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tiramisuc0ffee · 4 months ago

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The Ghost of You.

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Summary: Mechmaru manages to succeed in informing the higher-ups of Jujutsu Tech about the patchwork curse's plan to seal the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru. With this, the higher-ups begin formulating a plan on how to secure their victory and take advantage of the information bestowed onto them. However, one thing Gojo could not have thought to be suggested was, you, who supposedly died over a decade ago.

warnings/tags: Takes place before the Shibuya incident arc. Brief mention of events that took place in JJK0. Mentions of death. There is angst but also fluff! Soft sex, Satoru really loves you :(( Friends to lovers(?) SMUT. MDNI.

word count: 10k+ (I NEED HELP)

Bonus Prequels: i. Warm Afternoons ii. Cold Nights

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

"A sorcerer that's able to amplify the cursed techniques of others? Something like that is possible?"

Itadori Yuji's eyebrows furrowed as he voiced his question, contemplating the words that Principal Yaga had just spoken to the assembled group of Jujutsu students and sorcerers.

The atmosphere in the meeting room was tense and undeniably suffocating. It had been a matter of hours since Mechumaru's warning had been delivered. A plan to seal away the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru, into the prison realm, and to bring complete and utter chaos to Shibuya and its civilians on October 31st.

Those gathered in the room were fully aware of how crucial this advantage was and how important it was to utilize it. However, there was also a mutual understanding that the perpetrators had to be aware of their own disadvantage, and would have to find some way to compensate for their slip up.

This brought an endless amount of "what ifs" into question.

"Yes. Someone like that exists with such a technique. The ability to not only limitlessly amplify their own raw cursed energy but to amplify the cursed energy and the techniques used by anyone they come into contact with" Yaga responds to Itadori's question.

"What if we just simply don't send Gojo-Sensei into Shibuya?" Itadori then says with such carelessness, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "If that person can amplify their energy limitlessly, don't we basically have our own super soldier who can overpower anyone alone?"

It is then Megumi who cuts in with a calm rebuttal, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's not about having unlimited cursed energy, Itadori. There are inherent limitations to such abilities. Even for someone who can amplify cursed energy, there's a threshold to how much they can sustain. Using cursed energy at such heightened levels consecutively poses significant risks and exacts a toll on the user."

Yaga sends a slight nod in Megumi's direction, confirming the information he shared with Itadori. "It is also unlikely our perpetrators will reveal themselves unless Satoru is present. Rushing in prematurely not only risks escalating the danger but also endangers innocent civilians, who could become casualties as a means to negotiate Satoru's presence."

A beat of silence fills the air.

"We, however, are getting ahead of ourselves," Yaga then continued, redirecting the focus "We have yet to establish contact with this sorcerer".

Gojo had been uncharacteristically silent amidst this discussion despite it heavily revolving around him. Between the relentless back and forth of his peers and students who each were chiming in with their own individual questions, wonders, and suggestions - he sat in his chair, arms crossed, leaned back, and sporting an expression that no one other than Shoko Ieiri could understand.

Her tired eyes fell onto the snow-haired man, noticing his stiffness and unusual quietness. She too understood where this conversation was headed and what words were about to be announced.

"Some of you already know who I am talking about. Yes. (L/N), (Y/N). A past student here at Jujutsu Tech, who was once presumed dead, has been rumored to be alive," Yaga finally discloses, his tone laced with a certain firmness. "And over the course of several years, we have finally managed to narrow down her general whereabouts".

Satoru felt his jaw clench ever so slightly. Shoko notices.

"If we wish to minimize casualties and maximize our strength- It is crucial that we locate her and attempt to persuade her to join our cause" Yaga continues with determination.

Chatter began to fill the room as Yaga took a momentary pause, his gaze shifting onto Satoru as if to gauge his reaction. The topic at hand brought forth several mixed reactions. Rumors in the form of hushed words floated around the room, some true some false as some even questioned who you were and how you met your demise.

But all Satoru could hear was your name. Repeated. Over and over.

...You... were alive...

"However," Yaga broke the silence once more, his voice cutting through the room and his gaze remaining on the blindfolded man, "we can't just send anyone to convince her. We suspect there is a veil with special conditions where she resides."

Satoru's teeth grits and his fingers dig into his sleeves ever so slightly.

"Only Special Graded Sorcerers can enter and leave the veil as they please. Though, this won't affect the plan I originally wanted to propose."

"There is only one person we can send in after her."

"Satoru."

---

It was a tranquil scene. A vast expanse of green and rolling hills for the eye to see. An empty clearing surrounded by trees. The grass swayed gently with the wind, creating this ocean-like rhythm to it. Leaves danced through the air, being carried along effortlessly and brushing past Satoru's figure.

And of course, at the utmost center, a pitch-black dome stood in contrast to its surroundings. A veil.

This was the alleged location of where you resided.

The meeting concluded with Yaga requesting that everyone but him and Satoru leave the room. As individuals shuffled towards the exit, Satoru's gaze met Shoko's briefly as she sent a small sympathetic nod in his direction. She knew better than to try and console him or give him a mess of strung-together comforting words.

His lips thinned in response, not giving any further acknowledgment to her gesture. They both knew he wasn't one to show his underlying emotions to anyone.

However, he found it surprisingly difficult to suppress his personal feelings as Yaga disclosed your potential coordinates to him. Normally, he was able to compartmentalize these sorts of things in his brain without worry. Dethatching his emotions from the work he had to do because, at the end of the day, these were the things that simply needed to be done.

"I understand how you may feel, Satoru. But I know you understand the importance of her recruitment and why you have to be the one that goes after her"

It just had to be done. There was no negotiating that.

He allowed a faux wide smile to take over his features as his eyes stared at Yaga through his blindfold.

"Leave it to me."

But deep down, he wasn't all that shocked that he had been bothered by all of this.

This was you we were talking about after all.

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle to himself quietly, he thought about how this is exactly the kind of location a sorcerer such as yourself would choose to hide. For a moment he wondered what took Yaga and the others so long to narrow down your whereabouts.

But a frown tugged at his lips. It's not like he was any better.

He began to walk towards the center of the clearing, heading straight towards the veil before him, his footsteps being muffled by the soft grass underfoot.

Everything up until this point had just been speculation. Right now everything was nothing more than mere rumors. Whispered theories. Red strings on a corkboard. There hadn't been any concrete evidence, no sightings in public, no security footage, no candid photographs that proved you still existed in today's society.

But as he approached the outer rim of the veil, his eyes boring into the deep pool of black- It dawned on him.

He picked up the lingering traces of cursed energy.

And without another thought, he walks through the veil with ease.

---

"You're wasting your time on training? Come watch a movie with me, I haven't seen you all dayyyyy!!"

Satoru's whiney voice echoed throughout the open space of the gym from the moment he entered and spotted your figure. Your back is turned to him as you swing at a punching bag in front of you.

It was both of your second year at Jujutsu High. And as per usual, Satoru was putting all his energy into annoying you rather than into anything productive. Despite your irritation, there was no mistaking the undeniable bond that you and he shared. You and Satoru were attached at the hip. Wherever you were, Satoru was there. And wherever Satoru was, you were right there at his side rolling your eyes at something he said.

He kept his gaze on your form, watching as you paused briefly before sending him a sour look. He let out a small snicker in response as he couldn't help but find your annoyance amusing.

"Yes, Satoru. I am training. Some of us take pride in putting in the hard work." You say with a pointed voice before continuing to throw punches, practically sensing the shit-eating grin that had been developing across his face.

He purses his lips, he didn't necessarily disagree with your mindset per se, but he always found it humorous to get a small rise out of you- that and he would rather die than ever utter the words "I agree" to you. You'd never let him live it down.

"Like you need to do that," He says with a careless shrug. "You're strong as is." He beams in your direction as he starts walking towards you, getting close enough to be able to watch as your face contorts into one of confusion before giving your shoulders a gentle roll. You continue to throw punches.

He huffs when he doesn't get a single word out of you, his smile only faltering for half a second when he finally gets close enough to you. He carefully studied your expression. The way you were so focused and determined, the way your eyes held that look of concentration whenever you were focused and putting your mind to something, he loved it. Even though he thought that you'd always been a bit of a pushover, he couldn't deny your dedication was admirable.

"Can you back up, you're in my space." you then say, more of a demand than an ask as you recognized how close he was getting to you.

He ignores your quip, not moving an inch, "C'mon short-stack, people like us don't have to worry about tedious things such as training." He said in turn, sending a knowing look your way. You knew that he believed what he was saying too, which was irritating. He fully knew the strength behind both yours and his techniques. The baseline of power for the two of you was lightyears ahead of many measly sorcerers.

"You're so full of yourself" You scoffed, pausing once more, letting your arms drop to your sides and finally turning to face him fully. "All you do is go on about how you're the strongest. Now please, back up Satoru," you said with a harsh glare before poking his chest with your pointer finger.

He didn't move an inch, infinity not even needed for him to continue to stand tall above you, his grin stretching out to a full-on smile.

You didn't know it, but he had just won. At least, he felt like he did.

He's gotten your full attention.

"Ooh, I like it when you get all snappy and bossy, it’s a good look on you." He looks down at you with smugness as his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose ever so slightly revealing those deep blues of his "And so what if I'm cocky? You act like I can't back it up." he said, getting in your face, grin continuing to grow.

You shot him a look of disgust, letting out a fake gag. "You're so cringy when you try to act cool to me," you said to him, letting your face continue to distort with pseudo-nausea.

He feels his heart drop to his stomach before he lets out an exasperated cry. "What do you mean cringy??", he says incredulously as his smug demeanor washes away and his ego takes a small blow.

His expression has you laughing, and he watches on as your head swings down and you drift away from his gaze, clearly showing your annoyance has melted.

The same could have been said for his heart.

He then watched as you let out a soft sigh before undoing the bandages you've wrapped around your knuckles slowly. You lift your head once more and turn to face him before gently nudging his side.

"You're insufferable... So what are we doing?" you say, flashing him the smallest of smiles, finally giving in to the request that he gave when he first entered the gym.

He let out a small cheer as you'd relent, momentarily swinging his arm around your shoulders and then grimacing when realizing you were sweaty. He'd make some sort of a remark which in turn earned him a firm punch to his arm.

He laughed watching your cheeks heat with embarrassment before whisking you away to get caught up in whatever nonsense his mind concocted for the day.

Satoru had a soft spot for you. Anyone with a brain could understand that if they had ever seen you two together.

There had always been a loneliness he shouldered in life, one that was a side effect of being the strongest. It was... a weird sort of isolation. Being above everyone else. Watching below as everyone fought to reach the summit. But- not ever stopping to realize the sharpness of the cold air and deafening silence that accompanied it.

It was loneliness that only the strongest could have understood.

A loneliness that you and Suguru understood.

You all shared some level of a similar burden, understanding how many people depended on you each waking day. The roles in which you all played, often being on the frontlines and confronting the possibility of the erasure of mankind every day. It was a pressure no one else could truly and utterly comprehend and face.

However, things were just a little more different with you.

While his friendship with Suguru provided great understanding, respect, admiration, and care-

What the two of you had always felt as if it ran so much deeper than that. There was what he considered to be a frightening amount of vulnerability that came with your connection.

A mix of private conversations. Unspoken words. Gentle touches. Knowing looks... Tears that he would normally never let anyone see.

There was love.

A love that surpassed the means of friendship.

It was unspoken of course. And he constantly used to wonder if it was mutually understood. As if you two knew what you meant to each other without having to say it. That each action, each second spent together, every vulnerable moment served as a confirmation of the ways you two depended on each other.

But after the death of the Star Plasma Vessel and soon the betrayal and departure of Suguru. You began to slowly fade away. It wasn't evident at first. Not at all. His mind was far too deep in sorrow and mourning to the point of being desensitized.

But, gradually, Satoru noticed how your face, your voice, your whispered conversations, gentle touches, knowing looks, all those things that were once a constant... slowly started to disappear from his life.

And then the announcement of your death came.

After being sent out on your own for a mission to defeat a First Grade curse, you never returned.

You were overpowered. Killed and eaten. There were very few remains that were recovered. Only your cursed weapon shattered, and tears of your uniform were found. Not even a trace of a corpse, even when the curse had been exorcised.

That was what he was told.

He didn't believe it at first. How could you have lost? To something he knew you were levels above? He spent days, texting your number only to get no answers, calling to be sent straight to voicemail. Returning to that damn worn down office building where you supposedly died, searching each floor, calling your name.

At least with Suguru, he knew exactly what happened. Even if it was by his hand.

But there was never any ease, never any reassurance when it came to what happened to you. Somehow the factor of that unknown and not bearing witness made it harder for him to comprehend it all.

It was a newfound revelation that shattered something within him that day.

He was alone. Truly and utterly alone once again.

And the summit felt as if it started to freeze over him.

---

A quaint house stood tall and nestled amidst the center of the veil, a single-story abode framed by a winding path that beckoned him forward. As Satoru approached, his gaze wandered over the meticulously tended garden, rows of vibrant vegetables somehow thriving within the sealed-off area. Each step along the gravel path stirred soft crunches of pebbles, a rhythmic accompaniment to his thoughts.

He ascended the weathered steps leading to a porch, their edges softened by what seemed like years of use. The wooden planks creaked subtly under his weight as his eyes traced the length of the porch. Potted plants brimmed with colorful blooms, their fragrance mingling with the earthy scent of the garden.

Reaching the front door, he paused briefly, hand hovering over the worn brass knob before he grasped it firmly and turned. The latch clicked softly as the door swung open and a hint of surprise sparks within him as he registers that the door was not locked.

His eyes peer into the home only for a mere couple of seconds. The interior is dim, but he can make out several pieces of furniture, decor, and appliances.

It was clear that this house was actively lived in.

However, his mind doesn't give him the room or time to even try and analyze or more so criticize the decor anymore as his eyes quickly take note of two things.

A cup of coffee steaming on the countertop near the kitchen.

And the back door is ever so slightly ajar.

Whoever lived here- was here recently.

Satoru's focus is all but shattered when the loud, whiny, sound of creaking wood fills his ears and immediately his head snaps in the direction of where the noise had come from. Now leaning away from the front door and letting the hand that once grasped the doorknob fall to his side, his eyes settle onto the only other structure in the vicinity.

A barn.

He pursed his lips, his brain processing the information and the infinite amount of possibilities at a million miles per second. It humored him that whoever this was had essentially cornered themselves and did nothing but give away their element of surprise by carelessly making such a racket.

His eyes then narrowed, and his feet carried him towards the wooden structure.

