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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year ago

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twst food culture compilation

Please note: this post does NOT include all food-related lore in TWST (for example, you won’t find a lot of information about individual characters’ food preferences or personal experiences with food here). This post ONLY talks about the food culture, notable locations, cultural dishes, and unique foods of the Twisted Wonderland world at large (ie countries, specific towns and cities, etc).

I did my best to scour for info, but I’ll update if I find anything new or details I missed the first time around.

General and/or Unspecified Location

Icicle mushrooms are one of Twisted Wonderland’s three greatest delicacies. They are extremely rare and expensive.

There is a seasoning called “pure azure salt”, which is said to be rare, even in the Coral Sea.

Twisted Wonderland has a fruit called ruby berries (which taste “like freshly picked strawberries”).

There is frozen mint with a “refreshing profile” that grows in icy mountainous areas.

There exists Walrus-brand oyster sauce. Trey uses this to cook hamburger steak for his younger siblings. He says the oyster sauce provides a "nice savory flavor" with considerable depth. Trey also jokes about adding it to chestnut tarts in book 1.

There are mentions of irl Japanese foods such as konjac and takoyaki, but so far no place of origin in Twisted Wonderland has been sited.

Like in the real world, celebrities like Vil and Neige are used to promote products (including food and drink) in commercials, on social media platforms, etc. For example, in book 5, we see Neige advertising Red Apple Soda and Vil using his Magicam account to promote the apple juice made by Epel's family.

There's a popular dish called "pumpkin carriage stew". The insides of a pumpkin are scooped out and the shell is filled with a creamy stew, which made it difficult to carry over to tables. It would sell out every day at the cafe Ruggie used to work at.

Some restaurants call their spaghetti with meatballs "starry night spaghetti", named after the tale of two dogs who shared a spaghetti kiss under a starry sky. It is said that sharing spaghetti with meatballs with someone outside would lead to true love.

Hunting is sport as well as something done for food.

Crowley goes on vacation “to the South” and reports to enjoy mango and mango-flavored products from there. He also brings back manga tea as a souvenir.

Briar Valley

General

Cotton candy is a classic snack food sold at Briar Valley food stalls. The way it is prepared resembles spinning threads, which is considered a blessed occupation (as there was a period in Briar Valley's history when no one was able to spin thread, so some clever individual tinkered around and made cotton candy instead).

In the battlefield (~400 years ago, during the human-fae war), soldiers would roast rats and lizards to eat if they didn't have rations or other ingredients.

There is little in the way of modern technology and electricity; typically, one would prepare dishes and/or collect ingredients by hand (such as via fishing) or by using magic.

Magic is used to light fires for cooking. There is little risk for fire accidents since magical fires automatically go out when you go to sleep.

Because Briar Valley is located to the north, it can get very chilly. When the snow melts, it turns into very cold freshwater.

According to Lilia, “berries are a must-have, especially at birthdays parties” in Briar Valley. They are famous for its berry juice.

The forest where Silver and Lilia live has strawberries. Silver picks them with his animal companions.

Coral Sea

General

According to Jade, there are no fires in the Coral Sea. Therefore, most of the food consumed is raw.

A month-long land boot camp first established by a mermaid princess that married a human prince teaches merpeople fire safety and how to eat food as part of its curriculum.

It's rare for merfolk to eat anything sweet, as those kinds of foods aren't readily avaliable in the sea.

The Atlantica Memorial Museum has the mermaid princess's "silver hair comb" on display. This, of course, refers to the "dinglehopper"--a common fork. This implies that merpeople (such as the mermaid princess referenced in many stories) fused to be unaware of the eating utensils on land.

Azul's mother owns the "hottest restaurant" in the Coral Sea. It started off as a small place, but has since expanded to have a large staff.

Couples from the Coral Sea frequently request rainbow dessert soup with trident cookies for their weddings. To eat it, you use the trident cookie to stir the sweet sky-blue soup, which then turns the soup into seven colors of the rainbow. This is a dish that is only served for special occasions in the Coral Sea, and it is typically served warm.

Jade says that he was surprised to see that many land dwellers eat their fruit without the peel; this would imply that those from the Coral Sea typically eat their foods with the skin/peel left on, or as-is.

Playful Land Amusement Park

All food and drink are handed out for free.

They serve food in large quantities, such as tuna, entire tart cherry pies (with cinnamon, clove, and crushed nuts in the filling) and a whole peppery roasted chicken. The park encourages consuming in excess.

Other food items being offered include fried tuna fish and sparkling apple juice. The juice comes with an umbrella stuck in the opening to prevent bugs from getting in. You remove it before drinking.

They have ice-cream in many flavors! We see strawberry milk in the related event.

The park had candy and popcorn in “apple core” flavor. Supposedly, this is a taste inspired by the story of the Generous Fox giving a Puppet Boy an apple core instead of a whole apple because “the puppet wished to have a core”.

There is a “Candy Road”, a street lined with shops that have caramel lollipops, chewy candy, marshmallows, cookies, chocolate crunch, and lots of other sugary treats!

Their chocolate crunch has 12 different charms thrown in.

The third most popular souvenir are pasta snacks in the shape of the Friendly Fox and Gentle Cat. The second most popular is a tin of plain cookies in the shape of the Friendly Fox and cocoa cookies in the shape of the Gentle Cat. Finally, the most popular are apple core flavored candies!

Sage's Island

Night Raven College

Pomefiore holds a welcome party for the freshmen, which includes a fancy dinner. Savanaclaw does not hold a welcome party.

Scarabia regularly holds banquets, typically at Kalim's request.

Heartslabyul holds "unbirthday parties" whenever it is a day that does NOT fall on a Heartslabyul student's birthday. Sweets are mandatory at unbirthday parties.

The dorm members of Scarabia and Heartslabyul pitch in to prepare for banquets and unbirthday parties.

Mr. S's Mystery Shop stocks food items, such as candies (which Floyd often buys), tuna cans, and ingredients for baking (this is where Deuce and Yuu pick up things for the chestnut tart in book 1). Sam also sells food items that he seems to have made himself, like the Mystery Drink (which Octavinelle eventually buys the rights to).

