as he braced himself when Click irritably used both his hand and the one currently used as a weapon to roughly flip RGB over onto his back. Staring up at Click, the blank-faced soldier appeared cold and unwavering. This gave RGB pause. What was he planning and-

“I want you to feel helpless when they come for you.” Click’s otherwise stationary head tilted to the side, the gold buttons on his solid jacket shimmering. It was if they, too, were eyes that were giving RGB their whole attention as Click's arm turned weapon lowered from the center of his screen to his chest, just below the bow tie.

“Who do you-“

BANG!

A bigger, more painful flare of agony tore through RGB’s chest, dragging out what he thought couldn’t be brought out so easily. A scream of agony, despite knowing no real harm was done to something not truly there, or what was already gone.

Click-click-click.

The muzzle of the rifle moved to the side as Click awkwardly knelt alongside RGB, body shifting metal in order to do so as Click gripped a handful of fabric to yank RGB partly upright off the grass. For whatever reason, Click was leaning over past his television-head, Click's chest level with RGB’s television screen versus the toy soldier’s head. Maybe he couldn’t bend that far with what his body now was?

RGB’s screen was fuzzing and static, the technicolor smile slipping to a thin line of pure agony. But through this, and the jostling via Click’s hand, RGB could have sworn the decorative detail across Click’s chest formed into three sharp smiles, the buttons gleaming on either side of these. It gave off the impression of three faces gleefully enjoying the clear pain RGB was experiencing despite the lack of blood from any of the bullet holes in RGB’s suit coat and pants legs.

“The Fears.” Click responded to RGB's earlier question as he jammed the rifle point-blank against RGB’s chest, just to the side of the hole the previous bullet had made. Click leaned in close, those buttons are like eyes, piercing RGB, the imagined smiles twisting up in sadistic pleasure. “Scream, and suffer, like you made me suffer when you abandoned me to my fate in this place of make believe.”

BANG!

White-hot agony tore through RGB this time, barely noticing that he’d been let go of as the back of his telly-head roughly hit the ground.

Some other gunshots went off, as well as a loud blast, but neither of these were aimed at RGB.

The Doubts?

RGB felt a hint of doubt but it wasn’t as strong as before.

“Good luck getting to your next victim.” Click called out from a further distance. “The Fears have come. They sense yours rising.”

Ricocheting bullets scattered around RGB, dispersing of the remainder of the nearest doubts.

RGB could feel the fear creeping in, drawing in the Fears, the jagged lines of their bodies drawing nearer through the grass.

“Should you survive this, know I will always be around to find you again.”

The click-click-click-ing grew quiet, until it could no longer be heard.

Click knew better than to test a large crowd of Fears, or even a Grief, should it show up, knowing well he didn't want to be caught and overwhelmed like when he'd been a hero, and been abandoned by the one who'd asked him if he wanted to be hero.

RGB’s limbs trembled, but he couldn’t find the strength to get up. He was frozen by pain and the growing fear.

Click-click-click.

Wait.

Why was he coming back?

Why did Click-

SPLASH!

RGB let out a garbled static gasp, fear skyrocketing as he felt the water get into his vents and inside his television head and-

STAB!

The Fear!

RGB weakly reached up to grapple at the head of the Fear but his hands lost their strength, thudding limply to the ground. Other Fears closed in, while the Click-click-click of Click’s retreat could be heard, the tin soldier agreeing to be a hero and being abandoned by RGB, now abandoning RGB had him, and however many other heroes suffered a similar fate.

Another Fear stabbed into RGB’s body; as he lost his vision of the world as his screen went out.

A long blank of nothingness hung around RGB until, with an unnecessary gasping breath, RGB woke up in a different area. An area close to where he went through a door to go recruit a new hero for a doomed narrative.

How…had he gotten here?

Hadn’t RGB been overwhelmed by the fears, after being shot many times by Click, and then splashed water as an effort to ensure RGB might be taken out?

RGB placed the back of his hand across the top of his screen to stare up at the sky overhead.

Well, that had been quite an awful experience, even if Click did have justification to use him as target practice.

The aches remain, as did the bullet holes in his clothing. RGB would have to have the amour repaired or replaced. But that would take more time to go back to the Market and only give Click a chance to find him again, to try and take his revenge for what RGB had done to him.

Standing stiffly, RGB brushed off his suit and pants as best he could, adjusted his boater hat, and picked up his cane that had miraculously appeared with him, instead of being left behind in the field.

A question of how would have to be left for another time.

As much as RGB didn’t think it would be best to go look for a hero while sporting bullet holes in his person, RGB couldn’t dally any longer. Surely there would be at least one person interested in being a hero who wouldn’t be put off by the sight?

As it turned out, RGB had found someone to be the hero of the story. He brought them through a brief gauntlet before the two managed to get a little breather in the House of Paint.

The hero did, that is.

While the hero slept, RGB was subjected to Madras’ concern as she took her price of two pints in return for replacing all the items RGB had lost when Click shot him in the chest, shattering the glass vials hidden beneath.