But given the conditions of the veil and the possibility that this could be you. Clearly whoever or whatever this was, was skilled and the noise made was nothing but bait. And by entering the barn, he would essentially be walking into the palm of their hand.

A smile stretched across his lips. That didn't matter though. As if anyone could lay a finger on him.

He nudges the barn door open with his foot with little to no care, the door replicating that same creak he had heard earlier. The vacant space was pitch black, only now the faintest bit of light leaking through from the now opened barn door.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he entered.

His eyes scan across the room meticulously, trailing up the wooden pillars that were lined and spaced incrementally inside the vast space. His eyes shift along the high beams and a smirk takes over his lips as he registers the faint feeling of cursed energy.

Bingo.

"I know you're in here." He said in a sugary sweet voice, his movements slow as he picked up a pebble amongst the dirt and debris that was scattered across the wooden flooring He fiddled with it between his long digits, the pads of his fingers smoothing along the rugged edges.

"If you show yourself now, I promise to play nic-"

Squeeeee

Another creak breaks the silence and not missing a single beat his eyes snap in its direction, charging the stone with cursed energy before throttling it at the source of the sound. The stone zips through the air, cutting through the air at such an intense velocity that upon making an impact with the roof of the barn- the wood relents, breaking under the sheer force, causing a gentle stream of light to now beam through the hole he created.

The barn falls into silence once more.

He sighs, raising an eyebrow. "Dead already?" he wondered out loud, a cocky laugh escaping his throat as he intently eyes the area surrounding the "mark" he's left on the infrastructure, admiring his handy work.

He is completely prepared for what happens next.

A shadowy figure zips through the air, and his eyes catch the glint of metal that reflects in the light as the attacker dives straight toward him holding some form of cursed weapon.

Satoru raises a brow expectantly, his grin remaining on his lips as he merely steps out of the way as the figure collides with the ground below, the sound of wood breaking filling the air for a second time as the blade embeds itself through the floorboards.

His eyes observed the figure cautiously, watching as it slowly rose to its feet, not bothering to fetch the weapon that was now a good foot into the ground. He smiles smugly as the figure slowly steps into the light.

"That would've worked- if it wasn't me" he quipped with a carefree laugh.

"You're just as pompous as I remembered"

It was one of those rare occasions where Satoru finds himself at a loss for words. His features are completely wiped of any smirk or cockiness and his brain all but freezes, cutting off any further taunting remarks that otherwise would have slipped off his tongue effortlessly.

It was you.

He'd be stupid to not recognize that voice from miles and miles away. It was you. Standing right before him, dawning nothing more than a pair of sweats and a tee. You had grown. You had changed. No longer sporting the same hairstyle you did back in your Second year or standing with that little bit of awkwardness that you seemed to carry with you naturally at the time. There was a new sense of confidence that you now carried with you, self-assured.

He found his footing, forcing a smile onto his lips.

"Had to keep things familiar for you, otherwise how would you recognize me?"

You let out a scoff and a wave of nostalgia washed over his senses as he watched your face- which was now fully in view- soften as you gave him a gentle smile.

But as he stared at your face he realized something was bubbling beneath his demeanor.

Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion.

No longer were there rumors, theories, or flimsy, stupid red strings.

You were alive. You were here.

And you had lied to him.

Insults started to bubble in his throat as his collected demeanor began to wash away.

The things he wanted to spit in your direction. How cowardly you were to run away in the manner that you did. Scream at you for abandoning him. Ask you, demand you, for an explanation for how you could have left him with such ease. How could you do that to him? He was counting on you. He thought you understood each other, ready to shoulder the burden of loneliness and strength together.

How could you let him brace the cold and deafening silence on his own?

"Satoru... it's nice to see you again"

And just like that it all melted away. As if the sound of your voice saying his name had been some Pavlovian experiment, he finds himself wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards his chest.

Those emotions could be put on hold for now he thought to himself as pure relief washed over his being. He held you with such an intensity that a part of him now wondered if this was a dream that he soon would wake from. And he waited for the moment you would slip away from his arms once more and for him to find himself stirring from the depths of slumber, alone in his bed.

It was then he felt your arms wrap around his torso and his bottom lip began to quiver before he clenched his jaw, biting down on his lip, grinding his teeth into the flesh ever so slightly just to still himself. He battled with himself internally, trying to find his composure, hoping that he would come up with something, anything to say. Just one more cocky remark to allow the mask to slip back on. Anything to just prevent all these suppressed emotions from spilling out messily.

But old habits die hard. And the simple comfort that came from being at your side once more was just far too overwhelming. A tear slips from his eye, as he buries his face into the soft strands of your hair.

Just for a moment... the summit began to feel warmer and the sound of gentle conversation began to float through the air.

---

"Well, I'm assuming you're not here for a quick check-in..."

The soft whistle of a kettle fills the air as you speak, the clattering of ceramics soon follows as you reach for two mugs that had been stored in your cupboard.

Satoru is watching you intently, taking in your every move, holding onto every word you speak.

He can tell you're purposefully avoiding his gaze.

The two of you had stayed in the barn for several minutes, holding onto each other in silence. You had wanted to say something but when the faintest sob left Satoru's lips, you knew better than to say anything more.

As you felt him begin to still and his breathing becoming slightly less ragged, you invited him back into your home, a place that would be more suited for the two of you to chat.

Upon entering, you let out a soft whine, complaining for a moment that your coffee had now gone cold and you would have to make a new one. You sent him a soft smile before offering him a drink as you headed into your kitchen space.

The air was uncomfortably stiff from that point on, several beats of silence filling the air as he felt his discomfort grow. This was incredibly awkward. Of course, it was... as if the circumstances surrounding the two of you were normal in the slightest.

He let your words hang in the air for a moment as he sat silently in thought, his eyes wandering around this place that you called home. He took note of the several knick-knacks that decorated the place, his eyes landed on a guitar that hung on the wall and then a wooden trinket that sat on top of the fireplace that appeared to be home-made and he mused at the thought of you taking up carpentry and music in your free time.

He's broken from his thoughts as he sees you lean down in front of him, gently placing a mug for him on the coffee table, raising your brow expectantly, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment to your words from earlier.

He curtly sent you a nod of gratitude, leaning up from the plush couch he had situated himself on, fingers wrapping around the handle of the mug, bringing it to his lips. He took a sip of the coffee, and the taste of cream and sugar immediately coated his tongue. He felt his heartstrings tug as he realized you still remembered how he liked his coffee.

He fought off a smile, knowing that now wasn't the time for fondness.

He watches as you take a seat on a chair that sits on the opposing side of the coffee table and he sighs before speaking,

"To put it simply, you are needed back at Jujutsu Tech."

"...Why?"

Your response is immediate, without any trace of hesitation. He looks at your expression, your eyebrows slightly furrowed and a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. And for the first time in a long while, a hint of nervousness sparks within his gut.

Convincing you was not going to be as easy as he thought it would have been.

"War is on the horizon... A group of cursed spirits are planning some sort of attack in Shibuya... and I am the main target. Yaga was the one who suggested that we find you. He had a team searching for you over the past decade... since you..." His voice trailed off, and you shifted your gaze away from his. A thick blanket of silence filled the room once again. He takes another sip of coffee, and he notices how his foot begins to tap restlessly.

"...They believe that if you are present, our chances of securing a causality-free victory is more likely" he continues, regaining his composure and dancing around the elephant in the room with such carelessness. "There will be several special-grade curses present, so we are preparing for the absolute worst..." Satoru says as he continues to watch you closely, trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were now screwed shut, your free hand, rubbing circles into the temple of your head as if you had a migraine. Your silence was more than unnerving.

"I can't, Satoru."

Your words are curt, you provide no further explanation, no reasoning. He frowns deeply, 'You can't?' What was that supposed to mean? Were you unable to use your cursed technique anymore? That couldn't be true- he could still see and sense the intense amount of cursed energy that radiated from your being. You were more than capable. So what the hell did you mean?

"...I left that lifestyle behind me years ago... you know this"

In his mind, he had pictured you running back into his arms as soon as he saw you. He pictured tears and an apology- A promise that you would never leave again as you held onto him tightly. Promises that you would return to his side without a second thought.

But this hesitation. This unwillingness. He felt so stupid upon being faced with it, his ego took a blow, his heart tearing a little bit as he began to question the foundation of the dynamic he had with you. Wondering if he truly wasn't enough of a reason for you to return to the way things were. But at the same token, he knew you and your stubbornness, the ways you stood your ground when making a decision, and your dedication to commit to them without faltering.

And there it was, in your words, the acknowledgment of your decisions. Confirmation of your actions being given as guilt rooted deeply into each word you spoke and swirling around in your eyes as you still refused to meet his gaze.

"Why did you do it?" he then dares to ask, the tone in Satoru's voice was unreadable, it almost didn't sound like him, the words coming out as a whisper yet carrying such a heavy weight with every syllable that rolled off his tongue.

This conversation was inevitable, you knew this. Even if you were trying to steer away from this topic, you knew that from the moment you saw him enter the veil, it would wound up here in one way or another.

But you didn't want to face this reality, "I don't understand what you're saying" you then say, stupidly letting out such a poorly constructed lie. Your eyes flickered to his face for a mere second and the furrow of his eyebrows told you just how much he didn't like that answer.

"Fuck don't make me say it," he muttered between gritted teeth, "Why did you fake your death? Why did you disappear without a trace?" his voice was slightly raised but still firm and contained. He could feel his grasp on his emotions slipping quickly as his grip on the mug tightened, his foot tapping much faster than it had been originally.

A subtle tinge of pain ached within his being as he finally directly acknowledged your deceit. As if beforehand your actions had been nothing more than meaningless flimsy words, his words spoke the truth into existence, forcing him to face it directly and fully. This was no longer a weight on his mind but a hard-hitting reality that he now had to navigate.

You give him a humorless laugh, a small smile that doesn't even begin to meet your eyes, "Do you really think the higher-ups would allow something like that? For a Special Grade Sorcerer that was tied so closely to you, the beholder of the Six Eyes and Limitless Technique to just step down and walk away?"

"That's not what I mean- " Satoru interjects, his eyes narrowing beneath his blindfold, "How could you? How could you just walk away from it all like everything that happened was nothing to you?". There was a bitterness in his voice that he did not attempt to conceal, his words cutting deep, outright challenging every aspect of your motives.

And you knew right then and there that there was no more running away from this. He deserved an explanation, you knew that. If there was anything you could do right now, it was to give him the truth. You let out a soft sigh, your eyes still refusing to meet his as you set your mug down on the coffee table that separated the two of you. He watches as you lean back into the chair, a distant look in your eyes as you begin to fidget with your fingers.

"It started after I heard about what happened to Amanai from you..." your voice came out as a murmur as you began to speak. A hint of surprise washed over his face before his lips thinned tightly as you brought up the name of the departed girl.

"I remember watching the ways it changed you and Suguru... You began to work tirelessly to surpass everyone around you while Suguru began to look worse for wear." he could see a sadness swirling in your eyes as you recalled those distant memories.

"It pained me to know how much that event shook you both to the core... and I wasn't there for any of it, so how could I comfort you both? Then... Haibara died..." Your voice begins to shake, your eyes seemingly fixed on the wall to your left, your fingers picking at the skin around your nails.

"Then Suguru defected... and that was when you broke."

Those last words hung in the air heavily and he watched as you took a deep breath, through your nose and past your trembling lips. You attempted to gather yourself, doing everything you could to prevent yourself from breaking, wondering how these memories still brought upon so much anguish after a decade.

"So much happened so quickly... and I remember that night... you cried in a way I had never seen you cry before... Another one of our friends gone..." Your voice had lost all its strength by this point, dropping to nothing more than a sorrowful whisper.

"I wondered how many more people would I lose? How many more days until one of us becomes a casualty once more? Would it have been Nanami next? Shoko?... You?" He felt a twinge of hurt as you spoke. A part of him almost felt insulted that you thought he would die, but the better part of him knew you meant no ill will. He wanted to stop you there and reassure you there was no way in hell he would have let anything happen to him, but before he could begin to interject, you continued to speak.

"I started to wonder if it ever came to a point where I would have to choose between the success of some mission or your well-being, could I ever rationalize it in my head? Would I be able to make that choice? ...Would you be able to make that choice?" Your fidgeting grew more restless as the skin around your nail broke, drawing a slight amount of blood.

"...and I hate how this sounds, but we made each other weak, Satoru. The target that was placed on my back for being so close to you was evident, and I thought I could shoulder that. But... seeing you after Suguru left, I realized I would become a weight that would hold you back—an additional variable to worry about. I couldn't stomach the thought of it all."

You sighed for the nth time.

"I knew I was uncertain about my capabilities when it came to making decisions involving you... and I knew I couldn't stay and watch as the people I loved turned into statistics. So I made my bed and laid in it."

A bitter chuckle then leaves your lips, "But I'm not so stupid to think that I have free will in this world. A special-grade sorcerer just out there in the world, their powers not being monitored? As if I would have been allowed that freedom. And I knew if you somehow caught word of my plans... you would try to convince me otherwise. I knew you would find a way to pull me back, and I couldn't let you do that."

"So I left on my own terms... removing myself from the picture in the cleanest way I could..."

The two of you fell into another silence as he took in the last of your words. After all these years, he finally received an explanation for your sudden departure. The picture was now complete, and he knew every detail of what happened. And frankly, he wasn't sure how to take any of it. A part of him felt stumped, wondering how much of the blame he should shoulder despite you not placing any on him. You laid it out pretty clearly that this was a conclusion you reached on your own. But the fact that you felt you couldn't confide in him, hurt deeply.

Then there was the way you spoke about yourself, acting as if you were nothing more than a mere inconvenience in his life - oh, did that spark a rage in him... As if he hadn't thought about you in the highest regard.

His next words seemed to slip past his lips without much thought and were solely fueled by emotion. "So you left me... You made everyone—made me believe that you were gone? You forced me to cope with the hole you left... Taking away the last thing I cared about?" He gritted through his teeth, as hurt and anger coursed through his veins, any sense of composure now far gone.

"A setback? Another variable to worry about? Do you hear the shit you're saying?" Your eyes snapped to his face, finally looking at him, surprise written across your face at the aggression that laced his words as he crassly set his mug down with a hefty thump.

"If there was anyone—anyone I could have depended on, it was you," he spat, hastily tugging his blindfold down his face, letting it hang around his neck.

And for the first time in a decade, you're staring him eye to eye.

Brilliant blues swirled around in angry, hurtful waves as they stared straight through you, analyzing every part of your being to a tee.

