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satoruxx · 20 days ago

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THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 9k words

✧ SUMMARY: this fic has always been 18+ but now especially I MEAN IT mdni, toji gets horny fr this time (like 2.5k words of just that), masturbation, toji gets turned on by love idk, rut/heat cycles, basically abo/hybrid mating tendencies, idk let me write my porn sigh, misogyny, um stalking, more hybrid mistreatment, talks of murder, the typical blood as a metaphor for love :/

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: lol okay i'm vv sorry for the six month absence.. had to get that degree :33 but hopefully this chapter being 9k words and having horny toji makes up for it.. however pls do heed the warnings! i yap a lot about mating and other abo things so if that's not your thing pls scroll TT.. anyways i'm thanking you all so much for your patience !! hope you enjoy <33

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"pause."

toji's form stops abruptly, and you bite back a chuckle when he turns to glare at you over his shoulder. "what?"

you grin, rocking back on your heels even as the rest of the street continues bustling around you. "i'm hungry."

the street's lights reflect over toji's facial features, and the way his jaw drops looks extra comical. "already? we just had dinner."

you frown, affronted. "that was like an hour ago."

toji snorts, rolling his eyes, though it comes off fonder than you expected it to. "so you want dessert?"

you nod eagerly, and a muted chuckle escapes the wolf as you catch up to his side. his jade eyes scan the lively streets critically, before falling on you again. "well, go crazy."

you immediately grab his wrist and tug him along, peering at different stalls and stores despite his protests. toji ends up just crossing his arms as he waits for you to buy your dessert (ice cream, you've decided. on a cone). he watches you grin as you pay and then hurry over to him, both of your hands full.

"here," you chirp, shoving a cone into his hand. a few melted drops stain his skin, still cold to the touch. "for you!"

he huffs. "kid, i told you i don't like sweets that much."

"that's what you say at first." you point your finger at him as you lick up the dripping sides of your own cone, gaze all too knowing. "but then you try it and realize you can't get enough."

toji rolls his eyes, but still obediently takes a lick. the flavor of chocolates and some other sweet confections burst across his tongue. it's strong, almost unbearably so, but then it settles on his palate and leaves a satisfaction in its wake. he can't help the subtle twitch of his lips, almost pleased, and you give him a smug smile.

(it seems like he will always be doomed when it comes to sweet things.)

you both walk home in relative silence, save for the occasional bit of chatter when you remember something you haven't told him. the streets are still bright and bustling with people trying to enjoy their saturday night, and toji feels a little more comfortable because it's so easy to blend in.

"are you sure you don't want me to hold those?" you ask pointedly, peering at all the shopping bags he's balancing on his arms. "aren't they heavy?"

he gives you a sidelong glance—affronted. "seriously? how weak do you think i am?"

you raise your free hand in surrender, biting back a laugh as you look at him with that same spark of a challenge in your eyes. "don't you sleep with a nightlight?"

toji's glare is boiling when it settles on you. "shut up and eat your ice cream."

you chortle, nudging his side with your elbow, and he groans under his breath. his fingers itch. it would be so fucking easy to just grab your free hand that's swinging listlessly at your side. the lines of his large, rough palm pressed against your smaller, gentle one. his fingers would curl around yours so gratefully, sweet and soft and yet still keeping you attached to him.

(he can't elaborate on how pleased the thought makes him. keeping you at his side, where he can always see you. where you can always see him.)

but all he can do is clench his fist, internally reprimanding himself for taking such liberties with you to begin with—even if it's just in his own head.

when you both make it back home, you hop in the shower quick and then toji takes his turn, so used to the mundane routine. he heads into the bathroom, not before making a sarcastic jab at your choice of pajamas for the night (doughnuts, printed in all shapes and colors), to which you just punch his arm as he cackles.

toji enjoys the feeling of the searing hot water burning into his skin. psychopathic maybe, but it feels comforting. it's not like he was given the luxury of hot water back when he was underground.

(that being said, even once he'd started living with you, it's not like he took hot showers often. in fact, he'd sometimes find himself relying on cold showers. especially when you were around him. a fleeting touch here, a meaningful glance there, and he'd find himself under pelting ice, breathing heavily through his nose until he's finally got himself under control.)

even now he tries not to think too deeply about that, focusing on enjoying his warm shower. he feels a little guilty when he stops to consider that you probably have no idea that his thoughts about you are so fucking depraved.

(poor thing. you don't deserve something so unhinged breathing down your neck.)

and unfortunately that's all he truly is. unhinged. an animal that lacks self control. and you are nothing of the sort. sweetness and good all bundled up into a human being. night and day, dark and light, sun and storm.

good and evil.

toji knows this well. knows that he has no right to let his claws tear into your perfect flesh and rip you to pieces. only monsters ruin perfection after all.

and perfection you were. he knows you don't really see yourself that way, but it's hard for him not to. reminds him of statue deities the old artists left behind to stand in museums under heavy spotlights. for people to flock to, eager and awestruck as they marvel at beauty like they've never seen it before. and he'd bow front of you, knees digging into rough earth, bloody and bruised as he reaches for your marbled fingers. letting stone gently tickle the sharp curve of his jaw, trace the scar cutting over his lips. maybe when he finally looks up at you he'll only remember your smile immortalized into the stone.

but toji is selfish. he doesn't want to worship a statue. he'd rather have you as is, life thrumming through your veins the way blood does. warmth bursting from under your skin and seeping into his own. and there's a part of him that knows you'd touch him so eagerly, ready to please and give him everything that he's ever wanted. you've already been so generous—giving and giving and giving some more. if he asked to let him take you apart, would you dare say no? would you let him sort through sinew and muscle until he's found your very core? would you let him hold your beating heart in his claws no matter how many times they nick the flesh and make you bleed?

you would, with stars in your eyes. in fact, there's a greedy part of him that thinks you'd do the same in return. tear him apart piece by piece with careful fingers until he's nothing but laid bare in front of you. press your flesh against ragged scars and bruised skin, rough with use and danger. if he focuses a little harder, he can feel your touch linger on those scars. your lips will follow, pressing deep against his blood, staining you wine red. but you'll just smile, light bursting behind your silhouette (angelic; awe-inspiring), and he'll once again be speechless in front of you.

(powerless in every sense of the word.)

this is followed by yet another dangerous thought—just how much of an animal would you let him be?

it would be easy to cage you between his arms, close enough that he can count every eyelash and see every shade in your skin. it would be easy to hook his claws around the waistband of the fabric that hid you away, press a searing kiss into the stripe left by the elastic. it would be easy to reduce you to a shaking mess, quiet whimpers escaping into the space only he shares with you.

it's ridiculous, how quickly his obsession bleeds into arousal. a thin line, his toes dancing over it. but he doesn't have it in him to dwell on the shame behind it. it's instantaneous, how heat starts thrumming through his veins at the thought of you, alighting every expanse of flesh and breaking through skin.

toji bristles, tail flexing even under the weight of the water.

you have to know what you're doing. weren't you ever warned about dangers like him? wasn't it common sense not to dangle prey in front of a predator's eyes?

(though, if he's being honest, toji doesn't feel like much of predator. if anything, you're the predator, circling him with attentive eyes that makes his hair stand on end. makes him want to expose his underbelly and let you pounce.)

it doesn't make sense to him, how his mind relates someone as sweet as you to a role so unflinchingly unkind. in reality, the only one who's fucked enough to take on that role is him. the true animal—unhinged, reckless, cruel.

the only one who'd dig his fangs into your flesh and tear you apart with no hesitation. let sweet blood drip from his lips, lapping away until not a drop is left. reverent—because he knows how valuable it is.

the problem is you'd let him.

welcoming, with open arms and a warm smile that makes him want to take even more. more and more until nothing is left.

(would you enjoy it? his claws encircling your fragile wrists and pressing them into sheets. heavy body weighing yours down, scarred muscle meeting soft flesh. fanged teeth digging into the tender meat of your lips. perhaps you'd tell him as much, quietly sighing into his mouth, singing his praises and whispering a sweet combination of toji please, more.)

blood rushes south, his cock hardening so quick it's almost humiliating. this had been an ongoing issue for months now. toji never thought anyone would have the ability to drive him up the walls like this. not that you had gone around deliberately trying to give him a hard time (no pun intended), but it'd become more difficult to ignore. even just noticing little things—like the texture of your fingertips against his skin or the way your scent bleeds into the walls of the house. or the way his height towers over you and forces you to look up at him in a way that is so easy to imagine in certain other scenarios. in between his legs, gentle hands on his knees, eyes peering through lashes, and swollen lips wrapped around his—

fuck.

he's rock hard now. thick and aching in a way that makes him feel almost ashamed because there's no reason he should be acting like a whelpling who's just been thrown into a rut for the first time. no, he'd been an adult for a long time. one that had gotten through a lot worse than this.

