#the way its so normal at the moment to say things i wish was dead is honestly concerning
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i cannot stress enough how much of an impact changing the way you talk to yourself can have on your mental health. swapping out self deprecating jokes and changing unhealthy sentiments like "i hate myself" and "i want to die" to kinder, more forgiving ones like "i need a break" and "i'm trying" can make such a difference to how you view yourself. the things we say to ourselves become a part of our lives and so we deserve to me kinder to ourselves in our heads.
#my brain is a little fried so i'll probably rewrite this at some point but i hope this gets across my point?#the way its so normal at the moment to say things i wish was dead is honestly concerning#it's not healthy to think like that!!#self talk#positivity#love letters to you
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beyond the unending night (reader + satoru gojo)
notes: it's finally here. the long awaited halloween fic. yes, i know it's march, but i did start working on it in september. haha. there's so much i could say, but i will leave it at that this fic is, in every sense, a fic that i would not normally write. and yet here we are.
contains: f!reader (no physical description or gendered language is used), no explicit romantic pairing (though you don't have to look hard to find the reader x gojo implications), major character death (played with), semi-graphic depictions of death, blood and violence, minor suicide ideation, canon retelling (lines of dialogue are pulled from the jjk english dub because i'm a dirty dub watcher). opening poem is from higurashi no naku koro ni (minagoroshi-hen). fic title is from giga's beyond the way.
please note that this is a time loop fic and, by nature contains repeating scenes (particularly from canon). please do not read this fic if you do not like that sort of thing.
wc: 21,883
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Please tell me what happened in this night.
It's like the cat inside the box.
Please tell me what happened in this night.
You don't know if the cat in the box is dead or alive.
Please tell me what happened in this night.
The cat in the box was dead.
The first time, it is instant— you don’t even know what’s happening.
The second, it is by flame, but you barely realize it, barely feel it— a second of mind numbing heat before nothing.
The third time, it is something slicing across your throat; you see the blood spilling everywhere, then the pain follows— a moment of pure agony before nothing.
The fourth time you realize what’s going on; what’s really going on.
You realize you’ve been dying.
You think your head is going to explode.
At first, you think it’s because the subway platform is crowded, insanely so— there are hundreds of people shoved into this space alongside you, packed like sardines in a can. You’ve never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you live in Tokyo. For the most part, you’ve learned to accept it, but even this crowd is a little much and you wish you hadn’t listened to your friends when they said you should go party in Shibuya for Halloween; you don’t even like partying.
There’s a sharp pain in your temple followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone is screaming it at you through a megaphone positioned right next to your ear.
It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
For the eighth time.
Before you can even question the thought, images flash in your mind’s eye, blurry at first before they come into focus. The platform gates open. Chaos ensues. People dropping onto the subway tracks— spontaneously bursting into flame— their heads, necks sliced off, stomachs cut open—
Bile rapidly builds up in your throat, and you clamp your jaw shut, trying to force it down. Not here. Not now. You try to focus on something else, anything else happening outside of your brain. There’s a pair next to you musing about the people standing on the subway tracks, wondering what the two (the four?) of them are talking about. You blink back tears as you look. You can only see two: a freakishly tall man with white hair dressed in all black, and another man, dressed in strange, yet more traditional looking garb. Are those costumes too? You don’t have a lot of time to think about it as another image forces its way into your brain.
Your corpse— lifeless on the ground.
Your corpse— burning to ash.
Your corpse— bleeding out.
You can’t hold it in any more. Every fiber in your being screams at you to get away from the subway tracks, but instead you rush toward them, shoving people left and right as your hands desperately reach the stability of the gate. You grip it like a lifeline as you retch over the side of it, the contents of your stomach spilling all over the subway tracks.
There’s a quiet murmur of disgust behind you but you can’t be bothered to respond. You need to get out of here. You need to leave. You need to do it before—
The gates open and the crowd starts to move like a tidal wave, pushing and shoving their way through the gate. You’re swept away, vomit long forgotten as you and a few dozen others tumble onto the railway.
Alarm bells go off in your brain, loud and deafening. A voice in the back of your head screams for you to get off the track! Get off the track now before—
The platform erupts into a cacophony of screams, drenched in horror, saturated in fear. You are surrounded by people, by corpses— beheaded, sliced open, bursting into flames.
Your terror roots you to the ground as the carnage ensues around you. It’s only when another person, another corpse, dressed in a magical girl costume collides with your body that you can finally move. But it’s too late, you realize, despaired and helpless, as your bodies fall to the ground.
It’s too late.
You die an eighth time.
You think your chest is going to explode.
At first, you think it’s because it’s so hard to breathe, frustratingly so— there are hundreds of people squeezed into this space alongside you, packed like cattle for slaughter. You've never been one for crowds, but it’s the reality of things when you’re in Shibuya. For the most part, you’ve come to accept it, but this crowd is way too much and you wish you had just stayed home and ordered a pizza; though honestly, the thought of pizza kind of makes you sick.
There’s a dull throbbing in your forehead, followed by a thought so loud that it feels like someone’s hollering at you from a loudspeaker that’s been installed in your brain.
It’s the night of October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
You think it's the ninth time now.
Behind you, you hear a woman screaming, her voice crazed and terrified. You turn your head automatically to look at her and when you see her you realize you recognize her yellow and white magical girl costume. You can say with certainty that you’ve never seen her before and yet—
Before you can ruminate more on it, images— memories assault your mind’s eye with a clarity that is absolutely sickening. That woman colliding into you, your bodies slamming into the subway tracks before you both— Your stomach churns violently,
and you feel like you’re going to puke, but you force it down— can't afford to right now. Instead, you make your way over to the woman.
Her head is in her hands as she mutters over and over again about how everyone is going to die. People around her figure that being stuck in here with the crowd has probably gotten to her. You, however, know better.
“...hey,” you say softly.
Her muttering comes to an abrupt halt and slowly she raises her head to look at you. There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she grabs you violently by the shoulders. “You! You know, don’t you? That we’re going to die?”
If it weren’t for the fact that you have indeed experienced death here eight times already, then you would have thought she’s lost her mind. Slowly, you nod and she seems relieved by it, her grip on you loosening.
You can’t help but feel a little relieved too— glad to know that you’re not the only one experiencing this nightmare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that’s confused though. Why is she only remembering now? But then again, it took you a few times before you realized yourself.
Around you people start to gasp, and you glance back toward the railway to see an abnormally tall man with white hair and dressed in all black jump down from the atrium onto the railway. He lands rather gracefully for someone who jumped at least one floor and starts to converse with the other three people (you think they're people— two of them are in some pretty wild costumes) on the track.
Wait. Isn’t it supposed to be just two people: the tall man and the one in the traditional clothes? Where did the other two come from?
“We have to get out of here,” the woman says. “Before they kill us.”
Her grip shifts from your shoulders to your arms and she starts to shove at everyone around you, trying to force her way through. She seems to know, just as well as you do, that any second now the gates will open and the crowd will start spilling onto the railway, littering the tracks with bodies and ash. Neither of you can let yourselves get swept up with the rest. If you do and you end up on those tracks, you’re as good as dead.
People move aside at a snail's pace, many of them too focused on trying to see what is going on on the subway tracks. This isn't good. You need to move faster or else—
The collective sound of the gates opening echoes in your head, a metallic hiss that makes your stomach fold into itself. Before either of you can stop yourselves, you both whip your heads back to look, to confirm, but it’s a mistake.
The briefest lapse in attention is enough to pull you both into the current of people, and try as you might to fight against it, the crowd splits you and the woman apart as it swallows you both whole. You’re both spat onto the tracks at the edge of the platform and your head collides with the metal rails of the track. It feels like your skull is about to crack in two, and it takes every fiber in your being to scramble to your feet. You're close enough to the platform that if you can just climb up it, then you'll be—
“Help! Help!”
It’s the woman’s voice. You turn to see that she ended up a couple meters away from you. She’s staring at you, eyes brimming with fear filled tears as she extends her hand in your direction. You take a step toward her, reaching out.
And then, her entire body is engulfed in flames, the skirt of her magical girl costume a ring of fiery death around her.
Her blood curdling scream is the only thing you can hear, her burning flesh, the only thing you can see. You don’t know what to do.
You can’t save her.
There's something touching your back. You can barely feel the pressure, but it's hot, scorching hot, mind numbingly hot, painfully hothothot.
You know this sensation. You have felt it before. The scent of burning cloth, burning hair, burning flesh clogs your nostrils. It's too late, you realize, helpless, despaired as the flames eat at your body— your soon to be corpse.
It's too late.
You die a ninth time.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
This is the tenth time.
Your head hurts, but you ignore it. There’s something more important that you need to attend to. You immediately make your way to the woman you met during your last round, the one you watched burn to death. Her costume is still pristine, unmarred by fire and death.
For now.
She’s not screaming this time and while there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that’s concerned by this, you try to ignore it.
“Um, excuse me?” you say when she doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach.
The woman turns to look at you. You’re taken aback by the distinct lack of recognition and it feels almost as if the woman you encountered previously and the one before you now are two separate people. In a way, they technically are.
“Do I… know you?” she finally asks when you don’t say anything.
Your mouth is dry. How do you even answer that? You don’t know her. You just watched her die twice. You know her. She begged you for help. You couldn’t save her.
If you explain all of this you know she’s just going to think you’ve lost your mind. Maybe you already have— you’ve died nine times after all.
You give her a weak smile. “I… just wanted to tell you that you think your costume looks great.”
She blinks, taken aback by your words. There’s no doubt that she wasn’t expecting you to say that. It’s the truth though, her costume is nice; she’s dressed up as a character from a magical girl anime that was popular a couple years ago.
“Thank you! I made it myself!” The woman breaks out into a genuine smile and your heart hurts. In a few moments she’ll die and the costume she worked so hard to make will be nothing but ash on the subway tracks.
“Sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
“For?”
For watching her die. For not being able to save her.“...I just kind of came up to you all of a sudden…”
She laughs. “It’s okay.”
It’s not.
You consider telling her that she should try to move. That if she stays here she will die. You don’t want her to die. Again. You can still hear her screaming in your ears as she burned to death. You want to tell her.
You don’t.
“Stay safe, okay?” you say. It almost sounds like you’re begging.
She gives you another smile, kind and gentle and you think you’re far too undeserving of it for not telling her what fate will soon befall her. “You too.”
“I’ll try,” you say and move away from the woman just as the gates open and the crowd surges toward the railway. You do not fight it as you are swept up into the crowd and despite what you said, you do not try, this time, to stay safe.
You die for the tenth time.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
This is the fourteenth time.
There’s a slight ache in your head, but it’s subtle enough that you can ignore it. The pain you feel lessens with each round and you think it’s a sign that your body no longer feels the need to remind you of the precarious situation that you’re in.
Or maybe you are just becoming numb to everything: your death, the death of the people around you, the death of the woman in the magical girl costume—
You try not to think about it too much as you reach into your bag to check the time on your phone: 8:37PM. There’s not a lot of time: you need to move.
At the very end of your last attempt to escape this nightmare you realized something. You need to know exactly what is going on around you so you can plan accordingly: where to not stand, where to not go. Up until now, you’ve relied almost solely on the knowledge gained from your previous failures to try and survive, but obviously it’s not enough to keep you alive. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize this earlier. The panic, maybe? The fear?
Maybe you really are becoming numb to all this.
Unlike previous iterations, this time you elect to move closer to the gate, positioning yourself somewhere against it where you’re unlikely to be pushed off the platform in a couple minutes when they open. You take great care to place yourself where you can see the ones responsible for the slaughter very clearly. At the beginning, you could only see one, the one who looks the most human, but with each repetition, the other two have become more and more clear. You wonder why. You don’t have time to think about it.
Murmurs nearby alert you to the arrival of the fourth major player involved in the night’s events. You look up and see the white haired man dressed in all black descending upon the platform like an angel from the heavens. This is your first time really looking at him and you realize there’s something almost inhumanly attractive about him. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it occurs to you that you shouldn’t even try; you don’t have the time to be drooling over some handsome stranger.
You’ve naturally never taken the time to try and listen to whatever the conversation the man and his opponents have before all hell breaks loose on the platform, but you try and lean closer to listen. It’s hard to hear over the dozens of conversations going on behind you, but you try anyway. There might be a clue to what’s actually going on— or better yet, a clue on how to get out of it.
It’s obvious that you’re missing context from what bits of the conversation you do manage to hear, but honestly it all sounds like stuff out of a shounen battle manga. There is one part of the exchange that you manage to hear with a startling sort of clarity. It feels almost as if your heart stops beating as your blood turns ice cold in your veins.
“If I run away, you’re just gonna kill everyone here, right?” the man in black asks.
There’s a pause, and if your heart was still beating it’d be long enough for just four heartbeats.
“If you run away?” The monster with cane repeats, the sadistic grin spreading wide across its features, displaying its charcoal black teeth. The gravelly sound of its voice sets fire to the blood in your veins, your stilled heart thumping wildly, in fear, in anticipation. Soon. It’s happening soon. You brace yourself. “We’re going to do that even if you don’t!”
You die a fourteenth time.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
This is the seventeenth time now.
Things are going surprisingly well, even as the people around you tumble onto the tracks. You manage to hold on, desperation keeping you from falling into the abyss. This is good, you tell yourself, despite the fact that it’s not the first time you’ve achieved this. Every little victory is worth celebrating, but you have to remain vigilant. This is yet another information gathering loop, and while you know that maybe this time you’ll be lucky and live, there’s still a chance, a big one, at that, that you will die again.
You have to make the most of each and every death.
It’s such a morbid thought, but the ends justify the means, or so you tell yourself. If you have to die a few times to make it out of this unending nightmare, then so be it.
The spot you’re in is a good vantage point; it’s easier to see everything happening below you. It’s so good that it’s actually sickening. You watch as the monster with the cane and one with what looks like branches for eyes slaughter the people on the track, mowing them down, setting them aflame. In another life, in another many lives, that was you down there, and for what feels like the first time in forever, you feel like you’re going to be sick. You feel like, at some point, you likened the scene before you to some kind of shounen battle manga, but you think that was wrong.
This is borderline horror.
Everything plays out before you like a scene out of an action horror flick. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were just an extra on set, but you know the reality is that you’re just an extra to whatever phantasmal battle is taking place in front of you. The monsters and the strangely dressed man all try to attack the man in black, but he manages to block every hit effortlessly, as if he is protected by some sort of invisible barrier. When it seems the two monsters are about to hit him, he merely jumps out of the way and the two monsters seem to collide, the force of their combined strength sending a gust of air throughout the crowd. The man in black neatly lands on a nearby platform half wall and says something about curse users, whatever those are, to the monsters, before he starts to mock them, pulling down his strange blindfold in the process.
And this, you’ve found, is where you start to get in trouble.
You clearly remember thinking, at some point, previously, that there was something attractive about this man. You still don’t know what it is. You haven’t had the time to try and figure it out, but there is one thing that you do know: you can’t keep your eyes off of him.
He drops back down onto the tracks, antagonizing his opponents in an arrogant tone as he approaches. When he comes to a stop between the two monsters, the second round of their fight begins. They try to hit him, but he dodges still, gracefully, fluidly, like the three of them are embroiled in some sort of passionate, yet violent dance.
You cannot turn your eyes away as he cruelly rips off one of the arms of the one-eyed monster.
You cannot turn your eyes away as he brutally kicks the branch-eyed monster in the abdomen, sending them flying to the other side of the platform.
You cannot turn your eyes away as he effortlessly hurls the one-eyed, now one-armed monster in the same direction, sending them smashing into the wall.
Only when the man in black seems to fly to the other side is the spell over you seemingly broken. Still, your eyes give chase, and your body too, rushing from one side of the platform to the other. You can’t lose sight of this fight, you tell yourself, settling in a spot you recall being safe during your last round. Doing so could mean another death, another loop, another October 31.
You watch as the man in black acrobatically dodges what looks to be vines or roots that the monster with branches for eyes seems to have summoned from the depths of the Tokyo metro. He lands on the monster’s shoulders, balancing on them as he uses its branch-eyes for leverage. The look in the man’s eyes is so crazed that you can see it from where you’re standing. He says something to it and then—
With a feral and sadistic smile, he rips their eyes straight out of their skull.
Your heart is pounding wildly in your chest as you watch the fight unfold. It is horrifyingly, disgustingly violent, yet still you watch as people on the track are killed by the human-like person, blood raining down as their freshly beheaded skulls go flying into the air. He and the one-eyed monster launch their counter attacks against the man in black and the blowback is so intense the power goes out causing everyone to scream.
There’s a faint glow where the man in black is standing that starts to grow brighter and brighter. You can make out his form turning to face the wall, and it seems almost like he’s slammed the monster that had branches for eyes against it with some sort of telekinetic power. Despite the panic from the people around you, you manage to hear him, chuckling like a mad man as he draws closer and closer to the monster.
The one-eyed monster yells out a name, a name you think must belong to the man, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as he extends his hands out toward the eyeless monster, exerting some kind of force that you can’t really see. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster as the eyeless monster’s entire body is vaporized in a flash of blue light. He doesn’t hear the one-eyed monster, as the lights flicker back on revealing a smoking crater stained with purple blood where the eyeless monster once stood.
But you do.
Satoru Gojo.
You make sure to remember that.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
And this is the eighteenth time.
You watch as the man called Satoru Gojo stalks through the crowd of people on the subway tracks, chasing after the one-eyed fire monster. It throws people at him, in a clear attempt to slow him down.
It does not work.
Satoru Gojo climbs back onto the platform in a way that you can only describe as inhuman, and the people nearby shriek and move away from him, out of terror, out of fear. You, on the other hand, draw closer, refusing to lose sight of him.
He is relentless in his pursuit of the one-eyed monster. It continues to throw person after person at him, but he does not stop and the people float there, suspended in midair before they are gently lowered to the ground by some unseen force and scramble away.
No one dares get close to Satoru Gojo, everyone on the platform seems to know that doing so means certain death, yourself included. But you still feel the need to keep an eye on him. The monster and the strangely dressed man are focusing more on him than the crowd— anyone in between is just collateral damage.
But not you.
Especially since you’ve made it this far— you’ve never made it this far before.
A voice echoes throughout the platform; you realize it’s the automated announcement.
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
You can hear everyone’s relief coming from all sides. The train is coming! The train is coming! A ripple of hope makes its way throughout the crowd. With the train comes the chance to get off the platform and the senseless violence that’s been happening here. Some of the people around you are talking excitedly and others are running toward the gates, toeing the yellow line they’ve been instructed to wait behind. And you, you should be excited, you should be hopeful.
All you feel is dread.
It eats at your stomach, at your chest, at your mind. Clawing and gnawing at you in a way that leaves you paralyzed on the platform. There’s something wrong here. You can’t be sure because you’ve never made it this far, never survived long enough for the train to come, but something is just not right.
No.
You must be paranoid. The train coming is a good thing. It has to be a good thing. You are just paranoid. It’s normal. It’s natural. Dying seventeen times would do that to anyone— rob them of hope, condemn them to an existence full of fear.
It is not lost on you that the thought of dying more than once, much less, dying seventeen times is not normal or natural in the very slightest.
But you need hope, you crave it, wildly, desperately. The hope of freedom, of escape is the only thing getting you through this unending nightmare. Every time you die, every time you wake, it is with the hope that maybe, just maybe this iteration will be different, maybe this one will be the one where you make it out, make it back to your friends who must be waiting for you, make it back home where you can be safe and sound. You need the hope to keep going. Because without hope, what will you have left?
The train screeches as it pulls into the station and the people around you laugh in both disbelief and relief. They start to push and shove toward it, fighting to be able to board because there’s no way everyone here will be able to get on an eight car train and being left behind at this point is practically synonymous with death. Unable to decide if you believe in the train as a symbol of hope or a new layer of fear, you are pushed along with the crowd toward it.
The doors of the train cars slide open and the current passengers all rush off as they disembark. You as well as everyone else on the platform can see with a horrifying clarity that the train is filled to the brim with monsters. Monsters that reach out and grab anyone their hands can reach. The woman to your left. The person to your right.
You.
Hope is gone.
What do you have left?
You die for the eighteenth time.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
This is probably the twenty-sixth time now.
If there is anything this entire ordeal has taught you, it is that you are resilient. Whether it is some innate trait that you never had any reason to uncover before or just a byproduct of being trapped in an unending cycle of being dead and not dead, you don't know. What you do know, though, is that even if you no longer have hope, you at least have your resilience.
Whether you want it or not.
You check the time. It’s 8:35PM. Something flickers in your chest, like a faint light in a sea of darkness, but you ignore it. You don’t have time right now.
With a nimbleness born from your previous failures, you weave your way through the crowd. You’ve done this enough times to know where the gaps are— who will yield and who won’t. Your destination is the escalator that leads off the platform and up to a higher part of the station. You’d noticed previously that the escalator along with every other entrance onto the platform will eventually be blocked by vines or roots of some sort (the work of the branch-eyed monster probably). It’s not a perfect plan because you don’t know what happens on the other side, but whatever it is has to be better than whatever is happening on the side that you’ve been on.
You’d tried to get to the stairs during your last two rounds, but you’d just missed it. You hadn’t been fast enough and had gotten caged and slaughtered along with the rest. But this time, this time you have more time. It’s just one minute, but it’s enough. You know it is.
The flickering in your heart grows stronger. Hope. You try not to pay attention to it— you don’t want to be disappointed yet again. But you want to so badly. A voice in the back of your mind tells you to focus on the good, tells you that if there was truly no way out of this endless nightmare, then why would you get more and more time with each round to escape your fate?
With that thought in mind, you break out into a run, recklessly rushing through the crowd, shoving anyone who will not yield to the side. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the stark white of Satoru Gojo’s hair as he descends upon the platform.
You need to get up those stairs.
Now.
If you remember correctly, the roots and vines don’t close off the area the moment he touches down, but a little after they start talking, so you think there is probably some time, but you can’t leave it to chance.
The stairs are packed, and for some reason no one is moving. The escalator right next to it is just as full and the power doesn’t seem to be working. You don’t have time for this. You clamber onto the escalator’s rubber handrail, ignoring the weird feeling that passes through your body as you do so. You don’t have the time to worry about whatever that is. The people around you start exclaiming around you, but you don’t care, you don’t listen. You wobble as you try to balance yourself and when you think you’re steady you try to run.