"Fucking hell- Of course, I worried about you. Anyone with a working pair of eyes and a brain could see what you meant to me. But I knew you - I knew your strength, I knew the risks that came with being so close to you, I knew they were something that just needed to be taken in stride. Every day, there was a risk. Of course, I knew that."

You watched as he took his bottom lip between his teeth, he was growing restless. You knew there was never going to be a positive reaction to what you had done. He would have to have been insane to see anything good about you pretending to have gotten killed.

But you didn't expect him to break like this.

"But- I had enough faith in you to believe you knew what decisions to make. I had faith that you would trust me just as much as I trusted you; depend on me as I depended on you." His words lose their anger, as sadness now coats them. His voice is fragile, filled with hurt.

"We propelled each other forward. Is that not how it was?"

You didn't know when it started, but tears were now falling from both of you as you fell into silence, staring at each other wordlessly.

Almost 12 years of bottled-up emotions caused him to fall apart before your very eyes. You had felt confident with the decision you made back then, certain that it was the right thing you needed to do for yourself and him. But maybe living with the decision had only been so easy because not once did you have to face the consequences and the effects they left behind.

But there it was, the consequences of your actions, manifested in the form of Satoru Gojo, the face of strength and confidence in the Jujutsu world, shattered. Crumbling to pieces right before your eyes.

And god, it was always so hard to see him hurting so intensely.

Your legs seemed to move on their own as they carried you without a thought, and you found yourself leaving the chair you had been sitting in and taking a seat on the couch next to him.

You leaned your head against his shoulder quietly.

And not missing a beat, he pulls you into him without a second thought, and the two of you are holding each other again, tears slipping from your eyes. Your resolve is crumbling; you can feel it. Knowing that the part of you that rejected Jutujsu sorcery and the life that came with it was beckoning you once again.

It always did. You knew it always did.

As empty as the thought left you, this was something your body was made for. This was your unfair calling and a role that you had no choice but to play along with. You may not have been asked to be given such a powerful technique, but you were. And even though you held the power to save so many, you selfishly decided to turn away so you didn't have to witness the loss of the ones you loved.

"Please" you hear Satoru whisper to you, breaking you out of your thoughts as he holds you firmly against him.

"You can come back. Higher-ups be damned- I won't let them lay a finger on you. I don't care about how long it's been... just come back." he was begging you. A desperation in his broken voice that told you that there was no more pride in him left to spare. This was the bottom of the barrel and what remained of him, was raw, emotional, and shattered.

He didn't know if he had it in himself to leave this place without you at his side. Let you slip between his fingers once more and let you vanish into the background again. Knowing damn well you're smart enough to move your location since you've been found. He finally had you once more, and he wasn't going to take this opportunity for granted.

Your resolve is fading away and you can't help but feel a hint of nostalgia. This is why all these years ago you knew you couldn't face him. Just as you admitted, you were weak to him, uncertain of your abilities to make decisions whenever it came to Satoru.

And right now, you couldn't help but take him in. The tenderness in which he held you, the scent that lingered around him, his heart beating so heavily you could feel it against your chest. There was only one word that floated around your head,

Home.

How long had it been since you felt like this? How long had it been since you felt the touch of anyone? You silently begged yourself to not let the fact you were undeniably touch-starved be any part of the reason why you would relent.

But this wasn't just anyone you were speaking about here. You knew this.

You'd be lying to say that your world didn't become duller after you departed from Satoru's side. The first few months of being away from him were excruciating and you lived in hefty guilt. The routine you once built together was no more. There was no one to push you out of bed in the morning, no one to drag you away from your responsibilities to goof off, no conversations until 4 a.m. in the morning, talking until your brain couldn't form coherent thoughts. No one to hold you through the nights that were just a little too hard to deal with. No one to understand your entire being in the way he did.

You truly and utterly missed him, even after all these years.

You breathe out a deep sigh the last bit of restraint evaporating,

"Okay. Fuck... okay, Satoru. I'll go with you".

You refused to be alone anymore.

Satoru felt his world come to a stop as the words slipped from your lips. His heart came to a halt in his chest as he soon took your face in his hands wordlessly, staring into your eyes.

And the summit grew warm as a fire was lit, and there he saw your smiling face illuminated by the flames.

He was unsure of what fueled his next action- perhaps it was the intensity of all the emotions both you and him had released, maybe it was the high he was riding from the sheer fact that you were officially back in his life once more... or the unspoken love he kept within for the past few years.

It could have been for a million reasons, but none of that mattered as his lips met yours in a gentle, loving, kiss, and his thumbs ran over the expanse of your cheeks.

Your heart flipped within the confines of your ribcage as he kissed you with such attentiveness, all of your sanity far out the window as your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed him back with an equal amount of tenderness.

He parted his lips from yours for a brief moment, "Twelve years I've waited just to do this..." He murmurs before pulling you into another searing kiss, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck before combing his fingers through your hair.

Your mind felt cloudy as he all but confessed the undying love he'd had for you for over a decade. You wanted to tease him, you truly did, but as you felt his fingers playing with your hair, you found yourself melting into his touch, any snarky remarks threatening to spill out, dying in your throat.

He suddenly flips you over, letting you fall onto your back as he hovers above you. A soft squeak squeezes its way past your lips and he lets out a breathy laugh, unable to stop himself from gushing over every little thing you did.

"God you're so ridiculously perfect..." Satoru whispers to you affectionately, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, loving the way the skin tinted with a rosy red.

"...You always have been," he continues, leaving several kisses pressed against your jaw.

"...My perfect girl" his lips trail along your neck where he gently nips and sucks and you feel lightheaded at his words. Never mind the red and purple marks he was leaving along your flushed skin, the way he praised your entire being, kissing you, touching you with such softness rendered you entirely speechless and helpless in his hands.

Satoru felt himself become overwhelmed with desperation. He just needed to be as close to you as possible, he needed to make up for all the time the two of you spent apart. He needed to remind you of just how deep his love and care ran for you. And he knew no amount of words would express that, so he needed to at least try and show you.

"Bed.. 'Toru, my bed" you breathlessly murmured to him, sensing his neediness as he began to press his body into yours and his lips searched for every bit of exposed skin you had to offer.

He lets out a low hum and pulls away from your neck, pressing one last kiss to a fresh hickey, "Where?" he says, lips continuing to graze your skin as he speaks.

"Down the hall on the right," you replied, your voice nothing more than a whisper and ears burning. In a flash, he's scooping you up in his arms and making hasty steps toward your bedroom as you let out a soft laugh, amused with how easily he picks you up. He nudges the partially opened door with his hip and gently tosses you onto the bed, watching as you bounce in place before he joins you, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you once more and kissing you once again.

It's messy and wet, his tongue darting out to coat your bottom lip before nibbling on the plump flesh and tugging. One of his large hands trails down to the hem of your shirt, and he gently pulls on the material, silently asking you for permission. With no hesitation, you raise your hands above your head giving him the green light he needed as he parts his lips from yours and makes quick work of removing the article, tossing it somewhere in your room.

His eyes trail over your exposed torso, tracing over every single curve, and Christ, you weren't even wearing a bra.

"Fuck you've grown up nicely, hm?" His voice says lowly as his hands run along the curve of your waist before gently cupping your breast, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your face turns a deep red as you bite back a moan from his touches, "Don't say that Satoru! You sound like such a creep-" You hiss through gritted teeth as he continues his onslaught, massaging the flesh in his palm before giving your perked nipple a small pinch.

"Sorry princess..." He says with a snicker, "...It's true though..." he grins at you pressing his lips to yours once more in a quick peck before sitting up to slip off his own shirt and discarding the blindfold that still hung around his neck.

His sculpted body was a sight to behold. It's not like you haven't seen Satoru shirtless before, there have been many incidents during your days at Jujutsu Tech, going to the beach, catching him right after he stepped out of the shower, or waking up next to him in your dorm and receiving a poor excuse from him that it was simply too hot while he was trying to sleep.

But after several years, you can see the effects of what you assumed was nothing less than endless hours of intense training written all across his body with every swell of muscle your eyes traced along, broad shoulders chiseled abs, and a waist so sinfully cinched, anyone would be envious.

When the hell did he become so hot?

Satoru genuinely felt himself grow warm under your gaze, the way you stared at his body so shamelessly made the tips of his ears turn pink. A smirk tugged at his lips as he debated calling you out for practically drooling at the sight of him. But as your small hand reached out and ran your fingers along the expanse of his abdomen, he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He couldn't tease you now, he didn't have it in him. Not when you were laying there looking so damn pretty, clearly needing him just as much as he needed you. As he began to make quick work of removing your sweatpants, he made a silent vow to himself that next time it wouldn't be so rushed like this, next time he would take his damn sweet time, drawing every second out and showing you everything he could do to you.

Discarding your sweat pants, his eyes practically honed in on the blatant wet patch soaking your cotton panties. "Fucking hell, you're driving me crazy sweetheart..." He growled, removing his pants, and flinging it to who knows where. He positioned himself between your legs, hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of your underwear pulling it down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace, and marveling at the strings of arousal that hung between your wet cunt and panties.

It was embarrassing how soaked you were, he barely had done anything to you and you were already a mess. Being touch-starved was becoming a prevalent fact and you just silently hoped he wouldn't put 2 and 2 together. Not that any of what you thought mattered because as soon as your panties were completely off, Satoru was diving into your cunt and eating you out with such eagerness you thought you were about to die and go to heaven.

His tongue worked skillfully along your slit, occasionally bringing your clit between his lips and sucking and lapping at the sensitive nub. "Satoru- oh my god-" you stuttered out, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head if not for his large warm palms keeping them spread. He let out a slight hum as you said his name and the vibrations have you seeing stars.

Were you really about to finish after two minutes of foreplay?

You got your answer fairly quickly as Satoru suddenly removed his mouth from you, denying you any further pleasure. You begin to protest but as he leaves a soft kiss on your inner thigh, your voice dies in your throat. "I'm sorry my pretty girl... Can't wait much longer" he says, his voice low and gravelly as he sits up, tugging down his boxers and positioning himself once more between your legs and caging you between his muscular arms.

"Need you finish while I'm inside that pretty cunt, okay?" he murmurs, licking off the last bit of your slick that lingered on his lips. Your eyes trailed down his torso, admiring the feint white happy trail before fixating right on his dick. He was so big, so lengthy and thick, with an angry red tip that leaked with pre-cum. Your mouth watered slightly-

Of course, he had a huge dick... cause why wouldn't he?

"You ready, sweetheart?" Satoru whispered to you, pulling you from your thoughts as the head of his cock nudged at your entrance which has you gasping. You meet his eyes, seeing the tenderness those deep blues held and you smile, nodding your head softly.

Slowly, he pushes himself into you, watching your face contort as you adjust to his size. "Doing so well, pretty girl... you're taking me so well..." he cooed, leaning down to press soft kisses to your face as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. The stretch was ridiculous, and your hands found purchase on his shoulders, holding on to him tightly as your nails dug into his perfect milky skin.

"Almost there, my perfect girl..." he whispered just before bottoming out. He cursed at how tightly you were gripping him, plush walls sucking him in so intensely he had no idea if he'd ever be able to leave - not that he wanted to, of course.

A breathy sigh of your name left his lips as he gave a testing roll of his hips, gauging your reaction.

And when the prettiest moan leaves your lips, he can't help but gush, his hips beginning to move in slow, measured thrusts and he buries his face in your neck, firmly pressing his body against yours.

He could feel your heart pounding against his chest, every sinful and beautiful noise you made flooded his ears and he groaned softly. Breathless sighs of his name left your lips as the sound of skin smacking against skin filled the air with every thrust he made, fucking himself deeper into your sopping cunt.

He knew he was done for.

You were so perfect. You always were so damn perfect. Everything that he could have ever wanted. He always felt that you were his other half. From the moment you entered his life, he swore you were a splash of color in what he felt was a previously black-and-white world. The way you understood him in ways that he thought no one ever would. The way you always matched him on his childish, snarky remarks and teasing. The way you would put up with him, even on the days he knew he was being difficult.

Life with you meant reassurance and laughter, it meant being seen for something more than this power of his. Life with you meant never having to feel alone, it meant having a constant to push him through the toughest of times. It meant having a space where he could let the mask slip off, a place where he didn't have to be 'The Strongest', but simply Satoru,

Your Satoru.

And fuck, the pain he felt the day you left. The pain he felt for weeks... for months. Having to adjust to a world with you was agony.

But now that you were here, spread before him, your pretty eyes shut and those delicate lashes brushing on your cheeks, lips parted and moaning his name like a mantra- and he knew he could never get enough of you. He would never be able to get enough of you.

Never again was he going to let you get away. You were officially stuck with him until the end of time.

"Ah- 'Toru, m'getting close-!" you cried out, your hands running all along the expanse of his back, nails now breaking the skin and leaving red angry marks in their wake as his thrusts began to increase in pace and becoming sloppy.

"Me too princess, don't hold back, want you to cum for me, make a mess for me like the perfect girl I know you are" he groaned out, words spilling endlessly from his lips as began to nip at your neck once more, leaving far too many marks that made you question if your neck would be entirely purple by the end of this.

But as he hits a spot so deep inside you, your back arcs and your vision fades to white and you come undone. Legs trembling around him and hands scrambling to find something anything to hold onto as your orgasm ripples through you with such an intensity you thought you were going to blackout.

Satoru isn't too far behind as his pace quickens even more, heavy and hard thrusts pounding against your worn-out pussy and overstimulating you right before he pulls out releasing thick and long ropes of cum between your squished torsos.

He lets out a hefty sigh before his body goes limp, and he lets his full weight press into you. You let out a soft laugh, also out of breath as your hands make their way into his hair, toying with his snowy locks.

"…I missed you so damn much" his voice is delicate as he speaks shifting himself so that he can look at your face. You can't stop the smile that stretches across your face as you cup his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I missed you too… But I'm here now, and I promise you I'm not going anywhere," you whispered back to him. Letting the world slow down for just a moment more as you laid with him, enjoying that this was all life had to be right now.

You were launched right back into the world of jujutsu sorcery. You knew once you left your home and stepped out of that veil with Satoru, a whole load of ugliness was to come your way.

But at least, for right now... just in this moment. You can bask in the fact that you were reunited with the man who had always owned your heart.

☆~~~☆~~~☆

A/N: I FINALLY FINISHED IT YIPPIE I wanted to get this done a while ago but my friends surprised me with a vacation and I haven't been able to write anything until recently haha

I actually do have plans to write 2 blurbs about this fic in order to give more insight to Satoru's and the reader's relationship that I wasn't able to fit into this one less I wanted to overflood this piece with several flashbacks >_>

So expect some little pieces soonnn one will be very fluffy and just a little moment between Satoru and the Reader during their days at Jujutsu Tech after they finished a mission and the other will take place after Suguru defected (SO ANGST AHAHHAH)

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed reading, it's been years since I've written any fanfiction so bare with me if there were any mistakes LOL

Tags: @hyori2 @kalulakunundrum

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #I NEED THIS MAN

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upsidedownwithsteve · 9 months ago

Text

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear.

