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envy-of-the-apple · 8 months ago

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Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster.

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain.

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky.

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night?

"Hey, you good?"

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot?

When you don't respond, her eyes squint.

"Suguru, are you okay?"

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice?

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger.

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror.

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces.

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone.

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy.

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness."

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well.

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying."

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out.

You were dreaming.

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you.

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes.

“Excited?”

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes.

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident.

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else.

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.”

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct.

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions.

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside.

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real.

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles.

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru.

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.”

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again."

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly.

Oh, you were supposed to follow him.

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros.

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up."

What should you say? You clear your throat.

"He just wants what's best for us."

Wrong answer.

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old."

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway?

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already.

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this?

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans.

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you.

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should."

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say.

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time."

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing."

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid.

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful.

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best."

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker.

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?"

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave.

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all."

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable.

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end.

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone.

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it.

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here?

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there.

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed.

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs?

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher.

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't.

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid.

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster.

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream.

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster.

You were going to die.

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face.

And then the creature explodes.

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place.

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse.

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then."

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky.

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener.

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit.

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession."

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?"

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual.

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up."

You blink, trying to remember the date.

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here."

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course.

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut.

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend?

When you ask him, he just snorts.

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong."

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you.

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22."

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man."

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?"

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity.

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?"

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending?

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?"

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them."

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too.

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.'

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform.

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech."

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted.

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-"

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold.

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk.

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen.

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back.

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back.

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink.

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today.

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar.

It used to be your voice.

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him.

"Suguru...?"

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him.

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy."

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now.

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into.

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as.

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street.

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying."

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him.

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off.

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery."

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die.

ⴵ

Again. You died again.

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized.

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks.

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same.

Not again.

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?"

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award.

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player."

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body.

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer.

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories.

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future.

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru.

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit.

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too.

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline."

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me."

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique.

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid.

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego."

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all.

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!"

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right?

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy.

A blue ball drops into your hand.

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe.

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?"

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?"

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl.

"Look away."

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched."

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down.

Instantly, you choke.

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested.

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem."

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore.

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed.

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous.

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted.

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body."

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew."

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?"

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird."

You perk up at that. "What did he say?"

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs.

"I forgot." Typical.

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself.

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it."

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar.

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?"

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump.

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so.

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body."

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!"

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan.

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?"

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record."

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me."

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up.

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure.

"So...do we fight Greeny?"

"It's not my name." You get ignored.

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh?

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again.

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat.

"Give me your hand. I want to go home."

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?"

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything.

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?"

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug.

"Haven't figured it out yet."

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know."

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again.

You need to leave.

Exorcised. Ingested.

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories.

Exorcised. Ingested.

You need to leave.

Exorcised. Ingested.

You need to survive.

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows.

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it.

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future.

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too.

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you.

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you.

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing.

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen?

The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now.

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself.

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that.

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later.

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins.

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?”

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?”

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you.

Huh. Interesting.

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.”

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass.

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter.

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet.

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?”

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?”

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.”

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.”

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful.

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?”

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?”

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child.

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.”

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue.

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims.

You blink. “A code word?”

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.”

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway.

“Okay, what did you have in mind?”

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile.

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps.

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death.

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged.

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look.

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.”

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?”

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories.

“Haibara told me.”

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.”

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words.

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.”

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side.

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?”

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach.

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says.

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.”

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?"

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today."

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window.

"Do whatever, Greeny."

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time.

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda.

Gojo only watches with a tilted head.

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin.

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?"

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression.

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back."

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru.

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state.

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole.

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks.

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time.

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?"

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean.

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him.

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath.

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous.

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better."

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues.

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?"

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down."

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two.

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed.

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand.

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you."

You blink at that. "What?"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body.

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru.

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko.

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that.

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again?

"Hungry?"

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips.

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?"

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp.

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly.

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful.

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late.

"Something wrong?" Riko asks.

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived.

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji.

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens.

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased.

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too.

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him."

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor.

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat.

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning.

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter.

You were wasting time.

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name."

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying.

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away.

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two.

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything.

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened.

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro.

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off.

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades.

You release all 368 of them.

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target.

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time.

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead.

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo."

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past.

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi."

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

Nothing happens.

Everything happens.

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing.

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore.

You're sitting in front of God.

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late."

You manage to smile.

"Sorry."

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over.

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way.

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death.

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go.

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier."

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words.

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear."

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore.

You clear your throat.

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her."

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high.

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right."

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand.

"You and Suguru."

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer.

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold.

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others.

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die.

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now.

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief.

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other.

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off.

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual.

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days.

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall.

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru.

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit.

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters.

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way.

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red.

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers.

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one.

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out.

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?"

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused.

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs.

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone.

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness.

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again."

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression.

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her.

"Your hair's nice." You tell her.

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems.

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response.

"Where are you going?" You ask.

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork."

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company.

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat."

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color.

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then."

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done.

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru.

"That hurt." Haibara whines.

Good, you inwardly think.

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like.

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly.

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?"

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall.

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again."

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has.

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you.

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue.

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do.

“I know you will.”

He scoffs, right then.

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.”

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.”

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—”

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again.

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless.

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

It’s today.

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?"

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk.

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists.

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone?

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking.

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you.

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away.

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is."

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything.

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere."

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense.

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?"

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive."

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible."

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could.

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much.

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them.

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?"

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

#yandere #yandere jjk #yandere gojo satoru #x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #time travel fix it #a crumbling storyline #platonic haibara x reader #dark content #f!reader #implied romance #tw:blood/violence #tw: child abuse #unrequited feelings #ambiguous ending #BUT its a positive one

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thedarkestrivernymph · 14 days ago

Text

A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign yet, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to not stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.

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