(it's seared into his brain, the way the faceless doctor from the underground would hand him suppressant pills a couple weeks before a rut was due to hit, eyeing him to make sure they were swallowed without any issues. his body remembers scratching at the stone ground of a cell as he snarled through the pain of one of his most natural instincts being manipulated through a drug.

it was normal for them. every hybrid there had experienced being put aside for a day or two, labeled "out of commission" for a fake sick period while they rode out their cycles with no help or relief.

what would've normally been a couple weeks of rut was cruelly suppressed into two short days. in that time, toji was confined to a special cell with no outside contact. no fights, no interactions with any other hybrid.

all he had was the time to get increasingly more feral and frustratingly turned on. and no way to deal with it but ruthlessly fucking his own fist until he was exhausted.

exhausted, but never satiated. never satisfied.

after all, the suppressant pills couldn't erase the nature of his instincts. the part of him that craved not for a simple release, but for the experience of sharing a rut with someone. craved forming a connection with another being who could not only provide relief through it, but also take every bit of devotion he had to offer. the pills were effective in dulling down the intensity of ruts and heats, and shortened the length of them tremendously. but even after all that, they were still animals—there was no denying it. no, none of it could be erased; the instinctual craving for a fucking mate.)

all of those years under suppressants had made toji forget what a real rut felt like. but if it's anything close to the way he'd been feeling lately, he was definitely screwed. his mind had become increasingly more creative, able to conjure up the most inappropriate images of his most shameful fantasies. and this issue could only be fixed by jacking off until cum was dripping between his fingers and he felt even more ashamed than he did before.

which is exactly what he's being pushed to right now.

it seems almost instantaneous the way his fist wraps around his cock, throbbing flesh hot and angry. he bites back a hiss at the sensitivity, the hot water doing nothing to help his already searing flesh.

toji knew to start expecting flare ups of arousal. after all it was just a part of his nature, but a headache all the same. unfortunately, when escaping that hellhole he called a home, he didn't think about what would happen to his body now that those bastards weren't pumping his body full of suppressants.

sukuna had once said that it was their way of stripping them of their natural instructs, domesticating hybrids without them even knowing. the thought had pissed both of them off, but the tiger was right. nothing inherently natural about controlling such a significant facet of their bodies.

if he had more time to prepare his escape, he would've broken into the medical wing and stolen a few years' worth of suppressants for himself.

hindsight. instead, now he has to deal with these admittedly intense pangs of carnal desire. he knows why. how long had it been since he'd had a natural rut? definitely not since eighteen, because that's when he'd given up his freedom and they started feeding him suppressants (after all, can't have a feral wolf in rut running free throughout the barracks; bad for business; too dangerous to control). it makes sense that his body is working on overdrive now that it's finally tasted freedom.

(finally tasted a sweet scent and warm smile.)

toji isn't sure what he'll do when his rut really hits. he had thought that maybe he could get away with lying to you, passing it off as some contagious sickness and locking himself in his room for a few days until it passed. but then he got nervous thinking about just how bad this rut might be, and he figured he probably wouldn't be able to keep it from you even with the walls acting as a barrier.

there was also the option of telling you the truth. you'd probably be so accepting about it; after all, you've been nothing but understanding. and it seems like you know more about hybrids than your fellow humans, so he's sure you wouldn't judge him for something he can't really control. and yet despite all that, the thought of telling you feels strangely nerve wracking. some strange implication behind admitting just how vulnerable he'd truly be (and some sick thrill at the unspoken boundary that could end up being crossed).

a boundary line that he had scratched into the floor over and over again. so intent on denying the thought of ever being that close to you.

and yet he can't deny it. can't deny that the idea of trailing his tongue over the swells and divots of your body doesn't make him salivate. like the thought of your lips pressing into the ridges of his neck doesn't make his ribcage jump.

(like the thought of you saying yes to him doesn't make him want to lay the entire galaxy at your feet. because saying yes to him means something more than you'll ever realize. means bonding yourself to him for a lifetime. souls intertwined, the way only a mate can be—)

toji's presses his forehead against the damp tiled wall, exhaling shakily. there's a reddish pink shade crawling up his skin, spreading like liquid gold. his fist feels like nothing special, but it still offers a semblance of relief from that stupid aching feeling. the warmth of the water and the remnants of soap makes it easy for his fist to slide back and forth, and god he's so fucking hard. he's starting off fast, but he doesn't really care. all he knows is that it feels good, and it's utterly humiliating to be jacking off in the shower when you're just across the hall, so he just wants to get it over with.

but his brain? his brain lingers, cruel in its torture.

if he closes his eyes, toji can picture you doing it instead. your hand's a lot smaller, but it's softer than his—not rough with scars and callouses and danger. maybe you'd touch him slower, not as stupidly fast as he is, not with the mission to just get off and be done. no, you'd probably touch him with intention, eager to take him apart. he'd be glad to let you do as you please, so pathetically ready for whatever you want from him.

his fangs dig into the scar cutting over his lip, almost hard enough to taste blood. he thinks about sinking those fangs into the open canvas of your neck, and his dick twitches in response, eager and swollen. he tightens his grip and twists his wrist in the same way he's always done, knowing it'll get him there quick.

toji's head presses harder into the tiled walls, and he blinks the water away from his eyes as he tries to focus. his brain conjures up a strikingly detailed image of you pressing your lips against his dick, and that itself shoots a searing hot flash of arousal up his spine. but that's not all. he imagines that you'd be a lot more generous with your touches than he is. you'd touch him all over, gentle fingers tracing over the curve of his jaw and over the slopes of his cheeks. down over the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. gentle, the way only a lover's caress could be. chills run over his skin, the shiver so pleasurable it makes his breath hitch.

his high creeps up frighteningly fast, tingles shooting up the nerves in his body like he's never touched himself before. the muscles in his arm strain as heat pools in his lower belly, licking at his insides like an uncontrollable flame. the sound of the soapy water each time his hand moves is embarrassingly inappropriate, and he's briefly struck with the filthy thought of the type of sounds he'd be able to pull from your body if you just gave him the chance.

he wonders where to touch you to make you sing. where you'd be the most sensitive. what spots would have your voice catching on a strangled moan or have a breathy whimper escaping your throat. maybe you'd beg him for more, or perhaps you'd demand it from him. maybe you'd give in finally tell him what he's been dying to hear. in that same sweet voice, quietly sighing an earnest toji, i love y—

ropes of cum splatter between his fingers, and he's thankful that his muffled grunts are drowned out by the shower. his hips twitch, instinctual, and his dick pulses with every spurt, pelvic muscles contracting with effort. and throughout all of it, all he can think of is you.

(horrible, he is. so dirty, filthy.)

"ah fuck—" he feels messy, and hypersensitive. he stands there for a minute, catching his breath and doing his best to quell the mess in his head. it takes all but a minute to wash away the evidence of his crimes, but the thoughts of you still linger—infectious and deep.

(he thinks maybe he'll never be rid of you. you've latched onto him the way he has to you—parasitic and flesh deep. some part of him really likes that; a sick and twisted part.)

the wolf huffs out a tired sigh, standing under the pelting water like some kind of mindless idiot. what kind of freak was he? you offer him a place in your home and here he was jerking off in your shower with nothing but filth in his head. he's terrible; a dirty animal.

and yet, he feels good. feels good in the same way he feels when he sees you smile. or when you finally come back home. or when you grin at him from across the dining table as you watch him dig into his food. or when you accidentally fall asleep while watching some stupid movie.

his brain is foggy, and there's still a few aftershocks of pleasure tickling his nerves. but his guilt is smothered by that good feeling, pressed down into the deep recesses of his subconscious as he focuses on how you seem to have such an influence on his emotions.

(powerful, sneaky little thing.)

"hey toji?"

your muffled voice cuts through the pleasant haze in his head, and the panic is instant. he flinches so hard his elbow thuds against the shower wall, eliciting a yelp that he tries hard to recover from.

"y-yeah?!" he winces at the voice crack (trying to pretend he didn't just bust to the thought of you not a minute earlier), and clears his throat.

"i'm running low on period stuff so i'm gonna run down the street and grab some pads."

"i can go grab em if you want?" he replies, scrubbing his skin with a quickening pace, but then you chuckle and wave him off.

"no no it's fine. enjoy your shower. it's like two streets over, i'll be back soon."

"well…" he hesitates, but then nods even though you can't see him. "fine. be careful, y'hear?"

"yeah yeah…" your voice fades away as you head down the hall, and toji's shoulders relax. for a second he thought you might've somehow heard his less than appropriate little session, but instead you're just updating him on something he probably wouldn't have cared about many months ago. but here he is, ultimately caring so deeply.

hot water streams between toji's eyes, and he pushes his wet hair back with a tired huff. his ears fold under his palms, muffling all noises and for a second, the raging thoughts in his head subside.

(if it were up to him, he'd stay in this peaceful bubble for as long as he could. hoping, dreaming, praying that you'd join him in the space with no protests. comfort, chaos, and everything in between.)

****

the streets are a lot more deserted than they were a few hours prior, back when you were dragging toji to eat ice cream. now there's only faint chatter, the occasional squeals of laughter and excitement permeating the sounds of your slippers against pavement. normally you would've dragged toji out with you, especially so late on a saturday night, but since this is barely a 15 minute walk and you've been here countless times before, you decided not to bother him.

after all, you would grant toji as much peace as you could give him (god knows he deserved it and more).

there's some faint song playing over the speakers when you enter the store, instantly fading into muted background noise as you smile at the elderly man behind the counter. he recognizes you, a local frequenter, and smiles back before going back to the paper he was reading. your steps take you to the feminine products quickly, memorized route guiding your feet, and then you're scanning the shelves for familiar colors and brands.

the store is almost completely deserted, save for a few other likeminded individuals who needed a late night run. your fingers drift over boxes until you finally find the brand you like.

"excuse me? can you help me with this?"

the flinch that comes from you is almost embarrassing, but you're genuinely impressed by how quietly this guy seems to have snuck up on you. you glance over your shoulder carefully.

dyed blonde hair, dark roots, narrowed beady eyes. and yet a sheepish, awkward smile that makes your shoulders drop when you notice the box of pads in his head. you tilt your head questioningly, quirking a brow. he raises the box. "my girlfriend sent me out to get supplies but i have no clue what to pick for her…"

the helpless smile that crawls onto your face feels natural. at least he was trying, that in and of itself was a lot to ask for these days. "well do you know if she has a heavy flow or a light one?"

"heavy i think?" his brows furrow thoughtfully. "she says she bleeds a lot…"

"well then this is probably better for her than that." you reach for a different box on the shelf, one that's specifically labeled for handling heavy bleeding. "they're better for heavier flow. and they're longer so that should help her out."

he takes the box from you carefully, before smiling. something shines in his dark eyes. "thank you so much. i'm clueless when it comes to this stuff."

you chuckle, shaking your head. "no it's okay. at least you're trying."