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls.

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink.

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings.

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess.

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly.

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired.

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned.

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm.

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was always someone else.

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run.

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up.

Him. You loved him.

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like.

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose.

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights.

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint.

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back.

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath.

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed.

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day.

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat.

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion.

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived.

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open.

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting.

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red.

But this new gladiator, he was fast.

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already.

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did.

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again.

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed.

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned.

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before.

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder.

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too.

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees.

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it.

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure.

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly.

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might.

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat.

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before.

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to.

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face.

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion.

A man you were sure you already loved.

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember.

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet.

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more.

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward.

Telling you to go.

So you did.

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter—

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor.

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing.

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing.

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched.

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals.

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken.

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair.

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder.

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him.

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back.

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth.

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag.

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay.

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew.

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder.

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water.

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed.

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics.

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer.

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above.

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation.

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face.

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer.

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods.

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world.

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above.

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you.

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere.

Thunder rumbled, threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger.

That you knew something bad was coming.

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real.

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was.

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare.

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say.

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together.

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer.

You didn’t want to let him go.

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”

It happened too quick. Too fast.

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic.

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both.

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side.

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor.

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists.

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you.

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps.

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair.

Steve was gone and the thunder was too.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot

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nelkcats · 2 years ago

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Death sentence

We are sorry Phantom, but we need to see by yourselves if you are a threat or not, we will be visiting you tomorrow at 4:40 pm

-Justice League

Danny was unsure about his feelings, apparently the government contacted the JL to eliminate him because he was "dangerous", but Martian Manhunter, knowing the government was not always the best, convinced them, so the League leave a message to Vlad instead.

Vlad didn't want to fight with him, he published the note in Amity newspaper. Now, that was kinda...bad, not for him, but for the rest of Amity Park. It was like being sentenced to death.

While Danny freaked out the entire city was having a meeting, they didn't want the Justice League there, not near Phantom or Fenton, he was a kid, the league have a history ignoring calls and kidnapping child heroes to be part of their "society", and train them "properly". Their kid was already death, they were not going to take risks.

Amity Parkers also know they will start to choose between him as they choose between their "personas", like Phantom and Fenton were different, and yeah, the inhabitants of Amity Park can't judge, it take a while to figure out he was the same but by that point he already saved their lifes and they were already attached to him.

If the League finds out the kid was a halfa they will choose a favorites; "Phantom" being better fighter than "the civil identity Fenton", "Fenton" being intelligent "when he is not at hero work", and to be honest they understand, when a person acts different is normal to separate between the two personalities.

They will obligate him to separate himself, like the "hero" and the "civilian" needed to act different or some stupid thing like that.

But Fenton Phantom was not a personality to separate, they were the same and the small city remembered all the fights, all the favoritism, remembered when Fenton was left out because of his better "half", remembered when they needed to buy the kid an apartment far from his parents cause it taked a while for them to separate "His cute guy Dann-o" and " The Ghost scum"

And the city remembered the sobs, the adults remember leaning out their window at night and hearing the uncontrollable wailing of the ghost, allowing himself to be the scared teenager he always was.

That day, they made a promise, to accept him, all of him, he never needed to be separated in two again, he was not destined to, he was the representation of equilibrium between life and death for god sake. The kid already hidden from them for two years, two years of scars and fighting alone, and they will never repeat that error.

The Justice League have no right to break their promise. And they will never let them ruin another kid, not an Amity Parker.

So, what happened next was just natural; the next day Mr. Lancer called Sam and Tucker, told them to guide Danny to the Ghost Zone for a while, maybe entertain him with his ghost friends, they accepted.

"Team Phantom" was still active (with Dani and Val help) but they had more support than ever, and they trusted their city, all basically united by the guy who literally spends his after life protecting them.

The thing is, it was almost stupid what happened in the past, Danny was sleep deprived, his fight with Pariah ended well but the suit suck too much energy for him, that connected with his lack of sleep ended in a transformation In the middle of town, where everyone could see it.

It took a while to accept the reality, that a boy had fought with the king of the dead for a city that hated him. They even pretended to have no idea about the revelation, acting like they didn't know for another couple of weeks; Although the news spread and gossip was not lacking.

Sam and Tucker expected the other shoe to drop, but they ended surprised when the city called a reunion (since when the totally of the city reunited?), they acted like Danny bodyguards, but what they didn't expected was the Fentons unable to look at them and leave the room.

The people who stayed offered an apology (but Val wanted an explanation) and an apartment (¿the city collected money to give him an apartment far from his home? Danny wasn't sure if he was happy or heartbroken)

When the Justice League arrived the Red Huntress was waiting for them, her weapon pointing the "heroes" who frowned at the sight of the "hero" holding wepons.

"Sorry, ¿is Phantom haunt here?" Martian Manhunter asked cordially, the girl nodded "¿can we talk with him?"

"No"

"¿Why not?¿is he dangerous?¿is he hiding from us? It's okay, we can capture him if that's the case" Flash assured, hoping that would take away the tense atmosphere, the meta ghost was probably the villain of the city or something, so that made the red suit girl the hero.

"We can also give you proper training so you can stop using wepons" Wonder Woman also offered.

"First of all, that's none of your business, you don't go to Star City and ask Green arrow to stop using arrows cause you don't like them, I don't care about your training" the girl answers, obviously annoyed "second, we don't want you here, not near him"

The Martian frowned "Sorry ¿we?"

"We" the girl pointed at the city, all the city was watching them, but contrary to normal meetings they were watching them with resentment.

"Eh, ¿why? Maybe this is all a misunderstanding..." Superman was trying not to look at the people, even the kids on the street seemed to stop what they were doing just to look at them with pure hate in their eyes "can we see the major?".

"I'm here" Vlad appeared behind the girl and greeted them "I see you already meet the Red Huntress"

"Yes, ¿Do you know where Phantom is? We send a note yesterday" Batman asked, the reason of the meeting was not there after all.

"Yes, I remember, the Death Sentence you left on my door cause of the U.S government ¿right?"

"¿Death sentence? That's not-"

"Oh, but it is, you left your precious note in my office, overnight, asking us to hand you over to our local hero for you to search and see if he's a threat, ¿am I wrong?" Vlad was having fun teasing these heroes.

"Sir, we need you to understand, according to the U.S government Phantom is a dangerous individual, maybe he can even destroy your city" Superman tried

"According to the U.S government we don't exist, ¿or did you forget that information on purpose?" the huntress mocked

"I remember, but it was for your safety, the government was trying to contain the threat-"

"The Goverment this, the government that, you see superheroes, we are not ruled by the government anymore, this is a free city, since we were contained here, we produce everything on your own, food, energy, we owe nothing to the government and much less to you"

"¡But we can help you! We can get ride of your meta infestation and-" Flash was trying to mediate

"¿Meta infestation? ¿That's what they told you?, oh poor heroes, getting here with the grown information" the major laughed "Look, I will make myself clear, we have a ghost infestation, Amity Park is now a death city and we prefer it this way"

"And what about Phantom?" Martian Manhunter asked worried.

Vlad sighed "You can visit him, he likes space, however" he pointed at the other heroes "they can't, we don't need the Goverment help, we don't need your help, we are alive because of that boy and we don't want YOUR team near him, Phantom is an Amity Parker and it will stay that way" the major walked away.

"Look, ¿Martian Manhunter? You are a good guy I get it, but we don't want all of you here, the only hero we want is Phantom and we don't need your ideologies or training near him, he is OURS, so please, get out of the city while we are still being nice" Red Hunter stated.

"¿What if you need help?" Batman asked

"We needed help two years ago, the boy you want to take saved us when you decided not to take our pleas, and as such, we won't take yours" the girl said "Amity Park can take care of it's own as always, go save a city that need you"

And with that said she flew away, leaving them at the entrance of the city, the angry shouts and mutters of the citizens saying that they wanted them away in the background.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc x dp #Protective Amity Park #Amity Parkers protect each other #The city is now in truce with infinity realms #The government don't rule them anymore #Ghost teach people who want knowledge #It took a while but the Fentons like ghosts now #they are the most excited on learning #Team Phantom #justice league #martian manhunter #Vlad and Danny have a truce #Amity park is isolated by the US but they don't care

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 2 years ago

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Errors, “Errors,” and Sci Fi

@strawberry-crocodile

tvtropes calls stuff like the wolf example "science matches on" which I think is a pretty fair shake

This. This is what’s got me thinking so much about errors. There’s a certain danger, here. A certain way that this particular effect — delicious dramatic irony — tempts the mind when reading old stories, even true ones.

What do you know about R.M.S. Titanic? I ask my class every year, and the first hand rises. “It was unsinkable,” the student inevitably says, and everyone is nodding, “or so they thought.” I write the word UNSINKABLE on the board, underneath my crude drawing of a ship with four smokestacks. It will be crossed out before the end of the hour, but not for the reason they expect.

“I find no evidence,” Walter Lord, preeminent biographer of the ship’s survivors, wrote, “that Titanic was ever advertised as unsinkable. This detail seems to have entered the collective mind so as to create a more perfect irony.” Indeed, historians’ examinations of White Star Line documents show the shipbuilders themselves worried it would be so large as to risk collision; they stocked several more lifeboats than 1910s regulations required.

The War to End All Wars (deep breath, satisfied exhale), also known as World War ONE. Chuckle. Shake of the head. What if I told you that this phrase, used primarily in American newspapers after the fact, wasn’t meant to be literal? Nowadays we’d say The Mother of All Wars, or One Hell of a Fucking War, but we wouldn’t mean literal motherhood, literal intercourse. What if I said the armistice and the Lost Generation and the Roaring 20s were all braced for another outbreak of European conflict, and yet we still failed to prevent it?

Did you know they were so confident in the safety of the S.S. Challenger that they put a civilian schoolteacher onboard? I do, because I’ve heard that one repeated many times. Only, see, it’s got the cause and effect reversed. Challenger launched on a day the shuttle’s engineers knew to be dangerously cold, because the first civilian in space was on board. And NASA knew its shuttle project would be cancelled entirely, if they couldn’t get that civilian’s much-delayed entry into space in the next two weeks. So they launched on a cold day, and killed her instead.

These are all what cognitive science calls Hindsight Bias on the personal level, what sociology calls Presentism on the cultural level. Social psychology’s a little of both, is primarily interested in why you’re sitting on your couch in a Colonize Mars shirt watching PBS and chuckling at the fools who believed in El Dorado. It wants to know why the mind flees straight from “marijuana will kill you” to “marijuana will cure cancer” without so much as a pause on the middle ground of its real benefits and drawbacks, its real (mild) risks and rewards.

And they can paralyze the sci-fi writer, if you think too much about them. Jetsons is futurist one decade, retro the next. “There are no bathrooms on the Enterprise,” the creators of Serenity say smugly, as if Gene Roddenberry should’ve simply known that decades later it’d be acceptable to show a man peeing in full view of the camera, nothing but the curve of the actor’s hand to protect his modesty. “No sound in space,” the Fandom Menace says, “No explosions in space,” and “A space station can’t collapse in zero-G.” Only then NASA burns a paper napkin outside of atmosphere, transmits music using only the ghost of nearby planets’ gravities, and logs onto Reddit long enough to point out the Death Star would implode in its own gravity field. And now we’re the ones pointing, the ones laughing, at those earlier point-and-laughers. Self-satisfied, smug in superiority. As if we did the work to find out ourselves, instead of just happening to be born a little later than George Lucas.

#errors #continuity #sci fi #presentism #star wars #titanic #world war i #science marches on #history #started a new post because i got waaaaaay off topic here #if you think the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park (1993) should've had feathers #you're a lot more ignorant about paleontology than the people you're trying to criticize #science was not handed down to us in its perfect complete form circa 1943 #stop for a second before you call out someone else's reptilian denonychus #someone else's oxygenated moon #and ask: am i better read #or am i just more recently born?

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wolfsrainrules · 1 month ago

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Quiet Night AU- Tim's return

Turns out I WILL be writing a quick blurble of a thought about Tim coming back to the Cave, unedited and more stream of consciousness moments than a sit down thought out writing lol. This one is @tobicup's fault. Link to the first info dump for Quiet Night AU found HERE. and the link for Pit Stop blurble HERE

And again- feel free to send in asks about the AU, just make sure you mention it’s for Quiet Night AU for me. @iphoenixrising Not sure if you wanna be tagged here too BUT STILL

Gotham was in ruins.

Buildings partially or fully collapsed, smoldering remains of fires visible across the city skyline from the rooftops, dead civilians left where they fell. Traffic in a gridlock, cars abandoned in the chaos, or holding the bodies of those who died in them.

The thick scent of death, fear and rage hung in the air, burning Tim’s nose it was so strong.

The scent of the cause, faint, almost invisible, but as alien as the creatures that had invaded the Earth and caused this blended with all of it. There were so many of them.

It was everything Tim could do to stay alive, save who he could, and try to make it back to the Cave. He ached, and with the way these creatures hunted, he couldn’t even check over comms if anyone else was alive.

He wished he’d accepted the pack bonds the other Bats had offered to him before, but he hadn’t been ready for it. He bit his tongue on a keen, an omega trying to summon his pack, smothering the sound down.

He needed to be silent, or risk the creatures swarming him.

At least if Tim had a pack bond he would be able to feel them on the other end, even if they were blocked to prevent distractions in the field. Instead he was alone, no bonds to check, terrified to consider a world where one of his should-be-packmates had died and he didn’t know yet.

His body ached. He was nauseous and lightheaded, dizzy. It was everything he could do to make sure he landed silently as he ran over the rooftops that remained, and navigated the ground where he had to.

He kept his grapple-gun strapped to his hip. He’d already been almost killed when the damn thing had been too loud and drawn the attention of the creatures to his flight.

He tried not to think about the others, if any of them had been caught, had been- To follow that road, to consider that he was the last one standing, was to flirt with madness.

No. Instead, he turned his attention to making it back to the cave on foot. Navigating the destruction, helping where he could, mourning where he couldn’t.

***

Crossing Gotham on foot, pausing to save whoever he can, and needing to do it all as silently as possible takes time. Especially trying to balance the unknown factor of anyone or anything in the city making a sound that could lead to Tim getting caught in the crossfire.