RGB, once the pints were taken and the vials were stored, went upstairs and sat down, Madras joining him briefly to lean against his back, arms around his shoulders.

They remained there in silence until RGB broke it.

“Click shot me. Multiple times., at that.”

Madras’ arms merely tightened around him, encouraging RGB to continue.

“I don’t think he is interested in talking to me.”

“Would you, in his position?” Madras asked.

“After what happened?” RGB was quiet. His head hung a little. “No.”

“I’ve told you before to not get attached.”

“I know.” RGB’s voice was quiet, despite not turning the volume of the television down. Right, when had that happened? Wasn't it at high volume before?

“You can’t help it.” Madras said.

It wasn’t a question.

“Does that make me a fool?”

“It makes you vulnerable.” Madras poked a finger through a hole in RGB’s suit-coat. “It makes you hesitate.”

RGB said nothing as he turned his head in the direction of the door.

“Don’t get attached.”

“It’s like you said.” RGB’s right hand reached up to rest over one of Madras’ hands. “I can’t help it.”

Madras’ eye settled on a mirror in the corner of the room and saw the self-deprecating multi-colored smile stretching across the lower third of RGB’s screen as his other hand gripped the cane tight.

No more words were spoken.

RGB wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but when he woke, he led his newest hero from the House of Paint.

Not a day later, RGB lost them.

Click may have a point; whether or not RGB intended to, whether he left his hero behind intentionally, or did his best to keep his hero safe and well, something inevitably went wrong. This led to them being trapped within this world of make believe, resentful or hateful toward RGB, unable to go home even after the hero was no longer the hero of the story.

One of these times had to be different.

It had to be.

RGB couldn't keep doing this when he was unable to fully detach himself from the situation and he inevitably, in one way or another, became attached to the heroes he brought here.

[thesteamhunk]

Hey folks! This post is the post regarding the lore of each of the 'races' currently in WHTPA ! If you'd like to read the first post I made about the lore, please check it out here! Same as before, all lore will be under the cut!

So before going in depth about the 'races', I should explain why I'm putting quotes around the word! For my lore, I'm really using 'race' in a way DnD or other TTRPGs may use it, where things like robots and other inorganics are considered as such. There are distinct human races in the story, though they are completely different to the races of Earth, so while humans look like they do here, they will have different names, cultures and languages, due to the differences between Ezex and Earth ! That being said, lets get into it!! Humans

Humans are one of the main eight races in the current lore of Ezex, and are as you expect, at least visually! There are cases of humans having traits from other 'races' (for a variety of reasons) but for the most part, they are as you imagine, with little differences to this Earth visually! Necrobots

The Necrobots are essentially humans brought back to life by mechanical means, in a Frankenstein's Monster type of way. A family member or loved one can sign a form, giving the Hawkes Corporation permission to graft skin and hair the best they can to the robots and “rebuild” the loved ones, giving them “renewed life”. There are still a lot of flaws in the Necrobots. A lot of them come back with trouble processing thoughts or emotions, lost memories, or in some cases experiencing intense and untameable agony. There have been issues in the past, especially with the first Necrobot, or Proto Necrobot as he is sometimes referred. Dolls

Dolls are entirely inorganic clockwork creatures, most commonly made of porcelain, but also made of brass, copper, gold, wood, glass, and plastic. They do not need to eat or sleep, and can not feel physical touch, though many of them engage in these activities for their own enjoyment. Dolls were originally designed and created by Lady Juliette Howlett (he/him), though are now more frequently made by Lady Howlett & Co Dollmakers, a company Lady Howlett runs, but is not directly in the product line of unless it is regarding new material for the Dolls. Vampyres

Vampyres are a race of energy and emotion feeders. No one knows where they came from, but considering they are yet to cause many problems, no one really questions them or their motives. Originally thought to be the vampires of Ezex myth (hence the name they have adopted), Vampyres feed not on blood, but on intense emotions or on the energy around them, most often steam energy. They are very similar to humans, though they can have nonhuman aspects, such as claws, pointed ears, and unnatural eye colors. Lycanthrope

Lycanthrope are a race of animal like folk, often with more hair on their bodies, tails, pointed ears, padding on the feet and hands, claws, unnatural eyes, and fangs. Commonly canine in appearance, though coming in many different shapes, Lycanthrope originally hail from Ivorham and Meckburn, some of the colder parts of Ezex. Lycanthrope are known to be faster, have more sensitive senses of hearing and smell, and tend to hold heat more than most other races do. They speak a language called Lycan Tongue. C.H.A.Ps and B.L.O.K.Es

C.H.A.Ps, or Collection and Helper Automaton Pals, are robots built by Cogsworth Robotics to help those who aren’t able to help themselves (disabled, the elderly, young children ect) and are built to do little tasks like getting food, delivering packages,  getting clothes and things of that nature. B.L.O.K.Es are similar, but are more personal, around the house helpers, built to do more heavy duty tasks like Gardening, cleaning and house repairs. It is generally accepted that if a C.H.A.Ps or B.L.O.K.Es shows up to collect something for the person they are helping without funds that you hand off the goods anyway.