"i would've been lost without your help. i'm naoya by the way." his smile gets a little more pointed, that gleam in his gaze brighter. he sticks his palm out expectantly.

warning bells start ringing in your head, but you don't know why.

"oh uh, nice to meet you…" you trail off, cautiously taking his hand. you're sure he's being polite, but you don't really understand why he's telling you his name. maybe it's paranoia, but you bite your tongue and hold off on giving him yours, something telling you that maybe you shouldn't be sharing that information.

the blonde doesn't comment on your lack of forthcoming, but something feels off. he looks like he knows something, like he's dissecting you on a surgical table. you let go of his hand, and awkwardly smile, before turning back to the shelf. his voice gets a little louder. "naoya zenin."

you freeze. the name washes over you, a brief sense of warmth, before it bleeds into something cold and jarring. you know this name well—heard it murmured from scarred lips a few times (in a voice that was filled with nothing but distaste.)

now if you think back, you can remember the same blonde hair and dark eyes being in the background of pictures you've seen on the internet. random news articles of what the head of one of the biggest companies in the country did that day. you don't know why you couldn't remember it earlier. maybe you just weren't expecting to see naoya zenin at your tiny little store so late at night. but he looks calm, as though it's all intentional, as though you should've expected to bump in to him like this.

the warning bells ring louder.

"so!" the blonde claps his hands together, brightly smiling as though he's catching up with an old friend. "how is he?"

you feel your tongue grow numb. an image of a moody scowl and twitching ears flashes behind your eyes, and you finally realize that warning bells had nothing to do with your own safety.

(too preoccupied with dedicating your care to someone else. someone who's probably patiently waiting for you back home.)

"who?" you're playing dumb, and you're sure he knows it because he just laughs and quirks his brow knowingly.

"you know who." he pins you with a level stare. "toji of course. my precious cousin."

you remain quiet, mind spinning. you're not sure if you should lie or continue playing dumb or just run and hope he isn't fast enough to follow. but naoya just continues on without a care in the world.

"let's stop beating around the bush." the blonde's smile drops, voice going serious in the same way you've seen it go on those television interviews. "i don't know how or why you're connected to him but i'm sure you know what he is by now."

"ah yes the wolf ears and tail really gave it away," you reply sarcastically, not even bothering to keep the bite out of your tone. naoya grins predatorily, making a show of leering at your blatant hostility.

"well yes, the poor beast was unfortunately born that way." naoya waves offhandedly, before his expression sours. "just my luck, he had to be born into my fucking family."

you snort out a scornful laugh, crossing your arms. "well it makes sense. i mean he might be the wolf, but it's pretty clear that dogs run in the family."

naoya pauses, before his smile returns. this time, it is icy, and yet there is spark of malice flickering in his eyes. "hah! you're more interesting than i thought. you look so boring from afar, you know?"

you glare at him irritably.

"but! you're much more entertaining than i expected. maybe that's why toji's hanging around you." naoya glances down at his fingernails with feigned interest, his voice dropping. "it's a shame he didn't teach you any manners though."

his hand drops to his side, and his expression darkens so fast it makes your head spin. "if it were up to me, i'd cut your tongue out and deliver it to him, you know?"

your bravado shatters, blood going cold. naoya seems to catch the change, so he just smiles again with that fake politeness. "but father says we should be nice and talk it out. so that's what i'm doing! i had no clue how i was going to find the time to chat with you, but i'm glad i caught you today."

you swallow, fingers creasing into the sleeves of your sweater.

"you know, when i told father i saw toji with you today, he was surprised. that freak doesn't seem like the type to get help from others, let alone humans like you and me." the blonde hums, amused. "but seems like he liked something about you. that, or you had something pretty valuable to offer."

you almost roll your eyes. clearly this asshole liked to hear himself talk.

"i mean i'm kinda surprised that you got close to that freak. don't you have any survival instincts?" he tuts, exaggeratedly pouting at you like you're nothing but a dumb child. the blood in your veins grows hot with indignation.

"he's not dangerous." your voice is resolute, stating a fact rather than an opinion. naoya observes you with mild interest. he hums thoughtfully, and you shift your weight not knowing what to do.

"you know, i saw you both being all cute on your little shopping trip." naoya's expression turns bored, almost like he's disgusted. he leans against the shelves haphazardly. "it's a shame i lost you both in the crowd as you left though. i would've stopped by at your house otherwise."

the threat is not lost on you. and something churns in your gut when you think about this man being anywhere near your house. near toji.

"i don't understand," you say, raising your head. you have no clue how you manage to keep your voice steady when your heart is beating so fast, but you'd rather not look too deep into that. "what exactly is it that you want from me?"

"you have…influence," naoya grins, peering at you. his expression is mocking. you think you might vomit. "i'm sure you can bat your eyes and convince my dear cousin."

when you swallow, it feels like rocks are sliding down your throat. "convince him to what?"

naoya's grin drops, eyes narrowing dangerously. "to go back to where he belongs."

your words tumble forth before you can even stop them, hot and indignant. "and what if he doesn't want to go back there?"

a burst of laughter escapes his throat, though it is sharp and unamused. "don't you get it? he doesn't have a choice. that's all he was born to do anyway."

you glare at him, teeth digging into your tongue so hard it hurts painfully. naoya's expression turns bright, a very dramatic flare of sick amusement filling his tone. "ohh i finally get it!"

he leans closer to you, smirking. "who would've thought my dear cousin went and found himself a girl!"

the traitor organ sitting in your ribcage gives an eager jump, getting distracted by its original threat. you steel your expression. "what are you even talking about?"

"no need to play coy. i understand!" he raises his arms like he means no harm, a greasy smile still splitting his face. "that just means you really should be able to influence him."

"you don't even know what you're saying." you roll your eyes, turning away from him, though you still keep his figure in your peripheral. "it's not even like that. we're barely even friends. the most i would say is acquaintances."

the lie bleeds through your teeth easily, molten lava. worth it if it means keeping him safe. away from the treacherous vines that seem so intent on chasing him and pinning him down.

"oh sure." the blonde chuckles, looking at you with a sharp mockery in his gaze. it's obvious he doesn't believe you, especially with how quickly his tone turns chilling. "i don't really give a damn who you are to him. let him know what he needs to do, or we're gonna have a problem."

"and if i can't convince him?"

naoya shrugs casually, but then he pins you with a stare that makes you feel like your bone marrow is turning to lead.

"well then, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?" he says nothing more, but the implication is very clear. the blonde then glances down at the pads in his hands. his expression goes disgusted once more, and he haphazardly chucks the box back onto the shelf. "ew…" he mutters, dusting his hand over his coat. his eyes find you again, and then that same smile appears once more. "anyways, i'll definitely see you around! get home safe!"

your pulse is thudding wildly as you watch him leave, a heavy onset of nausea making your stomach churn like never before. the hidden threats were so carefully placed, but not obscure enough for you to miss, and that scares you even more because it says that this guy is just that confident. you stand in the aisle for another two mins, mind running in a thousand different directions. suddenly you feel strangely exposed, like you've been placed into a glass box for someone to observe your every movement.

(suddenly, you feel completely and utterly alone. scared and vulnerable and in real danger. suddenly, all you can think about is the brooding wolf you've left at home, and how seeing him is the only solution to making these feelings go away.)

you're out the door before you even realize it. your legs carry you back in the direction of your home, but your paranoia leads you to take as many convoluted turns that you can think of (because you can't shake the feeling of those beady brown eyes digging into your shoulder blades).

naoya zenin. you don't know how he shares blood with toji. if you squint hard enough you can maybe find some similarities in features. but still, you cannot understand how someone so outwardly horrible can be related to someone like toji. toji is not warm, not inherently sweet. but he is good, and that much is obvious to you. the same way you know this naoya is bad, with nothing but negative intentions.

when you finally reach your doorstep, you keep your head down and slip inside. your fingers double check every lock, every window. your mouth feels dry and there's too many weaknesses and he's definitely still out there and—

"hey."

the voice makes you jump, and when you look up, toji is staring at you—confused. his brow quirks as he peers at you through his wet hair. "well that was dramatic."

you sigh, quelling the thundering of your heartbeat. sweat beads on the skin of your palms, and you drag them over the fabric of your pants. "you just scared me."

"oh yeah, i'm so fucking terrifying." he sits on the couch, aggressively drying his wet hair with a towel. you snort, grinning as your eyes trail over the way his pointed ears fold under the weight of the fabric.

"shaking in my boots." toji rolls his eyes at your reply, and you pull off your coat with a quiet chuckle.

(honestly a little jarring how easy it is for you to relax in his presence. how easy it is to start smiling again.)

"i thought you went to get supplies?"

you freeze, glancing over your shoulder. "w-what?"

he motions to your empty hands. "you didn't get anything?"

your stomach drops. "oh um…" you clear your throat. "they were closed. so i came back."

it's almost laughable how quick the lie slips from your mouth; sickening, really, because it shouldn't be quite so easy to lie to someone who obviously trusted you. you've felt guilty before, but not like this. this goes past the dull surface ache and settles as a deep stinging, fraying your nerve endings. maybe it's because you know that you have no right to keep this from him; after all, it's his family. but something about the gleam in naoya's eyes makes your hair stand on end. if it were up to you, you'd stand in front of toji with a smile even with knives raining down your back.

the way toji's brow arches tells you that he's a little confused, maybe a little skeptical, but he shrugs and turns back to the tv, turning it on with a flick of his finger. "well okay then. i can grab some tomorrow on my way back home."

you inhale through your nose, forcing a smile. there's really no point stressing. naoya can't do much to you to begin with, not without starting something potentially dangerous with toji. so you just push it to the back of your mind and take a seat next to the grumpy wolf you realize you would do anything for.