But you trip.
And you die for the twenty-sixth time.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
This marks the thirtieth time.
And you have, finally, finally made it up the escalator, up the stairs with barely a second to spare. You pause, glancing back as the roots or vines or whatever the hell they are seal off the entrance to the platform. You notice that the area where the plants come down is actually fairly clear, despite the crowd. It seems weird, but you don’t dwell on it.
A strange feeling envelops your entire body and your legs turn into jelly. As you sink to the floor, you realize what you’re feeling is relief as all the tension, maybe thirty iterations of Halloween 2018 worth, seeps from your being. You don't remember the last time you felt anything other than fear and dread; it’s weird, but not unwelcome.
That voice in the back of your mind tells you that you can't relax just yet: October 31st isn’t over. Even though you have repeated this night again and again, burning the events that play out on the platform into your memory, you do not know a single thing that happens over here. It would be smart to scope everything out.
Legs still shaky, you rise to your feet and start walking. You think it’s probably for the best to try and head up to the surface and you make your way up to the next floor.
It’s packed with people here too, but relatively peaceful, especially when you compare it to the pandemonium taking place beneath your feet. Still, you can make out the undeniable hum of displeasure resonating throughout the crowd. People complaining about how uncomfortable their costumes are, people complaining about how much they want to go home, people complaining about how much their nights have been ruined because they couldn’t meet up with their friends and—
A thought hits you like an eight car train.
You were supposed to meet up with your friends.
That’s why you were on the platform in the first place— you were waiting for them to arrive, but then the trains stopped working, and people just started pouring into the station out of seemingly nowhere (you think you heard some people say they’d come from the crossing?). Soon after that is when everything went to shit.
You check your phone, though, for once it’s not to look at the time (8:56PM). Instead, you open LINE to check your friends’ group chat. There’s no signal here, for whatever reason, so if there are any new messages, you haven’t received them. The last one was from Kei, mentioning he was enroute, but as far as you know, you’re the only one who made it to Shibuya before the trains stopped.
Did one of them maybe make it here though? Surely, you would have run into them if—
The image of a woman in a magical girl costume fills your vision, burning to death before your very eyes as her screams echo in your ears. It is the first time in what feels like forever that you’ve thought about her and your stomach churns violently. You couldn’t help her, you can’t even help yourself, so how could you even expect to do the same for your friends if they were here? The mere thought of having to watch them die over and over is almost enough to send you over the edge. You don’t know if you could do it.
Would you even have a choice?
No. You can't think like that. You have choices. You've had choices. If you didn’t then, you would still be down below, among the fire and brimstone. Dying, if not dead already. However, instead, you are up here, where, for the moment, it is quiet and peaceful.
That thought, in of itself, is enough to give you a shred of solace, a glimmer of hope.
You take a deep breath and fiddle with your phone a little more, changing your lock screen to a picture you and your friends took at a photo booth not too long ago. The four of you are huddled together, faces squished as if you're all struggling to fit in the frame, despite there being plenty of room. You're mid-laugh because it's the first time you've been in a photo booth in years, Mio and Shin are grinning mischievously and finally, Kei is smiling, but only just slightly, the embarrassment clear on his face. It's probably only been a few months since you all took this picture, but the fact that it feels like it's been years makes your heart ache.
You press your forehead to the screen, like a prayer, like a promise.
You will make it out of this nightmare.
No matter what.
A shrill scream yanks you from your thoughts and you are instantly on your feet, alert as your eyes flit around frantically to identify the source. It doesn't take long for you to find it and when you do, you think you might have stumbled upon a new layer of horror to this nightmare.
It’s not the corpse, dangling by a noose, that terrifies you— by now you’ve seen dozens upon dozens of dead bodies that the sight of just one more doesn’t faze you in the slightest. The thing that’s the most mortifying, that’s the most disturbing is that right next to where the body is tied are two girls, two teenage girls still dressed in their school uniforms.
You can accept monsters and weirdly dressed men being responsible for the carnage tonight, but children too? Both girls look like they’re barely in high school and try as you might to rationalize things, to chalk it up to coincidence, you cannot ignore the ominous energy radiating from them.
The very notion that these two children could have killed someone here is a hard pill to swallow, but so is the fact that you’ve died.
And you’ve had to swallow that pill thirty times now, so what’s once more?
“Listen up!” one of the girls yells over the crowd, but she is mostly ignored; you don’t think everyone here has noticed her and the corpse dangling from the rafters. She scowls and turns to the other girl and says something quietly to her. The other girl nods and almost instantly she’s stringing up another person, another example. You want to look away so badly, and yet you cannot bring yourself to and you watch the poor soul choke to death.
“I said listen, you dumb monkeys!” the girl shouts, and this time she’s caught most of the crowd’s attention. “If you don’t want to end up like these two, you’ll listen to what we have to say!”
There is clear dissent among the crowd, people dismissive as they utter their disbelief. Some seem to think it’s a prank, but you know better. It takes two more examples before the crowd goes silent before the two high schoolers.
“About damn time!” The girl roars and then points toward the atrium, which is currently covered by roots and branches. “All of you move over there!”
You have a bad feeling about this.
Still, you comply; the girls have made it abundantly clear that failure to do so will result in death, though, at this point, you're almost certain this iteration is a bust and death is all but imminent. You try to keep positive— thinking you can at least gather information or, who knows, maybe there's a chance that this one is the one.
Yet when you step onto the mound of vines and branches that cover the atrium it feels as if you've crossed the threshold into hell. Your footing is stable… but for how long?
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
It's faint, but you can hear the announcement from below. The liquid in your stomach curdles at the sound as you recall the train and, in particular, what is on board. Soon enough, those monsters will be swarming the platform, massacring everyone in reach, guzzling down their blood, feasting on their flesh—
It dawns on you that the people on the platform are the monsters' first course.
And you, and those around you here in the shrubbery, are the second.
As you realize this, the branches and vines disintegrate beneath your very feet and suddenly you are mid air— falling, falling into the abyss below.
You die for the thirtieth time.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
You've done this nearly sixty times now.
After countless failures, you've decided that you're just not going to go upstairs any more. No matter where you try to go, you still end up herded onto the death trap above the platform where you ultimately fall to your death. You've tried positioning yourself in the same spot, tried bracing yourself for the drop— but nothing seems to work: upon landing, assuming you manage to land without hurting yourself or dying in midair (which has happened a couple times) you get grabbed and killed by one of the monsters from the train. It's probably not impossible, you just don't have the physical prowess or reflexes for it.
If anything, you can try again later, but you sincerely hope you don't have to.
It's 8:32PM, and you have plenty of time to get to your chosen spot for this loop— it's close to the stairs, in the very center of the platform. Here, there's little risk of getting pushed off onto the tracks when the gates open. You'll probably have to move when the train comes, or even before (assuming you survive) to avoid the monsters, but you'll get to that when it's time.
You can't really see the fight once it breaks out after Satoru Gojo arrives, but you still try to keep track of it as best as you can. You see when he hurls both monsters across the platform and you're not sure if it's muscle memory or what but you have to fight the urge to move to the side and watch. It's been a while, yes, but you've seen the fight countless times before— it doesn't change. Satoru Gojo will give chase. He will rip the branches from the branch eyed monster's skull. He will use some kind of power to eviscerate them.
You don't need to watch, but there's something in you that wants to.
It doesn't make sense, you've seen it all before; if you're unlucky you'll see it all again.
The lights go out and people start screaming; Satoru Gojo is ending the life of that one monster. Soon enough he'll be back on the platform, in pursuit of the other. You think at that point it would be good to move, reposition yourself as far from the incoming train as possible.
When he rises from the tracks like a demon straight from hell, you realize it's the first time this loop that you've actually gotten a good look at him. You remind yourself, again, that this isn't the first time you've seen this man, this scene. You can't help but watch, but stare at Satoru Gojo as he stalks through the crowd in pursuit of his prey. His expression is an eerie sort of calm that's at odds with the acts of violence you've seen him commit— his eyes an unnaturally bright blue.
He's a terrifying sort of beauty and you can't help but be captivated by him.
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
The sound of the announcement sends your heartbeat into a frenzy, snapping you out of your little trance. The train is coming and you need to get moving. As you dart to the edge of the platform, the thought occurs to you that even if you avoid the initial wave of monsters, it's likely you will inevitably be caught by them and killed. It wouldn't be impossible for Satoru Gojo to turn his attention to them instead of the two he's currently facing, but he's just one man— can he truly defeat all those monsters?
You can see the train pulling in and you brace yourself, praying that it'll work out somehow.
The doors hiss open and the screaming starts again as the monsters come bursting out of the train, biting and mauling anyone they can get their hands on. Those who were lucky enough to not be at the front start to scramble away and the monsters give chase. Your body is taut, ready to try and dodge any that come your way.
Out of the corner of your eye you notice something moving through the air. A person? With blue hair? You take the risk to look— they're attacking Satoru Gojo. He tries to punch them but they fly away from him to dodge— disappearing into the crowd.
You hear a loud cracking sound over the cacophony of the crowd and your stomach twists; you know what that sound is. The roots above the atrium disintegrate and bodies from above start to rain down onto the platform.
And then, you're not sure what happens— it's so quick that you only manage to see what looks like an explosion of blood surrounding Satoru Gojo. Corpses litter the ground around him and even from here you can tell he is shaken by the carnage.
The monsters have finally reached where you're standing, and you duck under one as it lunges at you. Although it's big and scary, you realize it's moving kind of slow. Right after it another one comes at you and you take a side step to avoid it; this monster is kind of slow too.
Maybe you can do this.
As soon as you think that a strange feeling courses through you. Every hair on your body feels like it's standing on edge and the voice in your head is telling you to look at Satoru Gojo. You don't understand why because you think he's the least of your worries right now, but you do it anyway.
He's in some sort of stance, one hand raised to his face, fingers bent in some kind of gesture. There's some sort of aura, oppressive and frightening emanating from his form.
Satoru Gojo is doing something.
You just can't tell what.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
And you are utterly confused.
Barring your first few loops when you weren't fully aware of what was happening, you have very distinct memories of how each of your previous iterations of this night have gone— of each and every one of your deaths. But for your last round, the last thing you remember was feeling the immense power radiating from Satoru Gojo's body, but that's it.
You do not remember dying.
In fact, you don't think you did.
And yet, here you are again, back at the start: it's 8:32PM and the monsters and strangely dressed man are standing on the subway tracks waiting for the arrival of Satoru Gojo.
You don't understand what's going on; you didn't die but you're still stuck in this damn loop. Up until now, your death has served as the trigger to restart the loop. It's not impossible that maybe you suffered a quick and painless death but you're almost certain that isn't the case.
Something else must have happened.
Something having to do with Satoru Gojo.
You have to find out what. If you don't, you won't know how to avoid it, and if you can't do that, then you really might spend an eternity stuck in this nightmare. And so you take great care to repeat the steps of your last round. You need to make sure to survive to the same point you made it to last time.
Miraculously, you do.
The moment you feel that sensation again, a prickling sort of feeling that envelops your entire body, your eyes are on Satoru Gojo— trying to figure out what the hell he's doing. His eyes are crazed with a desperate kind of focus. You see his mouth move— he's saying something. A spell? A prayer? A curse?
You don't know.
You do know.
Your brain feels like it's going to explode.
Again.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
Again.
You do not know how many times it's been the night of Halloween in Shibuya: you stopped counting around the hundredth loop. It feels like it's been a while since then. Or maybe it hasn't? You don't know any more.
What you do know is that this night ends up going one of two ways before you are forced to repeat it. Either you die, in some way, shape or form or something happens just after nine that forces you to reset. You still don't know what it is exactly; you only know that Satoru Gojo is responsible for it.
You do prefer it to dying— it's far less painful.
But if anything, you wish you could just die permanently and never have to repeat this night ever again.
Unfortunately, you know better.
The only good thing you’ve noticed about all of this is that you really do seem to keep waking up earlier and earlier. The last time you checked, it was at around 8:30. It might take hundreds of thousands of loops, but eventually you’ll certainly wake up early enough to avoid this damn entire mess.
But by the time that happens… will your sanity still be intact? Will you really be able to go back to a normal day to day life after living the equivalent of hundreds of years, repeating the same night over and over again? You don’t even know how you’ve managed to stay sane all this time and as much as you want to believe you could do it…
There has to be a breaking point.
For both your mind and this time loop.
If you’re lucky, you’ll reach the latter first.
There’s a dull ache in your head that feels foreign yet familiar. Your mind is foggy, all your thoughts hazy as you try to recall what the word for this feeling is.
Groggy.
It feels as if you’ve woken up from a nap and you blink the sleepiness away from your eyes. When was the last time you took a nap? It’s been a while… You think you maybe tried once or twice, but you were too nervous, too on edge. Awake or asleep, it didn’t matter because, either way, you were doomed to repeat this nightmare.
As you think this, you realize that something is different.
You’re used to how the start of each loop feels like waking up suddenly and abruptly and it becomes clear to you that you haven’t looped. This is completely uncharted territory.
You need to find out what’s going on.
The first thing you notice is that it’s quiet. Almost eerily so, especially when the last thing you remember was screaming and chaos. You glance around you and find that it looks like all the monsters from the train are dead, the ground littered in their bloodstains and corpses. There were so many of them, you don’t know how someone could have wiped them out so quickly… Could it possibly have been Satoru Gojo’s doing?
More concerning than the complete eradication of the monsters is the fact that nearly everyone else on the platform is standing stock still, their mouths ajar with blank expressions on their faces. It’s almost as if their souls have completely vacated their bodies…
Were you like that too before you woke up?
You hear voices, and your body immediately goes tense as you turn your head in their direction. A little ways ahead of you, you see a man dressed as a monk conversing with the blue haired person from earlier and before them is—
Your heart nearly stops: it’s Satoru Gojo, restrained and on his knees.
Honestly, you can’t make heads or tails of the conversation they’re having; it’s more shounen battle manga nonsense. Satoru Gojo doesn’t seem to be enjoying their conversation either, and he interrupts them, clearly annoyed.
“Are we gonna do this or what?” he asks. “The view sucks and I’m just kinda bored.”
“I wanted to enjoy this sight for a little bit longer, but you are right,” the monk says. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen— gate, close.”
When he says that, Satoru Gojo’s restraints move, the weirdly shaped cubes at the ends of them closing in around him, trapping him in a giant red cube. It starts to shrink until it’s small enough to fit in the monk’s hand.
You gulp and hope they don’t notice that you’re awake. The fact that they haven’t slaughtered the rest of the people standing around you is a good sign, but you don’t want to find out what happens if they know you’re cognizant.
It’s not hard to play the part of a living statue, especially when you compare it to everything else you’ve had to suffer through on this night. You watch as the monk’s allies, the ones who had attacked everyone on the platform, wake up, but before they can do or say anything, the box holding Satoru Gojo slips through the monk’s fingers and makes a dent in the concrete. The look on the monk’s face makes it clear that it’s a problem he wasn’t expecting.
You don’t know a damn thing about Satoru Gojo, but you feel like this kind of thing is the norm for him.
The blue haired person suddenly looks in your direction and you nearly stop breathing. Have they noticed you? It takes everything in you to keep perfectly still, in hopes that maybe they didn't, that maybe they’re looking at something else. They raise their arm and it extends, their hand acting like some kind of projectile. You almost shut your eyes and brace yourself for impact, but their hand flies upwards and hits something on the ceiling, destroying it.
Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief— you’re still safe.
For now.
You listen to their following conversation and while you still don’t fully understand everything, it’s clear they’re talking about what to do next since they’ve taken care of Satoru Gojo. Something having to do with someone named Yuji Itadori? The group seems split on what to do about him but it’s clear he’s their next target.
Eventually, everyone but the monk (you heard the blue haired person, who is apparently named Mahito, call him Geto?) runs off, probably to find this Yuji Itadori person. Once they’re gone, Geto speaks and, at first, you think he’s talking to you, but it becomes clear he’s addressing someone else. “Those cursed spirits are actually smarter than the two of you.”
“Give him back!” a voice hidden among the crowd hisses. Your blood runs cold at the sound. You recognize it; it’s one of the high school girls from the upper floor.
“We cooperated with you fully and kept dropping monkeys for you,” says another voice; it must be the other girl that was with her, the one who hung all those people.
“Now give us back Master Geto’s body like you promised!”
“Don’t toy with Master Geto any further than you have!”
You blink in confusion. Isn’t the monk named Geto? The way the girls are talking it sounds like they’re talking about someone else… Is it possible that the body is ‘Geto’ but the person they’re talking to is someone else possessing it? It sounds kind of crazy, but then again, so is every single thing you’ve experienced tonight.
Your suspicions concerning this ‘Geto’ are confirmed only seconds later as he says, “Now begone, or is it your desire to be killed by this body?”
One of the girls vows her revenge and you hear shuffling somewhere else in the crowd as they scurry away. Now you think it’s just you and whoever it is that’s puppeting Geto’s body. You see him plop down in front of the box (the prison realm, you think he’d called it) that’s holding Satoru Gojo.
“You can come out, you know,” he says after a while.
You freeze. The rest of the platform is completely silent. This time you think he might actually be talking to you.
“I know you’re there,” ‘Geto’ adds, his voice casual. “If you’re insistent on hiding, you should know that I’m not afraid of using whatever means necessary to smoke you out.”
Given everything his allies have done, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s serious. You were hoping to hide out among the crowd until he decided to leave, but it looks like you won’t be able to now.
Looks like this loop is a bust after all.
Your heart starts to race as you weave your way through the crowd. In every single one of your loops, you were always treated like a bit character, never noticed or singled out by any of the major players of the night. Although this is your first time encountering this ‘Geto’ it’s clear to you that he’s involved with everything that’s happened here and honestly, you get the feeling he might actually be the mastermind behind the massacre.
That makes you even more nervous.
You come to a stop in the place where Satoru Gojo was once kneeling before he was put in that box. Now that you’re out in the open, ‘Geto’ looks you over with some sort of nonchalant curiosity.
“You’re…” he starts, sounding thoughtful, "not a sorcerer, are you?”
Sorcerer. You heard that term thrown around by him and his group a few times. It’s what they’ve been referring to their enemies as. It probably wouldn’t be smart to lie and say you are one; you get the feeling he’d see through your lie anyway. “I’m not.”
He hums. “How interesting.”
“...what do you mean?” you ask before you can help yourself.
“It’s just you have an abnormally large amount of cursed energy for a non-sorcerer,” he explains. “Though, I suppose that all just sounds like gibberish to you."
You nod and look down at the box lodged in the floor. It has eyes, big creepy looking eyes. "...are you going to do the same thing to me as you did to that man?"
He laughs, "...fortunately for you, the prison realm only holds one person at a time and I need him sealed away more than you."
"...does that mean you're going to leave him in there forever?"
"If I'm feeling nice, I might unseal him in a hundred years or so."
One hundred years? At this point, you've probably lived roughly that amount of time through your loops alone, but for Satoru Gojo… "Won't he die first?"
"Only if he decides to," 'Geto' says, looking completely and wholly unbothered. "Time doesn't doesn't flow in the box, so when I unseal him, he'll be the same as he was just now. Physically anyway. Who knows how deteriorated his mind will be after all that."
Time doesn't flow in the box.
The words echo in your mind over and over. Time doesn't flow in the box. In other words, that means time has stopped in the box, and if that's the case then—
"Anyway, rather than worry about him, shouldn't you be more worried about yourself?"
You look at 'Geto' and he's smiling at you, it's friendly, but ominous. There's no doubt what is going to happen next, though you had already resigned yourself to this iteration being a bust; it was only a matter of time.
Time doesn't flow in the box.
"I was thinking I might keep you around, even if you aren’t a sorcerer, your wealth of cursed energy would serve my plans well," he muses. "But… it would be too much trouble trying to teach you how to use it in time."
As he talks, you realize this is probably the first time your death is intentional— every other death you've suffered has just been a byproduct of the ongoing slaughter. You were just another casualty, a victim, never a target.
You're scared.
Even though you know that once he kills you, once you die, you'll just loop back to around 8:30 again. You'll be on the platform again. And you'll play out some sequence of events before you eventually die again. And again and again.
Time doesn't flow in the box.
"I'll be nice, though," 'Geto' says, raising a hand and another monster appears out of nowhere. You don’t even bother trying to figure out from where. It doesn’t matter, especially since this monster will surely be the one to end your life. "I'll make it painless."
"...I appreciate it," you say and close your eyes hoping that he's not lying about it.
Time doesn't flow in the box.
He didn't lie.
You die again.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
And you're trapped.
You don't know how and you don't know why, but you are stuck in a time loop— forced to suffer through the horrific events of the night before you die and begin it all again. It's been a long time since you stopped counting how many loops you've gone through, but if you had to guess, it's probably somewhere in the hundreds now.
You are so very tired.
But it doesn't stop. It won't stop no matter what you seem to do. You are stuck. You are trapped. You are doomed.
“Time doesn't flow in the box.”
Ever since that first loop where you heard whoever is possessing Geto's body say that, the words have been stuck in your head, playing on loop.
You finally realize why.
“Time doesn't flow in the box.”
It's 8:25PM when you wake up; that should be plenty of time.
You need to find Satoru Gojo.
After hundreds of loops you've come to a singular conclusion: you need to prevent him being sealed in the prison realm. You've witnessed it enough to know that you won't be able to do it alone; you'll need his cooperation.
You rush upstairs as fast as you can, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine as you step onto the stairwell. According to your previous loops, Satoru Gojo arrives on the subway tracks at 8:40PM. With how crowded the upper floor is, you don’t know if you’ll have the time to intercept him and talk to him, but if you can at least figure out where to find him, then you can try and talk to him during a subsequent loop.
When you reach the fourth basement floor, however, you don’t know where you should even start. He’s pretty tall so you think you could spot him in the crowd, but… there are still so many people. It occurs to you that maybe it would be better to try and look from a higher vantage point so you head to the stairs that lead up to the third basement floor. You check your phone again. It’s 8:35PM; you need to hurry.
Luckily for you, you find him very easily on the third basement floor.
The only problem is that he’s in a hard to reach spot— squatting above a sign hanging over the crowd.
You check your phone again. It’s 8:38PM and he’s starting to move, presumably to meet with those waiting for him on the subway tracks. It’s good that you found him, but there’s no doubt about it.