The school cafeteria is said to have delicious breads.

Students can use the school kitchens outside of normal serving hours; Ruggie and Jamil sometimes do this, but they also have their own dormitory kitchens to cook.

Once a month, a famous bakery from out of town serves their goods at NRC. Their stock includes items such as chocolate croissants, egg sandwiches, yakisoba bread and cream bread ("cronuts and bear claws"), roast beef sandwiches, red bean buns ("hot dog buns"), and deluxe minced cutlet sandwiches ("deluxe ham and cheese"/"grilled cheese" in the localization). They sell out fast!

The school library includes recipes books. Some recipes include spicy curry soup, red pepper and tomato soup, and garlic pork habanero soup.

Basic school lunches are free to all students, but they must pay for changes or extra items.

The cafeteria at NRC serves food buffet style; the cafeteria is kept warm with magic from fire fairies which are supplied with dry firewood every day. There is also a rotating daily menu.

Master Chef ("Culinary Crucible") is an elective course at NRC that teaches students how to cook. It is meant to curb the expenses related to eating out and to help the boys maintain balanced diets and learn how to take care of themselves. Judges for this course are randomly selected from the students and staff (prior to this methodology, people would bribe the judges for extra credit).

While taking Master Chef, students help with preparing meals in the cafeteria in exchange for part-time pay.

The instructors for Master Chef are ghosts who were professional chefs at five-star restaurants when they were alive. These same ghosts also serve as cafeterias staff. Crowley says it was difficult but worthwhile to recruit them.

There are various locations on campus where the students go to fetch ingredients for Master Chef. This includes an on-campus farm, ranch, windmill... and even the dormitories themselves!

The woods behind the campus have chestnuts, which the main crew collect for an apology tart to Riddle.

The Botanical Garden has some edible plants growing there. These include strawberries, which the Science Club cultivates.

NRC opens its school gates to the local townspeople for a period leading up to Halloween; during this time, they distribute candy and other sweets (such as Sam's waffles, served with jam made from NRC's apples) to guests. There's also a party on Halloween night where lots of food is served.

Mostro Lounge

Octainvelle has the Mostro Lounge, described by Jade as "a meeting place for gentlemen" where fighting between dorms is prohibited. While dining there, students are expected to abide by Octavinelle's rules. It is run by the manager and founder, Azul, who made a deal with the headmaster to get the rights to open the establishment. NRC gets 10% of the revenue the Mostro Lounge makes.

Jade and Floyd partake in some cooking, but Azul does very little cooking. He tends to investigate the competition and market.

Jade uses the weeds and plants he collects from mountain hikes to brew experimental new teas. Sometimes Azul adds these drinks to the menu.

Floyd likes to experiment with making sauces. These, too, are featured in the lounge.

The lounge offers cakes with coral decorations. You can order one for your special occasions.

The Mostro Lounge is particular about its quality name-brand dishware. Azul believes that this will boost the experience customers have in the lounge.

The Octatrio bought the rights to the Mystery Drink from Sam and raised its price from 600 madol/6 thaumarks to 1500 madol/15 thaumarks.

The Mostro Lounge has a one-drink purchase minimum.

Menu items range from roughly 600 madol to 1500 madol (6 thaumarks to 15 thaumarks).

The menu rotates on a seasonal basis; this helps to cut down on costs since they can focus on cheaper in-season ingredients.

The Mostro Lounge also operates food stalls and/or sells food at many school events, such as the cultural festival in book 5 and the interdorm magical shift/spelldrive tournament in book 2.

It is mostly Octavinelle students who staff the Mostro Lounge, but there are occasions when outside students are brought in as extra help. Ruggie has worked there part-time, as well as Jack, Ace, Deuce, and tons of other students.

Unbirthday Party Rules (related to food)

Rule 25: There must be a tea party on the 5th of every month.

Rule 29: You must not eat the Queen's tarts without her permission.

Rule 153: The only tea you may drink in the evenings is herbal tea.

Rule 186: Do not eat hamburger steak on Tuesdays.

Rule 256: You must not drink lemonade with honey past 8 pm.

Rule 271: You must get up from the table within 15 minutes after eating lunch.

Rule 339: Your post-meal tea must be lemon tea with 2 sugar cubes.

Rule 529: If you eat steak on the night of a full moon, a cat must play the violin afterwards.

Rule 562: Do not bring chestnut tarts to an unbirthday party.

Rule 648: You must brush your teeth 2 times on nights when you eat turkey.

Rule 703: Whoever comes in 2nd place in a croquet match must serve tea to the Queen (dorm leader) the next day.

If the dormouse wakes up at an unbirthday party, you are to paint its nose with jam.

Coffee is forbidden; tea must be served at all occasions except for birthdays.

According to Cater, sweets are mandatory at unbirthday parties.

Dwarves' Mine & Silent Woods

There is an abundance of wildlife in these areas; Jade often goes hiking and foraging, making note of what he finds. He uses the plants to make his own tea blends (which are sometimes added to the Mostro Lounge's menu) and the herbs, plants, and mushrooms to experiment with in cooking.

There are fish to be found at the lake, including massive catfish.

The Foothill Town

There is a port for mainly cargo ships located at the southwest part of town. It's called Crane Port! The east side has a port as well, but that one is moreso for passengers. Crane Port has been getting fewer and fewer people passing through lately (until Port Breeze Fest, in which the NRC boys run food stalls and help to revive business in the area). Group A makes churros, Group B makes waffles, Group C makes salads, Group D makes cotton candy, and Group E makes clam chowder.

A popular restaurant in the Crane Port area serves foods like french fries and burgers. Their signature menu item is a donut made from potatoes. Actually, this restaurant specializes in potato dishes!

There is a chain restaurant on the island that also has locations elsewhere, including in Ace's hometown. He mentions that there are slightly different flavors to the sauces depending on which location you go to. This chain is also described as affordable for students and gives free refills. There is a location of this chain a car ride away from Harveston.