(even lie.)

"thank you, toji," you say earnestly. the wolf gives you a sidelong glance, ears twitching at the sound of your voice, and he scoffs.

"whatever. it's not like i haven't done it before. quit bein' dramatic."

you grin, watching him cross his arms and sulk like an overgrown puppy. for some reason, his expression settles the chaos in your chest and you decide that whatever problem it is, you'll do anything it takes to keep it from him.

(perhaps it's silly, thinking that you could easily stand in front of a hybrid capable of tearing you to pieces and expect to be able to protect him. but you know he would do the same for you, and that's why it feels all too natural. easy.)

you think you will always be willing to offer him whatever space you have left. comfort, chaos, and everything in between.

****

toji doesn't consider himself a very intelligent person. not to say that he's dumb. no, he thinks he excels at street smarts. after all, no one survives a life like his without a brain.

but in terms of emotional intelligence.. well he doesn't feel all that confident. yet another area where he feels like you're a lot better than he is.

it scares him a little, how fast you can read him. how you can pick apart his every expression and behavior like it comes naturally to you. and then how you're able to to adapt and give him exactly the response he needs. whether it's sweet comfort or rational courses of action—it's perfect.

(you're perfect.)

but he's not like you. he cannot pick people apart, can't look at them and figure out what they're thinking. cannot read them like an open book the way you can.

but right now, he feels like something is wrong.

it's been almost a week since he's noticed this change in behavior. you've been looking over your shoulder like you're in some kind of horror movie. eyes constantly scanning your surroundings, fingers fiddling with the window locks. even peering outside through the gaps in your curtains.

you're nervous, he realizes. paranoid, like something's chasing you. whatever it is, toji understands that he doesn't like the way worry looks on you. in fact, he hates it. hates the way his ears can pick up your increased heartrate. hates the way he can smell the spikes of anxiousness in your scent.

he's trying to be a good housemate and respect your boundaries. trying not to be nosy and let you deal with your own issues like an adult. but then his mind wonders if there's something really wrong, if someone's giving you a hard time or stressing you out, and then he just gets angry.

(don't you know that he adores you? don't you know that you need only say the word and he'd kill a man for you? don't you know the amount of power you have over him?)

regardless, he's still trying to be a good housemate and respect your boundaries. but it's becoming increasingly more difficult to watch you come home everyday like there's someone chasing after you. even now, he watches you double check the door locks before you hurry over to your windows. double check the locks, tug the curtains shut, peer outside through the gaps.

only when you're done do your shoulders relax, and when you turn around, you jump when you notice him standing there staring at you. the surprise bleeds into a quick, barely there smile. "oh hey! how was your day?"

you don't even wait for his answer before you're turning around to hang your coat up, and that's enough to make him crack.

"alright what the fuck is wrong with you?" toji's voice cuts through the silence like ice, and you internally wince. defensive walls rise quickly, and then you're turning on him with fire in your eyes.

"excuse me?"

toji's bulky arms flex as he crosses them, staring down his nose at you completely unfazed. "you've been hiding something."

"i—"

"—and don't even bother tryin' to deny it. it's written all over your face."

the wolf watches you inhale heavily, and the crease in between your brows makes his fingers twitch (eager to reach out and smooth them down carefully).

you sigh, defeated. "remember last week when i went to the store that one night?"

toji nods.

"i, um, bumped into someone there." your fingers rub over your arms in an attempt to be soothing, and toji's frown deepens in tandem.

"who?"

you glance at him. guilt gnaws its way up your esophagus. "um, naoya zenin."

toji's reaction almost makes you vomit. his ears stand up straight, tail going rigid, and the anger that contorts his expression makes you shiver. "what?!"

his voice has taken on a timbre you haven't heard before, an inherently primal growl ripping through his vocal cords in a way that sounds almost painful. you wince, trying to placate by backtracking.

"i was gonna tell you—"

"what the fuck did he say to you?!—"

"he just—"

"that fucking creep i swear to god—"

"toji." your palms find his forearms in this strangely natural way that makes his stomach churn. steadying, stable, everything that he lacks. "please. can we just relax and sit down?"

his ears droop slightly, but he still maintains his heated glare. not that he's necessarily angry at you. but his palms feel too sweaty and his heartbeat feels too fast and his stomach feels too heavy. still, he forces himself to breathe deep through his nose, quelling the instinctual rise of feral panic that seems to want to burst from his veins. he lets your hands, barely able to fit around the width of his arms, maneuver him to the couch.

when you take a seat next to him, he can smell the nerves.

(spiked; hints of bitterness hiding between layers of sugary sweet.)

more so, you look guilty. it briefly strikes him that perhaps you feel bad about keeping this from him. he's then struck with a similar feeling when he realizes he's kept something from you too. this is all followed by a searing streak of anger when he remembers the reason why you both have been hiding things from one another.

(maybe it wouldn't be so bad to live up to their expectations of him. be the real curse of the zenin bloodline. they always said he was an uncontrollable animal. maybe it would be okay to finally prove them right. have his family's life force dripping red rivulets through his pointed claws. taste its metallic tinge between his sharpened teeth.)

"he came up to me at the store," you start, wiping down your palms on your thighs. "he already knew that i knew you. said he saw us walking around that night shopping."

toji's claws dig into the flesh of his palm painfully. the memory is now tinged with something poisonous. always breathing down his neck.

"he was talking about how his father was surprised that you were even interacting with another human. and then he said it was a shame he lost us in the crowd because otherwise he'd come to our house for a visit."

you watch the wolf next to you clench his fists, and your lips slant.

"what else did he say?" toji tries to keep his voice even, but it comes out strange. your teeth dig into the flesh of your bottom lip painfully.

"he… he said that since i was clearly c-close to you, i should convince you to do something."

"and what's that?"

you pause, before letting the bitter words spill. "convince you that's it's time to go back where they want you to be."

"that fucking asshole!" toji's voice is akin to a roar, and you wince as you watch him stand and snarl like he's been beaten. he pushes his claws into his hair and grits his teeth. "how fucking dare they even—"

another pained growl rips from his throat. the sound makes your stomach coil, and before you can stop yourself, you're reaching out to grab his arm. his head whips around at the contact, baring his teeth with a snarl as he ears point upright. but then he sees your expression, sad and tired, and his shoulders drop immediately.

"you know that i don't want you to go, right?" you ask him quietly. toji stares at you, long and hard. his jade eyes are bright with anger, but there's a hint of fear in there that makes you want to cry.

"… you sure?" his voice is so quiet you almost have to strain to hear it. your fingers tighten around his forearm. even with the way he is standing over you, you think he looks smaller. like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"i'm sure." your voice is resolute, like it's always been when it comes to him. his exhales slowly, and you smile at him in this tragic way that makes him want to rip his eyes out.

(you're too good. too trusting. too confident in the fact that he won't lead to your downfall.)

"kid," he calls out, voice strained.

"hm?"

"i gotta tell you somethin' too."

you frown, but then you're pulling him back to the couch (right next to you; close enough that your scent wraps around him once more—warm, blanket-like), and then you're looking at him earnestly. "what is it?"

he tells you all about his run in with naobito zenin. details the angry confrontation in which his stupid uncle had warned him to go back to where he belonged, tired of the wolf's running game. how the old man had been close to calling his men to come get him before toji had resorted to nearly crushing his windpipe in retaliation. how naobito had warned toji that hurting him was a punishable offense that would lead to him being locked up again. and how, at the end of it all, toji had told him that it would be worth it if it meant being rid of the stupid zenins once and for all.

and then he finishes by telling you that his uncle was so convinced toji would end up back there on his own anyway, because he was nothing more than a mindless animal.

(he carefully leaves out the threat naobito made about putting him down. and he also leaves out how none of that scared him more than the idea of his family's clutches ultimately reaching you.)

you sit there and listen with an expression that bleeds horror. the divot in your brow is so deep toji worries it may become permanent, and your eyes shine with a sadness he's never seen before. when he's done speaking, you exhale shakily.

"kid, i'm never gonna be rid of them," he says quietly. "they're always gonna be breathing down my neck. which means they're always gonna be breathing down yours too."

you nod slowly, eyes distant as you stare at the edge of the coffee table like it's got all the answers in the world.

"there's nothing i can really do." he finishes with that final statement.

you chew on your bottom lip quietly. something is working behind your eyes, calculating, evaluating. "you threatened him?"

toji scoffs. "of course i fucking did. threatened to kill him and his brat son."

you turn to him, eyes alight. "would you?"

toji's heart leaps into his throat. he will never deny the amount of times he's thought about it. since the day he was old enough to realize his own brute strength. every day he was thrown into that damn cell. every fight where he would scratch and claw just to live another day. and every day since the old man stopped him in the streets.

the thought has lingered in the back of his mind, poisonous. rotting. because he knows that it is the only way. he knows that they deserve it. he knows that it is the one path that could lead him to peace.

(that could lead to him wiping the worry from your eyes.)

it's always been there. and now you…

"you can't be serious?"

"toji, answer the question. would you do it or not?"

"of course i would!" he fires back quickly, before taking a steadying breath. "you don't get it, kid. i got no love for them. been dreaming about ripping those bastards apart since the day i was smart enough to realize they only saw me as an animal."

you nod slowly, still chewing on your lip. something settles behind your eyes, and the thrill it sends up toji's spine is almost sadistic. your voice is flat when you speak, but it does not waver. "toji… if there was something that came into my life that was threatening me and my loved ones. our livelihood, our safety, our security… i wouldn't really be thinking about morals anymore."

toji stares at you mutely, and you continue. "so… if there's an unwelcome guest showing up at the door, and we've asked them—no, begged them—to leave us alone and they haven't listened… then maybe the only thing left to do is force them to leave."

his mouth runs dry, and simultaneously, his ribcage jumps. you're looking at him with all the conviction in the world, and something in his deep complicated web of feelings for you shifts on its axis.