You’re going to need more time.
The moment you wake up, you immediately bolt toward the stairs. It's taken many, many more loops, but you've finally brought the time you wake down to around 8:15. You're still not sure if it's enough time, but there's only one way to find out.
You barrel your way up to the next floor and zig zag through the crowd to get to the next flight of stairs. By the time you get to your destination, you're completely out of breath, your chest heaving as your lungs clamor for air. You’ve done this so many times, yet your body acts like it’s always the first. It sucks, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You slow to a brisk pace to catch your breath and check the time. It’s 8:27— a new record. Hopefully it’ll be enough.
The goal is to catch Satoru Gojo before he moves to his lookout point above the crowd. While not impossible, it would be difficult for you to follow him there. You eye the safety barricade that blocks off the area where he’ll be moving in just a few minutes warily.
Yes, getting over there would be extremely difficult.
You don’t want to think about it right now; you’ll deal with it when the time comes.
Especially since Satoru Gojo has now entered your field of vision.
Your heart starts to race at the sight of him and it feels like it’s beating a million times a second. There isn’t a lot of time. You need to talk to him, but your legs only wobble, your feet planted firmly to the ground. This is not good. You need to move. You need to move.
Finally, after what feels like both an instant and an eternity, your feet finally budge, propelling you in Satoru Gojo’s direction. The beating of your heart only grows louder as you make your way toward him, mingling with the single thought that’s echoing throughout your mind right now: will he even hear you out?
You need to make him.
“Excuse me!” The words nearly come out in a stutter as you realize that you are actually talking to Satoru Gojo. You have watched this man at a distance for so long that it almost felt like he wasn’t real, like he was just another fixture in this nightmare that you’ve been living for far too long. And yet, here he is, right in front of you, in the flesh.
And his attention is on you.
All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is actually a little overwhelming. Your mouth is dry and suddenly you don’t know what to say, but you need to say something. You need to say something before he thinks maybe you bumped into him by accident and just walks away without a word.
“I need to talk to you!” The words just burst out from your mouth and something about it is just absolutely embarrassing. You’re not sure if it's desperation or the fact that you haven’t really talked to anyone other than the existence occupying Suguru Geto’s body in nearly forever.
Satoru Gojo’s lips slowly start to form a smile, “Oh, yeah?”
The sound of his voice makes your mind go blank. There’s something different about it right now; more playful, amused even. Maybe it’s because he’s talking to you, a harmless human being and not a monster trying to kill him. It’s almost kind of jarring, but you know, with certainty, what Satoru Gojo’s voice sounds like. And the fact that he’s actually talking to you right now has you kind of excited. You nod, doing your best to not show how thrilled you are that he’s not ignoring you.
He hums thoughtfully, “Sorry… but unfortunately I kind of have some business to attend to right now.”
“I—” You start to say that you know that he’s headed down to the platform below to fight with…Choso and Jogo, you think their names are— you don’t know the name of the monster with the branches for eyes. “It’s— it’s really important!”
Gojo tilts his head a little, clearly thinking. You should probably say something else, something to try and convince him to stay a little longer and hear you out, but your mind is both full and blank. Where do you start? From the beginning? Or do you start with what is most important? Maybe you should say what you think will get his attention. You’re not sure, and you realize you really should have thought about this earlier because you’re running out of time right now.
“...mind handing me your phone?”
You stare at Gojo, completely and wholly confused, but he just holds out his hand expectantly. When you don’t move, he wiggles his fingers a little, a silent gesture telling you to hurry it up. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and unlock your phone before handing it to him.
“Kind of sucks that cell service isn’t working right now,” he remarks as he types something into your phone before handing it back. “But! Here's my number.”
You look down at your phone and, sure enough, Satoru Gojo has added himself as one of your contacts. He’s even added a little star to the end of his name. That’s… a little unexpected. Why his number though?
“Are you… hitting on me?” you mutter in your confusion.
He laughs, “Well, you said you had something really important to talk to me about, right? So just give me a call when you get home or some time tomorrow and we can talk then!”
You’re not going to make it home, or even to tomorrow, and neither will Satoru Gojo. As you start to tell him this, he steps past you. Desperate, you try to grab him, but somehow, for some reason, you can’t. You remember he did this with Jogo and the other monster, made himself untouchable.
This is not good.
He gives you a little wave, cheery as he says, “I’ll talk to you later!”
You watch, helpless as he hops over the barricade beyond your reach.
Gripping your phone tightly, you take a deep breath. It's fine, it's not like you didn’t expect things to go well anyway.
You'll just have to try again.
Every time you’ve tried to solicit help from Satoru Gojo, it has gone the same way. He just won’t give you the time of day, and in some ways you can’t blame him; he’s clearly here to deal with the monsters down on the platform. You’re fairly certain that he probably thinks that whatever is going on with you is a much lesser issue in comparison.
Plus, it probably doesn’t help that in the times that you’ve approached him, you haven’t been able to articulate yourself particularly well. Once you start talking to him, you just get hit with something akin to stage fright and the connection between your mind and your mouth just stops working. It’s gotten better with each attempt, but…
It’s just so frustrating.
It is interesting that Gojo has given you his number every time, star symbol and all. You’re not sure what kind of person you were expecting him to be, but after witnessing him literally and viciously rip monsters apart, you’d figured he’d be a little more somber. However, in the fragmented conversations you’ve had with him he’s come off as far more friendly and playful than you would have thought. Is he the type of person to get more serious when the situation calls for it? You can’t help but wonder, but ultimately, it doesn’t really matter.
What really matters is that you’re able to convince him to help you.
You have to convince him.
“Excuse me!” you say, stepping in Satoru Gojo’s path. You don’t stutter this time, and your voice is more sure. This is good.
“Yes?”
His head turns in your direction and you gulp. Gojo’s gaze, despite that blindfold of his, still feels just as overwhelming as it did the very first time you approached him. You have no doubt that he’s sizing you up, but there’s just something about it that makes you feel like you’re being picked apart.
You take a deep breath and step closer to him, hoping your voice sounds firm enough as you say, “I need your help. I’m trapped.”
He chuckles a little, “I know, but yours truly is on his way to go beat up the bad guys keeping you all trapped here, so soon enough you’ll be all free to go on your merry little way.”
Right. You were so caught up in your own plight that you nearly forgot that technically you’re not the only one ‘trapped.’ Satoru Gojo obviously knows that everyone else is confined to this station, but you doubt he knows that you’re confined to this night alone.
“That’s not what I mean!” you sputter.
“Then what do you mean?” Gojo asks. Should you tell him that you mean that you’re trapped in a time loop? You’re honestly not sure— in the movies and manga you’ve read about time travel, revealing that sort of thing risks creating a time paradox which seems to be a bad thing. If you have to tell him, you will, but— “Oh, I get it.”
You stare, bewildered. Did you maybe just spew all of that aloud?
Gojo gives you a mischievous smile. “You’re hitting on me, aren’t you?”
“No!” The word comes flying out of your mouth. You can’t deny he’s attractive— you’ve thought it all this time, but that is not what’s happening here.
“No need to be embarrassed,” he continues, ignoring you. “I totally get it, so if you want, I’d be happy to give you my number!”
Again? You’ve received Satoru Gojo’s contact details in every loop you’ve talked to him, star symbol and all— you even have his number memorized. There’s something kind of odd about how he keeps giving you his number. Part of you wonders if he’s got some sort of ulterior motive, but you haven’t thought too deeply about it. There are way more important things going on.
“I don’t need your phone number,” you say. “I need to talk.”
Your response seems to give Gojo pause. Did you somehow manage to get through to him? No way. Your suspicions are all but confirmed when he gives you that familiar apologetic smile.
“Like, I said, I’m sort of in the middle of something, but…” Gojo reaches into his pockets and rummages around until one hand fishes out a folded up piece of paper. The other hand keeps digging around in his pocket and when Gojo seems to give up on whatever he’s looking for, he turns his attention back to you. “Got a pen?”
What?
Gojo tilts his head. “Well?”
“I do, but…” You trail off, unsure why he’s asking.
He holds out his hand waiting for you to just hand him the pen. You still don’t get it, but you reach into your bag’s front pocket and pull out the pen and hand it to him. Gojo looks almost like an excited child when he takes it from you, quickly scribbling something onto his paper before shoving it and your pen back into your hand.
You look at the paper; it looks like a receipt. For a disturbing amount of mochi that Gojo bought earlier today. The amount of money he spent is almost sickening; way too much to be paying for mochi. More importantly, you notice something juxtaposed over the receipt’s print.
It’s Satoru Gojo’s name and number.
He even drew a little star next to his name.
“If you change your mind later, just give me a call!” he tells you cheerily. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while!”
You gawk at him. He cannot be serious. You literally just told him that you didn’t need it and yet he still gave it to you. He must want you to contact him later, but you can’t even begin to understand why. It can’t have been something you said or did, right? Unless, he’s actually—
“Later!” Gojo’s voice cuts through your thoughts and you notice him walking off with a wave.
You can’t let him get away.
Again.
You crush the receipt in your hand and rush after him. Despite the crowd, Gojo seems to move through the people with ease and it almost seems like they are yielding to him naturally. It’s good for you. Makes him easier to chase.
“Wait!” you yell, but Gojo doesn’t even look back. Bastard. Your muscles strain as you try to run faster. You know you won’t be able to grab him if you get to him, but there has to still be something you can do to stop him. Circle around him? Cut him off before he—
Satoru Gojo reaches the barricade.
“Wait!” you yell again. “Satoru Gojo, wait!”
He does not even acknowledge you.
You’re almost there though. Almost. If you reach out your hand, then maybe, maybe you can grab him. Something in your head tells you that it’s useless; you’ve never been able to touch him. But, you don’t care, you don’t care because you have to try. You stretch out your hand, desperate and hoping, but just as you do, Gojo effortlessly jumps over the barricade, moving to survey the crowd.
Due to your momentum, you almost collide into the barricade, but you manage to stop yourself. You stare at Satoru Gojo through the glass. He watches the crowd for at most three minutes. Is this just another bust? Is there really nothing you can do? There must be a way you can get his attention. Is it possible to climb over the barricade? No, it’s too high. There’s nothing you can grasp onto or use as footing either.
This fucking sucks.
Another minute or two and Gojo will be on the move again, and there will be no way you can follow, no way you can get his attention. You press your hands against the glass, pushing against it. Naturally, it doesn’t budge. Why would it? If only you could get it out of the way. If only you could break it. This stupid barricade is the only thing between you and Satoru Gojo and there’s no way you can climb it, but if only you could break it.
If only you could fucking break it.
Suddenly, the glass feels warm. Satoru Gojo’s image starts to look a little distorted as the warmth beneath your fingers grows. Something is happening. The glass starts to vibrate and shake. Violently. The tremors grow stronger and stronger. You should stop. You should back away.
You don’t.
The barricade starts to crack and fracture and soon the sound of shattering glass resounds throughout the entire room. Everyone starts screaming. No one knows what’s going on— not even you. But you don’t care. It’s gone. The barricade is gone.
You take a step forward, toward Satoru Gojo. He’s on a beam that’s about a two meter drop from where you’re standing. That’s fine. That’s okay. You can make it. You have to. Without a second thought, you jump—
And you land on the beam. You look up and Satoru Gojo’s attention is back on you. He’s finally, finally turned toward you, face twisted into an expression you can’t decipher or even comprehend, but—
Something’s wrong; your world is turning on its axis, but—
Satoru Gojo is looking at you, and—
Up is very quickly becoming down, and—
Satoru Gojo is coming closer, but—
You’re slipping—
But he’s right there, and—
You’re falling, but—
He’s trying to catch you, but—
It’s too late. It’s too late.
The last thing you think you feel—
—is Satoru Gojo’s arms around you.
It’s October 31, 2018— Halloween in Shibuya.
And you are causing a commotion.
“Shit! Fuck!” you curse loudly. The people near you start to shift away but you barely notice; you don’t really care.
You were so close, so fucking close and yet… yet here you are again. It’s quarter past eight and you are back on the goddamn platform. You don’t know what happened; you remember falling and thinking you were going to die, but you are absolutely certain that, once again, this time, you didn’t die.
Is Satoru Gojo at fault again? Did he do something? Like he did all those other times you looped without dying? When you think about it more, you don’t think so. You don’t know what happened; all you know is that you tried to get to him, but you slipped.
And he caught you, you definitely remember that.
You still don’t understand why you looped, but there’s not much you can do about it now; it’s not like you can go back anymore. It just sucks, because you think he might have actually listened if you’d talked to him.
Or he would have come after you for… whatever happened with the barricade. It could have been taken as an attack on the crowd… But if he thought you were doing that, then why would he catch you?
You don’t know.
All you know is that you have to try again.
The only problem is that you don’t know how you managed to shatter the barricade. You think about it as you make your way up to where you’ll find Satoru Gojo. There is the possibility that it wasn’t you and something else happened to it instead, but that feels way too coincidental. It had to be you. That’s the only thing that makes sense. You just can’t figure out how you did it outside of wanting, wishing, praying for the barricade to break. It’s not like you have supernatural powers like Satoru Gojo and his enemies.
Despite your mind being completely and wholly occupied by trying to figure out how in the world you managed to break through that barricade, you still manage to make it to the second basement floor of Shibuya Hikarie by 8:25PM— a brand new record. Satoru Gojo doesn’t show up until around 8:34PM, so that gives you almost ten minutes to try and figure out what you need to do to try and replicate shattering the glass barricade again.
Except—
Except Satoru Gojo is already here.
The thought that maybe you’re mistaken flashes in your mind before it’s quickly dismissed; there’s no way you’d mistake anyone else for him. There is absolutely no denying it: that is Satoru Gojo. Bewildered, you double check the time on your phone. Maybe you misread it and you’re actually late but sure enough you read it right— Satoru Gojo is here early.
What the hell is going on?
Of the thousands of times you have experienced this night, this hell, this sort of thing has never happened before. Everything happens at a specific time, as if adhering to an unseen schedule. It’s likely that what happened in your last iteration did delay Satoru Gojo’s arrival onto the platform, but other than that there has never been a deviation to the time table.
And yet, here Satoru Gojo is, nine minutes early now.
You realize that that’s not the only thing that’s strange: he’s not moving. In previous rounds, when you encounter Gojo here, he’s walking to the lookout spot beyond the barricade. But, right now, he’s just standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. It almost looks like he's waiting for something.
Or someone.
This unexpected turn of events has you rooted to the spot. You’re not sure what you should do. No. This shouldn’t change anything. You need to talk to him. As concerning as a change like this is, the extra time it gives you should be a good thing. Despite knowing that, your feet are still firmly planted to the ground.
The crowd shifts and you see Satoru Gojo start to move. Toward the barricade? No. He’s not heading in his usual direction, rather he’s—
You stop breathing.
He’s headed toward you.
All sound stops: the crowd around you, the thoughts in your head, the beat of your heart. Even though you cannot see them through that blindfold of his, you know that Satoru Gojo’s eyes are on you and the thought of that, the knowledge of it is absolutely mind numbing.
He comes to a stop before you, lips curled up to form an amused sort of smile as he says, “Soooo, you needed to talk to me?”
You try to answer but no words come out of your mouth. Are you dreaming? You have to be, right? There's no way that this is actually happening. Could it be that, after thousands of loops, you’ve finally lost it? Your mind shattering along with the glass of the barricade at the end of the last one?
Gojo tilts his head, indicating that he's still waiting for an answer. When you open your mouth, at first, nothing comes out, the words stuck in your throat. You force them out, your voice cracking, “...how did you know?”
He smiles, looking almost mischievous as he reaches up and lightly taps the side of his head. “I remembered, of course!”
All you can do is stare at Satoru Gojo. He remembered? How is that possible? From his perspective, this is the first time you’ve met and while it shouldn’t be possible for him to remember there’s something in your mind that’s keeping you from completely dismissing the possibility.
Gojo laughs, “I take it from the look on your face that you’re not used to this sort of thing happening. Is this the first time?”
“No.” The fact that the word is out of your mouth before you can even really think about it surprises you and you really have to think. Your face scrunches together as you try to remember. Is this really not the first time? Then, the memories assault you, overlapping as they replay simultaneously in your head— a woman in a yellow and white magical girl costume— begging you for help as she burns to death— smiling as she tells you she made her costume herself. “...it happened just once a long time ago.”
“‘A long time ago,’ huh. Sounds like you've been at this for a while now.”
“...unfortunately.”
Gojo hums. “So when you said you didn’t need my phone number…”
“You’d already given it to me a few times,” you say, figuring that’s where this conversation is going.
“Really now?”
Does he not believe you? Or is he just being an ass? You’re not sure, but since you had taken the liberty of memorizing Satoru Gojo’s phone number you recite it back to him to prove your point.
Just when you think you may have stunned Gojo into silence he starts to laugh, obviously finding something funny about the fact that you know his cell phone number. “Seems like you've got quite the fascinating technique there.”
Technique? What is he talking about? Your confusion must be plain on your face because he adds, elaborating, “The time travel.”
You continue to stare at him. You don't think you'd consider what you've been going through time travel, because traveling implies moving from point A to point B, but you've been stuck walking in circles at point A for a long time. What really gets you is… “What do you mean by ‘technique?’”
“You mean you don’t— oh. I get it; no wonder you’re trapped.”
That does not answer your question in the slightest. “Can you please explain what you're talking about? What do you mean by ‘technique?’”
“Right, right… So basically, a technique is like a special sort of power,” he finally explains. “Like I said, your technique seems to be a kind of time travel. Whenever you activate it, your mind is sent back in time.”
What he's saying makes sense, but… “How come you were sent back too?”
He laughs again. “Isn't it obvious? Think back to before— do you remember that I caught you as you were falling?”
You nod slowly. The memory of his arms around you is almost embarrassingly vivid. “...is it because we were touching?”
“Ding, ding, ding! That's correct! Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!”
Something about his tone annoys you, but you try to ignore it. He could have just told you rather than make you guess. “How do you know that for sure?”
“Well,” he continues. “You’ve done your little time loop a bunch of times, right? If your technique affected everyone, or even a few people in a select range you would have noticed for sure. And if it affected only just you then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, now would we?”
When you think about it, you do think that the woman in the magical girl costume might have bumped into you before the loop where she remembered.
“That’s honestly just conjecture, but I've got pretty good eyes, so I’m hardly ever wrong.”
Gojo gives you a grin and while you do think that his reasoning is sound enough his confidence is a little grating. More than that, though, you’re glad that this conversation is actually going really well.
“Either way,” he says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like you can control your technique. Usually a person’s technique manifests when they’re a kid, but you seem to be a special case… in fact, I bet your technique activated for the very first time tonight— probably under some pretty extreme circumstances, too.”
“...dying counts as an ‘extreme circumstance,’ right?”
“Oh, absolutely. Or legitimately thinking that you’re gonna die, but it seems like your body has been unconsciously activating your technique as a sort of defense mechanism. Which is why you’re trapped.”
“So, if I could control it I’d be able to make it out of this time loop.”
“Yeah, but in this case it probably wouldn’t end very well for you,” he points out with a chuckle. “It’s not like you actually want to die, right? I mean, if you did, then your technique wouldn’t even activate in the first place.”
You don’t; what you want is for this night to finally end. To be free from the endless cycle of dying over and over again and again. You don’t think death is quite the answer; even if you were to learn how to control this supposed technique of yours, there’s no guarantee that you would just unconsciously activate it when the grim reaper comes knocking on your door. No, the answer is…
“Anyway!” Gojo’s cheery voice cuts through your thoughts. “I highly doubt that you’re the type that makes a habit of jumping off ledges for the funsies, so the fact that you’ve been dying tells me that some pretty gruesome stuff is about to go down, so, tell me what happens tonight.”
The sudden drop of his voice sends a shiver running down your spine. If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve seen how serious Gojo can get, the sudden shift in demeanor would probably freak you out a bit, but it doesn’t. This is the Satoru Gojo you’re familiar with.
You do have one concern though. “That… won’t create a time paradox or anything, will it?”
“Nah,” Gojo shrugs. “You wouldn’t cause one with the way your technique works, besides, if you’ve only been going back at most an hour or two in time it’s hard to believe you’d be making a really big impact… unless you really believe in the butterfly effect.”
You’re still not quite sure.
“Trust me, it’ll be fine.”
His voice sounds strange. Gentle. Kind. It's the most soothing thing you've heard in a long time and it makes you want to believe him.
“...okay.”
Anxiety is still gripping at you, but you try to dispel it, taking a deep breath before beginning your explanation. For the sake of brevity, it’s probably best that you’re as concise as possible. There isn’t much need to really get into the nitty gritty of things unless he asks specifically.
Naturally, you begin with his arrival onto the platform and how soon after a fight breaks out and how the crowd is unfortunate enough to be involved. Gojo’s expression is passive for the most part, but he does crack the faintest hint of a smile when you mention how he manages to eviscerate one of the monsters.
It disappears once you tell him about the arrival of the train. Between the dozens upon dozens of people being dropped onto the platform by those two high school girls and the hoard of monsters disembarking from the train, everything devolves into pandemonium.
“Wait,” Gojo holds a hand up and you pause. This is his first interruption since you started recounting the night’s events for him. “Everyone is able to see the monsters?”
You stare at him. What a weird question. “...yeah?”
His mouth twists and it looks like he’s thinking about something. You can’t even begin to imagine what. Finally, he comments, “Makes sense.”
It does not, but you don’t ask him to elaborate. Surely if it was important he would have just done so.
“Anyway, in the middle of all that, you… you do something.” Your brows bunch together as you remember the stance Gojo took, the crazed and desperate look in his eyes, the feeling of your head about to explode. “I don’t know how to describe it. At first, it would just force me to… activate my technique, I guess. But now, it just knocks me out for a few minutes.”
Gojo frowns and he rubs at his chin, obviously thinking about what you’ve said. Eventually, he raises a hand and bends his fingers into a familiar gesture. It’s the one that preludes whatever he does on the platform. “Do I do this?”
“Yeah.”
He hums. “Interesting.”
You wait to see if he’ll explain. He doesn’t. Great. Even if he doesn’t think you need to know, it certainly would be nice to. It’s annoying otherwise, but you ignore the feeling and continue. “I can’t tell you what happens when I’m knocked out, but when I come to everyone is basically a zombie and all the monsters from the train are gone. I think you kill them.”