The town also has other eateries that are more geared towards students, seeing as it exists on an island with two notable magic schools to the north and the south. Cater often mentions going into town to take pictures at cafes.

The town has a public market; the Ramshackle Ghosts resell mandrakes there.

There is a famous patisserie there. You have to line up early in the morning before opening time to get your hands on one of their strawberry tarts (or anything, really!).

There is a stall in the marketplace that sells specialty coffee. They also have a tea which Crewel enjoys (though he also brews his own).

Scalding Sands

General

The Scalding Sands seems to borrow heavily from Middle Eastern cultures. For example, some of the Scalding Sands’ traditional dishes include, but are not limited to: roasted lamb, moussaka, döner kebabs, shawarma, flatbreads, potato and bean spreads, and seafood sautés.

Tea is a popular beverage; it is had at every meal and break. People can drink up to 10 cups of tea a day!

The Scalding Sands specializes in black tea. For entertaining guests, special tea leaves are used.

In the Scalding Sands, they brew their tea leaves loose and without an infuser. This makes the tea very strong and bitter. To counteract the powerful flavor, people add lots of sugar to their tea and drink it with sweets.

“Luxurious” tea is very sweet, since sugar was once very expensive (due to a shortage of it, according to the localization) and considered a luxury.

Due to the hot weather, people often toss herbs into their tea to make it more refreshing to drink.

Coffee is also popular; there are many cafes that serve coffee and tea. The Scalding Sands is known in particular for their spiced coffee, which has a very distinctive flavor. This coffee is brewed without a filter, and some cafes do “coffee divinations” (reading the shapes and patterns of the grounds and the water droplets that remain after drinking to tell the fortunes of customers).

There are a lot of unique spices in their dishes. This is especially true of banquet dishes. However, a variety of dishes are still served at these occasions.

Kalim describes the Scalding Sands as being “big on stewed stuff” like curries.

In Kalim’s hometown, people love to gather around the table and talk over a meal.

Halloween in the Scalding Sands is celebrated by feasting on a variety of dishes. The idea is that the food must be abundant so that the ghosts that return to the world of the living for the night may also have their fill.

It used to be difficult for the people of the Scalding Sands to obtain water due to the lack of rainfall, hot climate, and expansive desserts. However, Kalim’s ancestors utilized the country’s rivers to reach other countries and to trade their textiles, spices, tea leaves, and other local goods with foreign lands. It was particularly impressive at the time, as they were the first traders from the Scalding Sands to sail (back then, accurate nautical maps were not a thing). This maritime pioneering is what would make the Asim family their massive fortune.

The Asims and other merchants heavily invested in technologies and innovations to make the area more sustainable and potable water more accessible.

The waterways of the country eventually developed into canals and communities formed around them as trade hubs. The canals are also used to host ferryboats for locals and tourists to sightsee, boosting the tourism industry. This also made access to water much easier for the residents, and the water helps to cool the temperature.

Silk City

The bazaars in Silk City are where locals do their shopping for various goods and staple foods like vegetables and fish. There are also stalls with gourmet food that cater to tourists.

Camel Bazaar is named after camels, which were used to transport people, goods, and luggage before Silk City’s canals and roads came to be. There also used to be an oasis where the camels would rest and drink after long treks; this oasis became a center for commerce and eventually evolved into a marketplace. To this day, the name “Camel” has stuck, even if people use trucks, ships, and cars more than camels.

There is also Zahab (”Gold”) Market, which is popular with tourists for shopping (especially for souvenirs!) but also has swindlers and pickpockets mixed in with regular customers.

Many snacks are sold! There’s camel milk chocolate, cookies drizzled in syrup, sunflower seeds, pistachios, chickpeas, all kinds of nuts, dried fruits (including dates), jams, jellies, syrups, starfruit, dragonfruit, etc.

(Lamb) shawarma is described as meat roasted on a spit and served on baguettes or pita bread. Because grease drips off while it cooks, it is “surprisingly healthier” than one expects it to be. Shawarma is also customarily served with vegetables (tomatoes, onions, olives, jalapenos, etc.) and sauces (yogurt, garlic, chili, hummus (a paste of garlic and chickpeas), mayo basil, etc).

There is a vendor that can supply large quantities of sweet and refreshing coconut water; this is because they’re used to providing for Kalim’s extravagant and excessive tastes. They create a hole in the top and provide straws to poke in and use to drink the water. The coconut flesh inside is also edible.

There are a lot of bread stalls; bread is also another staple food, and it comes in many sizes, shapes, and textures. Small roadside bakeries have wood-fired ovens which allow them to serve bread fresh to customers.

One stand sells baguettes that are taller than many children; these “tower baguettes” are a famous Fireworks Festival treat. People say that if you eat a big one, you’ll never go hungry again! The saying comes from a story of a young man that shared bread with hungry children. It’s because of that story that baguettes are considered a good luck food that many vendors sell on holidays.

The Camel Bazaar sells an elastic ice-cream (based on a similar irl frozen Turkish confection). It is kneaded on a pole and stretched out; customers are meant to “catch” it in their cups and cones. It’s food performance art! All the stretching makes the texture very unique.

There’s a fruit stand that is only open on festival days which sells a Silk Melon sundae; the fruit is hollowed out to host ice-cream (of the same melon flavor!) and toppings which make it very photogenic.

Starfruit is usually put in salads, according to Trey.

The dragonfruit sold is recommended to be eaten with honey. You drizzle it on top of a slice and eat!

Silk City’s signature fruit is the Silk Melon. It is called that because of its silky texture and sophisticated sweetness. It can’t be found in many other countries. The man of legend that shared his bread with a starving child is said to split a melon with his friend, even though he did not have much money to spare. It’s because of this tale that people started saying if you share Silk Melon with someone, it would make your friendship or romance last forever. Now the fruit is a festival staple and considered a symbol of good fortune.

In the past, water was only used for irrigation due to its scarcity. Some gave up on farming after years of trying to produce crops and failing—but others refused to give up and cultivated the land to made it fertile, something which future generations would reap the benefits of.

