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Gift for @antishaman I'm so glad you're finally home safe <3

Creater chose not to use archive warnings, dead dove

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Satoru squatted in front of the shelf by the TV, long slender fingers flipping through each disc case one by one with a quick appraisal each. He clicked his tongue judgementally as he dismissed each one, until finally his expression brightened as he pulled out a copy of A New Hope. "Hey Suguru! Do you want to watch Star Wars? I've never seen the originals." He bounced to his feet with eager enthusiasm, looking around for the bluray player as he waited for a response.

None came, and he dropped the box onto the coffee table as he turned to the opening of the kitchen and the strange noises coming from beyond the open door. With a pout, Satoru hopped over the drying blood on the carpet and headed over.

#>> drabble #antishaman #fuck it im not proofreading this

Continued from [X] @antishaman

A curious manner? She supposed that was true. She was an anomaly.

Blue eyes studied him, gaze critical and senses on high alert. His scent was peculiar, even for a sorcerer. Why? There was a silent question written in her gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Brows lifted at his statement, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. He was dangerous despite his appearance, more so than others of his kind.

“I have no desire to fit in with them,” she frowned faintly, head tilting to the side slightly. “But you’re not bringing it up to provide me with some strange form of comradery, are you?” Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but it was clear that she didn’t trust his intentions. His statement could be construed as benign, friendly even.

She wasn’t that naive.

#antishaman #jjkv #q

pressing his full weight against satoru's abdomen using his knee, sukuna speared his hand down, aimed right for the jugular to rip open his throat. specks of blood decorated his face to which the curse licked around his lips. 'yum.' he couldn't wait to sample more.

Two regrets: that his best friend hadn't been there to see him off into his final battle, and that the King of Curses had held back in their climactic showdown.

Satoru must have really done well in his life, because the karmic reward of this death was paying dividends for both lingering disappointments. Even as his blood spilled and pain lanced through his body, he felt an incredible thrill that he would never have enough of. So few things ever truly challenged Satoru Gojo, and the gift of something to overcome was an eternal desire that was being well-satisfied.

His brilliant blue eyes flared as Sukuna lapped up his lifeblood, swearing to himself then that he would return the favour; even if he could not win this round against the King of Curses, he would slice his opponent open and taste that iron in return; he would see the surprise and admiration in Sukuna's eyes as he turned the tables once more, proving time and time again why Satoru had been the strongest of an era. He'd earn that mutual respect they held for each other time and time again.

Reversed cursed energy ran in overdrive as Satoru pushed up with his technique at his back, unaffected by the domain amplification his opponent held down at his gut and his throat, a manic grin crossing his face as he pushed through those points of contact. The flesh of his neck ripping open around Sukuna's hand and his belly crushed through a knee but it did not matter as long as he kept himself alive and aware enough to control Limitless, pushing his body past its physical limits, literally, as it tears apart. It all happens in the fraction of a second at dizzying speeds, the force that slammed their bodies together with enough force to turn either of them into paste.

Half a second later he was lying free on the ground, limbs regrowing as rapidly as they could, him stumbling onto legs just as soon as they'd reattached around the hole in his abdomen and flying back at Sukuna even before his windpipe reformed, blood spilling in a bright red streak in the air behind him.

All he needed was to be even a millisecond faster than Sukuna at pulling himself back together.

#>> answered #antishaman #v? >> south #....give me a chance to write absolutely unhinged feral gojo and i will milk it for all its worth

even as someone as seen as flawless as satoru still had their flaws, you just had to look past his radiant confidence and blinding extrovert behavior. his aggravating selfishness, hard-headed dismissive attitude, the way he never puts his clothes away properly, shit diet, hardly takes care of himself--

packaged with all of that suguru wouldn't have it any other way. lately he's been feeling sentimental. often caught lost in thought day dreaming of happier past and finding himself longing for a future he never felt the need to manifest. a definitive constant remained, despite his own violent flaws, suguru couldn't help but relish in this rare, selfish request.