“I probably do,” he says casually. “But what about Volcano Head?”
“...you don't…get a chance to kill him,” you say slowly. Gojo tilts his head, waiting for you to elaborate, but you hesitate. You have to tell him, you know you do, but…
You have seen the interaction so many times and though you don't know the exact nature of the relationship between them, you can tell that seeing Suguru Geto (or rather seeing his body) shook Satoru Gojo to his very core.
There's no doubt in your mind that he will not take this news well.
“Come on now,” Gojo's tone is light-hearted, unaware. “Don't keep me in suspense here.”
It's as if you're withholding the punchline to a joke. In a way, you suppose you are, but you don't think he's going to find it funny.
You take a deep breath. You need to tell him. The worst thing that could happen is that he doesn't believe you, but if that's the case… you'll probably just end up repeating this all again until you find a loop where he does.
Having made it this far, you'd like to avoid all that.
“Before you can get Volcano Head you get restrained by something called the prison realm,” you say slowly, “by someone calling themselves… Suguru Geto.”
The second the name leaves your mouth, there is a clear and obvious shift in the air. Gone is Gojo’s laid-back and frivolous demeanor, replaced with something more somber and almost frightening. The tension grows more and more palpable to the point that you think it might almost choke you.
You almost wish that it would.
“You can’t be serious,” Gojo finally says, once your words have fully sunk in.
“I—” You start to speak, but come to an abrupt stop when you see him shove his hand into his pocket to yank out his phone of all things.
The both of you know full well that there’s no reception here, but you don’t think that he’s planning on making any calls. Gojo scrolls and scrolls on his phone before he stops and shoves the screen in your face. It shows a picture of three people— a teenage girl with a cigarette in her mouth, a younger, happier version of Gojo sporting a pair of round sunglasses and—
“When you say ‘Geto’ is this who you’re referring to?” Gojo demands, using his other hand to point at the third person in the frame— a handsome young man with long dark hair pulled up into a bun.
“Yes, but—”
“That’s impossible. It can’t be him,” Gojo interrupts, his voice firm, cold even. “He’s dead.”
There’s a note of finality in his words that is definitely meant to leave no room for argument. It doesn’t stop you, though. Instead, you glare at Gojo’s stupid blindfold and say, “...being dead doesn’t mean a damn thing! I’ve died hundreds of times and yet I’m still fucking here, but—”
“Your situation is different,” he interjects, the temperature of his tone hiking up, his words like heated hissing. “I killed him almost a year ago. There's no way—”
“You didn't get rid of the body properly!” You cut him off, raising your voice in hopes that he'll take even just a second to stop and listen. It seems to work and you add something you remember ‘Geto’ saying. “You should have had Shoko Ieiri get rid of it, but you didn’t and now some… some kind of gross brain thing is possessing the corpse!”
The air between you both is silent as the grave. Though you can't see it, you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. He’s definitely having second thoughts about everything you’ve said so far. There’s a chance he might even think you’re his enemy now. You stare him down though, refusing to look away. You’ve made it this far, you can’t— you won’t back down.
“...you’re not lying, are you.” Gojo’s words are more of a statement than a question. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows the answer, and yet he’s still asking. You wonder if maybe he’s clinging onto some vain hope that maybe, just maybe this all a sick, cruel joke that’s gone way too far.
“I’m not.”
Gojo holds your gaze for a second longer before he lets out a curse. “Fuck!”
“...I’m sorry,” you say quietly, mostly because it feels like the most correct thing to say at this moment. You don’t know the whole story, but it seems like they were close. If so, then it must have hurt Gojo a lot to have killed him, and must hurt even more to know that someone is desecrating the body. You hate that you, a complete and utter stranger, happened to be the person to tell him, but…
It had to be done, for the sake of getting past this unending night, it had to be done.
Gojo runs a hand through his hair and lets out a ragged sigh. “Okay. What happens after that?”
You give him a rundown of what follows; he gets sealed, the monsters wake up and all but ‘Geto’ leave in search of their next target. When you mention the high school girls demanding the brain give Geto’s body back, Gojo snorts loudly.
“Fat chance of that,” he says derisively.
You nod in agreement. It was clear to you that the brain parasite has no intent on giving it up any time soon. “After they leave, he… talks to me.”
“Probably couldn't ignore all that cursed energy you have,” Gojo remarks offhandedly.
You stare at him, expression twisted in a way that shows that you have absolutely no clue what that means. It should be fine for you to ask this one question; it actually concerns you after all. “What does that even mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, though… probably doesn't make much sense to you, does it?”
You give him a pointed glare and all Gojo does is laugh.
“Just think of it like having a lot of MP.”
“...Like in a video game?”
“Exactly!” Then, Gojo tilts his head, clearly thinking. You don't bother asking; you don't feel like he'll explain.
“He does ask me if I'm a sorcerer, whatever that is. Is that why?”
“Probably. Ordinary people don't have even a fraction of the energy you're packing.”
‘Ordinary people’ he says as if you’re not an ordinary person who got caught up in all this supernatural sorcery bullshit. Or at least you were, but if the time loops are really a product of your own doing…
“Does he kill you when you answer?” Gojo asks to get the conversation back on track.
“Not right away. What happens next kind of varies,” you answer. “He usually lets me have a question or two before he kills me; I've asked him a couple different things.”
“Really taking advantage, aren’t you?” Gojo says and you're not sure what to make of his tone. Is he mocking you or is he easing back into that laid-back persona of his?
“If I’m doomed to repeat the same situation over and over, I might as well make the most of it,” you respond flatly.
“You know, your technique kind of reminds me of save scumming.”
He’s definitely gone back to acting almost completely unserious— all signs of his earlier agitation are nearly gone.
“So what did you learn?”
“Well, the prison realm only holds one occupant. Once they’re sealed, time stops for them and the only way out is if the bearer unseals them or if they choose to kill themselves.”
“I see… And what about our body jacker?”
“He didn’t go into detail but he said something about… striving toward the evolution of mankind?” You frown a little at the memory. He didn’t explain further because he said that you wouldn’t understand.
“Huh. Interesting. Wonder how he was gonna go about doing that.”
“I don't know, but I can't imagine you'd like it since he goes out of his way to seal you into that box,” you say. “Said you’d get in the way because you’re too strong.”
Gojo shrugs his shoulders and grins a little. Cocky. “Well, I am the strongest sorcerer around, you know.”
You would think him overconfident if you hadn't seen the magnitude of his strength first hand.
“Anyway, that's as far as I ever go. When he's decided he’s done talking to me, he kills me and I loop back.”
“So, in short, what you want help with is getting past that point, right?”
“More or less.”
“And all I have to do is avoid getting caught by the prison realm?”
You nod.
“What’s it look like?” he asks. “A big cage with a bunch of metal bars?”
Now that you think about it, you haven’t woken up early enough to see it before it traps him, but you can’t imagine it looks that much different. “No.. It’s a small box with eyes… It gets big enough to fit you in it, though.”
“Huh.” He stretches his arms out above his head as if he’s trying to emphasize how large he actually is and shoots you a grin. “Should be easy enough then. I bet our body snatcher used the shock of seeing Suguru to trap me but since I'll see it coming, avoiding it'll be a piece of cake.”
Gojo makes it sound so easy, and maybe it really is as simple as that, but you can't help but be worried still.
“Don't tell me you don't think I can do it,” he says, tilting his head.
“It's not that,” you admit. “I'm just concerned I might die before we can get to that point.”
Truthfully, since you know that will just result in another loop you're less concerned with dying itself and more worried about losing the progress you've made in convincing Gojo to help you. Even though it's been clearly proven you can loop him as well, there's no guarantee you'll be able to make the physical contact needed to do it upon death.
“You've made it pretty far on your own, though, right?”
“Yeah, but… I’ve messed up plenty of times.” More than you can even count. “There's also the possibility that taking the time to talk to you might have thrown things out of whack.”
Speaking of time, you check your phone. It's 8:39PM. You curse.
Gojo leans over to check your phone. “Let me guess, I'm supposed to be somewhere right now.”
“Yeah, this is when you’re descending down onto the platform.”
“You know where I am down to the exact minute?” He asks and you tilt your head back and forth a little. It’s not exact per se, but it’s close enough. Gojo chuckles a little. “Man, I didn’t realize that you were actually that into me.”
That earns Gojo a glare from you, but he just laughs it off. “I doubt being a few minutes late is going to make a big difference.”
You certainly hope so.
“Don't worry,” Gojo says and you notice he's using that tone from earlier. “You won't die.”
It’s hard to argue with him when he uses such a reassuring sounding voice and yet, you still open your mouth to try— to voice your doubts, but what he says next silences you before you even can.
“I'll protect you.”
You think your heart stops beating in your chest and your words dissolve in your throat.
He grins at you. “Did you fall in love with me just now?”
That catches you a little off guard. You're willing to admit he's hot, but surely he must be joking. “How could you even think of something like that at a time like this?”
Gojo laughs again. “Well, since someone is so worried about their time table being all messed up, I better head down there; can’t keep Volcano Head and friends waiting, right?”
You blink. Is that it? “Wait, shouldn’t we make a plan or something?”
“Isn’t the plan for me to not get caught in the prison realm?”
Yes, but… “But what about me? Is there anything I can do?”
Gojo stares at you, or at least you think he does. “...I don’t know, is there?”
You’ve seen the encounter between Satoru Gojo and those monsters so many times and you try to picture a version of it where you intervene and… all you can see is yourself getting in his way. You’re no fighter, no… sorcerer, or whatever he is, you’re just some ordinary person that was unfortunate enough to get all caught up in this mess. The most you can probably do is kick the prison realm out of the way when the time comes, but otherwise… “...no, I guess not.”
His expression turns sympathetic. “You’ve done plenty by telling me everything that happens. So just wait up here, and let me handle the monsters.”
You almost nod. Almost. But then you remember what transpires up here above the platform. You know it sounds safer up here where you’re less likely to get involved in the carnage, but… “Wait, no, if I stay up here then I’ll fall to my death when those girls—”
Gojo laughs, interrupting you. “Don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”
“How?”
“Just trust me.”
“I…” It’s hard to. After everything you’ve gone through it’s hard to trust in anything, to believe in anything. Even though you’ve made it this far this time, the worry that something will go wrong and that you’ll have to do it all again still lurks in the back of your mind.
Despite all that, you want to believe.
You want to believe that you can make it past this unending night, that one day you’ll wake up and it’ll no longer be October 31, 2018. And the first step towards that is trusting in Satoru Gojo.
“...okay,” you say quietly. “Okay.”
Gojo chuckles then asks, “Anything else before I head off?”
You start to ask if there’s anything you should say, in case things don’t work out, but you stop yourself. You’re choosing to trust him, to believe in him— you can figure out that stuff later if things end up going south after all. So, instead you give him a smile and it feels a little weird because you don’t remember the last time you did. “Good luck!”
For a split second, Gojo looks almost surprised, but then he laughs again, beaming widely at you. He starts to move past you and reaches out to give you what you think is meant to be a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and then he’s off. You turn to watch him go, the crowd, once again, parting almost naturally for him.
When he reaches the barricade, he pauses, raising his hand as if he’s giving you one last wave. Then he jumps over it onto his little perch and then less than a minute later he’s gone, descending to the platform below.
Now, all you can do is wait.
You check your phone again and it’s 8:44PM. If you remember correctly, the high school girls start threatening everyone right before 9PM. With Gojo’s arrival being shifted back almost five minutes, does that mean that they’ll be shifted back too? It would make sense, but you’re not too sure.
Out of habit, you keep checking your phone and at nearly 9PM, you hear the shrill voice of one of the girls over the crowd, commanding everyone to do what she says, her partner stringing up bodies until everyone listens. Everything plays out just as you remember it, which is mildly comforting, though you know that the events that happen up here are more or less independent from what happens below.
Surely, just as Gojo said, a few minutes aren’t going to change anything, but—
No.
You agreed to trust him. To trust that everything would be fine.
When the girls start to demand that as many people as possible climb onto the roots and vines covering the atrium your heart starts to hammer in your chest. In just a few minutes, all the foliage will disintegrate beneath you, and you and everyone else here will fall into the abyss below.
You are afraid.
There isn’t a single loop where you’ve really survived this fall. If you don’t die in midair, you die right after landing. It’s a death trap, and that’s why you’ve stopped coming up here. There’s a part of you, the part that knows what’s about to happen, that wants to try and run back onto stable footing. But you can’t, because you know if you do then the girls will kill you for sure; you have to stay.
It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, it’ll be okay.
You just have to trust Gojo.
An eight car train is pulling in. Please wait behind the yellow line.
You hear the announcement faintly below you. It’s almost time. You brace yourself and try to stay calm. Gojo said he would protect you, that you wouldn’t die. You don’t know how he intends to keep that promise, but all you can do is believe in his words.
It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay.
The vines and roots start to crack and the ground beneath you starts to give out. You squeeze your eyes shut as that sickening weightless feeling overtakes you. It occurs to you that this is actually quite literally a trust fall— will Satoru Gojo really be able to catch you?
As you fall, you realize almost instantly that something is different.
You’ve experienced this fall dozens of times and so, even though it has been a while since you’ve gone this route, you are very familiar with what it feels like. Something is different. You’re falling faster. The trajectory is changing. It’s like some force, other than gravity, is pulling at you.
Is this Gojo’s doing?
Just as your body collides with the ground you hear the sounds of mutilating flesh meld with the screams surrounding you. Blood and severed limbs litter the ground, but you try to ignore it. You need to focus on your own survival right now. Quickly, you scramble to your feet scan the area around you; you’re on the platform right now and right in front of you is—
Right in front of you is Satoru Gojo.
His back is turned to you, his focus currently elsewhere. Looking at him you realize you recognize this scene, though it’s much closer and at a different angle. He’s about to do that thing, that thing that knocks you out.
Something in you tells you to move closer to him, after all, he used his mysterious powers to deliberately bring you closer to him, right? You rush toward him and as you do something he said earlier pops up in your mind.
Anyone you happen to be touching when you activate your technique gets affected by it too!
Whatever he’s about to do… Is that his ‘technique?’ And if it is, would it work the same way as yours? If so, there’s only one way to find out: you need to touch him. You dodge monsters and other people as you run toward Satoru Gojo and—
A monster still manages to grab you, its large hands wrapping around your wrist. You try and yank it free, but it's much stronger than you are.
“Shit!” you hiss as the monster starts to pull you toward it and away from Gojo. What do you do? Your other hand is still free, should you try to punch it in the face? Or—
Before you can do anything, something blasts the monster’s head clean off. Shocked, you stare as the monster’s body slumps onto the ground, its grip loosening on you instantly. You whip your head around to find that while Gojo still has his back to you, his arm is bent back in your direction, his palm open as if he fired some invisible blast from it.
Then you feel it again, something pulling at you, but this time it's more forceful. Your body is yanked toward Gojo and the second you feel his hand press against you, you see him make that gesture with his other hand.
“Domain Expansion,” he whispers in a strained voice. “Infinite Void!”
Something happens and your vision flashes for a fraction of a second. And then—
The room is enveloped in an eerie stillness; all the violence and bloodshed coming to an abrupt stop. Monsters and humans alike stand like the living dead, unconscious with their eyes wide open as if they are staring into an infinite abyss. You recognize this scene, you’re familiar with it because it’s similar to the one you wake up to after being hit by Gojo’s ‘domain expansion.’ The only difference is the presence of the monsters, who are all but gone when you regain consciousness.
The pressure from Gojo’s hand is gone and he says to you, his voice still low. “If you’re squeamish when it comes to blood and gore, it might be best for you to close your eyes.”
And then he’s gone.
You do not take his advice. You do not close your eyes. How many loops were you unable to witness what’s about to unfold? A few hundred? A few thousand? And if all goes to plan, then you will never get another chance again: there’s no way you could possibly look away.
And what you see unfold before you is that Satoru Gojo was right.
He is the one to kill all the monsters.
It’s not as if you really had any doubt, after all, it seemed like the most logical conclusion to come to and yet…
There’s a difference between knowing and seeing.
All the violence resumes and the platform is engulfed in the sounds of carnage and slaughter once more. The lack of terrified screams makes everything more disconcerting— without them, all you can hear is the squelching echo of mangled flesh and blood splattering all over the place. You can’t really see him, but you can tell where Satoru Gojo is in the crowd as he leaves dozens upon dozens of decapitated heads soaring in his wake. Once or twice, he leaps out of the crowd and even from where you stand you can see the crazed glow of his inhumanly blue eyes as he massacres monster after monster.
Even though you don’t think you have anything to be scared of, you are still terrified: Satoru Gojo is no longer a man, but violence incarnate. You want to move closer to where Gojo gets trapped, but you’re afraid to. What if you get in his way? What if he kills you by accident?
Dying again when you’ve made it this far is definitely not ideal, but isn’t being killed by Gojo the best case scenario? Because then the two of you would probably loop together again and—
No.
Gojo said you wouldn’t die.
He said he’d protect you.
It’s hard to believe when he’s in the middle of a massacre, slaughtering monsters left and right, but you remind yourself yet again that you have to believe in him.
You take a deep breath and start moving, taking care to keep an eye on where Gojo is. You don’t know how long this is supposed to take, but you do know where he ends up when he’s just about done. The closer he gets to that spot, the sooner the prison realm will be unleashed upon him.
There’s a small group of zombified people nearby and you settle yourself among them. It’s not super close, but you think it's close enough that you'd be able to run over and kick the box away from Gojo if you have to. You do a quick survey to see if you can spot the body snatcher, but he's nowhere to be found. Hopefully, he hasn't noticed you moving around, or, if he has, he's more concerned with Gojo than he is with you. Given that you always seem to be the last thing he acknowledges, you'd like to think that he doesn't consider you a threat.
Which you're not, not really anyway.
The sounds of slaughter start to die down and you look to see Gojo approaching the spot where he gets caught. He looks beat, his eyes unfocused and his breathing heavy. You do another quick scan around him and notice a small box a few meters away from him, wrapped in what looks like paper charms or seals or whatever they're called. That has to be the prison realm— though it looks different than what you saw before. Gojo seems to notice it right after you do, his gaze honing in on it, examining it with some measure of bewilderment. Then, some invisible force slices through all the paper seals covering the box and it expands, the corners of the box floating up in midair to reveal what looks like a large sheet of dark red flesh with a large bloodshot eye stapled to the middle.
Disgusting.
If Gojo didn’t realize before, he seems to now, because he takes a step back, away from the grotesque thing. Good, good—
“Hey! Satoru!” Your blood runs cold at the sound of the body snatcher’s voice. He emerges from the crowd, smiling widely as he gives Gojo a wave. “Long time no see!”
Satoru Gojo’s entire body goes rigid. Shit. You told him, you warned him about what was going to happen, who he was going to see, but was that not enough? It’s possible that no amount of warning would have been enough to mentally prepare Satoru Gojo for the sight of the man he said he killed a year ago. After all, you know that there’s a stark difference between knowing and seeing. Even then, if Gojo doesn’t gather his wits and move now then he’s going to get caught and you can’t let that happen.
Your body moves before you can even think about it.
You scramble out from your hiding spot in the crowd and throw yourself in between Satoru Gojo and the prison realm. There’s no way you can kick it away from him now, not when it’s in this form, but maybe, if you get between them you can at least keep it from capturing him.
The eye quivers erratically, as it flits from Gojo to you. Every hair on your body stands on end as it watches you, the pupil dilating and contracting uncontrollably. You can’t look away from it, your own gaze fixed to your image reflected in the black abyss of the pupil. Something in the back of your mind tells you to stop, to get away, it’s dangerous, but you keep your feet firmly planted to the ground.
A second, or maybe even a minute passes and the prison realm shifts, its fleshy form morphing to restrain you.
The body jacker looks at you, his frown tinged with disgust. “Don’t you think you’re being rather rude by butting into what could have been a touching reunion?”
You scowl. Is he still trying to play the role of Suguru Geto?
He sighs and looks past you at Gojo. “Satoru, I thought bringing lesser sorcerers to fight alongside you was more trouble than it was worth?”
You hear Gojo snort from behind you, “It is… but this person here isn’t a sorcerer… Just like you aren’t Suguru Geto.”
The faker almost pouts and presses his hand to his chest as if Gojo's words have wounded him. “Satoru, I’m hurt, how could you say such a thing to your best friend?”
“Cut the bullshit,” Gojo snarls. “You can’t fucking fool me. You might be in Suguru’s body but I know with all my heart and soul that you’re not him.”
The corpse snatcher stares at Gojo, expression blank before he sighs once more. Then, his gaze shifts back to you, his eyes narrowed as he looks at you with sheer disdain. It feels as if you’ve been drenched in ice cold water. There's no smile this time but you already know what's going to happen.
He’s going to kill you.
“I intended to deal with you later since you seemed harmless enough,” he says, raising a hand to summon a monster— the same one he always uses to end your life. “But you’re in the way. So, I think it’s for the best if I just get rid of you right now.”
Instinctively, you try to take a step back but the prison realm’s restraints keep you in place. Not that it would have mattered much, even in the loops where you’ve tried to escape the faker’s monster, it still kills you, too fast and too agile for an ordinary human like you to avoid. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the monster to kill you. At least, it’s always painless.
Something touches your back.
Your eyes shoot open.
Before you is the monster, wiggling and writhing only mere centimeters from your face. It gurgles and snarls at you, desperate to fulfill its master’s wishes and kill you but it doesn’t move any closer. You stare at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do.
Someone behind you clicks their tongue— Gojo. You try to turn your head to look at him, but your movements are too limited, the most you can do is turn your head to the side. The sounds the monster is making start to change, sounding more frenzied, almost as if it’s in pain, and you flit your eyes in its direction just in time to see its entire body explode. The monster's guts and bright purple blood fly off in every direction, getting on the floor, the ceiling, the zombified bodies of the people unfortunate enough to be nearby, but not on you.
This is Satoru Gojo’s doing.
He steps in front of you, half turned towards you as he moves in between you and the body snatcher. His hands are shoved in his pockets as he loudly says, “Did you really forget about me?”
You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the body snatcher.