He hurts.

Worse- he’d had to slip into the cave using the natural entrances, didn’t dare to chance opening the cave and grabbing anything’s attention. Worked his way towards the cave using the memorized routes, moving slowly and carefully, praying that none of the creatures had found their way inside. He wandered the dark caverns mourning the statistical probability that one of his should-be-packmates had died being the vigilantes they’d chosen to be. That at least one of them had made too much noise somehow.

He couldn’t help but think about Jason in those moments. Think of the pack alpha with his loud personality and guns. Jason could operate with stealth of course, every Bat could, but… Jason used his guns most often, explosives, and-

And Tim was terrified that he may have died.

He wasn’t the only one Tim worried for, but he was the most statistically likely to have trouble and-

Tim closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in the damp air of the cavern, and forced himself to still the shaking in his hands.

***

The lights of the Cave come into view and Tim feels sick with it.

What if he’s the last? What if the others didn’t make it? What if he has to see B fall apart all over again, and fall with him this time? What if he lost any of the others before he ever-

The cave is quiet, aside from the bats quietly rustling through the cavern, and Tim knows it should be, of course it would be, with the creatures tracking sounds, but it makes his stomach swoop and his lungs constrict.

He has to squint, as he breaks from the tunnels and into the Batcave, his lungs tight and hands shaking all over again. The urge to keen and call for pack crawls up his spine and sits heavy in his throat, but he doesn’t dare, wary of the sound carrying.

The sight that meets him, when he can finally see properly, sends him staggering, knees weak and tears in his eyes. He counts, one by one, each of his small family gathered together. They’re silent, their hands flying sign language keeping their voices unused, eyes flickering over each other and the computer they’re gathered around.

Usually Tim would jump right into what looked like a planning session, but in that moment-

In that moment he could only stagger closer, breathing heavily, hands shaking and tears in his eyes. Jason sees him first.

Tim is already reaching for the pack alpha when Jason darts across the space to sweep him off his feet.

Tim is choking back keens, as he clings back, burrowing into his alpha’s chest. Jason is nuzzling him, rubbing his scent all down Tim’s spine and brushing their cheeks together, Jason’s hands holding tight, one pressed to feel Tim’s pulse.

Tim hadn’t been ready to join the pack officially, but each of them had given Tim permission to claim them as his pack when he was ready to join it. In the aftermath of this disaster, Tim is certain he is. That he never wanted to go without the bonds again. Was certain he wanted the bounds wound around his ribs and heart, anchored in his head.

Tim clings hard for a moment, lets Jason scent him, basks in the safety of his pack alpha’s arms, before turning his face to tuck into the right side of his neck. He breathes for a second, but doesn’t hesitate to drag his tongue over the right side of Jason’s neck, claiming the alpha as pack, and baring his neck to allow Jason the chance to reciprocate the pack claim.

He can feel Jason’s body tense, and then shudder hard, his hands tighten around Tim, but he doesn’t hesitate either.

Feeling the first of what is soon to be many pack bonds bloom to life in his mind takes Tim’s legs out from under him.

Jason doesn’t let him fall.

#Quiet Night AU #Crossover Fun #dc #batman #A Quiet Place #Wolf Talks Fic Ideas #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #short fic #Alpha Beta Omega #Omegaverse AU #Omega Tim #Alpha Jason Todd

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mylastmoleculeofserotonin · 4 months ago

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In all honesty, the answer to why we haven’t seen more of Tasi Lowa is probably because she was just a side character. However, I like to think that Yord intentionally didn’t bring her on the mission because he thought it was too dangerous for her bc this makes Jecki’s death way more sad and poignant. Like, Sol was the only one on the mission who knew who Mae was, what she was doing and why she was doing it. He was also confident that he could get through to her, having been thinking for 16 years as to what he would say to her, so he didn’t see too much risk bc he knew Mae wasn’t after Jecki. However, Yord had no context beyond a mysterious dark sider just killed two Jedi Masters, and now he, only a knight, is sent to apprehend her and there is no way a Padawan would stand a chance. This then makes Jecki’s death all the more tragic bc as the Stranger points out, Sol brought Jecki on the mission because he was so blinded by his thoughts/feelings towards Mae that he didn’t think twice about this being Jecki’s first mission. Meanwhile, Yord, who saw how dangerous the mission could be, spared his Padawan and in all likelihood probably thought Sol was crazy for bringing not only a Padawan, but a civilian on one of the more dangerous missions in 900 years.

#star wars the acolyte #the acolyte #the acolyte spoilers #tasi lowa #yord fandar #jecki lon #master sol #mae aniseya #the jedi #great now I made myself sad

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physalian · 3 months ago

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“Why doesn’t the villain just kill the heroes?”

Ah, plot armor. If you want to be a real go-getter and think up a more creative way for the heroes to always narrowly escape death out of sheer dumb luck, the villain being too slow on the draw, or the villain simply not thinking of it in the moment, you have to come up with a reason for why the villain doesn’t just kill the hero.

Four examples today.

1. Zhao & Aang

In “The Blue Spirit,” Aang is captured by Zhao, a man normally not above anything to further his agenda, including murder. The Avatar is the largest obstacle in his way, second to the Earth Kingdom, and all he has to do to take Aang off the gameboard is to kill a twelve-year-old. He’s got Aang in chains, not quite powerless but harmless enough, and could do it quickly.

So why doesn’t he? Per Zhao himself, if he kills Aang, the Avatar cycle will continue, born into some random water bender that may take them years to track down. Sure, they’ll be harmless for a few years and the Fire Nation might get lucky and find them easily, perhaps even sway the new one to their side, but what if the waterbending Avatar is born into the Foggy Swamp? Or they end up having to kill them, too, and then have to track down an earthbending Avtar across the entire Earth Kingdom? Does Zhao really want to take that chance when he can just keep Aang alive? Just barely?

Of course not.

Killing the hero in this case might stop the immediate threat, but it will just delay the inevitable, thus it’s in the villain’s best interest to exploit a loophole while likely committing war crimes in the process. He gets to secure a Fire Nation victory and make Aang suffer for the rest of his life.

Ozai doesn't kill Aang until the first chance he gets, which just so happens to be the series finale. And we all know why Aang has a no-kill policy.

2. Sam, Dean & The Angels and Demons

Hahaha it’s the show known for its refusal to kill its heroes. We’re gonna ignore everything past season 5. There’s obviously meta reasons—kill the main characters and you have zero supporting cast that could realistically take over the show.

But in season 4, despite multiple deaths already for both of them, so begins the “if you die we’ll just bring you back” threat, because they’re angels and angels can do that. Similar to Aang, Sam and Dean risk a fate far worse than death if they don’t cooperate with Zachariah’s plans. He happily gives them both a slew of diseases and illnesses to get his way whenever he gets the chance and reminds them both that if they just kill themselves to escape the Apocalypse, he’ll happily revive them. The Demons won't kill Sam and Dean because they're necessary to further their own plans by breaking certain seals on Lucifer's cage, though they're not above breaking bones and killing bystanders.

Fate worse than death is a popular threat, but usually the heroes offing themselves is still a viable, if deeply unpopular, option. Supernatural removes it entirely and for such a simple little detail, it does a lot to make their survivability believable.

3. Batman & Joker

Ahh the age old furious rant by people who don’t understand Batman: If Batman killed his villains they’d stop busting out of Arkham and murdering innocent civilians, Batman has so much blood on his hands—

Babe. Babe, he’s a comic book character. By his very nature, he can’t kill his villains otherwise he’d have no rogues gallery. Comic books are like a giant board of Monopoly, going around in circles and occasionally having a timeout in jail.

But the in universe reason there’s no killing has been essayed about extensively and so has why Joker doesn’t try harder to kill him, but I couldn’t not include these two. Batman does not kill because he is not judge, jury, and executioner of his villains, most of whom have mental health issues and while they certainly know better and their crimes aren’t justified, his villains need actual therapy and help and medication, not death. Even those who he might agree must be stopped and there’s no other way except murder, Batman himself will not be the one to pull the trigger. He must remain a hero, so that no matter who he comes across in the dark alleyways of Gotham, they know he’s not here to kill them, be it criminal or victim.

Joker doesn’t kill Batman for a much simpler reason, and Heath Ledger literally says it: “I won’t kill you because you’re too much fun.” He does not need a more convoluted reason, he enjoys the game, the chase, the tug of war (most versions of him, at least) and to kill Batman would be to end his greatest form of entertainment, and the only person probably in the whole world who is neither afraid of Joker nor dismissive of him as simply a freak.

4. Optimus and Megatron

Optimus Prime and Megatron are very similar to Batman and Joker but with literal eons of history between them. In most serialized Transformers media, as opposed to movies where the plot is more urgent, Megatron both wants to win Optimus over and just can't quite let himself finally win. Who is he without his rival, after all this time?

Optimus is in the same boat, refusing to kill him because he's still holding out hope for Megatron's redemption, that there's a peaceful way to end this war (no matter how much collateral both leaders end up causing). Shit gets real whenever Optimus breaks the unspoken rules of their no-kill rivalry and Megatron gets incredibly pissy about it because he's in love.

—

Suggestions to workshop this plot hole in your own narrative:

The hero staying alive is absolutely paramount to the villain’s plan (in which case, you have to have rock solid reasons for why they keep narrowly escaping capture)

The villain is so confident in their plan that they don’t even consider the hero a proper threat

The villain doesn't really have a bodycount, but if they kill the hero, suddenly all the other powers that be will take them seriously and they'll have a huge mess on their hands

The villain is so full of themselves or so in love with their rival that it’d break their heart to have to kill them just to win

The villain is simply not capable of murder either physically or morally (perhaps because the hero is a child)

Killing the hero would make them a martyr and the villain would end up with a far bigger mess on their hands when the lone hero is replaced with an avenging army

The villain is too proud to simply kill the hero and wants to win fairly in a proper fight on the battlefield and not take the cheap and easy shot

The villain does not have a phyiscal form or real presence in the plot, acting through their minions, and their minions are incompetent

It’s simply not fun if the hero dies/the hero is the only one who understands them and they’d lose far more than they’d gain by killing them

The villain still wants to try and win the hero over and is so dedicated to this path that they regularly sabotage their own plans desperate to change the hero’s mind

The villain firmly believes in a fate worse than death and while the hero’s survival isn’t crucial to the main plan, they want the hero to watch their own failure/become the villain’s minion/ prisoner/ partner by the end

There’s a million examples out there to pull from and I could keep listing them all night. So long as whatever it is doesn’t come out of nowhere or open a plot hole of “why didn’t they just do that earlier?” you can get quite creative.

One last example that’s a personal favorite of mine to implement: In Eternal Night of the Northern Sky there aren’t too many opportunities to ask this question, but when it does arise, Villain A has Hero B as a meat shield, and while Hero B’s love interest, Hero C, is more than happy to shoot through them to incapacitate Villain A, the person they take orders from isn’t so reckless, which later leads to Drama and Issues.

#writing #writeblr #writing a book #writing advice #writing resources #writing tools #writing tips #writing villains #heroes and villains #plot holes #deus ex machina

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shiggybrainr0t · 9 months ago

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shouto wakes up trapped underneath a collapsed building, only to find himself also trapped in your embrace.

warnings: both Shouto and reader are hurt pretty badly </3, blood, immediate threat of death lol?, description of a broken leg, mention of vomiting but it doesn’t happen and isn’t explicitly stated, this is cheesy and unedited

border by @cafekitsune :)

dedicated to andie if they happen to see it because I thought of them while writing my very first Shouto fic 💘

Whenever Shouto awakes, it’s to a pounding headache, intense pain throbbing along the right side of his body, flickering lights, and something soft holding him tightly.

Groggily, he opens his eyes, wincing as the flickering light blinds him for a second. There’s a steady drip drip drip of water falling onto concrete though it’s too dark to make out much of his surroundings as the light flickers off again. The last thing he remembers is coming to an office building, where a villain with an unknown quirk was holding people hostage. A teary sounding gasp makes him look upwards weakly, only now noticing he is laying down.

He sees your face for the first time then. Eyes puffy and red from crying, with a trail of blood dripping from your hairline and down your nose, past your lips to where it becomes smeared as you wipe it away hurriedly.

“You’re awake!”

Your voice is soft, and slightly trembling as you gaze at him with wide, wavering eyes. They’re very pretty, he thinks dazedly. Framed by wet lashes, he also thinks he could look into them forever. Shouto moves to shift only to have his vision flash as pain erupts like molten lava traveling down his side.

“D-don’t try to move! A beam fell on you before you passed out. You were barely able to get out from under it.”

Feeling woozy, Shouto has to close his eyes for a moment to keep the pain from escaping through his mouth. There’s a sickening crack, and he realizes he’s cradled in your arms whenever you whimper and pull him closer, so that his head is resting against your chest and you’re basically hovering over him. He hears rubble begin to hit to ground, and sees you flinch as some small bits of gravel bounce off your head and fall beside him. Your eyes are clenched shut, and a fresh line of blood runs down your face and drips onto his own. No rubble ever hits him.

He’s confused. Why is a civilian, a hurt one at that, putting their life at risk for a pro hero? He’s supposed to be protecting you, yet here you are shielding him with your soft body. He must make a noise, because suddenly you’re looking down at him again, eyes wide with concern, bravely holding back tears now that he is awake.

Softly, you move one of the hands you had cradling his head to wipe at the blood that has dripped onto his cheek. Apologizing quietly, you begin talking again, the almost whispers coming out of your mouth seemingly echoing through the space.

“Your walkie talkie still worked thankfully, for a little while. Deku is here, and so is Red Riot and Uravity. They should have us out of here in no time, so don’t worry ok! Dynamight is also here, but that’s more worrying than anything honestly.”

Shouto can’t help but laugh at your candor, wincing as it makes the pain throbbing through his body flash intensely. You pull him even closer in your lap, now petting his bangs soothingly. Your fingers are soft on his sweaty skin, and he almost purrs whenever you begin to trace the lines of his face in a mesmerizing manner. He doesn’t remember the last time he was comforted like this when he was hurt. Usually it’s himself alone in his untouched apartment, picking up the pieces and taping them back together. He can never quite get them to fit right.

“Are you hurt badly?” His gravely voice seems to surprise you, and quickly you shake your head. He sees you regret it instantly, as you wince harshly afterwards.

“Just my head, and my leg. But not nearly as bad as you are.”

Another crack shoots through the space, and you look up worryingly at the unsteady beams ominously hanging about you. Shouto can see them looming when the light flickers on again. He can also see you. You look a little rough, he’s not going to lie. But at this moment, he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone more beautiful. His own personal angel, sent to comfort him and protect him when he’s been hurt so badly he can’t move.