The fruits and veggies sold Camel Bazaar are freshly picked and grown locally. Jamil says this is possible because the arid climate actually helps with growing crops of high quality. Produce raised with less water concentrates flavor since the final fruit will have a higher sugar content. Because of this, Silk City’s produce is prized by chefs all over Twisted Wonderland. Of course, you can get them at an affordable prize in Camel Bazaar!

Shaftlands

General

The Shaftlands are famous for its jeweled pineapples.

The Shaftlands spans a large area of land and has drastically different climates depending on the part of it you're looking at. Therefore, we can deduce that foods and customs surrounding food are very different as well.

City of Flowers/Fleur City

The city’s food culture seems to be inspired by real world Paris, or at the very least, France.

Bread is a local specialty, particularly very buttery kinds. As you walk down the streets, you can smell bread baking. The City of Flowers has 10x (or more) the variety of bread that Sage's Island offers, and has an abundance of bakeries too.

Bread-making is popular in the City of Flowers. The windmills at the edges of the city grind grains to produce fresh flour. There are also watermills powered by the Soleil River to assist with making flour.

Because wheat is plentiful in this area, some of it is also used for desserts. One such confection is financier, which is made from a combination of wheat flour, almond flour, and butter. It resembles a gold bar, so eating one is said to bring financial prosperity.

Lately, gluten-free desserts have been trendy.

A dessert that does not use wheat flour is macarons. In the City of Flowers, they are yellow and shaped like bells to honor the Bell of Salvation which oversees the community and provides magic that helps rare plants grow in the area. The filling is a ganache with dried bits of grapes and apples.

Grape juice is popular in the City of Flowers, as the fruit is another specialty. You can buy the grapes raw and eat them as is, or ask a vendor to crush it (skin still on!) into juice for you. Some buy the grapes to give as gifts!

The grapes are grown in vineyards right outside of the city, and the farmers are constantly experimenting to improve their breeds. They taste very rich, tangy, and sweet.

The City of Flowers is also known for its many specialty cheese shops. Together, bread and cheese are called the staple foods of the city, and are sometimes eaten together. One specialty cheese shop the boys visit sells baguettes topped with ham and rich melted cheese.

The city considers goats a symbol of good luck, so they are treated with care. There are many community goats (which are just as common as domesticated cats or dogs) allowed to roam freely in the city. It is said that if you treat the community goats with kindness, they will come rescue you in your time of need.

Goat milk is used in some of the specialty cheeses produced by the city. The grapes mentioned earlier are also made into fruit compotes to go with the cheeses.

They served a roast beef at the young mage’s social; this was infused with spices and evenly heated.

Harveston

This village has many dishes that borrow from a mixture of irl Nordic cultures. There’s also an emphasis on having hometown pride and the community itself being very close.

Crows often damage the apples Harveston grows. The community comes together to put up nets and make noises to scare them off.

As expected, many of Harveston's dishes feature apples: apple pie, grilled and roasted apples, apple salad, apple pound cakes, etc.

Epel's family has an apple orchard that has been in the family for generations. They grow different kinds of apples throughout the year. Many of his neighbors are older people who also raise produce, and they help each other out when they're short on hands. The community is very tightly knit because of this, and treat each other like extended family.

Harvest season (autumn) is the busiest time of year; once that's over, everyone comes together to have a party. It's a potluck style celebration where everyone brings a homemade dish or homegrown food to share.

Harveston preserves its produce (such as apples and wild greens) by pickling them and serving them in salads. The bright colors are maintained by boiling the produce in a copper pot, which stabilizes the pigments. It's wisdom passed down from generation to generation.

There is also pickled herring, traditionally eaten on bread. Brining preserves the fish while it is still raw and doesn't dry it up. It's ready to eat right out of a jar, no cooking required.

The local stew is not very thick. It tastes sweet because of the added vegetables and savory because of the tender meat in it. There is also a salmon broth sprinkled with herbs which is described as "melty".

Fruits and vegetables can be packed in snow to keep them preserved. This method is called “snow aging” and prevents evaporation. In the old days, the villagers would build whole farms out of snow. In modern day, they just shovel the snow into a barn. This creates a natural fridge that will naturally thaw in the summers. Snow aging in this manner makes the produce sweeter and more nutritious.

The next town over is a three-hour bike ride. The roadside has many apple trees you can enjoy during the trip.

You can easily pick apples off the branch and eat them fresh! Farmers can snack on apples while picking.

Harveston is surrounded by tall mountains that are snow-capped all year, the most famous one being Mt. Moln. The greenery around Harveston is due to the spring water irrigation which runs down from Mt. Moln.

Most of Harveston’s land is used for orchards, and apples are their main produce. They also make many products using those apples like chips, rice crackers, and cookies.

Fall apples are sweeter, while winter ones are more sour. Winter apples are unique to Harveston.

Harveston also grows a lot of garlic.

Harveston farming is done the old fashioned way, as the predominantly older population distrusts chemical fertilizers and biotechnology.

Some villagers like the mayor and Marja (Epel’s grandma) adjust their accent to communicate with people from outside the village. Marja says she switches up when she’s selling goods in another town, since it can be tricky for non-Harveston locals to understand.

Hand washing before eating is a must! They take the act very seriously in Harveston. Stories say the miners of the past used to get very sick due to poor hygiene, but their health improved drastically once they started washing regularly with soap and water. It was difficult for them to get treatment because the town is so remote and far from hospitals or doctors, so the best thing is stressing prevention. This why the townspeople are sticklers about hand washing now.

To wash the Harveston way, you plunge your hands into ice cold water and make it all foamy with soap. You also scoop the water up and splash your face as well (as the miners from the past would also do this).

You can catch salmon in the nearby river.

Apple Square is the main festival venue; it has many vendor stalls in an area called Kokko (which means “Bonfire”) Market. The Sledathon is the most lucrative time of year for the townsfolk.

Many of their products are made locally by the older folks in town. The goods aren’t trendy or very fancy, but they’re high-quality and made with Harveston pride.