Past him, the imposter scowls, raising his hand once more, probably to summon even more monsters, but Gojo’s quicker, and it almost looks like his eyes are glowing even brighter, the blue looking almost white as he whips his head in the faker’s direction. The sound of mangling flesh and breaking bones echoes throughout the room as Gojo, using that mysterious power of his, seems to break the faker’s arm.
The body snatcher hisses loudly and despite the fact that his face is twisted in very obvious pain, he tries to shoot Gojo a mocking smile. “Do you really think you can kill your best friend again?”
“I already told you,” Gojo turns to fully face the monster inhabiting Geto’s corpse. He tilts his head a little to the side and some force starts to squeeze at the faker’s neck. “You’re not Suguru.”
You hear a loud crack as Gojo telekinetically snaps his neck.
The head rolls onto the ground and you almost look away, but then you notice his eyes still moving, looking around. Is he still alive? Then you remember: the thing possessing Suguru Geto’s body was some kind of parasite. “Gojo! Wait! The brain!”
He reacts almost instantly, head turning and in an instant the skull is crushed and all that remains is red splotch on the ground.
You almost relax. Almost.
But the body is still standing.
Horrified, you watch as it quivers violently before falling to the ground. Then what looks like dozens of black spirits start to erupt from the corpse and the entire room is engulfed with a shrill howling.
What the hell is going on?
“Those must be all the cursed spirits he consumed,” Gojo explains uselessly, voice barely audible over the screaming. “Guess he was empty before.”
You don’t bother asking what he means. There are bigger problems right now. “What do we do?”
“No choice to exorcise them,” he answers plainly.
For him to exorcise them, he means. You both know that there’s not much that you can do. You still can’t move and honestly, you don’t even know if it’s possible to get out of the prison realm’s restraints. Not without dying. And if you die now…
Everything will have been for naught.
You’ll reset time and have to do this all over again— assuming you can even get to this point again.
There has to be something, you just have to think outside the box.
Or rather—
“Gojo!”
He glances back at you.
“You need to seal me in the prison realm!” you exclaim. He turns to face you fully, looking bewildered and you start to explain as fast as you can. “Those things are going to attack any minute right? I can’t move or try to hide and I can’t expect you to protect me the entire time and if I die then I’ll end up looping time again, but— but, if you seal me in the prison realm then that won’t happen.”
Gojo frowns, looking conflicted. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“Wouldn't it be easier if you didn’t have to?”
He tilts head and you think he’s conceding your point.
“Please,” you beg, staring at him desperately. “We don’t have much time. The other… cursed spirits will wake up soon too!”
You don’t have to explain that you mean Volcano Head and friends.
It takes only a second for Gojo to consider the very few options you have. “...how do you seal it? Do you know?”
“I think so,” you answer. “There’s no guarantee it’ll work but I think that if you say ‘prison realm, gate close’ it should seal me inside.”
If anything, it’s worth a shot.
Gojo nods. “Do you know how to break the seal?”
“I… don’t,” you confess. You never asked, and you don’t think the body snatcher would have told you even if you did. He only told you that it holds one and that…
That time doesn’t flow in the box.
“...you don’t have to break the seal.”
Gojo frowns, “Wait a sec—”
“Even if I make it past tonight… What if this all happens again? What if I inadvertently trap myself in another time loop?” you ask. “I… I don’t want to have to go through all of this again. It’s better for me in a place where time doesn’t pass.”
You don’t know for sure if it’ll be better, but right here, right now, it seems like the best option.
It feels like an eternity passes before Gojo says anything.
“...fine,” he agrees and you don’t quite know how to feel about it. The howling around you all grows louder. You wonder why the cursed spirits haven’t attacked yet. Maybe Gojo’s power is holding them at bay… for now anyway. You both know that he can’t ignore them forever.
“...before I do, though, mind if I ask you just one thing?”
You blink. “Not sure what I can do for you in this state…”
He laughs. “I just want to know your name.”
What an odd request. Though, now that you think about it, you don’t think that during this loop or any other loop really, you’ve ever told him your name. It only seems fair to tell him, since you’ve known his for longer than he’s known of your existence.
You tell him your name.
He nods, looking as if he’s committing to memory. Probably easier to remember than his phone number. “Any last words?”
You try to think of something. Nothing comes to mind and you just shake your head.
Gojo takes a deep breath, “Alrighty then… Prison realm, gate close.”
Just as it did the many times you’ve seen Satoru Gojo sealed away, the boxes and restraints around you vibrate a little before they start to close around you, growing large enough to fit your body as they approach.
You won’t see it, but once you’re inside the box will shrink and become small enough to fit in the palm of someone’s hand.
Will it be quiet inside?
In your final seconds, some words, some last words come to mind, and you say them, hoping that he hears them in time. “Thank you, Satoru Gojo.”
You burn the glittering glow of his brilliant bright blue eyes into your mind.
And then, everything is engulfed in an unending black.
It’s November 30, 2018— morning on the campus of Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School.
Satoru Gojo strides through the school grounds, casually tossing a small silver box with eerie blue eyes known as the prison realm up and down in his grasp. Walking at his side is Shoko Ieiri, a pretty woman who’s been unfortunate enough to have been Satoru’s friend since high school.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shoko asks, twirling a few strands of her long brown hair.
“What do you mean?” Satoru responds nonchalantly. “All my ideas are good ideas.”
Shoko hums in clear dissent, but doesn’t say anything more. Even she knows better than to try and waste her time trying to argue with Satoru. “I’m just worried about their mental state. Didn’t you say that time doesn’t flow in the box?”
“I’d be worried if it was some normal person,” Satoru says. “But after what they’ve gone through I think they’ll be fine.”
“...well, if you say so.”
The two arrive at their destination: the largest training area on the Jujutsu High grounds. Satoru places the prison realm at the center and takes a few steps back with Shoko standing behind him, in case anything happens.
He doesn’t think it will, but it’s always good to take at least a few precautions.
“Gojo, are you sure we should be doing this?” Shoko asks again. “Didn’t they want to remain in the box?”
“Of course I am,” Satoru says with his usual air of confidence before looking back at the prison realm nestled in the grass. He grins and then—
“Prison realm, gate open.”
if you made it this far. thank you. it's my sincerest hope that you enjoyed the ride.
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devotion
summary: because love doesn't quite capture it | leon kennedy x partner!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings: depictions of injuries, angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol consumption, yearning, mutual pining, partners to friends to lovers
notes: BACK FROM THE DEAD W A VENGEANCE. my semester has finished and my second one doesn't start until january so i will be posting for once. college is kicking my ass like all the time so it puts everything else on pause for me anyway ily all | ao3
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The dress feels itchy against your skin. You don’t want to go to this event, so you can’t imagine how Leon feels. He doesn’t even like when you thank him for doing the dishes, so you wonder how he might behave up on a stage to receive a medal. You stretch behind you, reaching for the zipper. Wordlessly, Leon turns to you and zips it up himself. Of course he does; that’s just Leon.
“This is weird,” he says. It’s barely a whisper, breath dusting over your shoulder as he says it. You nod with a sigh.
“I wouldn’t say weird,” you return. You watch his eyes in the mirror. They hover somewhere on your forehead. “Not normal, but not weird,”
“I think it’s weird,” he says, and steps away. You nod again, because what else can you say?
Working with Leon has its ups and downs. He’s too quiet some days, and you have to fill in the gaps yourself. Or he’s too loud–sometimes without even saying anything–and you have to figure out how to deal with it. Or he’s just Leon; he laughs and jokes, he helps cook dinner, he doesn’t talk about work. You like those days the best. Had you seen these versions of Leon when you were assigned to him almost ten years ago, you would’ve laughed. Ten years ago, you couldn’t imagine being this close to someone, to care as much as you do about someone you’re paid to be around.
You suppose there’s layers to it, layers you haven’t fully unraveled yet. You know only a few things for certain: Leon is your partner, he is also your unofficial roommate, and you care about him more than you care about others.
“Are you ready?” he asks. He’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, the light from the hallway making him look like an angel descending to relay a message from God. You swallow and nod.
“Just need my shoes,” you say, moving to the bed and sliding your shoes across the floor to be in front of you. Leon bends down without a word to help you fasten them.
When he looks up at you, he looks less like your partner and more like someone you’re meant to love. An ache resonates within you, a need to reach out a brush your fingers through his darkened hair. He shifts his gaze to your upper arm. Gingerly, he runs the tips of his fingers over a scar that spans from your elbow to your clavicle. It’s ugly and red, courtesy of the nasty burn you’d sustained there a few years ago. The ridged skin is unfeeling as Leon skirts his hand across it, tracing it from your elbow to your shoulder.
“I remember when you got this,” he says absently. His fingers dance across your skin, and you wish the scar didn’t run so deep so you could feel his ministrations. “Thought I’d lost you,”
He says nothing more, just stands up and offers his hand to you to help you off the bed. You take it, and he hauls you up with ease. He twists out of the room like a ghost. You follow him, like you always do.
The scar is one of a few you’ve come to own. You remember the day you got it, too. For whatever reason, you replay the moment in your head over and over in the taxi on the way to the gala. It makes your skin burn.
It was supposed to be a normal day, a normal mission. Go in, extract, get out. Three simple steps that you had done a hundred thousand times before. Leon stood beside you, always offering to enter a room first. You’ll admit, years removed from the situation, you should’ve been more careful, should’ve listened to what he was saying. But you were so angry at him. You felt weak, unnecessary. You remember shoving past him and through a door you hadn’t known was connected to a trigger. Almost as soon as your boot touched the concrete on the other side of the threshold, your hearing went out. It felt like you were standing miles away from a nuclear blast, and you had felt the effects of the delayed shockwave. You were knocked to the ground in an instant, but you didn’t feel pain–not yet at least. When you woke up in the hospital a day later, Leon was asleep in the chair beside you.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he’d said. You vowed not to.
“Do you think they’ll at least have an open bar?” he says now, drawing you back into the world. You turn away from the window of the cab to look at him. He’s staring at his hands, forcing a small smile.
“They better,” you say, reaching over and settling a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you. “It’s the only reason I’m going,”
This turns his smile genuine, and he even offers an eyeroll. You squeeze his shoulder, bracelets jingling with the motion. His eyes are on you, and you feel as hot as fresh sin. You hate this; hate that he makes you feel this way, hate that he is so beautiful, hate that you can’t seem to shake this deep seated love you harbor for him. You miss him when he looks away and you remove your hand.
The gala is overwhelming. Leon stays near you, hand hovering near your own. You wish he would reach out and take it. You debate the consequences of doing it yourself.
Breath hot on the shell of your ear, Leon whispers, “You think our taxes went into this?”
You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips into a thin line to fight a smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’ll pretend like this was all donated,”
“You can consider taxes a donation if you really think about it,” he says, gliding across the floor with you toward an empty table. You snort.
“I think that depends on what your definition of donation is,” you say. He pulls out your chair for you before pushing it in, then takes his own seat beside you. His legs are angled toward you like he only plans on talking to you.
“I think you underestimate my ability to bend definitions to suit my needs,” he says. You laugh again.
You like this version of Leon, and you know that it won’t last very long so you should hold onto it while it’s here. An old jazz song rings out from the speakers across the hall, and the lights catch his eyes just right. They’re really blue, as true blue as blue gets. They’re your favorite shade of blue. If you could paint your living room that color, you would. It’s a soft blue, like the crest of a wave blue, like the sky just after dawn blue, like two perfect oceans set into his skull. There’s a hairline scar that runs between the crows feet of his left eye, one you ache to reach out and trace.
That’s the best way to describe how you feel when you look at Leon: aching. It’s desperation, an aching need to touch and hold. It’s not exactly love, but you don’t have another word for it. Maybe devotion? Looking at him feels like the first time a child sees a kitten. You’re like me, soft and lovable, and we should stay together.
“Have you listened to anything I’ve said in the last few minutes?” Leon asks, putting a hand on your knee that brings you back to the gala. You suck in a breath and shake your head. He smiles wide. “Quit staring at me, makes me feel like I’ve got something on my face,”
“You’re pretty,” you say before you can stop yourself. Maybe pretty is the wrong word, but you don’t know what the right one would be. He’s handsome, sure, but handsome doesn’t encapsulate the way his lashes flutter against his cheekbones or the way he blushes when you smile at him. “Sorry,”
He’s grinning now, giving your knee a squeeze. “You flatter me,”
An hour later, and he’s being called up on stage by your director, who intends to decorate him. You’re beaming with pride, even though you know Leon is dreading this moment. He stumbles across the stage. Cameras are flashing, and you can almost see Leon cringe between photos. He’s off the stage a few minutes later, heading straight for you. You grin more, knowing that he’s choosing to seek solace in you, in your company. He wraps you in a stiff hug that loosens as it endures. You laugh into his shoulder.
“Don’t let me do anything heroic ever again,” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck. You bark a laugh.
“Yeah, okay,” you agree. “I’ll make sure to step in next time,”
In an act that surprises you, Leon tugs you toward the dance floor. You must look wildly confused because he explains, “Just this once. Just one dance,”
You agree, not that you could deny even if you wanted to. He’s looking at you like you’re someone he’s meant to love, like you’re more than just his partner. His hand slots against the curve of your waist like it was made specifically to be there. He’s warm and smiling, and you think maybe he’s had a bit too much champagne. But you like him like this. Who knows when you’ll see him like this again? You stare at him, intent to memorize his features and the way the light catches on the bridge of his nose.
“You’re staring again,” he whispers. You smile sheepishly.
“Never seen you like this,” you reply. He bows his head to chuckle. “Not sure I’ll ever get the chance to again,”
“I’m sure you will,” he says. “You’re the one who brings it out of me,”
You roll your eyes. “I’m more convinced it’s all the free champagne we’ve been drinking,”
“You can believe whatever you want, sweetness,” he says, spinning you. “I’m telling you the truth,”
You’re both giggly and joking the whole way home. Leon has you wheezing about something you can’t remember as you step into the apartment. Tears rest at the corners of your eyes. You shove him playfully. He follows you from room to room like a puppy, making you giggle and flash a smile as you clean up for the night.
You crash onto the bed, warm and light from the night, and reach to take off your shoes. Leon stands in the doorway, watching you. The light from the hallway gives him a halo. Your feet ache as you release them from their prisons, and you glance up to see Leon smiling at you. You return it with the cock of one of your brows.
“You’re pretty,” he says by way of explanation. You feel heat snake up your body. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, hair slightly messy from where he’s run his hands through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. If you weren’t as shy as you are, you’d probably move to touch him.
Instead, you huff a laugh and toss your shoes to the floor. “You flatter me,”
When you stand and begin to move around him, he grabs your elbow. “I mean it,”
Perhaps, in another life, you would see this as a win. The man you’ve spent most of your life following around and yearning for seemingly returns your affections, and you are about to deny him. Admitting it out loud makes it real, makes it mean something. What happens the next time something goes wrong out there? The next time he does something heroic? Everything will be much too real, and much harder to bury. You blink at him, looking at him for what feels like the very first and last time. He’s still Leon; scruffy stubble, blue eyes, and warmth. He’s still Leon, teetering on being your Leon, and you’re not going to let that happen. You, again, are going to deny yourself from what you want.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You take in a shaky breath. He’s still holding you, but his touch is a ghost on your flesh.
“Leon, I don’t know-”
“You know that one Frank Sinatra song?” he interrupts. You gape at him.
“Why did you ask if you won’t let me answer?” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He returns his hands to his pockets.
“Predicted where it was going, figured I’d circumvent it,” he admits, the corner of his lips turning upward slightly. “The song he sings with his wife?”
You shrug. “Maybe? What’s your point?”
“I love you,” he says. Your body goes cold. “That could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, but I feel like you should know that before you make whatever decision you’re about to make,”
Your face breaks out into a grin, and you laugh in spite of yourself. “I’m sure you’ve said stupider,”
Whatever worry was on Leon’s face dissolves, and a real, full smile splits across his lips. He takes your face in his hands. He holds you delicately, like you’d break under the slightest pressure. To be fair, you feel like glass at the moment–if glass could have legs made of rubber.
“This makes it real,” you say. He swallows. “No going back, no forgetting, no pretending. When something happens, it will be real,”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he whispers. “It’s worked out for us so far,”
You’re not sure who closes the space first, but it matters little after it’s happened. His lips are gentle and giving against your own. Your hands splay against his sides, using his suit jacket to pull him closer. His hands wind into your hair. There’s a desperation behind his movements, one you’re all too familiar with. After what feels like hours, he breaks from you, leaning his forehead against yours. His breathing is labored, you can feel it in his strong chest beneath your hands.
“This is real,” he says.
“We take risks for a living,” you say. He opens his eyes to peek at you through his lashes. “What’s one more right?”
He grins and kisses you again.
#leon kennedy x reader#my fics#m writes#resident evil#x reader#partner!reader#resident evil fanfic#leon kennedy#id leon kennedy
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Chapter 46 of human Bill Cipher frantically wishing he was still locked in the Mystery Shack and not getting his wish:
The Eclipse: Part 4
Gravity has fully disappeared from Gravity Falls and Bill finally learns why the Axolotl traveled all the way to Earth to see him. And meanwhile, Ford's in mortal peril.
There were only two ways to remove a pair of magic friendship bracelets. Either both wearers had to consent to removing the bracelets; or one of the parties had to die. The bracelets weren't active if they were only being worn by one person, and a corpse wasn't a person.
The moment Dipper's soul left his body, the thread connecting the bracelets turned visible again.
Bill immediately yanked off his bracelet. He considered just letting it go, reconsidered considering that Dipper's ghost would probably tattle to Mabel, and carefully, slowly reeled the thread in. Without the magic active, it was just normal embroidery floss. The Axolotl's gravitational pull didn't make Dipper's body heavy enough to break the line, but if Bill jerked it just a little too hard, it would snap.
Bill heaved a sigh when the body was close enough he could grasp its wrist. He grabbed Dipper's head and snarled in his dead face, "This is why I told you to get in the cave." He wrapped the bracelet around and around the tree trunk and Dipper's forearm, muttering to himself, "But does anybody listen to the all-knowing immortal dream demon who's seventy times older than their entire universe? No! No, what could it possibly know! Surely we'll get better ideas from the brain-damaged hick who married a raccoon—"
An immense voice said, "Hello."
Bill froze. He slowly turned away from the beast above Gravity Falls.
The voice said serenely, "Look at me, you 8-karat coward."
He slowly turned toward the beast above Gravity Falls. He swallowed hard, steeled himself, and dragged his gaze up until he met the Axolotl's eye and he was gently tugged into the time and space between time and space. "Oh, heyyy," he squeaked. He forced a pained smile. "Didn't see you there! Haha, hi! Wow! Imagine running into you in this dimension on this planet, crazy."
"Yes, crazy," the Axolotl agreed.
"This isn't a regular part of your commute! I guess you've got some time off," Bill said. "Work must be going well!"
"Pretty well. I scheduled an extended lunch break," the Axolotl said amiably. "How's being human going?"
Bill shot the Axolotl a dirty look.
The Axolotl continued to give him a perpetual smile. "Happy New Year, by the way."
"I'll kill you."
"No you won't."
"Okay look, let's just cut to the chase," Bill said. "Go on. Tell me my punishment."
"Punishment?"
"For! Coming back here instead of staying when you dumped me in 3012. I skipped time while on parole. That's obviously why you're here." He looked down, shielding his face with a hand and squeezing his eyes shut. "So stop wasting my time and tell me how much trouble I'm in. I'm a busy guy, I don't wanna drag this out."
"Well," the Axolotl said, "it appears to me that you're locked in your enemies' home, you can't use doors, and you need to be handcuffed to a child to go outside. Is that enough 'trouble' for you?"
Bill opened one eye. "Wait, so." He looked up skeptically. "You're saying I won't get re-executed for breaking the rules. Or—or get stuck in a worse body."
"No," the Axolotl said. "You'll answer to no jailer's voice; what you do now is your own choice. I moved you by a thousand years to free you from your killers' fears. If you decide then to return, it's your own second chance you burn."
"Ohhh. See, I assumed this entire situation was a... prison... thing. Considering the..." He gestured vaguely at his body. "The flesh prison."
"It's a body. Not a prison. You aren't being imprisoned."
"'Not a prison' my base, if it's not a prison then why can't—" He caught himself before he asked a question, and took a deep breath. "So, there are no rules against coming right back to where I left off."
"Though I think your plan is clunky—not my circus, not my monkey."
"Oh. Okay, great." Bill planted his hands on his hips, straightening up properly for the first time since the Axolotl's arrival. "Huh. How 'bout that. Spent the last two days worrying for nothing!"
"You? Worried?"
"Of course not, I wasn't worried for a second," Bill said. "So if you're not here to punish me—that doesn't explain why you are here."
"Are you asking?"
"You know I'm not."
The Axolotl stared at Bill, patiently awaiting a question. Bill stared at the Axolotl, patiently not asking one.
The Axolotl caved first. "I wanted to make sure you hadn't burned down the dimension yet."
Bill pointed sharply at the Axolotl. "Hey! Hey!"
The Axolotl gave him a look like a toothless gumball learning how to smile.
"Not funny! Seriously, now!"
"I came because you called."
"Wh— When did—?" Bill cut himself off. He thought back to the day he'd spent locked in the bathroom. He recalled the desperate plea for salvation he'd painted on the ceiling. He buried his face in his hand. "That... that was a joke. False alarm."
"I gathered," the Axolotl said.
Bill peeked between his fingers. "But, I did call for rescue. Therefore. You're here to rescue me."
"No."
"Why n—! You said I'm not supposed to be in a prison! You've seen what these humans have done to me!"
"You aren't a prisoner," the Axolotl said. "You're a kidnapping victim. That's outside my jurisdiction."
Infuriating—but it told Bill something important: in the Axolotl's eyes, Bill's captivity wasn't just. And Bill didn't consider the Axolotl any kind of god—he didn't consider anyone any kind of god—but the Ax had a lot of pull in the multiverse when it came to defining the universal concept of justice. That was promising.
"But I do have a keen interest in your case. I wanted to check in on your progress."
Bill gave the Axolotl a questioning look. "'Progress.'"
The Axolotl said nothing. Bill waited. The Axolotl simply continued to smile. "You haven't asked a question yet. Usually you can't wait to get rid of me."
"Under the circumstances," he gestured again at his body, "I didn't think I could afford to waste it."
"I see. However, I do have a meeting I need to get to."