Peacekeepers

Not much is known about the Peacekeepers. Organic or inorganic, from Ezex or not, all that is known about the Peacekeepers is that they showed up in many of the major cities one day, dubbed themselves Peacekeepers, and starting protecting the people of Ezex.

[gatoraid]

At times, Reading He Who Drowned the World felt like I was the one being flayed and steamed alive, being cut into a thousand little pieces by a knife. The mental and physical agony the characters go through is so painful it feels even excessive at times. But even when the most horrible things were happening and I was almost losing hope towards the end, I couldn’t even be mad because I could feel what the author was trying to tell me with all this pain and suffering, and I can buy that message 100 %.

Through these deeply painful scenes, the story shows how strict gender roles, toxic masculinity, misogyny and homophobia hurt and restrict us, and how lethal they can be.

Major spoilers after this

I was especially gutted by Ouyang’s death, but I feel like his storyline drove the themes of the story home in a very pronounced way. In the end, Ouyang was killed by the harmful ideas about masculinity and manhood that had been ingrained in him all his life.

His tragedy was never about having to avenge his family, but rather being so entrenched in the toxic culture of pride and revenge and masculinity that he would rather kill the one he loved and retain his ”honor” than put the idea of honor aside and love and be loved in return.

These toxic ideas are also the reason that stops him from forming real solidarity with Zhu. Even though they are both very similar, living as men while their bodies are not viewed as a man’s by the society, Ouyang cannot accept Zhu as an equal because he’s learned to project his self-hatred into hating everything even remotely feminine and female. It’s very upsetting to see how he loses his chance at healing and changing as a person by Zhu’s side, but I think that’s the whole point. This is a book series about broken people and how people who have been hurt sometimes only learn to hurt others, and how patriarchy and other harmful structures pit women, queer and trans ppl and basically anyone against each other. This theme is visible in almost all the pov characters of the story.

Madam Zhang is incapable of letting go of the ideas about what men and women can or cannot do, which leads to her not being able to accept Zhu as an ally and subsequently her own death.

Baoxiang has been equally hurt by narrow views of masculinity and manhood, and been scorned and rejected for his femininity all his life. His pain becomes so all-consuming that he is almost suffocated by his need to revenge the society that has wronged him. In the end, he is only able to survive because he can cast things like pride or shame aside in order to start anew.

In contrast, Zhu is able to not only survive but even thrive in some way bc she doesn’t really care about those roles. Even if she is not a woman, she never rejects or undervalues femininity and is able to use it to her own advantage when needed. She also knows that pride and honor cannot comfort you when you’re dead and she would rather live, and I think this extends to a more metaphoric level too. What’s the point of becoming ”successful” or hanging on to the idea of what a ”real man” should be like, if it only leads to you being dead inside?

Obviously, letting go of these harmful and hurtful ideas and structures can not be a individual effort, but something that needs to be addressed on a more systemic level. That’s why Zhu has to get on that throne herself in order to change the world. And it feels very meaningful that at the end, when she ascends on the throne, she’s wearing a maid’s skirts, owing her win to both the feminine and masculine sides of her.

For me, at least, the very final chapter of the book managed to justify all the awful things that happened. With mercy and grace, Zhu (and Ma!) demonstrate that to make it all worth the pain and suffering, you have to stop hurting and killing others and break free from that cycle of toxicity that their world has been built upon until now.

(Also as a disclaimer, I generally prefer to read about healing and letting go of pain and generally don’t think pain and suffering make things more deep or worthy… but I also think that this book managed to use these elements in a very meaningful way.)

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Go Ahead And Cry (Eff Being Friends Interlude)

Eff Being Friends Interlude

Ex!Steve Rogers x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci” Bucky x POC!Goddess!Avenger!Reader “Ci”

Summary:

Some time has passed but the wound from letting Steve go is still fresh. Everyone is trying to navigate the shift in their own way. With the return of Loki & Thor for the annual Halloween party, buried emotions resurface. Maybe another lesson is in order for America’s Golden boy?

Warnings:

18+ MDNI, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Gods and Goddesses, Exes, Voyeurism, Halloween

Notes:

Hello Heathens! Thanks to “Cry” by Benson Boone (link in lyrics used), I felt compelled to write a little interlude for Eff Being friends as I continue work on the next installment. Steve still has some pain to go through before the groveling starts.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Banner by @cafekitsune

I always did enjoy Midgard in what was known as “Fall”. Being able to blend in during the so-called Spooky Season was always a treat. Allowing me a chance to let my darkness stretch its legs and play. 

This year, I must admit that the wickedness that resides within me has reached a new height. 

After all that jealousy and bruised ego business with Steven that happened over the summer; my claws have a newfound taste for blood it would seem. And while Bucky more than satiates my thirst. I must admit that feasting upon the agony of a man torn apart by his own misdeeds, unwilling to accept fault in his own demise, tastes all the sweeter.