The stalls give apple juice, apple tea (which has fruit pieces floating in it), and apple ginger tea for free. The apple juice is one of Harveston’s most popular products.

Giant five-meter apple pies are made for the Sledathon. They’re considered one of the main attractions, and you can get a slice from them free of charge.

There are other stalls that sell regular apple pie too. Every vendor has their own style, from the apples used to the crust and baking technique.

There are other kinds of fruit pies for sale, but apples are the most popular and “special” ones. The Beautiful Queen had a preference for apple pies, so the townspeople do too.

Harveston apple pies have such an entrancing flavor that the nearest city has stores that stock them. Critics say that Harveston apple pies make anyone drool and that the best way to convince someone to do you a favor is to gift one.

Harveston holds an apple competition to find the reddest apple. This is because the Beautiful Queen prized beautifully red apples. In the past, the townspeople would offer the reddest apple from the season’s harvest to the Beautiful Queen. Over time, it evolved into the apple competition.

Kokko Market makes pancake balls from a flour batter and top it with jam. It’s prepared in a pan and with methods similar to takoyaki, coming out crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.

Pancakes also come in a square form. In Harveston, pancakes are baked in the oven instead of on the stove. Some people cook pancakes in the fireplace too; this makes them tender, thick, and pudding-like.

There are many grains used for bread: sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, oats, flax seeds, sesame seeds, rye, wheat...

Barbeque is served for large gatherings and celebrations.

Cooking tends to be done in the fireplace instead of on a stove, especially in the case for stews. It keeps the room warm in winter while the food cooks.

Harveston has a bean and fruit soup. Most other places serve it cold, but those in Harveston sometimes enjoy it warm. It’s a thick consistency and the fruit in it has been dried.

Farmers drink tea on their breaks between work.

When setting the dining table, people in Harveston leave one extra plate out. This tradition comes from a story about a traveler visiting a family’s house and being surprised by the messy state of it. The traveler cleaned the house and cooked a nice meal for the family. From this story came the belief that as long as you leave a plate at your table, you’ll never want for food or go hungry.

Sandwich cakes are common party centerpieces. They are made with bread and vegetables, topped with shrimp, deviled eggs, olives, apples, and salmon slides arranged in a rose shape. The frosting on it is made from mayonnaise and sour cream, making sandwich cakes more salad than dessert.

They sell cherries and other berries by volume. Also sold are vegetables and juice, freshly squeezed.

Because Harveston is located in a mountainous region, there are rare varieties of mushrooms to be found. These can be served in a traditional mushroom soup, which can be finicky to prepare (so usually only experts make it). Mushrooms are also cooked in butter and served in sandwiches.

Mushrooms, herbs, and flowers are foraged from the nature (both public mountains and private woods). Locals usually don’t buy plants that are wild when they can pick it themselves. Instead, they’re sold to tourists.

Good foraging spots on Moln Mountain are kept secret so people don’t overharvest. The mountains are dangerous in winter, so foraging has to be done in spring or summer.

Harveston brines raw fish like salmon in a mixture of salt, sugar, pepper, and fill. In the old days, brined salmon was buried in sand to let it ferment.

Fish is dried to preserve it and to enhance the flavor. Before there were proper roads, it was hard to bring in food for the winter, so Harveston relied on foods preserved in the spring. They last for a long time and have many uses (such as in soup stock or to eat straight up). To this day, preserved meats and vegetables are a local specialty and new methods such as roasting have been developed for preservation.

Sunset Savanna

General

The food here appears to be inspired by African cultures of the real world.

Fruit is more plentiful than grains.

There is floral cacao in the Sunset Savanna. It bears fruit only once every 10 years.

Gummy bugs are popular and a Halloween staple.

The people of the Sunset Savanna value living in harmony with nature and will go out of their way to adapt to the land (due to the high population of beastmen, who have animal ancestors). Because of this, they oppose change that could damage the environment. There are some parts of this arid country that still rely on wells for their drinking water needs. They also hold the Tamashina-Mina festival every year to pray for rain.

Sautéed mutton is a common meal in this country. Leona brags that the Sunset Savanna is top notch when it comes to cooking meats.

The bananas of the Sunset Savanna are starchy and resemble potatoes (similar to plantains). They are steamed and served as a staple food. They’re faintly sweet and are actually very light and easy to digest.

It’s easier to grow fruit instead of wheat and rice in their climate.

Rice hull crepes, another staple, are served with a stew that you pour over it. The stew comes in variants such as a white fish stew simmered in tomato sauce, spinach and potato stew, beef stew, etc. There are also many side dishes you can enjoy with the crepes. The crepes aren’t meant to be eaten alone, as they taste too sour solo.

The phrase “that’s the Circle of Life” is a proverb that has been around for ages. The strong eat the weak, then when the strong die, their bodies become nutrients for the grass which feeds the next generation of prey animals. Life comes “full circle”, and the proverb indicates this delicate balance.

The Sunset Savanna is famous for its coffee. It tastes spicy, not bitter, because the custom is to add spices to the drink.

Food prep performances seem to be common for the wealthy; Leona mentions seeing big fish filleted before being served.

Yogurt is considered a “healthy dairy” and is typically served for breakfast.

Elephant Graveyard

The Elephant Graveyard, once considered a scary and lawless place (the “shadow lands” which were not a part of the original kingdom), has become a tourist destination—something akin to a spa.

They are known for selling vanilla cookies shaped like bones.

The hot springs at the Elephant Graveyard have kettles hidden by the steam. The hot water vapor cooks onsen tamago (a traditionally Japanese irl dish) and puddings. It imparts a slightly salty and sulfurous flavor and smell to the foods.

Sunrise City

The Raintree Market is a bazaar that features many foods and drinks.

Many snacks sold in the marketplaces are local specialties, so they’re popular as souvenirs.

Wild and cultivated hibiscus flowers are boiled with sugar to produce a red juice. There is also a white juice, which is made using wild baobab (which is full of nutrients; people call it a beauty elixir you can drink). A legends says that, long ago, members of the royal family would have their foreheads painted with baobab juice when they were born. That’s how the fruit became a local specialty.