(you are sweet. you are peace and comfort and good. you are innocent and untouched by the horrors of the world in the best way. you are completely humane and understanding and you give nothing but kindness. you've offered him the world and he's gratefully cradled it in his palms. which is why this deeply root loyalty, this protectiveness, this affection—it has all come so naturally to him.

he would show mercy if you wanted him to. he would rip apart limbs if you wanted him to. he would dig a knife into his own intestines if you wanted him to.

but this. this is something he's wanted; dreamed about for as long as he can remember. cursed himself for thinking about because it makes him evil and wrong and horrible. but here you are—giving him support. telling him that you want it too.

this utterly wrong and animalistic thing that makes him the monster.

maybe you aren't all that pure. maybe he's the one who corrupted you. but then he thinks back to the fire in your eyes, that same resolute determination in your tone. and then he thinks that it couldn't have been him. it had to have come from within you, this desperate and complicated decision.

and then toji realizes that the reason it appeared is because you value him so highly. because on your moral scale, it is worth it to sin if it means keeping him safe. it is worth it to be animalistic if it means having him by your side.

he wants to envelop you in his arms. find your lips and breathe his own soul into you because he knows you'd keep it safe. knows you're willing to do whatever it takes for him.

the same way he is for you.

he loves you, he thinks. it's just that simple.)

and that's all the confirmation he needs.

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evermarch · 3 months ago

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“like the geese, we really did mate for life.”

an interesting thing about the sotr epilogue is that, despite its placement in the early years post-war, where haymitch would be in his mid-40s, it feels like it’s set at the end of his life. his tone is reflective. he speaks often in past tense. he talks about lenore dove coming to him, and he uses her language, saying that he’s not sure he’ll be in the “old therebefore” much longer. how his liver’s destroyed and he’s not sobering up, even if he’s not drinking for the same reasons.

but this is the same book where we saw one poor little girl transformed into another. the same series where skin grafts grow easily in a lab. where “genetic manipulation” class is part of the core curriculum before university. where mutts with practically supernatural abilities are designed at will. where the capitol populace has a notable substance abuse problem. in my mind, there’s no way transplanting a liver, a regenerating organ, particularly in a district whose new industry is medicine, isn’t possible.

so, to me, haymitch isn’t near the end of his life unless he chooses not to pursue a future. which he very well could. as he says, “when my time comes, it comes, but i’ve no idea when that will be.” but i think there’s a lot of evidence that he would choose to stick around. or at least, to try. namely, his lenore dove telling him he can’t go to her yet. because he needs to look after his family. and geese, for one thing, have an average life span of 10, 15, 20 years.

whether haymitch is or is not at the end of his life, i think it’s clear that he has not and does not intend to marry or have children beyond katniss and peeta. but i think the wording of the line which best establishes that is notable. “lenore dove likes it best [in the meadow], and I’m content where she’s content. like the geese, we really did mate for life.”

when he reflects on the life he’s already lived, he uses past tense. when he talks about his life now, on his reasons for sticking around with katniss and peeta, haymitch uses present tense. lenore dove exists in both places. throughout the epilogue, she exists in the present. she grows older with him. so i think it’s interesting that haymitch uses past tense tense for this one line. “we really did mate for life.”

that’s not to say that haymitch ever “moves on,” because that’s a false characterization of people who lose their loves in the first place. however, i think this line is past tense because it makes this question, like the rest of haymitch’s life, ambiguous. it also opens up discussion on what “mating for life” means. it’s a statement which implies exclusivity, but i don’t think necessitates it. because it’s not true that geese mate for life. they mate until one dies, after which the surviving goose mourns and then finds a new partner.

there’s room for a version of haymitch, who lives many years past the epilogue, who finds romantic attachment again.

if he does, he would not be replacing lenore dove. he would not be disgracing their romance or defiling their love. and 16 year old haymitch, believing he’s about to die, caught in the throes of the exploding tank and grief over ampert’s death, knew it, too. he was “furious” with himself that he didn’t tell lenore dove to “move on” from his death, because he was terrified of her living out her life haunted by his death. even while he desperately clung to her as he faced his imminent end, he was hoping she’d go on without him.

to love someone like all-fire is to love them enough to let them be free to go on after death. and that’s how haymitch loves lenore dove. and that’s how lenore dove loves him, too, because she is his goose. except haymitch has never been free to go on. the life haymitch was terrified for lenore dove to live is exactly the life he does live. from the end of the book, we know that he is doomed to repeat the 16th year of his life over and over again for 25 years. there’s no reprieve until katniss and peeta come into the picture.

yet, the epilogue’s tone is entirely different. it’s melancholy, but hopeful. he is no longer the 16 year old boy living in a repeating cycle of his own tragedy. when he next revisits it, it’s on his own terms. from that point on haymitch is finally allowed to grow up. to live a life in the “after.” to truly enter his mourning period. for someone new to join him in this new life would not mean he leaves behind lenore dove, or that she’s no longer his mate. because we know lenore dove stays with him, and will continue to stay with him, always.

and it’s likely that anyone with whom he finds comfort in his remaining years would carry someone with them, too. there’s no shortage of people who lost their loves in panem, whether from the war or before. there’s no shortage of people who would understand that his love likes it in the meadow. because maybe theirs tells stories around the fireplace in a creaky house in the seam. or fashions snares in the woods around district 12.

maybe 5, 10, 15 years in the future, when his geese are all grown up and two new goslings hatch, he’ll be an example of a different kind of love. of how new love is not a dilution of the love that was lost. of how lost love never dies, even as life goes on. of how love is not finite.

regardless of whether haymitch finds something resembling romantic love again, i am at least comforted by the thought that his end is much more peaceful than we dreamed it could be. because he has a family again. and because lenore dove is with him, too. and, no matter how long it takes for him to leave the old therebefore, she’s waiting for him in the next world.

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rowinablx · 3 months ago

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Sentry has one of the most twisted and convoluted origin stories in Marvel Comics, and it’s a big part of what makes him such a compelling character. His backstory is a mess of trauma, addiction, and cosmic power, all wrapped up in a fractured psyche that’s as dangerous as it is tragic. Here’s the breakdown:

Sentry’s origin starts with Robert as a junkie, a lowlife meth addict desperate for a fix. He breaks into a lab where he stumbles upon a secret super-soldier serum—a leftover from the Weapon X program, juiced up with some experimental cosmic sauce. He drinks it, and boom, he’s suddenly got “the power of a million exploding suns.” That’s not hyperbole; it’s how his power level is described. Instantly, he’s one of the most powerful beings in the Marvel Universe, on par with or exceeding heavyweights like Thor or Hulk. But here’s the kicker: the serum didn’t just give him power—it split his mind and birthed the Void, a dark, apocalyptic alter ego that’s basically his ID unleashed. The Void isn’t just a villain; it’s a part of him, a reflection of his guilt, self-loathing, and repressed rage.

What makes this so fucked up is the psychological toll. Robert’s not a hero by nature—he’s a broken man who accidentally becomes a god. He tries to do good as Sentry, but his mental instability and the Void’s constant presence mean he’s a walking disaster. Early on, he’s retconned into Marvel history as this Golden Age-style hero who’s been around forever, but his mind’s so shattered he can’t even trust his own memories. Turns out, he begged the world—including his best friend Reed Richards and Doctor Strange—to erase him from existence because he couldn’t control the Void. They mind-wipe everyone, including him, to forget he ever existed. That’s some dark shit: a guy so powerful he’s a threat to reality, yet so fragile he’d rather be unmade than live with himself.

Then there’s the reveal that the Void killed his wife, Lindy, in a fit of rage—or maybe he did it as Sentry and blamed the Void. It’s ambiguous, and that’s the point. His whole deal is unreliable narration. He’s schizophrenic, delusional, and his perception of reality is a mess. Every heroic act he does is shadowed by the fear that he’ll snap and end the world. In Siege, he loses it completely, and the Avengers have to take him down—Thor yeets his corpse into the sun. Even then, he comes back, because death doesn’t stick for a guy like him.

Why does this matter for Thunderbolts? The upcoming MCU movie is bringing Sentry in, played by Lewis Pullman, and it’s heavily implied if not outright shown he’ll be the major antagonist. If they water down his origin—make him just another strong guy with a generic villain arc—they’ll miss what makes him tick. Sentry’s not a straightforward hero or villain; he’s a cautionary tale about power without stability. The Thunderbolts are a team of antiheroes and misfits, and Sentry fits that vibe perfectly—a wildcard who could save them or doom them. His addiction, his mental illness, the Void—it’s all crucial to showing why he’s not just a Superman knockoff but a deeply human fuck-up with godlike power. Strip that away, and you’re left with a bland cape guy. Keep it, and you’ve got a story that could rival the best MCU character arcs, like Tony Stark’s or Loki’s. Messing it up would be a disservice to one of Marvel’s most unhinged and tragic creations.

*just found out that Sentry's creator has been involved from the beginning with Sentry's character in Thunderbolts and is basically contracted to write a Sentry project!!!

#robert reynolds #bob reynolds #sentry #thunderbolts*#the thunderbolts #thunderbolts #lewis pullman

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backinmyphase · 9 months ago

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Not fulfilling meals

Summary: As the days go on, the Gojo estate remains cold, as you and Satoru didn't really talk to each other. Would your arranged marriage ever be bearable? Well, Gojo wants to try.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 2980 words

Part 1 Masterlist

Author's note:

Well I guess this is my 100 followers special?? Like you guys are so sweet, how did I deserve your kind comments?? I hope you like this part too <3 (This will be a slow burn, I'm sorryyy :'), if you want to be added to the taglist, just say so it's no problem <3 your comments make my day :))

The jujutsu world was Gojo Satoru's world.