You make quiet conversation after that, trying to ignore the drips and the cracks. He learns that you’re an ordinary boring office worker, your words not his, but you like your job and your coworkers so it’s not that bad. You learn that Deku has been his best friend since their first year at U.A., and that friendship is still just as strong. He learns that you don’t particularly care for cold soba whenever he brings it up, which makes him look at you in mock horror. It’s funny, seeing the normally stoic hero make such an exaggerated face that you can’t help but giggle.

The conversation dies down after a sickening pop! is heard and suddenly sunlight blinds you both. Looking up, you see shocking red hair and sharp teeth grinning at you and feel relief course through your body. Shouto feels your body relax against his, though you don’t let go. Red Riot reaches for you, but you shake your head again.

“Take Shouto, take Shouto.”

As he is lifted from your arms and into his friends, he sees you smile at him tearfully and give him a little wave. He can see you fully now, and can also see how your leg is bent at such an unnatural angle it had to be agonizing for you, but he never once heard you complain. The last thing he sees before you’re out of sight is Bakugo lifting you into his arms, with a surprising gentleness, saying something that has you nodding before you rest your head on his bare shoulder, relieved tears flooding from your eyes.

A couple days later, as Shouto is scrolling aimlessly through his phone in his hospital bed, he sees a headline that makes him stop.

PRO HERO SHOUTO KEEPS CIVILIAN SAFE WHILE TRAPPED UNDER COLLAPSED BUILDING!

Thinking of your eyes, which so bravely stared into his own, he can’t help but disagree with the article. It was you who kept him safe.

#mat’s writing #shouto #my hero academia #shouto todoroki #shouto x reader #bnha shouto #mha shouto #shouto x you #shouto x y/n #my hero academia headcanons #my hero acedamia #my hero academia fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha angst #my hero imagines #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero x reader #shouto angst

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phoqnix · 10 months ago

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Home to you (simon riley)

(simon riley x fem!reader) angst+fluff

tw: near death, mentions of gun shots, blood

authors note: hi there! this is my first time writing something like this so i hope you’ll like it! request are always open! i hope you enjoy it! thank you for reading! i listened to the song “work song” by hozier while writing this!

word count: 1k+

“I love you Simon” you muttered into his chest as he hugged you

”I love you too love, ill come home to you I promise” he whispered back

He had got called out too a dangerous mission, this wasn’t new he was always called on dangerous missions, but this one was different, this was supposed to be his time off, he was supposed to stay here with you and pretend he was a civilian for the time being, but his team needed him and you understood that.

He gave you a kiss to the top of your head before he grabbed his keys and walked out the door, waving a final time.

He will be back you thought to yourself he will come home to you.

—————————————————————————

This wasn’t the same as any other mission but he’d never tell you that, He wouldn’t get called in while he has time off if it was, but you didn’t know that and he planned to not let you know, he didn’t want you to worry even more.

”Ghost nice of you to join us” soap said as he walked into the room

Simon didn’t say a word and instead just sat down and listened to prices briefing.

“Stay sharp boys they are expecting you” price said to them as they all stood up and headed the helipad.

the ride was tense they all knew it was high risk, hell all their missions were but this one was different and they all knew it.

as soon as they landed they separated. It was a mistake.

—————————————————————————

As soon as he entered that building shots went off from all directions, he got behind a shipment container and waited until the shots stopped, he waited for the comms to go off.

”Everybody alright” he heard his captians voice came thru the silence

Was he alright?

“All good sir” soaps voice came thru

“Yes sir” gaz’s voice came thru

His shoulders burning he’s realized

“Ghost do you copy” prices voice came thru

He lifted his hand to his shoulder and looked at his crimson stained fingers.

“Ghost do you copy” price said more firmly

Fuck it was a lot of blood he thought

It hurts so fucking much he thought

“Ghost” soaps voice came thru

He groans bringing his hand to the com pressing down the button

“I’ve been hit” he says quietly into the comm and everything goes dark

—————————————————————————

“Simon” “Simon you have to get up” “Simon you have to get up off the floor”

He hears your voice, fuck you werent supposed to be here he thinks

He quickly opens his eyes but sees nothing but the grimey floor beneath him

“Come on get up Si you have to fight”

He hears your voice again, he pushed his body up off the floor leaning against the shipment container, looking down at his com, its broken. He groans as he reaches down into his pocket, pulling out a silver locket, he opened it and there you were, smiling so brightly up at him as he wrapped his arms around you awkwardly.

He cried, he looked so miserable in this picture but yet you chose this one to put inside here, he wondered why, he looked miserable but fuck he loved you so much, he was smiling under the mask, but only he knew that.

“Y/N?” He cried out into the air

“I’m here Simon” he heard you call out

“I’m not coming home to you love, I lied” he cried out

“You need to fight simon” you whispered

“Fuck there’s so much blood y/n” he whispered

”put pressure on it simon, come on think baby, you know all this stuff, think about it” you said

You were right, fuck he knew this, he groaned as he reached down ripping the bottom of his shirt, he groaned as he wrapped it along his wound.

He pushed his body up off the floor standing, Fuck he was delusional from blood loss, he was talking to himself like a crazy person and he knew it.

”You still here love?” He spoke out

no answer….

”love?” He spoke out again

no answer again.

fuck he needed to get home to you, he needed to hear your beautiful voice again.

Nothing would keep him from coming home to you, he would crawl home to you if he had too, he was getting home too you, he was not breaking his promise with you and from now on he would make sure he would never come closer to it then he his now.

He pushed his way back to the door he entered in, and as soon as he pushed the door open shots went off, he slipped out the door, but he was hit once again.

”FUCK” he yelled out and he looked down at his now crimson stained jeans

All he had to do was make it back to the spot where they landed, it was said to all meet there if it went south and shit did it go south.

He rips his shirt more and wraps it down around his thigh, he begins walking limping to the tree line in the distance, he hears shots going off inside the building, he hopes his men are okay but he has to get to the landing location.

“GHOST” he hears price yell behind him and he finally takes a breath and pauses

Price, soap and gaz are at his side quicker than lightning, gaz and price put his arms over their shoulders carrying his weight like nothing.

”Shit where were you hit” soap asked but he doesn’t answer, god everything hurts so much

“Simon where were you hit” he listens this time when he hears his name

“leg and shoulder” he rasped out not opening his eyes, he hears a helicopter in the distance as they drag his bodie thru the woods

He feels the wind of the helicopter hitting his body and then he feels his body being quickly lifted into the helicopter

”Y/n you have to call y/n” he whispers

“what was that mate” soap ask him but before Simon can answers he’s groaning out in pain as two sets of hands put pressure on his wounds

”Y/n you need to call her, tell her what happened tell her I lover er” He says louder this time

“your gonna tell her yourself simon, nothings gonna happen you’ll see her at the hospital” soap says

It’s the last thing he hears before everything goes dark

————————————————————————-

It was late, 12:30 maybe? But your phone was ringing which was weird you look at the name seeing ”JOHN PRICE” and quickly jumped up answering the phone

“What happened” you say urgently into the phone

“Simons been inquired y/n, he’s in surgery now but you need to get here now” prices voice came thru and before he could get out another word you were hanging up and throwing your phone down.

You quickly jumped up out of yours and simons shared bed and ran out of the room, you slipped on your house slippers and grabbed your keys to your car and ran out of the door.

You didn’t care if the door was locked someone could have everything in that house if it meant Simon was going to be okay, you quickly backed out of the drive way speeding out of yours and simons little neighborhood.

You drove at terrifying speeds, turning what was normally a twenty minute drive into a ten minute drive, you parked your car quickly and jumped out running into the bases hospital, and their sat a blood covered soap, gaz and price.

”y/n” price said standing up quickly

“how is he? Is he okay?” you asked frantically

”he’s still in surgery” price spoke out

“doctors said he has a good chance, he fought hard” soap said standing up

“I believe this belongs to you, he was holding it when we found him” soap says holding out a blood soaked locket you grabbed it with shaky hands, and then your legs buckled underneath you as you let a sob out. Price immediately at your side to catch you.

—————————————————————————

It’s been three hours since you’ve got here, you’ve calmed down some, but your still dazed, you couldn’t believe this is happening, you couldn’t believe he kept the locket with him, you thought he stuffed it into a drawer somewhere.

you opened the locket looking at the blood coated picture of you two, if someone else had seen this picture they would think Simon was disinterested, distant and unhappy, but when you see this picture it means something different.

he was smiling and you knew it, you could see the tiny little creases in his eyes as he looked down at you, he was smiling just as bright as you even though no body knew it but you and him.

”He’s out of surgery, He will be okay we are just waiting for him to wake up” the doctor said walking towards us

“thank the lord” gaz muttered

“can I see him please?” You said standing up quickly

the doctor glanced over at price who nodded at her.

”yes you may right this way miss”

”Mrs. Riley” soap called out correcting the doctor “she goes by Mrs. Riley now”

“my apologies” the doctor said as you shot a confused look over your shoulder at soap

—————————————————————————

You were standing beside his bed, your hand in his, he was still out, he looked awful, dried blood on his hands, on his neck, his mask, there was blood everywhere your eyes started watering again, just as you felt a tear a fall your hand was being squeezed.

”Si?” You whispered out

“y/n?” He said groggily

“I’m here Simon” you cried out

he squeezed your hand harder like you were going to disappear into thin air

“I was smiling in the picture y/n” he whispered out

“Simon what are you on about” you giggled slightly he was still out of it from the anesthesia

“in the locket, I was smiling I swear I wasn’t miserable” he muttered out

“Oh Simon, I know, I know you were baby” you whispered to him

“I fought so hard for you Y/n, I didn’t break my promise” he said quietly

“I know simon, I know you did” you whispered rubbing your hand over his masked face

”Thank you” he muttered once again

“for what si?” You asked

“For being there” he said “you were there helping me”

you were a bit confused but answered anyways “Your welcome si” you said still rubbing you hand over the mask

“Take it off” he muttered opening his eyes

“are you sure?” You asked quietly seeing his blue eyes stare up at you

“Take it off please y/n I need to feel your touch” he whispered

you carefully slipped the mask up and off his face, there he was, there now sat simon, no longer ghost but simon. Your simon.

he looked up at you with teary blue eyes “I love you so much y/n” he whispered squeezing your hand

“I love you too simon” you whisper to him running your fingers through his sweaty hair

you bent down, not hugging him because you didn’t want too hurt him, but you kissed the top of his head and it seemed that maybe he finally leaned into your touch. He did and both of you know it.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon riley angst #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty #ghost x reader #simon riley fluff #task force 141 #soap cod #gaz cod #cod price #captain price

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izvmimi · 11 months ago

Text

cw: violence and serious injury. fem!reader is a pro hero with a vague quirk, but including the ability to fly. izuku and reader are newly married, reader is referred to as wife. a/n: a rewrite of something posted previously so if parts are familiar that's why.

Hundreds of feet in the air, away from the rubble and carnage of the active surface where a few dozens of civilians hurriedly evacuate, you hover over Tokyo, facing what you realize may be your last ever opponent.

By this time, your vision is starting to blur, and it’s a miracle that you can still focus on the gloating, hulking form in front of you. The humans below you are like ants in a loose file, thankfully making use of the valuable time you’ve allotted them to escape to safety by dragging your opponent into the skies. Something monstrous and yet something human enough to laugh does so in a raucous cackle as it takes in your already slackening body, still floating yet shakily so in the skies. You waver with every strong gust, the loose and torn bits of your Hero costume flapping in the wind; you’ve nearly run out of charge to your jet boots, and it won’t be long until you either take this fight to the ground or gravity overtakes you.

“Is it really worth it?” the villain asks in mockery. You tremble like a leaf, and you can’t think of a part of your body that doesn’t feel shattered. And yet the answer is yes. It always will be yes.

Today is a bad day. The Symbol of Peace, your Deku, is nowhere to be found. Overseas, in fact. Other Heroes have heard your call to action, you’re sure, but no one is coming to your immediate rescue as of now. It’s just you, alone, for the first time since UA, since ever.

You don’t muster up the courage to answer, instead clenching your fists, steeling yourself for one final bout against an enemy you cannot beat. There’s not much more you can do in the way of winning, except buy time for someone stronger than you to eliminate this threat and keep the premises safe.

Bile rises in your throat and you spit, then grin, widening your eyes fiercely. Perhaps it’s a mockery of some sort that the villain takes particular offense to. That may or may not have been your intention.

“I’ve had enough time wasted toying with you!” it snarls, and charges in your direction. It’s too fast to evade, and the first blow you manage to block is agonizing, weighing heavily on your tensed forearms. You grit your teeth as you feel the limbs strain to nearly breaking.

You are no stranger to fear nor are you unfamiliar to pain but you feel both right now, more than you’ve ever felt in your entire life - a type of terrifying agony that mixes together and amplifies, sinking deep into your broken bones, one that settles far into your psyche and weighs heavy on your chest.

Another blow is delivered, then another, until there is a barrage that breaks through your defenses. It occurs to you yet again that you’ll die here as a punch lands on your right cheek and clearly fractures your jaw, along with another right in the solar plexus that knocks the wind and any remaining vitality out of you.

A noble death, of course; in the line of duty. A Hero’s death.

A smile spreads on your lips. You are doing the best you can, and something in that should be comforting. The screams from down below are barely audible from the ringing in your ears and time seems to slow.

Things are starting to fade to black and the next few times you are struck barely register, passing the threshold of pain into numbness. Perhaps your Quirk has gone into effect, shutting down your nerves, so that you can no longer feel anything more than the plethora of emotions welling up in your fractured chest.

You’ve failed. You haven’t failed.

Perhaps your family will be proud of you. Your friends. Him, for risking your life as he would, if he were here, even if it meant he would lose it in the process.

You hurtle back to Earth like a meteor. Someone is calling your name.

Someone is calling your name.

—

Thousands of miles away, Izuku Midoriya picks up his phone to find more missed calls than he’s ever had in his life in the span of three hours. As he leaves his conference, he fumbles with his phone, scrolling faster and faster through every notification. Bakugou, your friends, his mother… but none of them are from you.

There’s a pit in his stomach as he realizes Bakugou is the only one brave enough to leave a text.

Call me ASAP. ___ is in the hospital.

“Your wife has a tendency to bite a little bit more than she can chew, but she’s alive.”