In the original tale, the juice for marking foreheads was red. It seems that, over time, the color was changed to white by word of mouth, with the latter description fitting more with the white fruit of the baobab. Because of this change, more and more stalls have been selling a mixture of hibiscus juice and baobab juice.

The baobab fruit is also used to make a particular sour candy. The candy is dyed with red food coloring and is then dusted with sugar and chili powder. It’s described as having a “mature” flavor. Leona has liked this candy since he was a child.

Mangoes are a local specialty! Vendors will happily cut open the fruit for you to enjoy on the spot.

Other notable fruits for sale are tart passionfruit and creamy but smelly jackfruit. The latter is considered the largest fruit in Twisted Wonderland and grows on its tree’s trunks.

The Sunset Villa is a luxurious hotel that hosts VIPs and important guests of the state. They offer a large selection of drinks (fruit juice, black tea, coffee…) and serve whole slabs of steak in front of you before serving at luxurious barbecues. After dinners, they have dance performances.

There is an enormous sausage that’s wrapped up in a coil. If unwound, it’s a meter long. It’s meant to be cut with scissors before eating. The sausage’s herbs make it taste refreshing, and its meat is finely grounded to allow its flavors to come through.

Seafood is fresh and cheap, provided you live by the sea or in a coastal region like Dawn City. In more inland areas, seafood is considered a luxury.

Their seafood tends to be cooked with strong spices.

Ruggie’s yet-to-be-named hometown

Because the residents are poor, their food is usually made from collected scraps (such as pumpkin pie made predominantly from the pulpy parts) or prepared with substitutions and without extra flourishes. For example, Ruggie’s grandma prepares homemade donuts for his birthday but they couldn't afford fancy toppings (until Ruggie started working to bring in extra income).

It’s implied that there were instances when Ruggie (and presumably others from his hometown) had to eat rotten food or out of trash cans to get by.

Queendom of Roses

General

There is reference to some irl UK foods in this region, such as the jacket potato.

The Queendom of Roses is famous for its rose jelly rolls. Roses are the flower the country is best known for, of course, but they also have lavender, rosemary, sweet violet, foxglove, bluebells, and many berries.

People from this country eat flowers (which are specifically grown for eating). Flowers are also used for dried flower bookmarks? potpourri, etc.

The Queendom has a good selection of breads.

Apparently, the Queendom also has a strong “tea culture”.

People in the Queendom of Roses eat a lot of different pastries (pies, tarts, quiches, croissants, scones, etc). Croissant donuts (cronuts) in particular have been pretty trendy lately. They’re donuts made with croissant batter, so they come out super flaky. They are sometimes sold with iced tea as a combo.

Potatoes are a staple food.

Jacket potatoes are common at festivals; they are potatoes baked with the skin (ie “jacket”) still on. The standard topping for them is baked beans, but you can also have tuna mayo corn, bean chili, sour cream, avocado, and other things.

Anyone that grew up in the Queendom of Roses has probably done the “cookie smash” at least once as a kid. (More info on this under the “Clock Town” section!)

The Queendom is known for lavender, berries, and rosemary.

Riddle and Trey's yet-to-be-named hometown

Trey's family owns a bakery (called "Patisserie Clover" according to the TWST manga). It seems to be a small "mom and pops" shop with no particular notoriety. However, the manga implies that it was the Clover bakery where Riddle saw the strawberry tarts and became entranced by them. This is also where Riddle would later try his first strawberry tart.

In Riddle and Trey's hometown, people enjoy apple bobbing during the Halloween season.

Before interview: Riddle was worried whether they can start on time and was relieved when Vil showed up and Vil was pretty smug about it lmao

There is a farm not too far from where Riddle lives; it is famous for its ice-cream buns. There is also a cafe located on the farm! It opened shortly after Riddle entered NRC and is so popular that it’s spoken about in magazines and tourists go there just to sample their sweets.

Clock Town

The people of Clock Town value time and punctuality due to the town's connection to the White Rabbit, who was always in a hurry. Many of the foods sold at stalls are things that are easy to hold and eat while walking, such as sliced sandwiches.

The Clock Town Folk Museum mentions a girl that appears in the story of the White Rabbit. She ate cookies that made her grow large; the museum recreates this experiment by projecting a large image of guests that eat cookies they have set out.

The Clock Town Folk Museum also runs a bugle-playing contest. The participation prize is a carrot cookie.

Clock Town sells a brand of potato chips with the White Rabbit logo on them.

The town also sells cookies iced to look like a pocket watch. The icing is made from a mixture of sugar and egg whites (“royal icing”) which hardens considerably. You’re meant to crush the cookie with a hammer to make it into smaller pieces, making it easier to eat. It’s based on the story of the White Rabbit breaking his pocket watch. Others tried to help him fix it by hitting it with a hammer, but it didn’t help at all, only damaged it more!

A lot of people enjoy growing plants, gardening, and horticulture, including stuff that can be eaten like herbs.

Sausage rolls are served in pairs to resemble bunny ears; the container they come in resembles the White Rabbit. They’re sausages wrapped in a pie crust/puff pastry dough, and come in cheese (with a shortcrust pastry similar to what is used for tarts to help hold its shape) and a spicy sausage (with a puff pastry that makes it flaky) variant for the White Rabbit Festival.

There are large mushrooms that grow in Clock Town; eating one side will turn you large, eating the other side will turn you small. The girl in the story of the White Rabbit has eaten these strange mushrooms before. These mushrooms are said to be enchanted and only work in a particular area; its effects last for ~1 minute after eating.