He knew, he was the strongest. He knew, he destroyed the balance of the jujutsu world just by being born. He knew, it was expected of him to keep this power in the hands of the Gojo clan.

He knew, he should marry and get an heir. An heir, who would be even stronger than him.

But he was selfish. Wanted to live his life, without a timer that says when he should have a kid.

He wanted to have control of his life. And if that was so selfish, well then he would gladly be it.

That's what he always thought. But right now, as he didn't see you for the third day in a row, he felt guilty.

Guilty, because he didn't really dislike you. Hell, he didn't even know you. He disliked that you two had to marry. Hated, that it wasn't his choice.

The last days were colder than usual. He felt your presence in this house and that you avoided him like the plague. Everytime he sat down at the table in the living room to eat, he would hear the words you threw at him.

He should be glad. You said, you wouldn't bother him and you kept your word. You didn't even come out of your room when he was around.

So why did he hate it?

He sat at the table in the living room with his breakfast. And he waited. Waited, even though he had to do missions. Waited, even though his brain was telling him to leave.

He waited.

'SO EXCUSE ME. IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL!'

His phone rang and a message from Suguru popped up.

"Where are you, Satoru?"

Satoru should stand up an leave. Should eat and leave. But his consciousness didn't want him to leave. His phone rang again. Should he leave or stay?

He waited.

'AND IF I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!'

His empty plate looked at him. His own reflection raising an eyebrow at his behavior.

He stood up. Slowly he moved to your door. Looked at the closed door and wondererd if he should knock. Just ask you to eat with him.

'I DON'T WANT-'

He turned around and went to his missions, like he was supposed to. Like his senses told him.

Your room was so cold. Even when you hid under your supposedly warm covers, you started to shiver at the thought that you will always sleep here.

You were scared.

Gojo was longer and longer in the living room, every morning he made himself ready to leave. And today morning he was in front of your room.

You were so scared of the conflict with him.

Not that you felt guilty, you didn't feel sorry for what you said or anything like that. But the overwhelming fear that he would tell his clan members about the issues in your marriage would mean your doom.

Today was a meeting with your mother and the higher ups.

Your mother made clear that the meetings will be on a regularly basis in the letter. And she hoped that 'you could deliver good news'.

She meant deliver a kid.

No, your blanket didn't keep you warm. And it didn't protect you from all evil like your child self foolishly thought.

"You are late." As Satoru's best friend looked at him, he almost looked concerned.

"Sorry, slept in a bit." Satoru didn't look him in the eyes. "Where is the mission?"

Suguru inspected him a bit and then waved his hand. "Don't bother, I will do it today. You can rest today."

Satoru laughed a bit, but was confused when Suguru didn't laugh with him. "Wait, you mean that?"

"Yeah, Satoru." Suguru sighed. "You look like you need a break. And maybe," Suguru's voice grew a bit softer.

"You could talk to her about it, instead of working yourself dead."

Satoru scoffed as he looked to the side. "She doesn't want to see me. Like ever."

The following silence spoke loudly. And Satoru knew that it was his own fault.

But what was he supposed to do now? What did you want from him? How should he know, when you two didn't talk? How?

"Just go home Satoru."

"Don't raise your head to high. Just because you are married to Gojo, doesn't mean you will get the same treatment." Your mother pressed her lips together disapprovingly.

"Yes, mother."

She nodded and sighed as you waited for the other Clan members and higher ups to show up.

Your hands were shaking so you kept them hidden in your lap trying to gain the control other them again. But your anxiety grew by every second.

You weren't made for this pressure, this life. You weren't made for being the wife of the strongest.

You felt weak.

"They are here." A servant announced and your heart felt like it exploded.

"Good. Let them in." Your mother spoke calm and collected, like the power of the jujutsu society wasn't in her house. How did she become so untouchable?

As the door opened, you could feel the atmosphere becoming more sharp.

The higher ups were old. But that just made them more menacing for you. Those people were always just some force that would control your purpose, to you.

Now that force stood before you.

You looked down at your hands and you could feel their stares. Your hands were sweating madly as you began holding your breath.

You felt so small.

Gojo would keep his head up. He wouldn't fall into himself, he wouldn't care about their stares. Why couldn't you be like that?

Because you weren't born like him.

"Mrs. Gojo." The voice of an eldery woman. "How did you sleep tonight?"

What did they want from you? Why were you his wife, for God's sake? Why did you have to be a girl? Why, why, why?

"I slept well, thank you." You tried everything to keep your voice steady in front of them. Just try to not look so weak, okay?

"So can we asume an heir is on the way?"

"What?" Too surprised, you raised your head forgetting your mother's words.

And that made the stares just worse. The eyes were piercing you.

"You didn't sleep with him?" An old man looked disapprovingly at you. A man you didn't know.

He looked at your mother. "I thought we made it clear, that the heir was top priority!"

Your mother's eyes were boring into your head. "You did, and she knows that. I hope she knows her duties as his wife."

She didn't even talk to you. "I know." you looked down again. "We just didn't have the time to get to know each other-"

"What does that matter?" The eldery woman from the beginning sounded annoyed. "Knowing each other wasn't really your duty."

Your vision started to get blurry. Why?

"Well you at least talked about the honeymoon, right? Then you have time for your duties." You didn't know if your mother was trying to help you, or was trying to help the higher ups.

"No, we didn't really-"

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, FOR WHAT DID YOU THEN HAVE TIME?" The man was yelling now. "WE GAVE YOU FOUR DAYS! WHAT WERE YOU DOING?"

It was difficult to breathe. Your mouth was hard to open and dry. Your neck was feeling sore, because of the looking down. Your eyes were...

Why did you even show up to the meeting?

Gojo wouldn't have bowed to their will. He would stand up. But you can't.

You just can look down.

"This will be more work than we hoped." You didn't try to differentiate their voices anymore.

"You have a lot to learn about how things work here." You felt like being pushed down onto the ground.

"Mrs. Gojo."

Satoru was feeling sick. You were nowhere to be found and he knew nothing about anything. The Servants couldn't tell him anything either.

First he thought you just needed a bit time for yourself and went for a walk or something.

That's what he thought ten hours ago.

Before he spend the whole day with megumi and tsumiki. Before he came home at 8 pm and you were still not home.

Was this it? Did you hate him this much, you would just leave?

Maybe he really fucked up that bad.

And as he was pacing up and down in the living room, dinner still untouched on the table, he felt terrible.

He didn't feel bad, when he skipped the meetings. No, he felt bad after he saw who he was hurting.

He was an asshole.

Why did you have to remind him of that? Suguru was doing that enough already. But when you did it, it stung much more and he didn't know why.

"Mr. Gojo?"

He flinched as he heard the voice of the little girl. Another reminder of you. The servant girl who was named Hina. Which he didn't know.

"Yes?"

"The food is cold. Should we make it hot again?"

Oh. The food.

As he looked at the planned dinner he felt sorry for making her work again. And you also had to eat today.

"Wait. My wife isn't home yet, we will wait for her."

The girl blinked two times before slowly nodding. "If you wish so." With that she took the food with her to the kitchen.

Satoru didn't know what to do. You were such a mystery to him, would you really go as far as just leaving and never coming back?

He didn't know. Satoru stood there in the living room clueless. Didn't know if his wife would just run away or not. Ironic, isn't it?

Where were you? What should he do?

'SO EXCUSE ME. IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL!'

He sat down. And he waited.

You were tired. So, so tired.

The meeting was long. Countless yelling and accusations at you. Tips for in bed and advice how to convince him to sleep with you.

You felt sick.

Sick, because they want to hear from you weekly, how your 'sex life' with Gojo is going. All these old people obsessed with making a new prodigy for their schemes.

"You are replaceable." They told you. "We can find a new wife to get an heir."

"So stop, resisting."

"Do it for your Clan."

These people weren't right in the head. They were truly sick.

And as all these faces left, normal breathing was allowed. Your heart was working overtime all these hours and you felt dizzy.

"Why are you still here? Go home and start fufilling your duties."

Your mother still sat next to you, angry and stone cold.

"I don't know him." your voice was shaking. "I can't-"

"I didn't know your father too." Her voice was sharp. "Still I had priorities. And those should be your Clan."

Her body seemed like a statue. Unshakable.

"Mother, I don't think he wants-"

"NONSENSE!"

Her sudden yelling made you flinch. She took a breath and then spoke in her unshakable voice again.

"He is a man. They always want. And one day he will just take."

She stood up. She didn't seem unshakable anymore. No, she was more unreachable, it wouldn't matter what you said.

"Your car is ready to leave." That were her last words before she left.

You were always left alone.

As you took the final steps to the Gojo estate, you felt tired like never before. Only now you realized that you haven't eaten since breakfast.

You hoped Hina didn't worry to much and they had something ready. You just wanted to eat and sleep.

'Maybe I won't sleep so badly tonight,' you thought as you rang the door bell. 'Since I can't even stand properly, from all the sitting. And I should get my own key, since'

The door in front of you swung open with force and blue eyes were locked in yours.

"Where-"

He stopped himself as he looked at you. There was something in his look that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Are you okay?"

His look was becoming unbearable for you, so you looked down.

"Yeah."

He just nodded and let you in. You hesitated before going in, not knowing what to do in his presence.

As you looked around, you noticed the empty dinner table. But what really caught your eye was that his plate was clean and not even touched.

"Hina," He remembered her name? You thought he would never... "We can eat now."

We?

"Or have you eaten already?"

You didn't dare look at him. What was all this about? Why was he even talking to you?

"No." you cleared your dry throat. "I haven't eaten already."

He hummed and ordered Hina and the other chefs to warm up dinner.

Hesitant, you sat down at the other side of the big table. Awkwardly you looked around, feeling out of place, because of the sudden attention.

"Why are you already home? You worked longer the last days. You weren't here before 11 pm." Finally you found your voice.