What was the most important thing he could ask. What did he need to know the most. "So... if I learn my lesson or complete my sentence or—whatever I'm supposed to do... will you turn me back into a triangle?"
"I can't and won't do anything else. I've completed my obligation to you," the Axolotl said. "Whatever happens to you from now on is up to you."
That could mean anything from "you're stuck as a human forever and will die in less than a century" to "there's a secret spell on you and when you meet its conditions you'll automatically turn back into a triangle" to "you're already a triangle, you just need to believe in yourself." All Bill knew was that he wasn't getting any help from the Ax.
"It's been a pleasure as always," the Axolotl said. The world slowly began to move again as he gently returned Bill to the dimension he'd come from.
"Wait!" Bill called. He needed to know—was he still a triangle, somewhere on the inside, buried beneath all this flesh and bone? Or had the Axolotl's transformation rotted him to his core—was he now nothing but a human through and through? If he wasn't being punished, why had his suffocating soul been smothered under a blanket of meat? If he wasn't being punished, why had his own corpse stared him in the eye as if it didn't recognize him? "Just one more question before you go!"
"If you have the time. Up to you."
If he had the time? Bill's eyes darted around. Why wouldn't he have the time, what was he missing—?
His gaze locked on Ford. Floating twenty, thirty feet out from the cliff's edge. Oh.
Bill let the Axolotl's gravity drag him to the edge of the cliff before digging a hand into the ground, holding himself in place. Bill was safe; Dipper's body was safe, and his soul could float home once the Axolotl was gone. But when the Axolotl was gone, gravity would immediately come back—0 to 100, just like that—and Ford was dead.
And the Axolotl was already turning away. The millions of axolotls in the water below followed, moving through and out of the lake as though the lakebed didn't exist, migrating in the Axolotl's wake.
Ford was unsuccessfully trying to swim through the air back to land. Several useless feet of cable from his infinity belt floating around him from trying to fling it at the cliff. The best he could do was stretch an arm toward land.
He met Bill's eyes. The only other time Bill had seen Ford this terrified was when he'd threatened to torture the kids.
Bill looked at Ford, looked at the Axolotl—nearly too far to shout to—and looked down. By now, the future death he'd witnessed earlier was so close that Bill could see more than the blood to be left on the rocks. He could see the body—gray hair, tan overcoat, broken. It was just a few moments away.
Stanford Pines was about to die. Bill Cipher was innocent. Dipper was his witness; Dipper, honest goody hero type, could verify that Bill not only repeatedly told them both to stay away from the thing in the sky, but also warned them to anchor themselves right before totality. Everyone at the shack knew he'd protested, knew he'd warned them, knew he'd begged to stay home. There was no possible way Bill could get blamed for this.
And once Ford was dead, none of the idiots in this town would ever find a way to destroy Bill.
Up to you.
Bill didn't stop to think.
He kicked off the edge of the cliff.
He could see, hovering in the air like a golden arc amidst a dozen blurry failures, the path he needed to jump to reach Ford. The Axolotl's tail was already soaring over the town, his sky blue fins rippling like vast, slow sails. If Bill reached Ford before the Axolotl's influence was completely gone, he could fly them over the lake and they might both survive.
They collided. Bill had to fling an arm over Ford's shoulder before he managed to get a grip on his lapel; Ford seized Bill's hoodie in both hands. Ford demanded, "What are you—?" He fell silent as their trajectory took a sudden sharp turn from south to east.
"The lake!"
Ford nodded. Why could come if they both survived. He could already feel weight grabbing onto his limbs. He spared a split-second glance down, but with half the lake floating in the air he couldn't tell if they'd cleared its banks yet. "Have you ever learned to swim?"
"You have to learn?!"
Ford prayed, if Bill drowned, that he was a mortal, and that he wasn't the kind of drowner who dragged other people down with him. "Cross your ankles as tightly as you can, cross your arms over your chest, land feet first in the water—better to break your legs than your neck—do not tilt your head, eyes on the horizon—" And that was as much emergency survival advice as he could give before gravity returned in full force.
This wasn't the first time Ford had plummeted into a deep liquid from an irresponsible height over the past thirty years. The hit was softer than he expected—the turbulent lake hadn't settled back down into its normal water pressure—but he also sank far deeper than he expected. Streams of bubbles raced past his vision; maybe it was just the power of suggestion, but he could have sworn they looked like transparent axolotls.
As soon as he had his wits about him, he threw off his coat, tugged off his boots, and kicked his way toward the surface.
Bill didn't.
This actually wasn't so bad, he thought, with a calmness that definitely came from being such a rational level-headed fellow and not from being in shock. Sure, all the air had been forced out of his lungs and his body was screaming in airless panic, but he wasn't his body, was he? This felt just like floating. He would miss floating again.
What was he supposed to do now.
He'd seen humans swim. He tried kicking his legs. He felt stupid. But, he decided—again, with a calmness that definitely was not from shock—that looking kinda stupid was probably preferable to drowning. Although he was curious what drowning felt like. Had he ever drowned a puppet before? He couldn't remember. Didn't seem bad so far.
He surfaced.
Ford was already on shore, on hands and knees, desperately coughing out water, his lungs burning. He collapsed in the sand. It took a couple minutes for him to reach the point where he was breathing more than he was coughing, and another minute of heavy breathing before he had the energy to look at the lake again. Bill was floating on his back about fifty feet away, very still.
Ford croaked, "Bill," coughed again, and tried a little louder. "Bill?"
Without otherwise moving, Bill raised one arm and gave him a thumbs-up.
Ford dug into what energy reserves he still had, shuffled back into the water, and swam over to Bill. "Are you all right?"
Bill gave him a dazed look, opened his mouth, and exhaled a cup of water. Then he started coughing.
Ford grimaced. "Let's... get to shore." He took Bill's arm to tug him toward dry land.
Bill flailed upright and shoved him off. "Don't—" Hack. "M'fine. I l—" Cough. "I like floating." He lay on his back, shut his eyes, and said shakily, "Don't touch me."
Ford treaded water for a moment, considering that. Bill looked like he'd got the hang of floating enough that he wasn't an immediate drown risk, so Ford said, "I'll... be on land."
"'Kay."
Ford swam to shore and sat cross-legged in the wet sand to wait, staring down at his hands. The Handwitch's ring was a bright indigo blue again, no traces of darkness within the cabochon, as though the lake water had washed it clean.
Should he go do something useful? There weren't many places Bill could go, except to shore; it wasn't like he was at risk of escaping. But then if Bill did make it to land while Ford was distracted, he had a chance to make a run for it without the bracelet—
Ford stood up. "Bill! Where's Dipper?!"
Bill raised one arm and pointed up.
Ford looked at Gravity Peak. A small speck high above, Dipper was looking down over the cliff's edge. Ford waved to him. Dipper waved back. Well. That was inconvenient. Maybe Ford could restrain Bill with the infinity belt's cable in the meantime. (He reeled the cable in while he was thinking about it. He was fortunate it hadn't tangled on anything while he was underwater.)
"We have to rendezvous with Dipper. Get over here."
"Just leave me."
"Not an option."
Bill let out a pitiable whine, but, after a moment, managed to figure out a way to slowly paddle-kick his way toward land.
When his heels hit sand, he rolled over, crawled onto land, and lay down. "Gravity," he groaned. "I hate gravity."
"I'm not too fond of it myself right now." Ford's limbs felt like lead. Some combination of spending a day and a half in steadily reduced gravity, the exhaustion following a near death experience, and waterlogged clothes. "Where are the enchanted bracelets?"
Bill lifted one hand from the elbow and pointed toward the cliff again.
That'd be just Ford's luck. All the same, he said, "Really?" Bill would hide them if they were on him.
"Yes, really. Whaddaya want, a strip search?" He gestured vaguely toward his body without lifting his head. "Go ahead. 'M not moving to help." His arm flopped back down.
Ford decided that was a bluff he did not want to call. "Fine. We'll put them back on when we rendezvous with Dipper." If Bill tried to escape, Ford wasn't sure he was in any condition to chase; but then Bill didn't seem to be in any condition to run, either.
"Surprised you wanna wear matching bracelets with me. If I'd known, I woulda made you a friendship bracelet." Under his breath, Bill muttered at the sand, "But m'sure it'd've been a waste of thread."
Ford decided it was more prudent to hold his tongue. "Can you walk?"
"If I have to." For as difficult as Bill made getting to his feet look, one would think he was being subjected to the gravity of Jupiter. Ford offered his hand; Bill smacked it aside.
"Well. My raft is still in the cave behind Trembley Falls, so we'll have to borrow a boat." Ford pointed toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle at the far end of the lake. "Think you can make it that far?"
Bill—barefoot, soggy, and slumped like he had the whole weight of the world on his shoulders—gave Ford the most pathetic look he'd ever seen Bill wear. Ford empathized completely. But Bill only sighed and said, "Let's get going."
####
Tate lowered his magazine to give Ford a critical look. "Dr. Pines," he said. "You get caught out on the lake when the gravity came back?"
"Something like that."
He shook his head. "Shoulda listened to the news."
"The news?"
"Dad's been making public warnings since yesterday. 'Stay anchored and keep your head down.' Reckon you must've missed it."
"We've... been camping." He'd have to ask Fiddleford about that later. "Listen—do you have a boat we could borrow? It's an emergency. We were separated from Dipper and we have to get across the lake."
Tate raised his hat just enough to give Ford a look that told him exactly what he thought of his merit as a guardian—Ford figured he deserved that—but then stood with a sigh. "All right, I'll see what we've got."
He paused, then gestured behind Ford with his chin. "Who's the lady?"
Ford turned. The shop's door was propped open and Bill was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed tight, staring blankly out across the lake. "Er—Goldie. She's... staying in the shack a few weeks."
"Hm." Tate raised his voice. "Ma'am?"
Bill didn't budge.
"Ma'am—Miss Goldie?"
That time he turned to give Tate a faraway look. "Me?"
"Yes, uh—you're soaked to the bone. Would you like to borrow some dry clothes?"
"Oh." Bill considered the question for a little longer than necessary. "If you want."
Ford explained, "She inhaled a lot of water."
Tate nodded. "Think we've got some out-of-season stock in the back, there might be something big enough for..." He caught himself before insinuating something about a lady's weight, and mumbled, "Well, it'll do." He headed to a door behind the counter, paused, looked Ford over, and reluctantly said, "I s'pose you can get something too."
####
Tate had a motorboat in good working order, so he let them borrow it, with a stern request to have it back by the end of the day. And so they set out—Ford in waders that went up to his chest, a bandana he really hoped was keeping his embarrassing neck tattoo hidden, and a t-shirt that said "The worst day of fishing is better than the best day of court-ordered anger management classes"; and Bill in a makeshift skirt Tate had apologetically improvised out of a beach towel, a sweater depicting a pine tree constructed out of fish that said "MERRY FISHMAS", and a pair of novelty slippers shaped like rainbow trout.
"I'm never giving these shoes back," Bill informed Ford as they crossed the lake. "I don't care whether we buy them or steal them. They're hilarious." It was the nearest thing to personality Bill had demonstrated since landing in the lake.
Ford supposed he was in no position to tell Bill he couldn't keep them, considering that Bill had... well.
Well.
Ford should say something about that. He didn't know what. He didn't know where to start. (Bill's question came back to him: if Ford didn't believe anything Bill said, why did he keep trying to pry information out of him?)
(Because, he realized—beneath thirty years of every nerve in his body screaming "DON'T TRUST HIM"—part of him was still hoping Bill would say something he could believe.)
Ford cleared his throat. "It's... impressive that you didn't panic while you were underwater," he said awkwardly. "That must have taken remarkable self control."
"Oh. Eh." Bill spread his hands vaguely. "I wasn't really paying attention to what was happening. I was thinking about other stuff."
Ford blinked. "While you were drowning?"
"It wasn't a very severe drowning."
Ford huffed.
This was probably a conversation he should have later—Bill's brain only appeared to be half on—but, if they had it later, Ford wasn't sure he'd get anything but yet another polished lie.
And so he steeled his nerves and asked, "Why did you save me."
Bill didn't answer. He stared silently at his rainbow trout slippers.
"Bill—?"
"Hold on," he said. "I don't know, just—give me a minute to make something up."
It was the first time in a month and a half—the first time in years—that Ford was absolutely certain Bill had just told him the truth.
And not just about his intentions to lie to Ford—but about not knowing why he'd saved him.
It meant there was no secret master plan, no manipulative ulterior motives, no cunning illusions. It meant Bill had endangered himself just to save Ford.
There was a universe where Ford then said, "I didn't think you meant it all those times you said you wanted to be my friend again," and where Bill lied—both to Ford and to himself—"I didn't think I meant it either." It wasn't this universe, because neither one of them wanted those words out in the world. Yet they still hovered around them, unspoken.
It didn't make Ford trust Bill. It didn't make Ford like Bill. Bill was still everything he'd ever been—liar, conman, tyrant, torturer—and Ford still hated him for all of it.
But. It meant that for the first time in a month in a half, a muscle between Ford's shoulder blades that had been knotted tight with fear could finally loosen and relax.
Ford was safe.
####
(I first had the idea for this chapter nearly a year ago and I've been dying waiting to post it. I hope you enjoyed, and I can't wait to hear what y'all think! And to those of you in the path of totality, happy solar eclipse this Monday! I totally planned it this way. I did not.)
#bill cipher#human bill cipher#stanford pines#grunkle ford#the axolotl#gravity falls#gravity falls fic#gravity falls fanart#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher
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I've been noticing your blogs pop up on my timeline for quite a while and I am OBSESSED with reading your Mammon hcs and one shots or whatever the hell you call it eyhjnkvgc
Can you do one where you reject him after a while of him developing a big fat crush on ya 👀 ...
Ain't going anonymous, I'm cringe AND I DONT GIVE A FACK!
Rejection? Uhoh. This is a little shorter than normal, sorry!
This is basically just yandere mammon🫶
Tw(?)Hes an asshole here, a possesive asshole.
GN!Reader, reader has(had) a boyfriend, reader works under mammon.(lmk if i missed anythinnn😋)
-you? Reject someone as great as him?
-he genuinely stared at you in shock for a moment before teleporting away with a loud cackle of electricity
-he avoids you. Or so you think
-but he watches
-from afar, on social media, or even has someone follow you 24/7.
-he sees your every move. He sees whoever your talking too. They end up DEAD
-he sends gifts to you on a daily. The new trendy shit, the stuff everyone wishes they have! For fucks sake he even sent a fizzbot
“Anonymous” but you always know who its from. Seeing the green and black color scheme of each gift
-hes still in denial btw painfully PAINFULLY deep denial. He cant wrap his head around it!
-you rejected him? No your just shy!
-till he found out why.
-You had a boyfriend.
-how dare he. Hes keeping you from the great Mammon! How crude, how SELFISH.
-uhm hes dead 😞 rip bf😕
-you didnt have to think twice , you already knew who did this.
-you try to quit your current job, which is under him. But he doesnt let you leave.
-leave? No! Your not allowed to leave. You belong here. You belong to HIM. He gave you EVERYTHING.
“Why.” You say, looking him straight in the eye. “Gotta be more specific than that love” he says with a mouthful of cake “why me? I have never done anything to attract you.” You say with rage. You will never forgive him for the hell he put you through . Never. “Its cos your YOU!” He laughs, food flies out his mouth and you cringe. Looking away from him, you decide to speak up.“You killed him ,.didnt you” you accused.
He suddenly stops laughing, he turns to you with a calm tone “He was getting in the way.” He states, as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You feel your black heart break a little more.
You were trapped.
He wouldn’t let you leave.
He wouldn’t let you talk to anyone but him.
He wanted you to only depend on him.
You were happy. You could’ve been happy. Why of all the demons in this shit hole, it had to be you? For once, you met a kind man, a kind demon. Thats rare, for fucks sake your in hell! But of course, you cant always get your way down here. You stare up at the skull sitting on Mammons desk. A familiar skull. Its stare bores into you, as if asking why you didn’t save him.Why you didnt do anything. Why your so..
Helpless.
#mammon helluva boss#.memospace#helluva boss mammon x reader#helluva boss x reader#mammon x reader#helluva boss mammon#helluva boss season two#helluva boss season 2
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In This Lifetime
---
Vecna's dead and the gates are closed and life is finally back to normal.
Well except for one thing.
Eddie's entire view of Steve Harrington has been tipped on its axis, shattered, booted off a fucking cliff. Whatever you want to call it. Because, well, the guy's not an asshole. He's strong and passionate and so goddamn caring. He's probably the kindest, most giving person Eddie's ever met and although he'd like to say he doesn't know what to think of it, we'll he does. And he thinks he's in love.
Steve Harrington is like fucking sunshine and unfortunately for Eddie's fragile heart, that glow of light doesn't fade.
They become friends. Best Friends. Nearly inseparable. Attached at the hip throughout the years.
They move to Chicago together, rent a shitty two bedroom apartment that maybe as well be one because they still have nightmares and being plastered next to one another seems to calm those terrors.
They laugh and they sing and they dance around the kitchen while they smile and cook and inevitably burn whatever meal they had planned, opting to order pizza instead.
Eddie's in a band and Steve never misses a show.
Steve's in school, planning to become a Guidance Counselor and Eddie's by his side quizzing him with the reward of candy in hand.
It's perfect, living life together in domestic bliss. Even if all they are is only just friends.
But it's still perfect all the same and if it was up to Eddie, he'd spend the rest of his life in these years. Repeat them again and again, if only to fall asleep at Steve's side and wake up to honey-brown eyes every morning.
But he knows it can't always be like this and that's why this is the hardest thing he's ever done.
This is the hardest thing he's ever done, and he's done some difficult shit. Like surviving a near death experience in literal hell being the main contender. But sitting across from Steve Harrington as he turns a little golden ring between his fingers and goes over his proposal plan, yeah that's pretty fucking difficult.
And it shouldn't be, he should be excited, he should be cheering for his friend but there's a gnawing feeling in his gut that's telling him it should be him. It should be him that Steve drops to a knee for, it should be him that Steve professes his undying love to, it should be him that'll one day get to call this man his husband.
But it's not. It's not because even though he's known this ragtag group of monster hunters for years now he's never been able to come to terms with telling them that he's gay and he sure as shit hasn't come to terms with telling Steve Harrington that he loves him and loves him in a very much not 'just friends' kind of way.
So that's why when Steve asks him what he should say to this woman [Becky, who quite frankly could double as Eddie's twin] he spills the beans. In a very subtle way he supposes. He doesn't come out, doesn't outright tell Steve he loves him, but as he's telling Steve what to say to his future fiancé, he's letting his emotions come out like word vomit, only wishing Steve knew he was talking about him.
"I don't know man." Eddie huffs, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair, eyes avoiding Steve's as he contemplates his words.
But it's hardly more than a few seconds before they come tumbling out, Eddie sucking in shaky breath before he stares into the carpet and begins to speak, "Tell her she's like sunshine, beautiful and bold and the source of life. That she's like the blood in your veins, forever present in the most beautiful way and the only thing that keeps your heart beating. Tell her that even on the most difficult days that she's the one you want to see, the one you want to hold, the one that makes you take the breath you need and steady your heart when it's beating out of control."
It's a building thing, slowly growing out of control, he can feel his pulse thrumming in his veins and he's beginning to think he might just do something crazy. He pauses for a moment, gauging Steve's expression. He'd gone to get them beer and hasn't bothered to sit back down since Eddie began talking. There's an indecipherable expression on his face and he's stood still, in front of the couch, beers on the coffee table and he's silent, waiting for Eddie to continue.
And you know, if Eddie was a normal man he'd stay in his chair, talk to his friend from an acceptable distance away and not profess his love, but he's not. He's a showman and as his acting skills get the best of him, he's moving, shuffling across the carpet, taking Steve's hand in his own and kneeling before him. Because why not make this a harder interaction for himself. Christ, it nearly feels like the real thing as he looks into Steve's eyes and shuffles the littlest amount closer.
Eddie shudders a breath, taking a single second to appreciate this moment, even if it'll never truly be real and then he continues, "You get down on your goddamn knee Steve Harrington and you say, ' Sweetheart you're the only thing that keeps me alive in this crazy fucked up world. Having you in my arms and my heart keeps me steady and breathing. I've been through some shit, but I'd go through it all again to find you in the end. The blood, the sweat, the tears, nearly fucking dying to be by your side for the rest of my life. I want to grow old with you Darling, I want us to grey and weather together. To find ourselves fifty years from now watching our kids and our grandkids; all the life we've brought into this world. All the love our life together has brought into existence."
Eddie's crying now, because of course he is, he's confessing his love to someone he knows will never hold the same emotions for him, but through a watery laugh and a sniffle he carries on, tightening his grip on Steve's hands.
"I want you in this lifetime and the next, in any way that you'll have me. I can't bear the thought of a single day without you let alone an entire lifetime. I'll find you, I promise I will Sweetheart, but for this lifetime, I ask that you spend the remainder of it with me."
It's cheesy, he knows, but it seems to take effect because as he looks into the eyes of the man above him he sees the swell of tears gathering along thick dark lashes.
The room's suddenly silent, save for the pounding of Eddie's pulse in his ears and the hope that Steve didn't see through his actions or words. That all he saw was his rather expressive friend acting out as per usual.
But a tear finally escapes and rolls down Steve's tanned cheek and a rather aggressive sob breaks past his lips.
Eddie's to his feet in seconds pulling Steve to his chest, one arm firmly around his waist while another wraps around his shoulders and cradles a head of mousy hair as close as he can. Steve's sobbing, short shaky breaths and surely there's snot and tears staining Eddie's shirt, but it's not like he can say much, what with silent tears streaming down his own cheeks and dripping to Steve's hair.
Steve hiccups around a sob, voice shaky and muffled against Eddie's shoulder, "I can't do this."
God, that's not what Eddie wanted to do, he didn't mean to scare Steve away from his impending engagement. No matter how much he wished it was him. He loves Steve, but if he can't have him, he just wants him to be happy. He deserves happiness. He deserves love.
Even if it's not with him.
Eddie cards his fingers soothingly through Steve's hair as he speaks, "Yes you can. I know you can. Steve, you love her, you're just scared. You can do this."
Another sob heaves against Eddie's chest while Steve continues to shake in his arms, "I can't Eddie."