From across the room, a crowd of partygoers between us, I can feel the tension and envy radiating off of America's Golden Boy. Even clad in furs and leather like the hunters of old I can see the stiffness of his shoulders and clenching of his jaw. As Bucky returns with a fresh drink in hand, I observe as Steve's eyes take on that narrowed jealous glare they’ve grown accustomed to.

Sure, it's not present all the time. But it has been making a reappearance as of late. Come to think of it, once Thor & Loki showed up, the glare became almost permanent. Has this man learned nothing?

I can't get physical with him because this place is packed with mortals and well we mustn't spook them. Now providing entertainment on the other hand. That's just enough to make it sting while I remind him of his failure.

I can't help the smug smile that makes itself known as I ponder on my plan of action.

“That face looks like trouble. What are you cooking up in that dangerous mind of yours?” Bucky whispers in my ear.

“Nothing special. It's practically harmless. I said I'd be on my best behavior and I intend to keep my word.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don't you trust me Wolfie?”

“With my life.”

“As you should. Now if you'd please excuse me, I need to find Tony.” My eyes quickly scan the crowd. Finding him and his smoking jacket rather quickly. “Tony! I have a quick question…”

In the heart of the dimly lit ballroom, where the shadows dance and laughter intertwines with the whispers of the night, I emerge from the crowd. 

Draped in a slinky black dress that clings to my curvaceous form, I move among the party goers with an otherworldly grace. The long black locks escaping from my messy updo, cascade like dark waterfalls down my exposed back. My amber-colored eyes flicker with intensity, captivating the crowd as they glimmer like molten gold against the backdrop of swirling costumes and flickering candles.

As I make my way onto the makeshift stage, a hush falls over the room. With a nod to the band they begin to play a soulful tune.

I tried to hide it through the silence while I played along I'm welling up behind my eyelids when I'm holding on To the rage, so badly, I hate it And I wish that all of-

“Nah, nah, nah, that doesn't feel right” I turn to the guitarist, “Maybe, uh, speed it up.” The drummer beats out a steady rhythm. “Yeah, that's nice.”

I really hate the way you think that you can get away By blaming all your stupid problems on your mental state I'm tired of burnt-out lies, ooh You think you know me, but you hardly even know yourself I'd bite my tongue and let you think I only wish you well I don't, I know you know it, ooh   And I'm tired of letting someone get the best of me, so go ahead and- Cry, cry Go ahead and ruin someone else's life Cry, cry Go bug somebody else, so I can sleep at night

My voice, seductive and haunting, wraps around the audience like the silken threads of a spider's web. Echoing the enchanting call of a siren from ancient tales, as they lured wayward souls into the depths of the ocean. Each note is dripped with emotion. A potent blend of pain and rage I direct at Steven, who stands among the revelers, caught in the web of my melodious spell. 

The air thickens with tension as I unleashed the raw power of my deep buried heartache through song. Weaving a tale of betrayal and longing that resonates within the depths of every soul present.

Mmm, you're more narcissistic than anybody in Hollywood You're not a misfit, don't keep sayin' you're misunderstood I'm tired, oh, I'm so tired, ooh   And maybe you're the honest type And it's been me the whole damn time I should really try to calm my mind and see things from your side   Or, maybe you can Cry, cry

The crowd sways, entranced by my haunting melody, as I transform the party into a realm where heartbreak and beauty intertwine. Making even the darkest of spaces shimmer with an enchanting light.

Go ahead and ruin someone else's life Cry, cry Go bug somebody else, so I can sleep at night Cry, cry Go ahead and ruin someone else's life Cry, cry And I'm tired of letting someone get the best of me, so go ahead and- Cry, cry Go ahead and ruin someone else's-

As the song promptly ends, I lock eyes with Steven’s ocean blues. The jealousy and rage seem to have been replaced with longing and hurt. A pain that matches my own. Feeling rather exposed and vulnerable, I quickly flick my wrist with a flourish and disappear from the stage. Reappearing in a darkened corner occupied by the God of Mischief himself.

“If you sang any longer I was sure these mortals would have broken into war amongst themselves or an orgy. Dont know which one I would have enjoyed more.”

“Please, there was no way I was emitting that much power. I have a strong grasp on my magic. I just made them feel a little amped up. What they do with that energy is up to them.”

“As much as I enjoy your company, who are you hiding from my dear? I doubt it's your soul bonded.”

“I’m not hiding. Just taking a moment to breathe.”

Loki eyes my form from head to toe.

“I must admit, you look rather fetching this evening. And without the hint of a glamour. How lovely.”

“That’s the best part of this holiday. I get to just be me and mortals compliment me on it. It’s great for the ego. Hurts a bit on the soul if I’m honest.”

“I’m sure the Captain plays a part in that more than these mere mortals.”

“How so?”

“You have your soul bonded back, which should make you feel whole once more but you’re not.”

“I love that I get to have Bucky out in the open. It healed a good part of me.”

“Yes, but not enough. Remember, I know you inside and out my sweet. You may not have branded him, but the captain left his mark on your soul. That piece is tainted now and you have no idea what to do with it.”

“I have to agree with Loki on this one, Doll.” Bucky, having quietly made his way over, makes his presence known. Placing a kiss to my shoulder as he hugs me from behind.