Gojo looked at you and firstly didn't say anything. Then he looked away and cleared his throat. "I... Just had no missions today. So I came home early."

"Oh."

Hina showed up like a savoir for this conversation and brought dinner.

But she brought for two persons.

"You haven't eaten already?" you looked down at your plate, trying to eat normally but your position was so stiff it wasn't easy.

"No, i-" he stopped in his sentence and looked down at his plate. "I wasn't really hungry till now."

You just nodded, while trying to eat as quiet as possible. The silence between you was palpable. The only sond was the slicing of the knives.

You tried to keep yourself steady. You really shouldn't eat too fast or he would think you were running. Which you technically were, but he didn't have to know it.

"Where," Gojo tried to sound casual. "Where were you?"

You stopped eating and thought about what you should say. He shouldn't know about the meetings. Shouldn't know that you were 'trained' to be his duties fulfilling wife.

"I visited my mother." Technically not a lie. "She wants to meet me regularly."

He nodded and continued eating. Looked like he was satisfied. He shouldn't think you were unfaithful or anything like that.

"Do you have a good relationship with her?"

Your eyes widened and you looked up to really look him in the eyes. Those beautiful eyes.

"Good enough." your voice was barely a whisper. But he nodded like he was listening carefully to everything you said.

"Should I come with you some time?" he leaned a bit back in his seat. "Or do you think she doesn't want to see me?"

As you thought about all the times your mother ranted about Gojo because of his irresponsibility, you couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't think so."

His position stiffed a bit. "Why do you think so?"

"She thinks you are careless." Your voice was growing cold. "Because the meetings you missed, Gojo."

"Oh. Yeah right." He looked down again and mumbled something incoherently.

You didn't ask what he said.

The silence between you came back as you finished your meal. And as you were finished, you stood up taking your now empty plate with you.

"I will bring that in the kitchen." You could finally turn away from him and his eyes. "Good night."

You didn't really expect an answer. But Gojo seemed to like to surprise you.

"Good night, sleep well. You look exhausted, try to rest now."

Your traitor of a heart started to pound louder, like you were in a bad romance novel. Your mind told it to shut up, while you walked out of the reach of his eyes and presence into the kitchen.

You walked to Hina and handed her your plate with a smile, while telling yourself to breathe normally.

"Thank you, dear, it tasted fantastic."

The girl smiled back at you. "Happy to hear that, Mrs. Gojo. We were also happy to see you two eating together."

"Oh well," you waved her statement away. "It won't happen again I think. Was just a coincidence."

The girl in front of you looked confused and shook her head. "No, Mr. Gojo specifically ordered to wait for you to eat dinner. His food was ready 2 hours ago."

You couldn't help but blink at her. He waited for you?

A tiny little hopeful thought slid into your head, speaking quietly but still steady.

Maybe-

It was already later than usual as Satoru sat in the living room. His breakfast still untouched he fought with himself.

Your door was still closed.

No, one evening couldn't open a locked door so easily. And as he stared at your empty seat he wondered. Why was this table even that big?

He should change that.

Did you always wait for him to leave before you ate?

Weren't you hungry?

'I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!'

His phone rang as a new message popped up. It was from Suguru.

'Are you still home, Satoru?'

He stood up. This was dumb. He was acting dumb.

He knocked at your door. "Are you coming for breakfast?"

Maybe Satoru wasn't all bad.

Taglist:

@zoeyflower @bubera974 @ssetsuka @lady-of-blossoms @peqch-pie

@karlaolea @slut-for-fictional-men @tnt-kokoo @gojoscumslut @sillyfreakfanparty

@tbzzluvr

@emi311 @the-number7 @o-ikawaii @doodle-cat16 @yozora7154

@levisfavoriteteashop @roscpctals99 @starlightglimmersworld @manyuyuu

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #arranged marriage #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk

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weaselandfriends · 3 months ago

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Sword Art Online (anime)

Sword Art Online is a Frankenstein monster. Here is every episode of the first arc and how it was adapted:

Episode 1 is from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 2 is from a more detailed rewrite of the story, Sword Art Online Progressive, published in 2012 (only a few months before the anime aired).

Episode 3 is from the second volume of the light novel, published in 2009.

Episode 4 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, in either 2002 or 2003.

Episodes 5 and 6 combine a side story published in 2007 and another side story from the eighth volume of the light novel, published in 2011.

Episode 7 is from a side story published shortly after the original web novel, likely in 2003.

Episodes 8, 9, and 10 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

Episode 11 and 12 are from a side story published in 2003.

Episodes 13 and 14 are from the original web novel, published in 2002.

By stitching together stories written across an entire decade, often with wildly different purposes and goals, the anime is tonally erratic, with glaring plot and character inconsistencies. For example, Episode 3 is a tragic episode in which Kirito brings several low-level players to a high-level floor, leading to their deaths. Kirito is traumatized; he later explains that this incident is why he plays as a solo player, so nobody else will ever get hurt because of him. Episode 4, by contrast, is a lighthearted episode in which Kirito—having learned nothing, because this story was written six years before the previous one—brings a low-level player to a high-level floor as bait for dangerous player-killers. When the low-level player is comedically groped by a tentacle monster and cries out for Kirito to save her, Kirito only shrugs and says, "Come on, it's not that powerful." He's ultimately correct, and this time the player survives, but what happened to his trauma?

These inconsistencies, combined with Sword Art Online's massive popularity, made it the favorite target of the fledgling anime video essay community circa 2014 to 2017. Though it's possible to do a longform video poring over every single plot hole for almost anything, Sword Art Online made it easy; half of its "plot" was never intended to be arranged in this way, and even when there was intent, it was the intent of an amateur author writing their first-ever story. You couldn't generate a work more perfect for endless nitpicking and angry rants in a lab.

But if the show is blatantly incompetent, what made it so popular?

It's tempting to ascribe its popularity to "right place, right time." By 2012, the year Sword Art Online came out, the internet had changed the primary way people interacted socially. Rather than being bound by family, proximity, race, creed, religion, or so on, people grouped together by hobby. "Gamer" was now a community-binding identity, an attribute that distinguished a person and their niche online space from the othered outside. And the Gamers craved legitimacy. They craved the approval and recognition of mainstream culture. They craved representation, that feeling of seeing yourself reflected in the world around you.

The world refused them. The mood of the entrenched pop cultural elite was best encapsulated by Roger Ebert, famous film critic, who had been waging a years-long crusade against video games as an artistic medium. In 2005, in response to the live-action Doom movie, Ebert said, "Video games represent a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic." He reiterated this claim in statements and essays in 2006 and 2010, and in March 2012, on the eve of Sword Art Online's airing, described Dark Souls—Dark Souls!—as a "soul-deadening experience." "Video games can never be art," he asserted plainly later that year.

In this milieu, it makes sense why Gamers glommed onto Sword Art Online. If nothing else, Sword Art Online takes video games seriously, more seriously than any non-video game media before it (asterisk; excepting .hack). This seriousness manifests in a consistent theme, a singular perpetually present thread that lingers even as plot, character, and tone skew wildly, stated by Kirito to Klein in Episode 1:

"This may be a virtual world, but I feel more alive here than I do in the real world."

This statement defines Asuna, who stops seeing her time trapped in the game as years stolen from her life, and instead learns to live each moment as if it were truly real. It defines Silica, mourning her dead Neopet and willing to risk her actual life to revive it. It defines Lisbeth, hurtling a million miles into the air but still for a moment enraptured by the beauty of a digital sun shining over a digital land. It defines Griselda, murdered by her husband Grimlock for motives he can only confusingly explain as related to how she "changed" in the game, how she became more confident, more self-realized, while he sank into despair (he was not a Gamer. He lacked the Gamer spirit). It defines Yui, the sentient NPC whom Kirito and Asuna adopt as part of a pantomimed marriage that the show's nauseatingly boring second arc is about protecting against an outside world that does not acknowledge it. And it defines Akihiko Kayaba, the game's creator, who when confronted at the end over why he trapped 10,000 people in this death game, can only say that he no longer remembers, before rhapsodizing about the "castle in the sky" he so achingly desired to bring to life. Unstated is that, to make it truly alive, he needed to make it—and the people inside it—capable of death. This logic is twisted, even more bizarre than Grimlock's murder confession, but neither the scene's wistfully poignant tone nor Kirito's responses reject it.

As the video essayists have done, it's pathetically easy to pick apart Kayaba's rationale. But to mire oneself in the story's logic is a mistake; Sword Art Online is not a story guided by logic. What matters is that Kayaba's illogical words are consistent with the ethos that underlies the narrative: The virtual world is as important as, or even more important than, the real world.

The anime's production values reflect this ethos, too. Sword Art Online looks strikingly cheap for its level of popularity. In almost every fight, still images with blur lines vibrate in tacky simulation of animation. There is no dynamism in the camerawork, and sword duels are often depicted in shot-reverse shot so only one participant is on screen at a time. Nobody interacts with their environment; every battle occurs on a flat, empty plane. Some of the monsters are CGI and look awful. The character designs are bland and generic. Even the music, by the otherwise-excellent Yuki Kajiura, sounds like phoned-in B-sides from her work on Puella Magi Madoka Magica (2011) and its sequel film, Rebellion (2013).

But what the show does expend effort on is its backgrounds, which are both visually inventive—floating islands, towering columns that hold up the sky—and depicted with glimmering post-processing effects to bathe them in sunsets, sunrises, rainbows, and starry nights. First and foremost, Sword Art Online sells its virtual world to the viewer, makes them believe in that world the way the characters in the story do.

And in having that world sold to them, in expressing its legitimacy and the legitimacy of those (hero or villain) who believe in it, the Gamers had their rallying cry, the work of media that finally said: You are seen.

But was it really Gamers that Sword Art Online saw?