"Why not Sweetheart?"
Steve's knees give out as a pained nose escapes his throat, dropping to the floor, taking Eddie with him, he doesn't answer, only continues to cry and burrow into Eddie's chest upon settling into their new position on the ground.
He's verging on a panic attack, Eddie knows this, he's seen it many times before. The way Steve's fists clench in his shirt and his breaths are short and sudden, gasping for air that's not filling his lungs, he's flushed white and Eddie knows it's only a matter of time before he gets sick.
"Stevie, come on, you gotta settle down. I'm sorry if I said anything wrong, I didn't mean to if I did. We can talk about it later. But right now you just gotta breathe for me okay." Eddie grabs Steve's hand, tight fist and all and holds it against his chest, allowing Steve to feel his steady breaths, "Breathe in with me, come on Big Guy. Take a deep breath in." Eddie takes a large lungful and holds it for a second, waiting for Steve to do the same and even though it's shaky and raspy he manages.
They repeat this process ten times over, Steve's head and hand now resting against Eddie's chest, their backs to the couch, the rooms fallen silent enough that only muffled sniffles are audible aside from the hum of electricity and the joyous screams of children outside.
After a moment, Steve wiggles himself closer, if even possible and again states, "Eddie, I can't do this."
He's not quite sure how to answer, really. Should he push or should he allow Steve to call off the engagement before it even happens. Lord knows where his own wishes lie. "You wanna tell me why you think you can't do this?"
Steve's breathing picks up again, but before he can reach hysterics Eddie's fingers card through his hair and he soothes Steve back to baseline.
"You," Steve whispers after quite some time of Eddie waiting for a response. It's a quiet thing, Eddie wouldn't have even heard it if he wasn't intentionally listening for Steve to say something.
It's a pain in the chest to know he may be the reason for Steve not to propose, sure he wished it wouldn't happen, but not like this. For him to say something so stupid that makes Steve call the whole thing off, "I'm sorry if I-"
He doesn't have time to finish his sentence before Steve's speaking, "No, not like that, you have nothing to be sorry for Eds. Its just- fuck- I wish I could tell you."
Combing his fingers through Steve's hair, Eddie reassures, "Steve, you can tell me. Please. I want to help."
Steve shakes his head, wrapping an arm tight around Eddie's waist, tucking his head in close, "It's nothing you can help with Eddie."
Nosing against the side of Steve's head, hair tickling his nose, Eddie whispers, soft, gentle, scared to frighten Steve off, "Try me."
And then it's silent. Dead quiet and for quite a long while. He knows Steve will answer, he knows he's just gathering his words, sorting things out before he speaks. It's obviously something big, something important to have warranted such a reaction from such a strong man.
It's with a sudden movement that Steve's sitting upright, turning to face Eddie with the appearance of confidence and sheer fear on his face. He looks fucking terrified. Working his jaw, eyes darting all over Eddie's face before he finally settles on his eyes and speaks, "I love you, okay." The words are far from gentle, they're sharp, rushed, sudden, like if he didn't get them out they'd burn a hole in his throat, but before Eddie has a second to even process those few words, Steve's barreling on.
"And when you were down on your knee infront of me, I wanted nothing more than for that to be the real thing, for those words to actually be directed towards me because I love you so fucking much it hurts. And I get it, I do. I know you're straight and we can never be a thing or really even get married but Eds, fuck, I love you so much and I can't marry Becky knowing I feel that way about you. I was going to try because I knew this could ne-"
He knows what Steve was meaning to say, but Eddie had to cut him off before those words could be spoken into existence because they're wrong. It can happen. Holy fucking Christ, Steve's loves him. It can all happen.
"I love you too," he says with such haste, taking Steve's face into his hands as he speaks with so much passion it nearly hurts, "-so much."
Cheeks squished in Eddie's grasp, Steve's eyes begin to well with tears once again, but now, now a smile is fighting its way to his lips, only growing with utter disbelief as Eddie quietly says, "and I meant every word of it. Every fucking word Sweetheart."
Steve's eyes search Eddie's own for only half a second before their lips crash together. It's a feverish thing, years of pent up love and need crammed into a single embrace, but their lips move as if they've met a million times before. And maybe they have. Maybe through the thousands of years this little rock in space has been turning, they've never left one another's side. Maybe they do find each other in every lifetime. Maybe they fall in love against all odds. Maybe this lifetime is no different.
Many Years Later
Turns out, it's not different at all.
When the time comes, so does the real proposal. It's been planned for years and when word of legalisation reaches Eddie's ears he's running to Steve. Dashing through streets, shouldering past strangers and dropping with a painful thud to the hardwood of Steve's office floor. In those few short moments to follow, the life he wished to have so many years ago becomes a reality.
Steve's his fiancé.
Soon to be his husband.
In this lifetime and the next.
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#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#steddie fic rec#steddie fanfiction#steddie headcanon#steddie fic#steddie fandom#steddie ficlet#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#steve x eddie#eddie x steve
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He Never Misses! (Leraye Limited Event React I)
Okay so, here's the damn thing about this event.
I loved the amount of peeking into each noble's dynamic with each other so much and I love the fact that this is pretty much a slice-of-life approach to how a "normal" day in Gehenna was and is.
In an overall sense we get a good dose of Sitri, interesting pop-ins from Astaroth and Paimon, and a little surprise visit that had me squealing later.
This, my lovelies is 6 part reaction because I took that many damn screenshots and I honestly wish there was a better way to upload them all on one or two posts without a photo limit. BUT alas...
Make sure to grab a snacky snack, and let's dive in...to the life of long-haired Leraye~ ┬─┬(◕‿◕♡)
So we enter with Astraoth just minding his business and cruising around the palace and Sitri just comes up and starts getting onto him about not being at the palace lol
Turns out he was gone for a while because he was tending to his hobbies which is corrupting...
You hear that everyone? He corrupts anyone so keep your windows open (ʘ‿ʘ✿)
I'm really crying right now, so basically he's telling why it took particularly long this time around because he was dealing with someone who hated their dead-end job. (sounds fucking familiar right?)
nah now think about it, imagine wildly that someone at pb put that in the event as a joke when in reality somebody either once quit before or secretly a current employee can't stand work and low key just slid that idea in....buttt let's get back to the event lmao
Sitri hit 'em with the "Sorry I'll you finish but-" treatment. Though it's for good reason..
Awhhhh Roro...(yes my nickname for him leave me be) LET HIM FINISH
So basically what happened is that Sitri lost his favorite pen (rly?) it's the color of Solomon's hair and he put some of this man's hair in the ink and now he's lost it and he can't find it.
It's funny because Astaroth said the same thing as me "Why would you do that?" but he understood the sentiment behind it and was willing to give Sitri some insight on who to ask to find something like that.
LERAYE!
So our boy has crazy good eyesight. Like dangerously good to the point where I want to swap my eyes out with his because good lord I'd love a reason to not spend money on glasses with these expensive ass lenses.
So fun side note here that everyone leaves their door open except for Sitri, who most likely just likes his privacy or is used to having his door closed because perhaps the room he stayed in during Hades always had the door closed? Something along those lines I would like to think.
So now here are some nice Leraye and Paimon dynamics <3 our poor fave femboy lost his piercing recently and was asking Leraye to help find it. So it appears that either the piercing is shaped like Ppyong like the barette on his hair, or it's as big as he is, which last time I checked isn't Ppyong technically the largest red lump? (idk everyone else is pretty tiny when compared to him in the red lump family)
Okay nvm my previous thing it's shaped like Ppyong (LMAO) and this sounds cute actually, beside the fact that it becomes a fucking bomb all of the sudden (ʘ‿ʘ✿)
like imagine the TSA having a field day finding one of those...
I love how Paimon is like "Someone might die but most importantly my piercing is going to be destroyed :("
Amazing priorities bby, I support you.
Also, Astaroth is interested in how the piercing works and its explosive properties so he wants to tag along (he's so weird i love him) And Leraye with his cheery self is happy to help. So he goes to the window to start his search with those amazing eyeballs of his and his hair is blowing in the wind (imagine bouncy music in the background, his hair flowing and him humming while trying to find it)
Paimon is over here thirsting over watching him and it really fuels my "Paimon probably flirts with the nobles from time to time but he's never serious about it"
So within moments, he says he has a lead but hasn't really found it yet so the three go out looking around and well, so far not so good. This is pretty much the third time Leraye had moved positions and and updated on the status of finding the piercing and Paimon is getting a bit impatient.
You see that little pouty angry face? This event isn't voiced but I can hear him now getting all upset. But tbh I get upset too when I'm trying to find something and it's always "almost, maybe the next place it will be there"
Thanks Astaroth, really helping out here lmao
So it appears that even though he was circliing around alot he finally appears to have a lock in on the piercing's whereabouts which excites Paimon. Astraoth starts being poetic about Leraye's rooftop running and Paimon is just like-
You heard him! Stfu and get your ass movin' Roro!!! (I love how Paimon is super agitated easily when it comes to something he cares about lol)
I threw this scene in here because I was like "ah yes the devil with the good eyes I wish that were me lmao"
okay so pitt stop...because even though he's not known for his endurance he surely wasn't having a problem during his h-scene so....( ͡° ͜ʖ├┬┴┬┴
So when he's catching his breath Paimon and Astaroth catch up whose pretty much questioning how Leraye can even see this far ahead and it sounds like they traveled pretty damn far. (remember it's a flashback so Astaroth didn't know about his abilities yet)
And then out of fucking nowhere Leraye just goes to this random hole in the alleyway and throws something at Astaroth while Paimon is like omfg watch out???!!!
So we find out that it was Astaroth's snake that was in that hole just hiding out. So i noticed his name is Apophis and the described him as white but he's clearly black .-. ANYWAY.
(don't worry everyone he was just coming back from filming his role in Meg the Stallion's music video /j lol) So apparently Apophis was lost and Roro was looking for him but weren't they looking for Paimon's piercing?
Lol Apophis bites Leraye and possibly others when Astaroth isn't around and that's cute. Ofc he'd only trust his owner.
And ofc we find out that the snake has swallowed Paimon's piercing...and I'm just like. Oh yikes...so how are we getting this out? lol
So for this little scene Leraye explains plainly that he can see the shape of the piercing inside Apophis' stomach and yet the other two can't and that Leraye just assumes they can because he's naive in his thinking just like most devils, a childlike wonder and view.
And while Astaroth is reflecting on that Paimon asks for him to get the earring out which again I'm like how is he even going to do that???
┬┴┬┴┤•ᴥ•ʔ├┬┴┬┴ oh.....
he can make his voice deeper?
Me too Apophis...me too. I'm shaking, crying and throwing up.
Because think about that shit...Astaroth coming into your room to just randomly corrupt and fuck with you and even if you are corrupt he has a thing for making it even worse...and then he pulls this poetic, deep-voiced nsfw audio shit on you and now you're committing crimes you never even knew you could because of it.
BUT that stops for now with part 1, phew...only 5 more to go...! (i'm really sleepy rn so I'm going to get a couple hours of sleep and then get up and start back up again lol)
#whb#what in hell is bad#whb leraye#whb astaroth#whb paimon#whb gehenna bois❤️#whb event#whb spoilers#whb screencaps#let's goooooo noble event!
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heyyyy, i read your carl fic and was wondering if you would write another one but with Rosita this time? One where its angsty and based in s11 where she dies 🫶
THE WAY THINGS GO! / R. ESPINOSA
♪ THE WAY THINGS GO, BEABADOOBEE / TWD MASTERLIST / MASTERLIST
summary — when rosita gets bit, the reader can’t help but wish it was her in rosita’s place.
warnings — death, normal stuff for twd, short story
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You never took the news well, finding out Rosita was bit, it hit you like a ton of bricks.
You never got to tell her how you really feel.
You couldn’t help but wish you were in her place, she had her whole life ahead of her still, she had to raise Coco, she can’t grow up without her mother, she already lost her father.
Then theres you, you had nothing, your family was dead. All you had left was Rosita, she was your purpose.
There she lay, almost lifeless. You couldn’t help but get teary eye as you looked at her. She insisted you sat next to her, so you did.
“Don’t cry.” She tells you, but you can’t help it, how do you gain the courage to tell her how you feel when shes on her death bed?
She grabs your hand and rubs her thumb over your palm, her bloodshot eyes meet with yours, her tears falling down her cheeks, you lift your hand to wipe them.
“You know I love you, right?” She says with such sincerity, her voice hoarse.
Your lip quivers at that moment, your tears falling like a storm, you shake your head “I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”
“Of course I do.” She sits up a bit, leaning her forehead against yours, her hand fully connecting with yours now. “Take care of Coco for me okay?”
“Rosita I can’t.” You dismiss her but she wasn’t having it.
“Please, I want to know shes in good hands, I trust you.” You catch her eye, before nodding, letting out an agreement.
“I’ll protect her, my life depends on it.” You promise her. After loosing Rosita, you cannot let Coco get hurt. She’s your priority now, no matter what. She’s the last piece of Rosita you have.
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#TAGS @icebergiounge @nfrvampire
#the walking dead#twd#rosita espinosa#twd angst#twd fanfic#the walking dead fanfic#the walking dead reader#rosita espinosa x fem reader#rosita espinosa x reader#the walking dead x fem reader#twd fanfiction#rick grimes#daryl dixon#the walking dead fanfiction#maggie rhee#negan smith#negan#glenn rhee#eugene porter
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‼️Warning: Spooky Month Spoilers Ahead!!!‼️
just watched the new spooky month episode and. wow. i'm so normal (lie) i cannot wait for the next episode aaaaaaaaaaa
ahem. anyways. the part with the priest asking where skid's father was and skid looking so crestfallen and the part with pump asking "but if they love me, then why're they never here?" had me bawling /lh waaaaa skid and pump are so sweet, they don't deserve to feel so sad 😭😭😭😭 ANYWAYS. I AM EXCEEDINGLY NORMAL ABOUT KEVIN AND I'M SO HAPPY THAT HE GETS AN ACTUAL FRIEND TO WORK WITH. Here take my Kevin and Radford screenshot collection because they're incredibly pfp-able AND THEIR EXPRESSIONS ARE SO FUN HERE.
OK CAN WE (and by we i mean me) TAKE A MOMENT TO TALK ABOUT THE ANIMATION FOR A SECOND. BECAUSE HOLY SHIT. IT JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER!! IT STARTED OFF AS ALREADY GOOD IN THE FIRST INSTALLMENT, BUT NOW IT LOOKS COMPLETELY PROFESSIONAL, INCREDIBLY FUN, AND CERTAIN SEQUENCES ARE STRAIGHT UP BREATHTAKING.
ALSO MOLOCH AND EYES COMING BACK??? LIKE HELLO?????? THERE'S SO MANY CALLBACKS IN THIS ONE, LIKE SKID AND PUMP LIGHTING THAT HAPPY FELLA ON FIRE IN THE STORE, DEXTER BEING MENTIONED, THE CULT REAPPEARING, OH AND CAN I JUST SAY THE SEQUENCE WHERE MOLOCH POSSESSED ALL THOSE DIFFERENT PEOPLE WAS SICK. THE DESIGNS WERE ALL REALLY FREAKY IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE, SHOUT OUT TO WHOEVER MADE THOSE DESIGNS!!!
admittedly i kinda wish we got to know more concretely whether streber is actually dead or not, but i completely understand putting it off to build suspense. that's literally my only criticism of the episode rn lmao and even then it's more of a personal curiosity thing than something i actually have against the episode
10/10 episode: much like every other spooky month episode i've had the pleasure of seeing as it came out instead of years afterwards, it has permanently changed my brain chemistry 🔥 guys if you're spooky month fans pleaseee go watch the episode. and if you have no idea what this show is, go check it out, it's completely free to watch on youtube!!! it starts off very shitpost-y, but quickly gets very dark (while still keeping the humor that made the first 2 entries special!! Spoky Month evolves more and more with each episode, but never loses its roots, which is something I really enjoy).
#dri's rambles#spooky month#sr pelo#spoilers#spooky month spoilers#spoiler warning#long post#very long post#spooky month skid#spooky month pump#spooky month kevin#spooky month radford#spooky month moloch#eyes of the universe#ok screw this i refuse to tag every character lmao#i love them all but i just don't have the patience for that#spooky month hollow sorrows
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What are your thoughts on the whole Mikasa's new family thing? As a normal person with some romantic experience, I think it makes sense for her to have a family and not be stuck single on a dead guy for life. As an AoT fan who can basically not separate her from her 'Eren' rhetoric, it feels like a twist... or dare I say, betrayal? I wish we had a bit more padding to the ending, because it seems these things were wrapped up very quickly, and besides the literal deaths, I feel like my girl Historia and Levi got such bitter endings...
This is quite a few questions so I'm answering them in a list:
1) I really like Mikasa moving on because from the framing of her final moments in the story and the passing time in the extra pages and credits, I feel like she had a mourning period and then was able to move on and start a new family, something she always wanted. And I think earning that ending is at least some (and an appropriate one) reward after what she went through.
2) She has always loved Eren, but she has also punched him in the face when she thought he was doing stupid shit and being hot-headed. She threw him in chapter 1, punched him in the face in episode 2, is perfectly capable of making her own decisions without him, which was the point of the first half of episode 6. As much as she loves him, her attachment has actually comparatively little to do with him and everything to do with the death of her parent(s) figure(s) twice in a row in the span of a year when she was a child.
(Episode 6 in the anime, chapter 5 in the manga.)
Her attachment to Eren has caused a bunch of issues and is her biggest "flaw", but she has never been a *doormat*, which is what so many people read her as and I disagree with.
The decision to kill Eren was made by her when she saw families and children suffer because of him, something she can deeply relate to and works to prevent.
(Chapter 48)
Mikasa isn't a crying damsel, she's a warrior who went through some pretty tough shit and is reacting accordingly.
She will fight when she needs to fight and do the right thing when she needs to do the right thing.
3) Pacing was actually probably the biggest issue I personally had with the manga's ending, but the anime pretty much fixed all of it in my eyes. Mikasa's feelings for Eren, though, and vice versa was one of the most obvious things about the entire story from start to finish, so you've got a disagreement there as well. From the moment you see the subtle blush from Eren in the flashback, the trope became really clear to me and nothing onward from there really convinced me otherwise because Eren never had any other relationship like that in the story, no other love interest characters or characters framed in relation to his character in the same way.
4) Likewise, I think Levi probably had the best ending out of every single character in the story. As much of a pyrrhic victory as defeating Eren was, he got his revenge and kept his life. He got the most strongly defined closure he could get in context of the story.
5) What I agree with you on is how Historia was treated, though I'm not sure if for the same reasons or in the same way. The final arc basically destroyed her character and the anime equally did not even mention or even have a nod towards any of her defining moments as a character or her important relationships (because I suspect Isayama just could not figure out how to write her in this context in any other way).
In my eyes, she went through one of the best, most strongly defined character arcs in the entire story, but all we got from it was a metaphor for the birth of a new world... through a clearly gay-coded character. It's pretty awful and contradicts the theme of freedom her character is about and embodies by the end of the Uprising arc AND the general ideas of freedom the story is about, but I choose to put it in its own awful box and reluctantly close my eyes to it.
I think her arc was about her finding out what she wants and no longer living in a role and I think the entirety of the final arc went against that.
I've gone into why Historia's arc is awful in many other asks and posts, so I don't feel like reiterating it all right now (I have a tag for her character and pretty much all characters, so if anyone is interested, you'll probably find my detailed thoughts looking around there, but, yeah I think it's pretty awful even if you don't see her as gay-coded.)
Thank you for the ask!
#Attack on Titan#Shingeki no Kyojin#AoT#SnK#Mikasa#Levi#Historia#Mikasa Ackerman#Historia Reiss#Levi Ackerman#Asks
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Years and years of work towards the Abraham Accords and impending normalization with Saudi Arabia--a stepping stone on the way to tangible progress in the region--was just obliterated overnight because certain journalists across the world could not stop themselves from tripping over the corpses of butchered Jews and all the people who actually suffer in this conflict while on their way to receive the Word of God from genocidal terrorists who oppress and murder their own people.
This has nothing to do with the IDF, who are no more flawless or immune from criticism than any other organization, especially one with the responsibility of prosecuting war. This is about the historical double standard from some of the same people in English-speaking countries who would never accept a narrative report from other terror and/or hate groups with question. Apparently it's better to signal as loudly as possible what sports team you're on than engage in any serious wartime journalism, lest you make the mistake of humanizing Jews and Israelis and god forbid treat us equitably.
(I should add-- Iran and its proxies may still have been able to derail the normalization process even in the absence of any Western reporting at all. I don't want to over-ascribe importance to certain political players while ignoring others just because I don't speak their language and can't access their untranslated media. I'm just bitter that journalists at major papers in the West have played directly into their hands once again with zero regard for how it breeds anti-Semitism; consequences they will never have to face.)
Of all the things that have been damaged by this atrocity, at the moment I would worry the least about the normalization trends. The four Abraham Accords countries were still aboard after the big blow-up in May 2021, Jordan has been on through the Second Intifada, Egypt across both of them. Saudi Arabia was willing to come aboard this year after all of the above. Israel's actions in Gaza so far have not been a category different from what we have seen in the past. And if anything, the Saudi government has gotten a clearer view than ever at what an Iran-sponsored proxy death squad is able to do, so they quite likely still want a partnership.
If you look back through my posts of the last year, you'll see I never discussed the talk of Saudi normalization. That's because I wasn't sure I wanted it to happen now. Yes, it's always good to show Palestine dead-enders that the time for wishing is over and they need to just accept and deal with Israel. But the current Israeli government did not deserve to be able to claim Saudi normalization as a reward. They could hardly normalize while Israel was BDSing itself to stop the judicial overhaul. I actually would not have minded if Saudi Arabia had trolled Israel in the end, saying "we were going to do this, but you're too racist, it's postponed until you do better." That is NORMAL DIPLOMACY, carrots and sticks, and no country in the world is too good to get it.
As ever, the various antisemitic fascist militias of the Middle East have not changed any of the underlying facts or dynamics. All they can manage is to kill Jews. This time, they killed more than usual. We can see how proud they are.
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Hi there! If your still doing Hellsing imagings would it be possible to do headcanons of Alucards reactions to a ghost or a banshee? Thank you have a good day!