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s4lv4tions · 1 year ago

Text

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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m3l0nfl0at · 4 months ago

Text

the greatest - s. gojo

gojo satoru x gn!reader ; gege give me that mf pen, ANGST ANGST, spoilers for the manga, mention of death, no y/n used, and reader is a little bit rude to shoko at first, 2.6k words

summary ; i wanted to write a more fulfilling ending for gojo because i feel he deserved it and gege i will never forgive you

melon’s recommended melody ; my love mine all mine - mitski

Waking up, hearing the chirps of life outside your window telling you it was a new day. Brushing the spot in bed next to you, only for it to feel empty and cold. Feeling the spot next to you became a habit that was hard to break. Getting up to brush your teeth, seeing the other toothbrush occupying the slot beside yours. Washing your face and feeling the chilly water hit your face. Heading to your living room, ironically it didn’t feel like it was lived in much. Opening the fridge not expecting much because you haven’t been to the groceries in, who knows how long? Sighing, not feeling hungry but knowing it wasn’t smart to leave yourself unsatiated. You go to the pantry seeing all kinds of sweets left untouched, you reach out to touch them but not grabbing one.

Feeling yourself tear up, you never had a sweet tooth and now thinking of something sweet made you sick to your stomach. How can you want something sweet when everything around you feels bitter? You felt nothing, saw no potential, you can’t even recall the last time you left the house. No drop of color, the world that was once made up of red and blue became black and white. You close the pantry wanting nothing more than retreat back to your bed for the rest of the day. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, pouring yourself some water. Drinking it, feeling the burn from the coldness hitting your dry scratchy throat.

Placing it down in the sink filled with glassware, not worrying too much about the piling dishes. Heading to the door, cracking it open just a bit to feel the sun heat up your freezing house. Stepping out to sit down on the porch stairs, hugging your knees. Looking around at your yard, glaring at reminders of what used to be. Your vegetable garden withered, planting those to joke around with Satoru. Reprimanding him, saying just because he was the strongest doesn’t mean he could eat nothing but sweets. You look at your flowers, specifically forget me nots, lining the house now lifeless and devoid of any color.

You march to the flowers angrily picking them up and stomping on the remaining garden. How dare they die, didn’t they know you were going through enough already? It’s not your fault that you couldn’t stop them from growing, it’s not your fault you had to wake up everyday to make sure they lived. It was selfish, it’s not like you wake up and someone makes sure that you’re alive. In fact no one reached out to you anymore, not Shoko, not Iljichi, and certainly not Utahime. You didn’t expect them to but for them to not even acknowledge Satoru’s body or death? To not even let you have a funeral for him.

You wonder if anyone even cared for him beyond his title, you knew Geto did. No one else cared for Gojo the way you and Suguru did. You don’t blame them for not checking up on you, Shoko hated confrontation, Iljichi was always scared of Gojo, and Utahime hated Gojo with her whole being. Part of you wanted to think he was finally at peace with his best friend. Knowing they were together brought you some sort of peace in this meaningless world. Another part of you wanted to scream, were you not enough for him to stay here. Were you not enough for him to win the fight and come back home to you.

Going back inside looking back at the mess you created in your front yard. The mess representing the muck that was going on in your head, ever since that day. That stupid day he went to battle the “King of Curses”, only for him to lose. Satoru was not the humblest person, you always told him that would be his downfall. Of course you thought Gojo was the strongest but your Satoru was still a vulnerable human. Slamming the door, attempting to run to your room. Only to trip on shoes at the front door, looking behind you to see Satoru’s loafers. The ones he would wear to teach, he loved teaching so much.

He wanted to be everything he hadn’t received as a student. Knowing that his teachers never really considered him to be a kid more like a mere prize. A prize saying I taught the strongest sorcerer and nothing more. His students and him were close but at the end of the day he was just their teacher, nothing more. Yuji and Yuta tried reaching out to you, coming to your house to knock only to be met with nothing. Yuji and Yuta admired Gojo, they knew what it meant to be the strongest. How being the strongest came with all kinds of burdens to bear or how being the strongest meant having people admire and hate you.

You feel your breathing getting heavy, you were never the strongest. You were known to always break down, being the crybaby of your family but you couldn’t help it. Yet, you haven’t cried since Satoru’s death was officially announced. You suddenly had no ounce of tears left in you, opting to just shut everyone out instead. Crying was stupid anyway, why would you cry? Crying wouldn’t bring him back, crying and screaming at the top of your lungs wouldn’t stop him.

Part of you wondered if he knew he was going to die, if he knew that he was going to lose against Mahoraga. Or better yet lose to Megumi, you knew Satoru didn’t have it in him to kill one of his students. If he couldn’t separate the two souls then that only left one option. However, the past can’t be dwelled on too much because it can never change, you slam your fists on the ground in agony. Feeling your ankle hurting but also feeling everything you had in you hurting too. Wanting nothing more than someone to pick you up off the ground, that someone being Satoru. Damn you Satoru, even in death he had an eerie way of sneaking back into your life.

It’s not like you wanted to forget about him, he was your entire life. You stayed awake some nights reminiscing on the future you both had planned, looking forward to getting married.

“You think when were married you’ll still have that dingy blindfold on?”, you laugh, messing with his hair. Satoru places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically. “One, it’s not dingy. Second, obviously not. I’d probably choose something more stylish like sunglasses or maybe a tinted monocle.”, you groan in disgust. “You will absolutely not wear a monocle at our wedding. You’ll look like the monopoly man.”

You lay on the ground, soaking in the feeling of the pain from your ankle. Hearing a knock at your door, choosing to stay quiet not wanting anyone to see you in this state. “I know you’re in there you know, your garden wasn’t this ugly when I stopped by yesterday.”, you wince trying to pick yourself up. Funny how she chooses right now to finally show up, “Leave Shoko. I don’t need anything.”. She sighs knowing grief probably made you bitter, “Then why are you wincing? Open the door so I can fix whatever mess you got yourself in.”

“It’s open, let yourself in Leir.”, you lay against a wall preparing to let someone see you at your worst. “What happened?”, her clothes and breath smells like cigarettes, you wondered what got her back into the habit. “What didn’t happen, is what you should be asking.”, you roll your eyes. Shoko looks at your ankle, checking if it’s anything serious, chalking it up to only being a sprain. “I came because I have something to give you.”, you look over to her shaking your head. You didn’t think you could handle anything more than what you have on your mind right now. She hesitates, not wanting to upset you but also wanting to get everything off her mind. “I cleaned up his body. If you want to do a proper burial for him. Or if you just want to see him one last time, give you some closure you need.”, she hears your breath falter.