“Using your costume to your advantage I see. Blending in with the shadows. Keeping watch like a Sentry of old.”

“Nice deflection.”

“I’ll make note of your observations and sort them at a later date. Can we just enjoy the night, please?” I turn in his arms, reaching up and ghosting my fingers along his sharp jaw. 

“Of course.”

“Good, because I need you to help me dispel all these pesky mixed emotions and pent up energy.” I grab on to his hood and pull his mouth down to mine. The kiss is deep and emotional. Letting him know without words, my need for him to help me correct this turn the night has taken. 

Pulling apart he leans forward and places a kiss to my forehead. It’s all the acknowledgement I need to know he will take care of me. With my hand held securely in his metal one, he leads us out to the private patio that is currently unoccupied.

“Steve, you look so tense. Let me help you out.” Sharon declares before placing her hands on his shoulders and beginning to massage them.

She has been trying to get and keep Steve’s attention all night and he can no longer take it. He shrugs her off, removing her grip from his body.

“I need some air.”

Rushing off he heads out to the private patio.  Where he stumbles upon Bucky and I sharing a moment. 

I’m against the wall, a joint between my fingers, while Bucky leans over me with one hand on the wall. The other is currently under my dress thanks to its high slit. As I inhale, filling my lungs with the potent medicine only mother nature can provide, Bucky slides two thick fingers inside me. Filling me up all the same. 

I hold in the moan for as long as I can. Eyes closed as I let the ganja settle in deep. Opening my eyes I am met with Bucky’s smoldering gaze as his fingers play along my sweet spots. Taking me right to the edge as he teases my g spot. 

Running purely on instinct I pull him down to me and give in to the pleasure. Shotgunning my hit with a kiss. Sharing my high with my White Wolf. My quiet moans fill the air as I come apart on his fingers.

Unable to look away from the sensual display in front of him, Steve moves into the shadows. He’s sure I’m aware of his presence, but I seem not to care.

I don’t. 

With eyes beginning to glaze over, Bucky withdraws his fingers from within me. They glisten with the essence of my slick. After a playful inspection he places them in his mouth and licks them clean. Pressing his forehead to mine as my taste coats his tongue.

“We seem to have an audience. Should we take this inside?”

“No. If he wants to torture himself by watching us together, so be it.”

With a kiss to the chin and a devilish smile I silently drop to my knees. I undo his belt and zipper, gazing up into his eyes as he remains leaned over me, looking for permission to continue on.

“I am so very green right now.”

With a chuckle I reach into his pants and pull him out. His thickness is making my mouth water as a pearl of precum leaks from his tip. My tongue traces the same path until his head is perched between my lips. Without a second thought, I open my mouth and take him to the back of my throat. Only satisfied once I feel the hair along his pelvis tickling my nose.

His head tilts back and his right hand fists itself in my hair. Using me as an anchor to keep himself upright.

Steve can’t deny how watching his best friend and ex lover together is affecting him. The leather pants he adorned for this costume have grown uncomfortably tight the more his body reacts. As if on autopilot, he reaches down, untying his pants and pulling the front down enough to release his throbbing cock.

Holding the base with his left hand he spits into his right and begins stroking himself. Keeping pace with the bobbing of my head as I please Bucky with my talented tongue.

Time stands still as I am down on my knees. Mind focused on giving my partner the most pleasure my mouth can provide. Earning myself a growly moan accompanied by a salty treat deposited on my tongue as a reward for a job well done.

I rise up, back to standing. A satisfied grin on my face and a belly full of Bucky. His metal hand wraps around my throat and I am pulled into a deep kiss. 

“I wanted to come inside you, Goddess mine. You took that away from me.” He growls.

“I’m sorry.” I tease. “I just couldn't help myself. You just taste so damn good. I wanted a belly full.” 

“You’re going to pay for that later when we get home.” 

“Promise?” 

He pins me to the wall with his hips. “Promise. Now zip me up so we can head back inside. You still owe me a dance.”

I quickly zip him back up. Making him presentable once more. 

With a slap to my ass he sets us on our way back into the party. Before we reach the threshold I can’t help but open my mouth.

“I hope you enjoyed the show Steven. Don’t take too long to clean up.”

I’ll never tire of the energy lust filled gyrating bodies create. It’s like a sweet ambrosia filling my veins, invigorating me with every sway of my own hips. I must thank whoever requested Ed Sheeran's “Shape Of You”. I’m practically drunk off of my own magic from the surge.

Bucky has me held tightly to his front as my body undulates and moves with the sensuous beat. His hardened member is holding court betwixt my ample bottom, as he reminds me of what his hips do so well.

As the heat level rises; the dancefloors' movements begin to straddle the line between sexy and obscene. I’m unsure if this is my doing or not as my magic does have the capability to lower one's inhibitions. Nevertheless it is not of my concern at the moment. 

I can feel the unmistakable tingle along my spine of eyes on me, as I raise my arms up to wrap around the back of Bucky’s neck. He leans down, raining kisses along my shoulders until he reaches my ear.