I'm so down for that! I do still write for Helling and it will always have a place in my heart. I wasn't sure if you wanted anything romantic so these are kind of romantic but could be taken as platonic.
A Banshee
I think as a whole he would find it pretty interesting but lets narrow down the whys and hows
To start with there aren't that many supernaturals just running around anymore and Alucard mostly deals with Ghouls or Vampires
He's always curious to learn more about the world and this would be new to him, not unheard of but new
There's something about you that keeps him interested
Its starts with the weeping, he's not used to the sounds of mourning anymore yet you weep so often both for the dead and those who shall die
You were likely found thanks to said weeping it's hard for people to just ignore and after so many people saying they hear it before a tragedy Integra decided it needs to be dealt with
He's given the job for an obvious reasons and he's hoping this could be fun
Seeing you is another story though, from the moment your eyes meet he's starstruck.
From the tear streaks to the long nails it's clear your something already dead but you don't seem angry or like you want to fight you merely weep
The sound is both painful and beautiful, it's a haunting melody that leaves him feeling more empty then normal
Something about how you talk, how you almost sing for the dead at times makes him unable to try and kill you so he offers you a deal
Come back to Hellsing manor with him, work for them and in exchange you can live and weep as you wish
After that you become a protector for the Hellsing group, singing and weeping for them and those they kill
Always a warning of the bad to come
Some are still scared of you but Alucard finds peace around you, with you he feels more alive in some ways he hates it in others it becomes a small slice of heaven when things feel lost
So I know this took a long time and I do apologize for that. I had some trouble writing lately. I feel like I have more ideas now so I'm gonna try to get more out though I don't know when. I really hope you enjoyed it even though this was more simple than I first had in mind. Also I graduated this month! So that's been really fun. Have a lovely day or night~ Lilly
#reader imagine#x reader#reader insert#reader x#hellsing imagines#hellsing x reader#alucard imagine#alucard x reader
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"Can't People (of the same gender) Just Be Friends Anymore? "
This is gonna be a fun one.
I kinda never went over this in my, "Deku Is Straight" post,and I guess it is a little different; but it's still a very popular argument against just queer ships in general. So,I will bring up how queer shippers get treated in most fandoms and just some problems in the media when it comes to representation; but it will mostly be about GreeNade and BNHA.
(⚠This post is not supposed to be hating on any one! It's absolutely fine if people view certain relationships as platonic,but what's not okay is having double standards and being a godamned hypocrite about it. This is just addressing issues that seem to pop up mainly against the queer shipping communities; not some kind of hate post. I encourage everyone to try and have an open mind and to try and be respectful of everyone's opinions.And as usual: as long as something is legal,ship away!⚠)
Broship
If you could not tell the ones on the top are taking about this scene:
And,from what I'm reading,they didn't get it. Bakugo didn't do it for "humanity" he didn't do it because Izuku is just a good friend of his. His.Body.Moved.On.Its.Own. He wanted to protect Izuku so badly that his body made him do it. He also copied Izuku,like when Izuku's body moved in its own...? Y'know,like,the scientifically proven thing you do when you love someone in a romantic way?
(*Also,when Izuku does this for Ochaco he second guesses himself and forces himself to do it unlike with Kacchan. Just found that interesting; and Izuku even says "it wasn't like last time" because he had to force himself to move. His thoughts also get cut off before he can come to a conclusion...hmmm,interesting.*)
Which Izuku has done this about a million times and even admits to it,
but chapter 285 is where Bakugo mirrors Izuku(he has,I believe in some other moments in the manga,I can't remember for sure; but this is the chapter it's most apparent in.) ,he also does the analyzing thing Izuku does.
Okay,now that is the significance (there is so much more that makes it so beautiful but that was just some of the quick stuff) So,can we really call this "friendship" ? Honestly,I guess,if you don't know anything about the relationship prior to this scene...actually no that's wrong. My Aunt saw this scene and asked if they were canon,she had not known anything about bnha/mha at the time. And when I gave context she was like, "so they're gay,?"
So, yeah. That scene even with no context; looks like someone dying for the person they love. But,perspective.
Here's the thing I'm addressing in this post. It isn't, "Guys,they don't do this for their other friends and they mirror each other on accident and the author himself doesn't refer to them as friends,ect,ect." There is too much that supports them being romantically interested in each other,but that's not the point. The whole "Friendship is dead,isn't it?" because people can see two dudes/girls liking each other romantically is.
And that moves us to the next section of this post.
Double Standards
The only time when someone says something like this Is when it's between people of the same gender. They aren't mad at people for shipping Momo with Izuku because they're just friends,that's okay because...don't tell anyone this is a secret antis have...they don't care as long as it's straight.
If it's queer it's "Friendship dead :(" but if it's someone like Melissa it's okay. It's honestly so...pathetic.
"Boy and boy have to be friend or my life is over 😠" or "Gal Pals or my life is RUINED 😨" Like, I have never seen someone get mad about straight ships like this. Honey,if someone said, "WHY can't a guy and girl just be friends for once?" Everyone would laugh in their face. Which is actually something I wish was normalized more. Once I had a dude friend and my whole family made fun of us and I literally cried because I had just figured out I liked girls a lot more than boys and I was having this thing pushed on me. That does not happen with gay people,actually get this,being called gay is still used as an insult.
(*That first one though...Like do they not know there are several canon trans characters and bisexual characters in bnha? And the Izuchako drawing 💀 I cried I was laughing so hard the first time I saw it.*)
If you know about the sonic idw comics,there are these two characters Whisper and Tangle. People instantly started shipping them because they were so cute with each other,but other people were mad because "two girls just can't be friends anymore" and it pretty much happens in every show that isn't LGBTQ+ centric.
Because people aren't going to read/watch Heartstopper and go, "Uh,these guys are straight why do you keep shipping them?" And as much as I love that we are getting stories and shows all about the queer experience, it does still piss me off that if it isn't something like a queer romance drama and or comedy people get mad at queer people for being in other things. People will be like, "You have shows that are centered around being queer,stop bringing it into our stuff," and it's exhausting. Like,there are billions of T.V shows,moves,books,comics,ect,that have nothing to do with a romance centered plot but they throw in this random hetro relationship that doesn't add to the characters or plot.
And that's one of the reasons I love BloodBubbles and GreNade,they add to the characters and parallel the story into their dynamics. I think all romance in stories should be like that. If a romantic relationship doesn't add anything but a little *smooch* *smooch* then it is ultimately useless. I understand if people like the *smooch* *smooches* but don't act like the relationship is well developed and needed. With a romance centered plot the romance is obviously needed. But does it mean it's good? Hell no. Most romantic movies have the characters fall in love in a week. That's just my opinion though.
Conclusion:
Stop using the "can't two people of the same sex/gender be friends anymore" argument,it just shows how much you do not know about queer people/relationships or just relationships in general. Queer people should be able to be represented in (God forbid) a Shonen and just media in general that isn't just a romance show. Everyone has different thoughts,opinions,and experiences,that shapes them into having a different perspective on things; but just because they have a different perspective doesn't mean it can disprove a plantain fact: Straight people have representation. Straight people do not need to fight for it either. So,stop fighting to be oppressed so badly.
Sorry to get so serious in the end...here this might lighten the mood!
This is the angle number for 285! The chapter Bakugo's body moved on its own. I find the angle number being about kindness very interesting. :)
That worked right? Also,I like doing the conclusion in a bigger font,so I'll probably be doing that from now on when I'm wrapping my posts up.
#mha#bkdk#dkbk#bnha#dekucchan#greenade#togachaco#blood bubbles#dekugou#izukats#silly antis#lbtgq#Antis really are so funny#I appreciate their opinions#Without them everyone would be so much more happier#And if I can't be happy no one can
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Excerpt from my Good Omens WIP Dead Wishes!
For fear that in saying anything else he’d end up accidentally revealing how utterly charmed he was, Aziraphale chose to simply introduce himself. “I’m… Aziraphale.”
The man hesitated, as if lost in a painful, far-off memory, then pulled himself back to the moment, his eyes twinkling- He’d taken his sunglasses off, revealing perhaps the most striking and intense pair of eyes Aziraphale had ever seen. They were hazel, but seemed to almost glow golden when the light caught upon them, and decorated with deep circles and creases. He could see now why Crowley wore sunglasses during his performance- to subject an entire room to the hypnotic depth of those eyes could be a dangerous thing indeed.
“Crowley. Anthony Crowley.”
Crowley’s speaking voice Aziraphale found to be as appealing as his singing; he could drown in the way his mouth wrapped around his name. There was a silky quality to it, in spite of its roughness. Sandpaper and velvet, Aziraphale thought. Exquisite.
Crowley rested his chin on a sinewy hand before turning his gaze back to Aziraphale and raising a single brow inquisitively. “You don’t seem like you belong in a place like this.”
Aziraphale laughed sheepishly, giving himself a brief once-over. “Ah, I guess you could tell from everything about me.” Crowley laughed- a full laugh, brash, goofy, unpretty- and yet beautiful all the same. Azirpahale wouldn’t normally think a statement like that to be worthy of so much laughter- it was definitely the whiskey.
“I’m… trying to be a bit more spontaneous. I very much tend to stay in my own world… not even my world, really. Other peoples’. Fictional people…” he added, growing more embarrassed with every word.
Crowley’s eyes bore no disdain, however, his face revealing only a keen, sincere interest. “Well, when you consider the state of most real people, I don’t think I’m in any position to judge. I’m not much better,” he admitted with a sigh, his rangy legs fidgeting under the barstool. “If you couldn’t tell from the whole austere brooding rocker getup- yes, I’m fully aware of the image I’m cultivating here- most of the time I’ve just got Bentley here to keep me company.” He tapped his guitar case fondly. Oh my word, he named his guitar. I need him.
#good omens#fanfiction#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#the premise is that Crowley's an incredibly talented but washed-up rock singer that Aziraphale hears play at a pub#and aziraphale's like “he's so sadwetpathetic I need him”#it's basically just an excuse for me to A) poetically describe David Tennant (again)#B) project onto Aziraphale (again)#and C) have Crowley sing Dead Wishes by Chris Cornell and The Gravedigger's Song by Mark Lanegan
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Garrance Week Day Two! Dreams/Illusion
(Just as a heads up for most of my posts during this, unless explicitly stated, this is Minecraft Diaries, not My Street) (also also I rename Aphmau to Irena in my rewrites so that's the name I'll usually use for her)
"Just breathe, Laurance. It'll all be over soon." Pain seared through every part of Laurance's barely alive body. Barely. But there was that awful part of him that remained mortal. In spite of all the swords that had stabbed through his chest, he was still alive. He was still breathing. It made him wish he was dead.
"NO! LET ME GO!" Laurance's screams fell on deaf ears as a burning sensation crept through his veins, his entire body seized with the feeling. "IRENA!!"
More pain. Even worse this time. His entire body died, his heart stopped, his blood stopped flowing, he could feel himself going cold and yet that burning continued to travel through him. Laurance thrashed against his restraints stubbornly despite the fact that it shouldn't be physically possible. Anything. Anything to get back to her. Anything to see her smile again.
"She left you. Like you deserve. There's nobody to save you now, Laurance."
"NO!!" Laurance shot up, his hand reaching out as he came to. His breathing was fast and shaky, and it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He blinked and the awful vision of that hell faded back to the closest thing he had to home anymore. His empty suit of armor at the end of the room stared back at him.
Right. The guard station. A tear forced its way down Laurance's face. Two more followed. He was home, but at what cost? Ungrith was dead just for him to be here. Laurance was seconds away from breaking down crying. No, keep it together--
The sound of knocking on his door was enough to make the poor man nearly jump out of his skin, in spite of how quiet it was.
"Laurance?" Garroth's voice was painfully soft, barely above a whisper. "Are you alright?"
"I-I'm fine, Garroth," Laurance replied, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Go back to bed."
"I think you're lying to me."
"Please--" For once, Garroth didn't listen. Laurance's door opened, making him jerk his head up. Okay maybe that wasn't the best way to convince Garroth that he was "fine". Garroth took in the appearance of the man before him. Bloodshot eyes with bags under them, shaky hands, and the faint sight of tears. Sure he was fine.
Garroth didn't say anything at first, instead closing the door behind him and taking a seat on his bed. Normally Laurance's armor covered most of his body, but in this state, he was only wearing a loose undershirt that didn't fully cover his arms. Garroth could see the tracing of scars on his dark skin, including some that peeked from under the low collar. Those weren't present before.
"I've heard you before, you know," Garroth confessed. "I know you keep dreaming about what happened there."
"I'm sorry," Laurance whispered.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"I didn't mean to wake you. I feel worse that I've made you worry about me."
"We're guards. Worrying is what we do best."
"Worrying about our lord. Not each other." Garroth chuckled, and Irene help him, the sound was so soothing to Laurance. An assurance that he really was safe.
"You and I both know guards worry for everyone around them, not just our lord." Garroth offered his hand. "Care to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Laurance, I know you won't speak to Lady Irena about this."
"I don't want to worry her."
"So I'm asking you to be honest with me." Laurance sighed, pulling his legs out from under his blanket and adjusting so he was sitting next to Garroth on the edge of his bed. "Please." Laurance took a careful breath, before finally taking Garroth's hand.
"Shadow Knights aren't supposed to be made the way I was. Normally they take a still warm corpse to the abyss and start there. Most people aren't unfortunate enough to get trapped there."
"Did you not...?"
"No. Despite being stabbed straight through the chest, I managed to survive. And yet... Yet they still turned me." Laurance's hand squeezed down on Garroth's as he held in a noise of pain. "I-I can't-- I can't do this Garroth. I can't." He pulled his hand away, placing both of them on his head. "I can still hear them. It's like they're still in my head, taunting me..."
"Laurance..." Garroth took his now empty hand and wrapped it around Laurance's shoulder. "It's okay. I'm here to protect you."
It's like those words were magic. The second they left Garroth's mouth, the moment his arm made contact, Laurance broke. The waterfall of tears he had been holding in for weeks suddenly burst, and he was helplessly sobbing into Garroth's arms. He couldn't really form words at first, just collapse into the embrace of the man sitting next to him. And Garroth easily supported him, holding Laurance close and letting him release everything. It was the least he could do.
"It was so awful down there," Laurance finally whispered through his sobs. "It was so painful. All I could do was scream, keep screaming, keep screaming for days and days on end." Another fit of sobs broke up Laurance's ramblings at the memory. His throat started to burn like it did before. "And they kept taunting me. They kept reminding me that I was abandoned. That I was left. That I deserved it--"
"You weren't," Garroth reminded him, which only served to make Laurance sob more. "You know you weren't."
"I know! But I couldn't do anything! I couldn't fight them! I couldn't argue! All I could do was just hope, keep hoping, keep praying to Irene that she was safe. That you were keeping her safe. It's all I could do..." Laurance stopped talking, instead resigning himself to his tears as he leaned onto Garroth for support even further.
"It's okay. You're here now. You're alive, I'm alive, and she's alive. That's what matters, right?" He nodded. "Good. I'm grateful that you were strong enough to survive that. You're stronger than I am." Laurance opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead he buried his head into Garroth's chest and listened desperately to the sound of his beating heart. He missed his own. "You're so strong, Laurance."
Even if he didn't feel very strong, Laurance believed him. Garroth was always hard to get through, always hard to force him to open up. But he was stupidly sincere. He wasn't capable of lying about something like this. He meant every word and Laurance knew it. And he was alive. Laurance worried about his safety almost as much as Irena's. As if Garroth would disappear while he was gone. But he was alive, and here, and he was so warm. So so warm as he held Laurance.
"Thank you," Laurance finally whispered. Garroth never quite knew why, but that was the moment. That was the moment he realized he was in love. Hearing Laurance's soft, broken, tear filled voice thanking him was what it took for the pieces to finally click into place for him. He wasn't just worried about Laurance because he was a friend and a fellow guard. It was because he was in love with him. Oh Irene, wasn't that a thought?
"You're welcome," Garroth said back, fighting the urge to press a kiss to Laurance's wavy brown hair. When he said that he knew there was something else he was trying to say. Three little words that died on his tongue. Not the time. "I'm always here for you, Laurance."
Remember when I said I was gonna write more and that said statement was a lie? I lied twice.
#text post#aphmau#minecraft diaries#laurance zvahl#minecraft diaries laurance#garroth ro'meave#i dont support aphmau#garrance week 2023#garrance week#garrance#angst#angst with comfort#hurt/comfort#writing#character writing#dreams#nightmares#gay block men#gay romance#panic attack
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hey I've been really loving your neverafter analysis - it made me feel like i wasn't complaining about nothing lmao and you word it much better than I could
so about that, you've mentioned the acoc finale a few times & if you have a post about that or any kind of commentary, I'm really curious to read it
<3 i dont think i have any posts from when i watched, ive deleted most of my acoc posts over the years bc they annoyed me lol. ive gotten several questions about this and will do my best to explain what i mean! it's not going to be super detailed due to i havent watched that season in literally 3 years but basically i just remember the very end of the acoc finale being really like. tonally jarring because the players were saying all this insane stuff about consolidating political power but it was being framed as a happy ending not only for the party but also for their subjects. the vibe was like, well it was tough going there for a minute but now the Right people are in charge, so it's all good now :) just no acknowledgement of the inherent violence of governance via monarchy, which again may be stupid to expect from the dnd comedy show, except for the fact that the content of the season was like. a painfully extended enumeration of The Violences of Monarchy. but i guess we learned nothing :) like let's just read from the wiki briefly about the events of the episode post-siege:
Cumulous asks Liam what is glowing in his pocket. Liam without hesitation eats the seed from Lapin Cadbury. He thinks of the change he most wants to see in the world and wishes that the creativity and magic of Candia would burst forth, and instantly Candia quadruples in size within its place on the Calorum map. Saccharina thanks Liam as the new queen of a lot more Candian land. Far off, Liam hears Lapin chuckling […] Lapin whispers to Liam on his way out, “There’s nothing wrong with being a seed guy.” A new age of Candia is born as Emperor Amethar of the House Rocks embraces his new title and brings a new age of peace to the realms […] Liam brings the Pontifex and Sir Keratin back to life in an act of mercy and locks them in prison for the rest of their lives. He leaves them, and goes back to being a seed guy […] Saccharina tries to find Cinnamon an alternative food source to Bulbian hearts, looking through all of Vegetania before returning to Candia. Just outside the castle, a tinfoil tree grows and a cranky Cinnamon eats the fruit from the tree and then grows gentle, regarding the world with love instead of hunger.
all of this is soooo stupid and shoehorned to me... why is liam wishing for candia to grow four times larger besides that ally the player thinks that would be a good thing. WHY is liam resurrecting dead people and throwing them in jail framed as 'quirky' besides the fact that they have essentially already rolled credits and so are just ready to frame anything that happens as funny and nice because they don't want to like. get into the politics of it.
and that's not even getting into the rest of the wrap-up where like. all the bad stuff, all the outstanding conflict and tension that would naturally linger after the battle just gets done away with completely for the sake of an ending that is not tainted by even the faintest hint of complexity or violence (again, this is revealing and tells us a lot about what the table considers violent vs. what is so normalized as to not even register as violence in the moment). rather than having to grapple with having raised and domesticated a pet that feeds on people in a time of war and then still being responsible for that creature after peace has been declared, cinnamon is magically transformed into a creature that now only needs the fruit of trees to surivive. the events of the season usher in a reign of peace rather than a rocky period of distrust and repairing alliances or even open rebellion because that is the happiest ending for our royal protagonists, not because it necessarily follows logically from what took place in the finale.
all in all i feel that what the acoc finale wants to convince me of is that the season's conflict was largely a case of good vs. evil individuals rather than complex people caught in and trying to exploit violent systems, and that as long as the good people win out and have the space to rule as they want to, monarchy is not opposed to concepts like happiness or justice but indeed is highly compatible with them. we just needed a good king!!! earlier in the season it felt like there was space to question monarchy's claims to moral authority, particularly through saccharina's abuse and the outsider perspectives of her crew of outlaws. however, by the finale all of this critique has been subsumed into the narrative machine and we're back to cheering for the rulers of candia in their noble pursuit to conquer ever more land, something we hope they achieve because they have shown themselves to be pure of heart and sound in judgement. this was not a actually a forum to question whether a small group of unelected wealthy people should be allowed to govern just because they want to, but rather just an extended job interview for the rocks family, and they have passed with flying colors. anyway.
the reason i compared this week's neverafter to this particular acoc episode is that i think we are again seeing some of the limits of the table's political imagination, particularly as it relates to incarceration; imprisonment has been invoked repeatedly through the device of trapping people in timothy's book, which is either framed as a good or bad thing depending on whether it is done by a protagonist or an antagonist. if the authors or the fairies trap the characters in their respective stories, it's an abuse of power that must be challenged. however, if the party traps an annoying or superfluous npc, or a meddling princess, in their handy portable prison, it's (a) benevolent; the possibility has been raised that trapping characters in this way makes them happy, and may indeed be a way to give them a happily ever after; or (b) violent, but markedly less so than other available courses of action and thus merciful by comparison. there is no space to discuss the inherent violence of incarceration or entrapment even if it is used as an alternative to death, which IS INSANE in a season where the horror that kicked everything off was the horror that what the characters thought were their lives was actually a prison made of narrative.
across these two seasons i think we are seeing an inability or perhaps just an unwillingness to contend with the inherent violence of being held against one's will. the problem for the party seems not to be that characters experience various levels of incarceration by virtue of being trapped in narratives, but rather that the wrong people have been imprisoned while those who truly deserve the punishment roam free. the party, our protagonists, have been trapped in story despite their inherent goodness, while the true bad actors -- the fairies, the princesses, the gander -- are allowed to roam free. according to this logic, simply capturing and imprisoning everyone who advances a plan the party doesn't agree with will be a satisfactory outcome and should be enough to set the world to rights.
tldr it frustrates me as a viewer when d20 seasons make a point to explicitly raise and explore structural issues only to "solve" them at the last minute with individualist fixes that do nothing to address the root cause of said issues. it adds insult to injury when they try to tell me the ending is a happy one simply because it made the party happy, even if others had to suffer for that to be so.
#guy who said he would be brief. anyway#others are welcome to add their perspectives i know ive discussed the acoc finale with ppl in replies/dms/etc. before#short answer: It Was Not Good#asks#anon#acoc#neverafter
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