Knowing she’s pushing her limits, “Why would I host a burial when no one cared for him like I did.”, you angrily glare at her. You feel your breath quicken, it starts picking up as your thoughts become more rampant. She stays silent, feeling that if you have to spew your anger at anyone, she’ll let it be her. You look at your now swollen ankle, your messy house that no longer felt like a home, and messy kitchen. Wondering when this all happened, why did you let it get this bad?

Shoko hands you a letter, “I know you’re frustrated and even bitter with what Gojo’s decision was but he never stopped thinking about you even in his last moments. I know I've been an absentee friend but I cleaned him up because that was the only thing I could do. Send him to the afterlife being the Gojo you and I both knew.”, you feel all the pressure and pain that festered in you slowly crack. Knowing that even though you were painting everyone as the villain, the only true villain was fate and time.

Your lip quivers, apologizing to everyone in your head knowing they’re all suffering in their own way. You lift up the note, opening it up to see a messily drawn Satoru in the corner. Everything that’s been withheld these past couple of months finally breaks, looking to the top seeing the words “my love” printed. Taking a deep breath before proceeding. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. There’s nothing you could’ve done to stop me from trying to defeat that cocky old bastard.”, you roll your eyes knowing how he hated Sukuna but still decided to fight him. “I sent my best students and Shoko to come check on you, can’t have you losing yourself over me, right?”, you choke on your own tears.

You stop reading halfway, scared to continue. Scared that if you continue, you’ll lose the last thing that has Satoru’s last traces on it. Shoko sits by you letting you rest your head on her shoulder. “He wanted you to read it. He gave one to Megumi and Nobara too, keep going for him.” Nodding, pacing your breaths scared you’ll start hyperventilating, “I know it’ll be lonely without my overbearing personality but I’m not gone. I’ll be watching over you or looking up at you, whichever you prefer.”, you laugh through the tears as you feel your bittersweet smile slowly appears on your face. “I know I left before I could fulfill my promise about our future but the ring I wanted to use is in my drawer hidden under my blindfolds. I knew you wouldn’t look there since they’re so dingy, right?”, your tears fall as you get up slowly.

Shoko gets up, reaching out to help you, as you start limping towards your room. Opening the dresser, scavenging for a box, looking in the corner to see a velvet box. Sobbing violently as you open it, seeing G.S. engraved into the inside of the band. Slipping it on before reading the rest of the note. “Living will feel harder with me gone because I know I would feel empty if I had to live without you. I want you to live, live and never forget me. You’ll surpass me in time and age but I'll be waiting for you no matter what, It’s not your time yet. When we meet again I will just be Satoru, not the strongest but only your Satoru. Make me proud, my love, till we meet again. P.S. Nows a good time to tell you, I finished all your chips, whoopsies!”. “I knew it.”, you laugh while crying. Shoko watches you feel the writing on the paper as if it was him.

Gently caressing the last thing he touched, the last words he engraved just for you to feel at ease. You lay against the bed, feeling everything within you give out, he’s actually gone. Shoko pats your back, letting you know she’s here. Even though she knows you only want Gojo right now, no one else even existed within this moment. People thought Satoru was selfish only caring about himself, when in reality he spent even his last moments scraping up letters to put others at ease with his decision, that was your Satoru.

“Will you show me him, one last time, please.” You look over at Shoko pleading. She nods, “I have to take you there to heal your ankle anyways”. You get up to get in her car to make it back to Jujutsu High. Fiddling with your ring the whole way there. Asking to see him on impulse, not even thinking about your appearance. Not really caring anyways, who do you have to impress? Shoko helps you out of the car, being cautious of your ankle.

She first treats your ankle, you slowly catch your breath. Anticipating seeing Satoru for the last time. Shoko guides you, “I cleaned him to the best of my ability. The stitches are kind of gruesome but it was a last minute call to action.”, you trace his face. Seeing the scar from his forehead, disgusted that the last resort was using Satoru as a weapon. You see your tears fall onto him, wiping them away. Shoko excuses herself, letting you have your last moments with him. “Satoru, you’re not in pain anymore, right?”, naively waiting for his answer. “You look so handsome my love, even in your last moments.”, crouching down to grab his hand. “I’ll never forget you as long as I live, Satoru Gojo.”, you kiss his cheek, feeling his cold skin on your lips.

“I’m so mad at you. I wish you could come back to life for just five minutes so I could reprimand you one final time.”, silence hanging in the air as you take in his appearance. Combing your fingers through his hair, “Damn it Satoru, why couldn’t you be selfish just this one time.” Even though he was in front of you lifeless like your flowers, a part of him still felt so alive. His love for you never died, not even beyond death, that was all you needed to live on. You let go of his hand, walking towards the door. Leaving the room, looking back at him one last time, “I love you Satoru, that’ll never change.”.

Even though living without Satoru was difficult, you felt him all around you. Going outside to water your beautiful garden varying with blue and white flowers. Going shopping and getting something sweet to commemorate his unbeatable sweet tooth. Teaching at Jujutsu High, to continue his legacy. Visiting his gravestone to tell him about your day, buying a meal for you and him. The pain never went away but you found comfort in it. His belongings were still placed in your home, never having the heart to put them away. You leave a spot open in your bed for him, touching his pillows softly before sleeping. Putting his shoes away neatly and even polishing them. Getting his mug to place it right next to yours in the morning, feeling comforted by the traces of himself he left behind. He was gone but he’s still existed within you, within his students, and within his legacy. He was loved and he would never be forgotten.

divider credit to @/vase-of-lilies, @/bunnysrph, and @/thecutestgrotto

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ melon's marginalia : honestly i needed to write this because i have to write fluff and i felt very devastated in leaks today. gege i will never forgive you for taking such a beloved character and dragging his name

#gojo x reader #gojo angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #anime x reader #gojo x you #gojo jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk angst

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