Izuku can hear the not yet uttered ‘for now’ that Bakugou is holding back, and he’s somewhere between grateful and dreadfully angry. There’s an incessant tap in his foot that he can’t help himself enough to stop and he knows he is giving off tiny little sparks of OFA the longer he sits and waits for the gate to open to allow boarding. It’s a good thing there’s nothing nearby that can catch fire, and if it weren’t for the fact that his childhood friend is on the line calming him down the only way he can, he’d have a word to say to the attendant who is staring him down.

“You didn’t catch her,” Izuku says suddenly in a cool voice.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, long enough to betray Katsuki’s guilt at being able to make it to the scene to subdue the enemy but not fast enough to intercept your crash towards the earth. That part of the fight was on video clear as day, captured by a civilian who immediately posted it on the internet, displaying your battered body for the world to see.

Izuku watched it five times in a row, clenching his phone tightly until a long crack formed along the screen and his stomach churned enough to vomit.

Katsuki mulls the words in his mouth before he replies.

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

Izuku decides to leave it at that. Anger won’t do him much good, and a part of him blames himself.

There’s another silence on the phone and Izuku can hear his pulse racing in his ears.

“I’m sorry.” Bakugou says, and Izuku realizes the situation is truly dire. He doesn’t want the apology, not from someone who rarely does so. He doesn’t say anything in response.

—

“It’ll only be a week,” Izuku says, smiling. You give him a pout, even though you’ve been over this already for the past three weeks.

“A week is a long time, Izuku,” you sigh, but you forgive him anyway, rubbing his back gently and interlacing the fingers of your other hand with his. The airport is busy, but less so than you expect for this time of day, the early afternoon on a weekend. You don’t want him to go, you think, but anyone can get through a week and even if you’ve just recently tied the knot, he doesn’t only belong to you.

“It’ll fly by,” he insists. “I’ll call you every morning, okay?”

You smile at him, your eyes nearly closing with the action. He smiles back, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss the back.

“Be safe,” you offer him as he moves past the waiting area, where you can no longer follow him.

“I will,” he promises. “You be safe too. I love you.”

—

“You can’t go from the airport straight to the hospital. Sleep first. Breathe. She’s not going anywhere.”

Bakugou’s voice is steady, the very opposite of what Izuku is feeling right now, having just touched down on Japanese soil and already calling right out of the gate.

“Which hospital?” Izuku repeats, completely disregarding his friend’s advice. Even breathing deeply doesn’t seem right somehow, right now - the air smells wrong to him, too salty and too dry, and the migraine that started on the plane 12 hours ago shows no sign of abating.

Bakugou sighs and answers the question. Izuku is stubborn to a fault, he knows that better than everyone, and he can clearly sympathize with him.

“Just don’t harass the staff when you get there. They’re doing the best they can.”

—

“Who did it?”

Izuku’s voice comes out low and the fatigue in it is evident. The random beeps and whistles of the machines in the intensive care unit have worn him down over time, especially in the last hour, not to mention the drip, drip, drip of the bag of intravenous fluids that hooks up to your wrist.

The man in front of him balks at the interruption, then clears his throat. It’s clear that Izuku does not want to hear the same recapitulation for the fifth time today, but unfortunately this is all he has to offer.

“Unfortunately sir, we have no idea who that-”

Izuku snorts derisively, an action that has the nurse freeze and the words die in his throat. His eyes are narrowed and he is clearly upset, but he remains perfectly still, save for rolling his aching broad shoulders back. He’s been sitting in this exact spot for too long, watching, waiting.

Hoping you will wake up.

“Who did it?” he repeats.

The nurse furrows his eyebrows and pulls his stethoscope off of his neck, playing with it in his hands. It’s a simple nervous gesture, but it drives Izuku slightly mad.

“The important thing is that-”

Izuku closes his eyes and lets out a quick sigh, then claps his hands onto his thighs loudly enough that it echoes throughout the room. When he reopens his eyes and focuses them at the useless individual in front of him, his tongue is sharper than the edge of a blade.

“I’m going to be quite honest with you right now. I don’t care about the chronology of what happened once she made it here anymore. You’ve given me every painstaking detail and I’ve sat here quietly and listened to it. Really, I appreciate all you have done to make sure that she stays alive. However, my wife is here with staples on one side of her head and hasn’t opened her eyes since I got here... I’ve wanted to hit something desperately for the past twelve hours and if you don’t start giving me useful information - as in something I can act on - in the next minute, it may regrettably be you. So start talking.”

The nurse’s face grows ashen.

“T-There’s no way for me to know that sir.”

There’s a pause in the air that nearly fills with the sound of the nurse’s heart beating out of his chest, and the beep, beep, beep of the overhead vitals monitor. Izuku smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m aware now,” he says, finally. “So please leave and let us rest.”

The nurse doesn’t have to be told twice, knowing that Midoriya has given him an abundance of mercy by not taking out his anger on him. He scrambles out so fast he trips on the way out.

As soon as he leaves, Izuku acknowledges to himself that he was far too harsh, and the fact that, if you were awake, you would have given him an earful for being so unkind. He’s barely acting like himself. He is kind. He is a kind man.

Izuku lets out a sigh and runs his hands through his hair five or six times, a seventh for comfort. Your own head is partially shaved and wrapped in gauze, and while you were extubated before he made it across the country to this very hospital, there’s still a myriad of wires and tubes that sprout from your body like weeds in an untended garden. He’s been having trouble looking at you, not because you’re too beat up to gaze upon, but because your face is actually miraculously spared from swelling (or at least appears so due to the wiring of your jaw shut) and you look so peaceful in your slumber that you might as well be dead.

He wasn’t there to protect you. Constantly traveling these days, having been dispatched to other parts of the country where a second wave of insurgency against the Hero-favoring status quo had again resurfaced, and then most recently overseas, he regrets the fact that he couldn’t possibly be there for you. Yet, you always insisted and proved you could handle yourself well. You’d said repeatedly that despite being better on the field when you were together, you were still pretty damn good on your own.

And it was true, even if Izuku didn’t particularly like you going on missions separately initially at first. Even if you weren’t ranked as high as him, you were still ranked among many capable Heroes which meant you were at least competent.

But this time you truly had bitten off more than you could chew.

Deku steels himself to glance at you again and intertwines his fingers with your slightly cool ones. He flinches at first - the fearless Symbol of Peace actually flinches - but then grips them tightly, remembering that you’re still breathing. He watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath the slight covers that the hospital provides you, and makes a mental note to bring your favorite blanket from home.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he prays quietly that it’s not work related because he truly believes that this will push him over the edge, but it’s a text from Bakugou.

We made dinner for when they eventually kick you out. You can stay with us for tonight.

Izuku’s eyes start to burn.

His friend thinks of everything. Katsuki understands, having been in the same position with his own partner just months ago. It had been so easy for Izuku to open up his home then, and now his friend has the opportunity to return the favor. It’s bittersweet.

Izuku chokes down a sob.

Thanks, Kacchan.

He doesn’t want to leave but visiting hours will be over in a couple of hours, and he’ll be inevitably separated from you again.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can no longer be by your side.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #pro hero deku x reader #pro hero izuku x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

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jiveyuncle · 11 months ago

Text

Keith never believed he'd have a long life. He always figured he'd die young and that his death would serve some purpose. He'd die taking a hit for a teammate. Or go up in the flames of a violent explosion while dragging a civilian out of a targeted building. Or crashing his ship at Naxzela to prevent an entire system from being incinerated.

Keith was going to die. He was going to die young. His death would mean something.

He thought these things were a given - facts inscribed on the essence of his being - as unavoidable as a dream, programmed into him the way sleep always eventually demanded dragging creatures to realities outside their own.

Keith was reckless, not because he didn't value his own life - that value could be measured by what he did with it and what he could achieve by risking it - but because he valued others’ more. He was reckless because he cared too much - about the success of the mission, about someone left behind, about everything and everyone else - and that caring was going to be what got him killed. His paladin teammates shouted it at him after every rash decision. His blade comrades acknowledged it with approving nods after each close call. He would easily give up his life if his death meant someone else was saved.

So, when he wakes inside Red, blinking his eyes open only to come face to face with himself in the pilot's chair, things don't click right away. It's not that Keith is dead - that part he accepts instantly, understands on some subconscious level in the same inexplicable way the astral plane connects minds and quintessence links paladins to their lions - but it's the how that his brain isn't processing. It's not that he is staring at his own slumped lifeless body, but it is the trusted Blade member he'd been tasked with transporting to a location to disclose the latest intel on Galran troop movements simply dislodging their blade from Keith's neck, tucking the knife away in their armor, walking to the exit, and leaving as if nothing had just happened. It’s Pidge joking into the comms of Keith's helmet, and Lance joking back, completely unaware of the fact that in a moment, without fight, without reason or warning, without some big sacrificial act, Keith just ceased to exist.

It takes them 15 seconds to write off Keith's lack of a response to the joke as him being peeved about being the butt of it.

It takes them 5 minutes before Lance starts offering lighthearted apologies in the form of backhanded compliments.

It takes them 15 minutes to discover that Keith isn't at the meetup location at the time they agreed on and to realize something is actually wrong.

They find Keith's body cold.

There's a lot of panic that feels much too sudden and extreme after drifting through space with his own corpse in the quiet cabin for so long - too many emotions in his friends faces, loud cracking voices, shaking hands.

Lance presses a palm to the gash in Keith's neck and grabs a control arm with the other, begging Red to take them home. He can't feel how cold Keith's skin is through the climate-controlled gloves of his suit, but he has to recognize there is no pulse beneath his fingertips. “If you've ever loved Keith,” he pleads anyway, as if he doesn't already know.

They rush his body out like getting him to a pod will be of any help.

Keith can’t feel his body, but he feels tears on the floor of the cockpit and the vibration of feet down Red's ramp. He doesn’t sense pain, but he tastes his own congealed blood in the chair and, later, the antiseptic Coran returns with.

This is how Keith dies. Quietly. Without purpose. Alive one moment, and then not - wiped away with a cleaning rag beneath clenched fists, secret shuddering breaths, and a mouth whispering his name for the first time alongside words of regret.

Dead Keith/Red Paladin Lance AU (Part 2/?)

The event that set things in motion.

I’ve always wanted a canon story where the main character dies in some anticlimactic way, but I don’t ever see it because I assume it would really anger a fanbase or just feel really dissatisfying. The big question of, “For what reason? What purpose did that death serve?” And the reality is, death doesn’t usually come in the form of sacrifice or to satisfy some narrative. I’m obsessed with the idea of someone so important, a character who has lived through so many close calls just dying in such a simple and unexpected fashion - of dying without anyone knowing. It has to really fuck with Keith’s teammates extra bad - suddenly not knowing who they can trust, wondering any time there’s silence on the comms if one of their other friends just died without them noticing. Them each picking up little habits to signal to the others that they’re okay - Lance humming, Pidge tapping her fingers near the mic, Shiro clearing his throat, Hunk popping his lips. Uhg.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You can now read this on AO3 as:

Empty Spaces You Left Behind

#keith kogane #lance mcclain #pidge holt #pidge gunderson #katie holt #voltron legendary defender #voltron #vld #fanart #fanfic #major character death #cw blood #dead keith red paladin lance au #Empty Spaces You Left Behind

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horreurscopes · 1 year ago

Note

So, I could be out-of-bounds here since I think you meant it as dark humor, but what did you mean in the tags of that 'israel-hamas war' post? I suspect you(and op) are criticizing that framing because Israel is obviously demolishing much more than 'Hamas'(and probably doing a terrible job of actually targeting terrorists- they seem content to reduce Gaza to rubble even if the brass of Hamas escapes). I'm guessing that by saying "joining the Israel-Hamas war on the side of Hamas" you mean, if they're going to conflate Palestinians with Hamas unilaterally, then you're saying, whatever the media wants to call Palestinian civilians- you still support them. I am asking anyways though bc, given reports of increasing antisemitic activity in the US and Europe, I am worried about the potential for blurring lines between the cause of Palestinian civilians and the alt-right individuals who are likely masking their antisemitism in the context of being anti-Zionist. Although Israel's government has been the source of Palestinian loss for decades, (it seems to me that) even joking about supporting terrorism is enough to reinforce the persuasion that Israeli/Palestinian Jews and Palestinian Arabs must be mutually-exclusive peoples. I don't think it's fully rational per se(tho I'm not claiming to have all the relevant information myself, and I'm white US American goyim so like- grain of salt-), but I think that existential fear is the incredible hurdle facing Zionist Jews. (Idc too much about the opinions of non-Jewish Zionists bc I don't grant that they are dealing with the same emotional complications at this time, although that doesn't stop me from arguing w my acquaintances abt their callous acceptance of US/Israeli propaganda.) I just think..... isn't it overall harmful to allow anti-semitic rhetoric, even used sarcastically, to enter the genuine humanist cause for Palestinian liberation? Or, have I misunderstood, and you actually are not in opposition to Hamas, or something else I didn't think of?

hi! thank you for approaching the question thoughtfully and with curiosity, i really appreciate it. i was being kind of flippant with that meme, but this is the only ask i'm going to reply to on the matter given that i am neither jewish nor arab, so i'm going to answer in earnest:

hamas is a political resistance movement with an armed wing, much like the black panthers party was, and like the bpp, a large part of the organization is dedicated to social welfare and civic restoration.

they have stated that they are not against judaism, but against the zionist project. they openly support political solutions.

labeling hamas a terrorist group is a propaganda tactic used by the united states and israel to justify the horrors of settler colonization.

hamas is palestine, a part of it, even if palestinians like any other demographic on earth, are not a unified, single-minded people. to declare hamas a separate entity falls prey to the imperialist lie that there is an enemy to fight "fairly" within the people they are displacing and exterminating.

am i rejoicing in the deaths of israelis? of course not. killing civilians and taking civilian hostages is a war crime, whether it is committed by the opresor or the oppressed. the israeli government is not its people, and many jews, within israel as well as in the US, are bravely risking their lives to publicly dissent the criminal acts of the israeli government. all loss of human life is a tragedy.

no one should ever be faced with the choice between annihilation and murderous violence after exhausting all other forms of peaceful protest and being massacred like animals.

but why is it that we consider a resistance group formed within a population with a median age of eighteen a terrorist group, and not the IDF, a US-backed military force with an annual budget of twenty billion dollars?

i am currently reading hamas and civil society in gaza by sara roy to learn more about hamas and the history of israel in palestine. i'll remember to post more excerpts which i am admittedly terrible at.

but all of the information above can be found by reading wikipedia. investigating with duckduckgo searches (not gonna pretend google isn't prioritizing propaganda, to be fair), and reading reliable news coverage like aljazeera and the many journalists who are at risk of, or have lost their lives, reporting on the ground.

i have also appreciated reading posts from @determinate-negation @opencommunion @fairuzfan @ibtisams and @bloglikeanegyptian amongst others

in conclusion:

#palestine

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lesinquietes · 11 months ago

Text

Summary: You’re trying to recover from what happened, but it’s hard to forget; especially when you know he’ll be back for you one day. Your commutes home have never been so stressful.