“You noticed our little voyeur, haven’t you?”

“I sense the eyes, but have not sought out the face. But it seems as though you may already know who they belong to.”

“So do you. His eyes rarely stray from you these days. Even when he is trying to be discreet.”

“Didn’t he get enough of an eyeful earlier out on the patio. I left him breathing after all.”

“So cruel. He must have hurt you deeper than I thought.”

“Don’t. He chose this path, not me. Were his actions different the outcome could have been all the sweeter.”

“Still dreaming of starting that Harem I see.” He chuckles.

“It’s the least a goddess, such as I, deserves.” I sigh. “One day. For now you are more than enough to satiate my needs. Body and soul.”

“So no Thor or Loki?”

“Don’t go that far. That would be a waste of godly talents and I can’t have that now can I?”

Having made his way back indoors. A rosy hue to his cheeks from his loss of control. Steve's eyes remain glued to the dancefloor. Focused on the movements of Bucky and I’s bodies as his mind wanders back to a simpler time.

“I figured you would have just waved your hand and magically applied your makeup.”

“I could, but I rather enjoy the methodical process of donning one's war paint.”

“I’m not complaining. Especially when it leaves you in this lingerie for longer. You're making my trousers very uncomfortable at the moment. Might have to rectify that.”

“And how do you intend to do that? We need to be downstairs in 15 minutes.”

“You can sit on my cock. Keep it nice and warm while you finish dolling yourself up.”

I quirk my brow at him in the mirror.

“Show me how hard you are and I’ll deem if it's worthy enough to sit upon.”

He unzips his slacks and pulls out his rock hard length. It’s already dripping with precum.

“Alright. Come have a seat. I’m not taking my panties off though so you’ll have to pull them aside and maneuver me yourself.”

“With pleasure.”

He sits on the velvet bench behind me. Placing a kiss to my lower back as he moves the gusset of my thong to the side. Holding onto it with his thumb as he lowers me down onto his waiting cock.

He groans when my ass meets his pelvis. “Perfect fit.”

“Good. Now let me finish up.”

He can’t keep his hands to himself as I try and navigate applying my lip liner while filling so full. As he grazes my lace covered nipples my pussy gives an involuntary squeeze to his girth. The next thing I know, Steve is standing up and bending me over the vanity.

He pulls his hips back and slams them forward. Setting a quick and fast pace as he rearranges my insides. I am overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving my body. Using me like his own personal cock sleeve. Before I know it his fingers are circling my clit and I am coming undone.

The pulsing of my walls around him sets Steve off. With a gasp and a whimper he unloads deep inside me.

Laying a kiss between my shoulder blades, he pulls out. Maneuvering my thong back in place as our eyes meet in the mirror.

"Be a good girl and keep that warm for me.” He grins. “I want you thinking all about me as my cum slowly leaks out of you all night while we party it up with our friends."

“You haven't moved from this spot in a minute. How ya holding up man?”

Sam’s voice breaks the memory and slams Steve back to the present.

"Fucking miserable. Not only did I chase my girl away, but it was right into the arms of my best friend."

"Technically he had her first."

Steve’s glare in Sam’s direction could melt ice.

"I'm just saying. And isn't she still hooking up with the demigods too?"

"Guess so. I wouldn’t know. I just wonder, was I not enough for her?"

"You know it's not like that man. I think you were too possessive of her while having the freedom to explore the things and people you wanted to. Without giving her the respect to do the same."

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? You essentially kept her from a chosen soulmate because they didn't want to run the risk of hurting you just by bringing up their past. You made your choice man."

"But what if I made the wrong one?"

"Then you have some tough decisions and talks ahead of you."

With a slap of encouragement to the shoulder, Sam walks over to a smiling Nat, leaving Steve to his thoughts once more.

[nimdreams]

My Awakening

Written November 2, 2021

When I was around 9 years old, I came across the comics Elfquest in the library with some friends of mine. We all loved this series. The art was beautiful and the characters were enchanting. My friend who was good at art, loved the style and me.. I awakened.

I don't remember much of it since it's such a long time ago. I always felt.. different. I wasn't quite like my peers and they had to teach me a lot about social propriety. When I read the Elfquest comics, I felt a recognition. I was an elf, like them. It was the start of a secret self image, something I had to keep hidden deep within myself and not share with anyone or they'd think I was weird and that would hurt incredibly much as it would be a rejection of my truest self.

I continued to love the Elfquest series and bought any comic parts I could find. But even though the Wolfriders had made me realize I was a feral elf, I also felt like I was different from them. They were half wolves and bound to wolves and even though I went through a wolf phase I knew that it wasn't a part of my self image. So I started looking for my animal half. It must've been a year later maybe when I started to identify as a voself (foxelf).

I can't remember why fox. How that started. It was around the time when Pokémon came out and my favorite was Vulpix a fox pokémon. It could've also been something else, some other way I connected to foxes.

It's really too bad I don't remember it now, I really wonder how voself became such a strong identity of mine. And yet I was always more skeptical about my fox identity, I remember a lifetime of searching for my "real" animal self while continuously landing back on fox and keeping my voself self image.