While Sword Art Online is invested in selling its virtual world, it is not invested in selling its virtual game. The in-universe Sword Art Online is primarily defined by its lack of gameplay mechanics, rather than those it actually has. In Episode 1, Klein explains that the game lacks a magic system, which he describes as a "bold choice." In Episode 2, members of the raid party state that the game also lacks a job or class system. There is no long-ranged weaponry; everyone uses melee weapons, usually swords. The only strategy during raids is human wave tactics, where armies of players charge in and attack at once. The only cooperative maneuver is "Switch," a mechanic that is never explicitly explained but seems to involve a player who has already charged in backing off so another player can charge in their place.

Compared to even basic single-player RPGs, these mechanics are primitive; for an MMORPG, they're antediluvian. The point isn't whether a game with these mechanics would be fun or not (in many ways, it's similar to Dark Souls, where the basic core gameplay of dodge-and-hit is rendered meaningful by the consequences for failure), but rather that the game's mechanics have little importance within the story.

They're so unimportant that it's never explained why Kirito is so good at the game, what he's doing differently from everyone else. He's not even a grinder. He spends most of the first half of the story slumming on floors far beneath his level. It's no-nonsense Asuna who grinds hard, who tries to exploit the game mechanics, like when she proposes using NPCs to lure a boss. The plan makes logical sense, but logic is absent from Sword Art Online's ethos; Kirito rejects it, not on the grounds it wouldn't work, but because the NPCs would be killed. He prioritizes respecting the game world, while Asuna—at least initially—prioritizes respecting the game mechanics. Kirito's philosophy is ultimately proven right when he and Asuna adopt an NPC daughter who turns out to be sentient.

Meanwhile, Kirito's most impressive feat involves him ignoring the game's rules entirely. The one mechanic described in detail is that if you die in the game, you die in real life; when Kirito dies, though, he wills himself back alive to defeat the final boss.

The game, the experience of gaming, being a Gamer—none of these are part of the underlying ethos that guides the narrative decisions of Sword Art Online. Kirito didn't tell Klein, "I feel more alive playing this game." He said, "I feel more alive in this virtual world." Asuna didn't find happiness by exploiting the game, but by learning to live in it as though it were her real life. Kayaba didn't design Sword Art Online because he loves games, but because he wanted to make his world real.

This isn't a story about Gamers. It's a story about a virtual world. It's a story about the internet. It's a story about online community.

In his introduction to Speaker for the Dead (1986), Orson Scott Card describes the heroes of most science fiction novels as "perpetual adolescents": "He belongs to no community; he is wandering from place to place, doing good (as he sees it), but then moving on. This is the life of the adolescent, full of passion, intensity, magic, and infinite possibility; but lacking responsibility, rarely expecting to have to stay and bear the consequences of error […] Who but the adolescent is free to have the adventures that most of us are looking for when we turn to storytellers to satisfy our hunger? And yet to me, at least, the most important stories are the ones that teach us how to be civilized: the stories about children and adults, about responsibility and dependency."

Card, of course, wrote Gamer fiction long before anyone craved it. Ender's Game (1985) is obsessed with the mechanical minutiae of its titular game in a way Sword Art Online is not; its protagonist is successful in the mold of Asuna, able to understand and exploit game mechanics better than anyone else. But in this quote, Card describes Kirito perfectly. Kirito is, of course, an actual adolescent, emphasized by his character design and Columbine trench coat ("Don't show up to the GameStop tomorrow," you can almost hear him say), but his character is also adolescent in terms of Card's model. He spends the first half of the story as a solo player, wandering from floor to floor, doing good (usually), moving on. He lacks—or rather, avoids—responsibility. While Asuna is second-in-command of a top guild organizing high-level raids, Kirito is off on his own reviving some girl's Neopet.

When viewed from this perspective, Sword Art Online actually does have a coherent and comprehensible character arc for its otherwise inconsistent protagonist. Kirito develops as a result of his relationship with Asuna, finding through his marriage to her the responsibility that he previously forsook. When Kirito's error causes Sachi to die in Episode 3, he moves on, immediately abandons even his own trauma by Episode 4; Sachi is never mentioned again. (Of course not, since her story was one of the last ones written.) He feels no lasting responsibility for his actions. But later, Kirito realizes he could not brush off the trauma if the same thing happened to Asuna. It is through his responsibility to her that he joins the final raid and thus bears, shoulder to shoulder with everyone else, the cooperative responsibility of the entire virtual community of Sword Art Online. He has become an adult, with wife and child. He has become "more cultured, civilized[,] and empathetic," as Ebert would put it.

(And isn't that what Ebert is really saying, when he criticizes video games? That they are adolescent, childish, playthings?)

Through Kirito's character arc, and its underlying ethos about virtual worlds, Sword Art Online depicts online community via the language of marriage and responsibility that is traditionally ascribed to real-life community. This too resonated with its audience. After all, it wasn't just Gamers who craved recognition. Teenagers in 2012 had lived their entire conscious life in a world defined by the internet, and yet the "real world" considered online relationships and communities to be a joke. Sword Art Online, rather than legitimizing Gamers, legitimizes the virtual world, the internet.

But does it really even do that?

Immediately, Sword Art Online rejects the notion of online identity. Kayaba's first move upon trapping everyone inside the game is to force them all to look like their real-world selves. As per Sword Art Online's anti-logic ethos, he does not explain why he does this. Shortly afterward, Kirito looks at his real-world finger, which received a paper cut before he entered the game; he imagines it bleeding profusely, before saying, "It's not a game. It's real." By enforcing real-world identity within the game world, Kayaba possibly intends players to see the world as more real too, the way Kirito does. This fits the monomaniacal focus of Kayaba, and Sword Art Online as a story, on the importance of virtual space over any other aspect of virtual experience, and it's not surprising that Kirito tacitly agrees with Kayaba's decision when he and Klein tell each other they look better as their real selves than as their avatars. But it also alienates Sword Art Online from its connection to the reality of the internet, where personal identity is far more fluid.

Furthermore, despite his character arc, Kirito ultimately stands apart from his online community. At the end of the story, everyone lies on the ground paralyzed as he alone is given the privilege to duel the final boss, one-on-one. At this climactic moment, Kirito returns to being a solo player, while every other member of the community lacks agency, including Asuna. Especially Asuna. Shortly before the final battle, Asuna claims she'll commit suicide if Kirito dies, which is already an unhealthily adolescent view of marriage (as seen in Romeo & Juliet). Then, before the duel, when Asuna is paralyzed, Kirito demands that Kayaba "fix it so Asuna can't kill herself." Not only has Kayaba, the villain, stolen Asuna's agency over her own body, but now her husband is requesting he steal even more of it.

This, too, is part of Sword Art Online's ethos. Though the game has 10,000 people, nobody except Kirito actually matters. He is a "Solo Player" in the sense of Solo Leveling, the most popular airing anime, which has a mistranslated title; it should be "Only I Level Up." The implication of the real title is clear: Only the protagonist has agency. Kirito is the same. Only he plays the game, in any meaningful sense. The game—reality—bends to him; none of its rules, even death, constrain him.

It is total self-centeredness, a complete rejection of the responsibility to society that Card describes. This ethos pervades the show. Kirito is never wrong, even when he obviously is, like when he rejects Asuna's proposal to use NPCs as bait. The entire reason he realizes Heathcliff is Kayaba is because, during an earlier duel, Heathcliff beat him; Kirito (correctly) posits that someone who beat him must have been cheating. Everyone who likes Kirito is good, everyone who dislikes him is evil; Kuradeel, who chafes with Kirito initially over bureaucratic guild regulations, eventually unmasks himself as a sadistic serial killer. Every girl is in love with him, a harem rendered vestigial because Kirito is married to Asuna and expresses zero interest in Silica or Lisbeth or his sister or the second season's Carne Asada; but it's not about whether Kirito wants a harem, it's about the prestige of his ability to command one.

This is where the true face of Sword Art Online shows itself, what truly made it so popular, and where the core of its long-lasting influence remains.

Only the virtual world matters. Not the game, not the online community, not online identity. Only a different world, one that isn't the real world. And in this world, only Kirito matters. Sure, he'll fight to protect other people. Exactly like he'll fight to protect NPCs. In this world, real people are worth the same as NPCs, compared to Kirito. His wife is a real person; his daughter is not. But really, both his marriage and his child are a form of playacting, pretending at adulthood. When convenient, they are disregarded and trampled upon. Asuna spends the next two arcs of Sword Art Online sidelined—even viciously sexually assaulted—so Kirito can hang out with girls he doesn't even like, just because they're shiny and new; Yui is almost completely forgotten after the second arc, like a discarded toy.

This is an ethos of pure, distilled escapism. It is an escape from the real world to a false one, where every conceivable selfish fantasy is rendered real, where every desire can be granted and then disposed of when no longer wanted. It is an ethos without responsibility, without consequence.

And without shame. Sword Art Online is remarkably devoid of self-consciousness. It treats as real its virtual world, but doesn't feel the need to justify that world with logic. It doesn't feel the need to justify anything with logic; what it says is so, self-evidently.

In my Kill la Kill essay, I mentioned Sword Art Online's vast influence, and someone wrote (and sadly deleted) a well-reasoned response that explained how the aesthetics and tropes of modern isekai are much more heavily influenced by Japanese webfic that predate Sword Art Online, like GATE or Overlord or Re:Zero. That's true; I'd add that modern Gamer fiction, which is often obsessively concerned with the rules and statistics underlying game logic, is also not very similar to Sword Art Online on a superficial level. But Sword Art Online's ethos transcends genre. It can be found in isekai, Gamer lit, or even genres popular long before Sword Art Online, like battle shounen. Sword Art Online created the web fiction to light novel to anime pipeline, and in doing so popularized amateur literature and its decidedly adolescent mentality of shameless and solipsistic self-indulgence. "Only I Play the Game."

#sword art online #sao #anime #review

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