Mean!Yandere!Shigaraki x Bimbo!Reader

⚠️ mdni. a splash of horror. dark content. degradation. exhibitionism. fingering. incel. misogyny. noncon. sexism. thoughts of death and dying. victim-blaming. voyeurism. yandere.

Previous l pls stop asking for a part 3 💕

You go straight to the cops upon fleeing from Shigaraki. You understand why he let you escape when the officers stifle chuckles. You don’t have anything but your word to support the bold accusation that the leader of the Paranormal Liberation Front is trying to rape you. Saying it aloud sounds more ridiculous than the way it echoes in your thoughts.

You check the forum. Crumbleking’s post was deleted days ago. The account he used is gone, too. Your Instagram yielded similar results.

At the very least, they believe that someone entered your apartment and assaulted you. His identity being Tomura Shigaraki is highly contested. They send someone over to investigate your home. Much to your chagrin, the officer returns with a clean report. According to his examination, nothing in the space was disturbed. There was no sign of a break and enter.

It’s funny. When you stumbled towards the window, desperate for safety, you recall knocking over a table and shattering the vase. If nothing was disturbed, did your assailant clean up the mess…?

You ration that he had to have, and your heart almost stops. He’s ballsy for that one. You suppose he’s confident in his plan to enact revenge on you. He considers himself invincible, and he damn well might be. But everyone has a weakness.

You’re not stupid enough to think this is over. You aren’t keen to relax now that you’ve alerted the authorities. Will the cops who laughed at you rush to your aid when he inevitably returns for a second try? Doubtful. You’re responsible for protecting yourself.

You submit a police report anyway. They don’t include a name for the suspect because they don’t buy your allegation. It’s enough to simply have the document on file.

You don’t return to your apartment that evening — at least, not by yourself. You explain what happened to a friend. She lives in a beautiful, isolated rural area, about an hour out of town; nevertheless, upon hearing your bad news she drives all the way to pick you up at the station. A stoic, shivering mess, she works to reassure you. Nothing works. Nothing is helpful. She takes you back to her house after grabbing some essentials at your place.

Entering your space felt foreign and uncomfortable. You found yourself jumping at the slightest creak. Nothing was familiar. And you were correct about the vase — someone cleaned it up.

The days following your attack involve negotiating a lease break with your landlord. Fortunately, you’ve lived here long enough to establish a solid rapport with him. He keeps your deposit for last month’s rent and permits you to leave by the end of the week. You do so discreetly.

Gradually, you transport your essentials into your car. On the last day of your lease, you hire movers to bring your larger furniture to a storage unit. You promise your friend it’ll only be for a few weeks, and you mean that — for her sake. Although she comprehends the risks, she still agreed to help you; nonetheless, you don’t believe she’ll be spared if Shigaraki discovers your location.

You quit your job. A new one isn’t difficult to find. It’s in a different city. If all goes well, you figure you’ll move into a nearby apartment and lay low.

The next week or so is quiet. You maintain awareness of your surroundings but nothing happens. It’s as though he’s biding his time… or maybe witnessing you walking on eggshells is precisely what he wants.

Shigaraki is a busy man. He doesn’t have the energy to spend haunting you, a civilian who once talked shit about him online. There are bigger fish to fry. According to him, he gets enough women at home, anyway. It’s likely that you’ll never see him again.

Oh, you poor, naive woman; so willing to believe the logical lies your nervous brain feeds you.

It’s six o’clock in the evening, two weeks after your encounter with the dust villain. You stand on the subway terminal and glare down the tracks. There are a few other people there with you. No one you recognize.

To get to your friend’s residence, you have to take the 2216 train to the very end, walk for fifteen minutes, and catch the bus. It’s a dreadful commute. You’re saving up to buy a used car. But until then, you’ll just have to deal with the time vampirism that comes with sneaking around.

Five minutes into your gruelling wait, the train squeals into the terminal, dim yellow lights flickering as it grinds to a jittery halt. Its doors jerk open with a soft ding. You enter the cabin. As usual, it’s crowded at this time of night. Everyone else is commuting home, too. They get on at the station right before yours, taking up all the seats and more than half the standing space.

You walk down a bit and stand between two men conversing with seated passengers. There’s a group of stylish women next to you, chattering eagerly about their evening plans, and a few scattered friends on the opposite side, dazed and distracted after a long work day. It’s compact, but not uncomfortable yet.

Your hand dips into your pocket. When your fingers don’t find what they’re looking for, you grimace. No earbuds. Great. You must have forgotten them at work.

The train stops at another terminal. More people shuffle on board. The trip commences.

You close your eyes and meditate. Honing in on your breathing, you feel the air entering and leaving your lungs. The sensation is serene. You sigh gingerly as the background noise lessens a bit. Sadly, your peace doesn’t last for long.

Something swipes across your butt. Your spine grows rigid. Accidents happen on packed subways, but that? That didn’t feel like a mistake. You hold your breath as you wait, positive your assailant will make a second move. He doesn’t keep you in suspense for long.

He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing the flesh tightly. You gasp. A swift, gloved hand covers your mouth. The textured fabric is rough against your skin.

“Shut the fuck up, you little slut.”

Your assailant’s familiar, raspy voice sends a chill through your entire body. Without a doubt, Tomura Shigaraki is behind you. You were a fool to believe he was gone for good. He had to return, didn’t he? If only to put you in your place.

“If you overreact, I’ll dust this entire cabin.” He warns. “Let me do what I want, and maybe you’ll get to leave alive.”

Why wouldn’t he kill you and everyone on this train? It’s not like you’re special. Once you’re dead, he’ll simply find another person to harass. And the people around you? No one significant. He’d probably garner a lot of attention if he committed mass murder.

But all the same, it’s impossible for you to understand the sick feelings he harbours for you in his heart, and the way they grow every time he sees you. It isn’t love. It isn’t lust. It’s a sensation that’s incomprehensibly sinister in its somber nature; a volatile melange of emotions that frightens even him. You have no idea the lengths he would go to for the sake of preserving your life; he’s not finished toying with you yet.

He releases your ass and uncovers your mouth. Securing a palm firmly to your hip, he slithers his other hand up your skirt. Slipping your panties aside, he finds your clit. His index fingers massages slow circles over your twitching nub, eliciting a delicious exhale.

He dreamed of this moment for weeks. He fantasized about bearing claim to you in public, where anyone can watch. He’s about to be the God of this world, isn’t he? He can do as he pleases, and to hell with the consequences. When he possesses rule, he’ll have you cockwarm him on his throne all day long. By that time, you’ll surely know your place beneath his muddy boot.

He teases the lips of your cunt with his sharp fingernail, gliding it gently over the edge of your small hole. He pinches your thigh when you attempt to press your legs together. He won’t let you deny him entry to what’s his.

“I’m wearing gloves that cancel out my quirk.” He mutters darkly. “But if you don’t cooperate, I’ll take them off and activate it right here.”

He twists your clit between his thumb and index finger. The horrifying thoughts causes a stray tear to drip down your cheek. You don’t want to imagine how that would feel.

“Sorry,” you whisper pathetically. “I-I will.”

Picking up the tone of your voice, the man next to you turns around. Shigaraki removes his hand from beneath your skirt and wraps both arms around your waist. He lifts a brow when the stranger acknowledges both of you. To him, it looks like you’re a couple commuting home together. He has no concept of what’s truly going on; that if you don’t obey, him, and everyone else on this train, will die. Ignorant, he smiles and returns to his trivial conversation.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut the fuck up?” The villain growls viciously. “Second strike, whore.”

You understand that the third strike will be your last.

You glance over your shoulder. He’s wearing a black face mask to match a large, baggy sweater. Crimson irises leer at you menacingly. He has his hood pulled over a head of shaggy, unkempt hair. It’s no wonder he hasn’t been recognized; his signature traits — like the hand covering his face, or his pastel tresses — are hidden from sight.

Just as you’re drinking in his appearance, he’s basking in yours. You look even better than the photos you put up on your social media account. He managed to save a few before you deleted it. He stares at them when he’s fucking his hand to the notion of capturing and taming you. He cums the hardest to porn where women are nothing more than brain dead sex slaves; that’s what he envisions for you.

Of course, submissive bitches aren’t born obedient; they need to be whipped into shape. He thinks the fight you put up is the best part about the training process. When you’re unruly, it forces him to be crueller. He wonders when you’ll pick up on that. It doesn’t have to hurt if you simply comply.

As much as he’s intrigued to witness you up close, he’s pissed at you for wearing a skirt today. Don’t you know the meaning of decency? Anyone could have molested you on the train. It’s practically a cultural norm for cute women to get harassed during their commute. He’s going to teach your pussy who it belongs to. Then, next time you go to work m, you might think twice before wearing a garment that’s easy access.

You face forward, when he grasps your shoulders. Slowly, his hands slide down to your hands, stopping to give them an affectionate squeeze, in case there are curious voyeurs. He wants to make this look as organic as possible.

From behind, he lifts up your skirt and pulls your panties aside. The fabric bites into your flesh, no doubt giving you a rash on the crease of your crotch. He’s careless with his motions; this is all about him. Discomfort is a sensation you should become dearly acquainted with.

“Did you miss me?”

You bite your lower lip when his digits discover your clit. Your back arches as they map out the nub, teasing your hooded flesh to see what your pussy needs to drip. It doesn’t take much. You can’t distract yourself from his touches. There’s nothing stimulating; merely the backs of strangers who couldn’t save you if they tried.

Inwardly, you sob. You have no control. Even your own body is betraying you.

He dips a finger between your folds and hums when he discovers how wet you are. Running the length of his index finger along your clit, he snickers. He knew you were in denial. You must want him. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get you to admit your desire by the end of your trip back to the Deika City.

“Feels like it.”

You frantically scope the sea of people. You’re between several, so you think you’re clear from view; then, you catch the eye of an older businessman. He’s staring directly at your crotch, where Shigaraki’s fingers are massaging your puffy clit. You bite the inside of your cheek. He knows what’s going on. You bet he’s been enjoying the show. You can’t count on a pig like him to save you.

You repress a sob, utterly humiliated. You haven’t felt this degraded in your life. You’re being groped by Japan’s most notorious villain while a lustful stranger observes.

“I bet you thought you got away from me, didn’t you?” He snarls. “Thought I’d forgotten about you.”

You’re too embarrassed to admit it. You fell right into his trap. Somehow, he knew you would lower your guard after a while. It’s precisely when you set it down completely that he struck. You’re either extremely predictable or he has incredible intuition.

He removes his hand from your underwear and brings it around to your chest. You feel your juices coat your skin and shudder. You can’t believe your body got wet for this disgusting motherfucker.

His nasty fingers claw at the buttons of your blouse. One of them pops off. It shoots diagonal, striking one of the windows. A passenger picks it up and glances around. You lock eyes with her. Instantly, she notices what’s going on. Unlike the businessman from earlier, however, you know she has the intention to act. It sparks a flame of hope in your heart.

A few men shift and shroud her from view. It’s probably for the best. Shigaraki’s digits locate your nipple soon after, dipping beneath your bra to pinch the responsive flesh. You stifle a shriek when his plucking becomes too much.

“I’m going to take you back with me and tie you up in the middle of our courtyard,” he whispers hoarsely, voice dripping with desire. “I’m sure some of our soldiers could use a bit of stress relief.”

You gag. You’ll die abused, beaten, starved, and dehydrated — a prisoner of war because you mouthed off on the Internet. This is so stupid.

Your captor groans softly as he withdraws his hand from your breast and slides a lithe finger past your folds, sheathing it up to his knuckle. He can tell it hurts. Your pain makes him enjoy it more. You stiffen and bite your lower lip.

The vehicle jolts to a halt again. The system announces that this is Jolicoeur Station, the second last stop on the line. That means you’re nearly there. He hums approvingly when the doors shut.

“Time’s almost up, whore.”

You don’t know what the fuck that means. Is he going to kill you or bring you to his base? Only time will tell, you suppose. For now, you want his sharp fingernail away from your cervix. You wriggle, praying he’ll at least stop jiggling it around. It isn’t long until he does, though he makes it clear he withdrew if his own volition; he can’t have you thinking you have a modicum of power over him, can he?

He’ll treat you like you’re nothing — a lifetime of serving him will drill that into your pretty head. He’ll never let you understand your real worth again when you’re under his brutal care. Beneath his boot is where you’ll remain.

The train lunges to another ungrateful stop. Your heart drops. This is it — the end of the line. Shigaraki touches you with both hands from behind, drumming his clothed fingers atop your shoulders.

“When the doors open, walk.” He instructs you. “We’ll pretend we’re a couple.”

You want to throw up. He’s forcing you to act like his lover after playing with you against your will. You’ll be damned if you go down without a fight. If you see an opening to ditch him, you’re going to take it; to hell with considering the consequences of being caught a third time.

He smooths your clothes out from how he rumpled them. He figures it’ll seem more natural if you appear relatively put together. He fixes your blouse and then moved to your skirt. To onlookers, it’s probably cute — a boyfriend tending to his girlfriend. They have no idea about the undertones of his treatment.

As if on cue, the woman from earlier coaxes your gaze back to hers. She licks her lips and reaches for the emergency switch. Your mouth opens. You know what she’s trying to do. It’s perfect. He won’t expect it because he thinks he’s in the clear.

You nod once. She takes that as your signal to proceed. With a visible grunt, she yanks the switch down. Reprieve floods your chest as soon as you hear the alarm.

You have to go.

Now.

The doors of the train freeze. In a panic, everyone races out of the car. You follow suit. The second you sense his grip slacken, you bolt. As you scurry off the car, you feel Shigaraki’s greedy hand reach for you — gloveless. You scream. Your voice blends in with the rest of the cacophony, shielding you from unwanted attention.

You glance over your shoulder. Everything around you slows down. He’s standing in the sea of people, still and glaring. His hood is pulled down and his mask is hanging off one ear. His scarred lips are contorted in a grimace.

For a brief moment, an understanding is met. Today, both of you learned that the other is not to be underestimated. After this little stunt, you’re his main priority. He hopes you’re prepared to take this game just as seriously, because he won’t stop pursuing you unless he’s killed. And he knows that won’t happen anytime soon.

You turn away from him and finish your flight. Like last time, he permits you to escape. He stays glued in place until nearly everyone else has left the terminal; then, he departs.

You have no idea the demons you’ve awakened inside him.

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