I really want to focus more on foxes, I need to self reflect and figure out why I keep dismissing them and reclaiming them. There is clearly something there that I should work out.

I continued to have my foxelf identity in the back of my mind as the years went by until I reached my 20s. At this time I was still undiagnosed with my autism and as I grew into adulthood I felt like it was time to stop being childish. To stop viewing myself as non-human, I was a human and I had to start thinking I was one and accept it. I suppressed my foxelf identity and started masking my unknown autism until I literally became so physically and mentally ill that I couldn't continue like that anymore.

I got my autism diagnosis and decided to stop masking and letting myself be my true me. Whoever that was cause I had quite lost myself.

I am still physically ill, chronically, and disabled. My world is very small. But as the years go by, I have become myself again. I'm still learning. Because of the pain and fatigue in my body, I can't really do much in a day but hang around in bed or on the couch. It has given me a lot of time, too much time really, to think about things. And self reflection is good but you also need to live life and have experiences, which is difficult for me in my state. I have at times done too much thinking to the point where I drove myself crazy, wondering who I really was and what labels really fit me. Thinking in negative downward spirals. I'm learning to let go a little now, and to feel more and focus on my body, a place that I have avoided out of fear for my agony.

I have tried to reclaim my foxelf identity a few times since joining the alterhuman community. Using it, but then switching it with other labels. It doesn't matter much what label I use, I am that foxelf child still. But I no longer have to keep it a secret. I am great just the way I am.

[pacificwaternymph]

8 (if you’ve done this one already then i apologize)

You didn't specify who you'd like to see with this so I'm gonna do Xornoth and Scott :3

8. "Leave. Now. Just leave!"

(I'm gonna close the prompts now. Anything sent after I've posted this will not be accepted)

Xornoth screamed, falling down to his knees as a splitting pain overtook his head and chest. It felt like being torn apart, like physical tendrils of corruption were slipping into the gaps between his muscles and brain, and prying them open to make way for a flood of dark magic.

Through their blurring and spotty vision, they could see the tips of their fingers starting to blacken, the veins in their wrists glowing a bright red.

No no no- this couldn't be happening. Not now. Not here.

It burned. Everything burned, like he was being lit on fire. He could barely even breathe, his chest constricting so tightly his lungs couldn't move. Was this what dying felt like? This horrible, ceaseless agony that ripped through every part of him?

He thought he had more time. He was supposed to have more time. This wasn't supposed to be happening yet! Exor was supposed to wait until he'd fully matured to claim him, and that was still at least another hundred years away!

So why could they feel the corruption inside of them, darkening their heart and slowly spreading throughout their body?

He hadn't gotten a chance to say his goodbyes. There had been no warning, no signs that the end was approaching. He'd only just arrived in his room, when suddenly it felt like he'd been stabbed just above the heart.

But that's not how it was supposed to happen. Rivendell had a tradition, a ceremony. A solemn time of mourning where people paid their respects to the champion of Exor and the tragedy of their fate. It lasted a week, before they were permanently banished to the Nether, where they couldn't harm anyone.

Not this time, apparently. Xornoth needed to get to their parents, to alert them somehow that something had gone wrong. They needed to find a portal before Exor completely took over, and they lost control of their body.

Most of all, he needed to find-

"Xornoth?"

Xornoth turned around, seeing that somewhere in their haze, they had missed the door creaking open. Standing in the entryway as their little brother. His wings still dragged on the ground, too big for his tiny body. From the dirt in the feathers and his windswept hair, Xornoth would guess that he had just come from outside.

A foreign feeling of hatred rose in Xornoth's gut at the sight of him. It felt all encompassing, the sudden urge to kill overtaking any rational thought. He lurched forward, as though to lunge for Scott, but stumbled over his feet and forced himself to stay put. These weren't his feelings. He didn't hate his little brother, who was barely out of his toddler years. It was just... Exor.

"S-Scott," they gasped. "You- you can't be here. It's not... it's not safe."

"What's going on?" Scott asked, his voice small and timid. "What's happening to you?"

"I-I'm..." Xornoth bit down on a scream as the pain spiked through his skull. How could he possibly explain this to a little kid? Scott hadn't even begun to learn about his own destiny yet, he knew no more about Aeor and Exor than any other child would at his age.

They felt their body jerk against their will again, a hand coated in charcoal darting out before they grabbed their wrist and forced it back to their chest. Their fingers were starting to sharpen into claws.

"Go get Mom and Dad," he said shakily. "Now."

"Xornoth, I'm scared." Scott's eyes were starting to fill with tears.

The abyss started to creep in around the edges of his vision, but Xornoth tried to fight it back.

"You should be."

They clamped a hand over their mouth, swallowing. Trying to breathe through the pain.

"L-look, Scott," They began, grunting as they felt the corruption crawling up their arms. "I am... sick. Very sick. There is something... inside of me, and it's trying to trying to take over."

Scott looked hopelessly lost. "I-I'll get a doctor-"

Xornoth shook his head. "It's not that kind of sickness. There's no cure for it. There's nothing that you or anyone else can do. I knew this was going to happen eventually, but... well, I didn't know it would be so soon. So listen to me very carefully."

They tried to smile, but they had a feeling it was more frightening than comforting from their brother's reaction.

"I'm going to go somewhere far away. You... you will likely never see me again, for the rest of your life."

Scott's eyes widened. "But- I don't want that."

The darkness kept coming closer. He could see it, like ink dripping down his legs. He didn't have much longer.

"It's for the best, Scott. If I don't leave then people could get hurt. I need you to go get Mom and Dad, right now, and tell them what's happening. Can you do that?"

"I'm not leaving you." Scott started to come towards them.

"NO!" Xornoth scrambled back. Scott froze where he was, expression shifting to terror. "Don't come any closer. You need to leave. Go find Mom and Dad."

Scott paused, his eyes conflicted. "But-"

"Leave," they emphasized. They grunted as another flare stabbed through them. It was crawling up their neck now. As soon as it overtook their face, they would be gone.

Their vision was narrowing, the blackness nearly consuming it. "Now, Scott. Just leave-" He cried out and crumpled to the ground, his forehead hitting the floor. He heard Scott shout in alarm, and then his footsteps thumping against the floor and retreating back into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

Xornoth let out a sigh of relief, despite the tears clogging their throat. Those were likely to be the last words he ever spoke to his little brother. Scott's last memory of them would be them screaming at him to go, as he was taken over by a foreign influence.

But perhaps that was for the best. The less fondly Scott remembered him, the less likely he was to have regrets. Maybe that would be better for both of them.

For the next few minutes, he tried to stave off the corruption, if only to give the guards and his parents enough time to find him. It felt like an eternity, but eventually he heard the distant sound of the doors being thrown open and crashing against the walls.

They let out a relieved breath, though the shouting of several voices sounded as though they were miles away instead of right next to them. They felt hands on their shoulders and arms, twisting them behind their back and binding them. The cool sensation of iron manacles around their wrists cut through the pain only slightly.

He took a deep breath, and stopped fighting. Then everything went black.

[gynandromorph]

God I miss my dog so, so much. I know I should be grateful that her time was so painfully obvious, that there was no period where she was in pain but still enjoying life and I had to decide when the pain was no longer acceptable, that it wasn't horrible physical trauma like being hit by a car, but it just feels like she was ripped away from me without warning. She had gone without seizures for 3 weeks right before this. She was doing better in physical therapy. Needing to go through the elaborate thought process just to feel a little less guilt or emotional agony is really tiring, I'm glad I have the skills to do that but it's really draining mentally often even physically because of the stress and crying

[kaddyssammlung]

Meaning / Analysis - Sleep Token - Levitate

Video that I recorded:

Same thing as text:

“I can lift you up your body is mostly blood like water, a perfect flood engulfing me again”

I always thought that our bodies are mostly water and not blood...

“I can lift you up” this makes me think about the countless times when I tried to lift someone up energetically because I noticed that they were not doing well. I should not do this because I'm still not healed and way too often trapped in trauma responses.

When you go to a concert/ ritual and feel the energy of the whole room then this can be very uplifting, too.

To me these first lines make only sense when you don't take them in a literal way.

I think it's interesting that he says “engulfing me again”. This reminds of the “scared shores” somehow.

But I don't really know what to make of it.

“and I can tell you won't remember my cracking bones”

Just the thought of it really f*ing hurts.

Of course I am aware of the car-crash theories. I was in two car-accidents myself. None of them were my fault. I got rear-ended twice within one year. The second time could have been the end of this incarnation but I had guardian angels with me that day. I felt them. I learned a lot from this accident about accepting things that you can't change and about stop fighting what is.

And also materialistic things are just things. You can replace them so don't become too attached to them.

This also makes me think about “you can remember only when you're alone”, maybe this is connected.

Maybe the cracking bones are just a metaphor for some sort of ab*se or maybe even physical ab*se?

“the trauma we can't regrow just as you leave again,no”

This feels just sad and I don't know why. I do sense a lot of past trauma in the lyrics in general but this is the only time he says the word trauma. To me his crying feels like a trauma response that he has no control over. I'm sorry for being extra “nice” today. It's just...these two lines feel like a lot but I can't really figure them out.

“will you levitate up where the angels inhabit?”

He believes in angels :)

Me, too Vessel.

This just sounds really nice and it makes you think, again, of someone who is dying and he just imagines them to be with angels soon.

“will you levitate where I won't reach you?”

And that's when I start to scratch my head again.

Where I won't reach you? So does he mean Sleep? Has Sleep become his “drug of choice” or a way to escape from reality and he feels like it does him no good?!

“and we imitate a story of perfect days a ballad we fabricate as you forget your words again”

Makes me think about someone with dementia again who keeps forgetting everything.

“and is that all you need to merely pretend to be falling in love with me? Forgetting the agony again”

This just brings up the same ideas within me. It feels like it is directed towards someone who is dying.