'sometimes you shine so brightly that i have to look away. even so, can i still stay by your side?' uwu

Once not long ago, moments of peace like this would feel like the eye of the storm, placid waters an isolated island ruined by the towering stormfront crashing towards them. These days though, the calm felt more real; clear skies extending beyond just the small circle above them. They sat side by side on the balcony, a shared blanket around their shoulders and warm drinks huddled between their fingers to stave off the winter chill. Those clear skies tonight revealed a brilliant spread of stars; the one benefit of their campus lodgings had over Satoru's old apartment being the distance from Tokyo's polluting light.

And even if it was for only this one night, even if they'd regret taking the time out of their precious sleep, Satoru wouldn't trade it for anything. This was what he'd selfishly wanted for himself when he'd started this entire mess; as always thinking only of himself and his wants, disregarding the needs of others...and he'd do it again, if only to have this night happen once again.

He'd been blabbing on, as he was wont to do when he was himself, when he was comfortably happy to just be who he was, someone who was sharing his time, his space, this little slice of his life and mind with his best friend, the stars a mere backdrop as he enthused about some spell he'd been working on.

He paused to catch his breath, his voice paused by the sting of icy air in his lungs and the quiet look of admiration on his partner's face, his violets seeming to twinkle under the reflection of the stars. Then came familiar words; words that had not brushed his consciousness for over a decade, yet had etched grooves so deep he could recite them word by word as they came out of his best friend's mouth.

He'd once learned what true friendship looked like through the pages those words had been printed on. Now in the midst of their complicated life, the simpleness offered through that childhood story cut through all the ugliness and strife. Satoru felt a lump in his throat at what he heard; at Suguru wanting to be with him. Even after everything he had done; even after he'd forced Suguru to stay at his side.

He stared at his friend for several long moments, blue eyes wide with shock and awe and an appreciation that had always been held close to his heart.

"Of course. I'd love to have you with me."

#>> answered #antishaman #r >> everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it // antishaman

❝ i’m also worried about me, but i somehow seem to be worried about you more. ❞

The apartment was dark, thick curtains drawn over the windows so only beams of light broke through enough to let someone of regular sight navigate the familiar space. Still, it felt light, as if it glowed with the brightness of the springtime that settled outside in a cozy embrace. The space lifted with the sound of laughter; Satoru grinning widely as he held his best friend's hands in his.

"That's so like you," there was a teasing tone to his voice. He himself radiated calm as he almost always seemed to even through the stormiest of days; even through things that should cause worry and concern, bring forth some flow of emotion that he'd long cut himself off from. But it seemed Suguru did enough worrying for the both of them.

A gentle hand raised to brush a loose strand of hair from Suguru's face, brushing past the bags that hung under his eyes in the exhaustion they both shared.

On the table besides them lay stacks of books and parchments, research they'd agonized over together through the long nights after grueling work days.

"No matter what happens, we're in this together." The past several years have taken much from them; it was time to bring an end to it. Whether this plan worked or not, Satoru realized that it didn't matter much to him. There could only be two outcomes to the great risk they were about to take, a test of trust that should not have survived the turmoil of their relationship— yet it did. Either this worked and they would break their shackles in bloody revolution, or they would die.

Together.

Satoru pulled forth cursed energy and began to compose it with his half of the vow, a vow so dangerous there would be no room for error, not an inch of room for doubt. Without asking for anything back, Satoru offered it to Suguru with a soft smile— in that spell he gave himself, the full essence of who he was was and who he could ever be. He trusted his partner with everything that was Satoru Gojo and more.

There could be no stronger force in the universe; the vow that already bound him so frail before the crystallization of iron will. He waits for Suguru to spin up his own vow, the air itself humming with power and the sheer force of their bond made tangible.

I give myself to you.

With such a declaration traded, there was nothing that would be capable of standing in their way.

#>> answered #antishaman #r >> everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it // antishaman #dumps this on you as a break from all the soul crushing angst uwu

[ training + heat ]

pinned (always accepting everything in prompts tag)

Their match had long left the boundaries painted into the dojo floor, but no referee stood today to put any rules in place.

"Come on now, tap out!" Satoru's breath was heavy through his wide grin. He had Suguru trapped against the wall, chest pressed into the wood, right arm bent behind his back and the other left clawing uselessly against the wall, failing to find any leverage. Satoru had his own weight leaned fully against Suguru's back, and he dug his heels in to mercilessly crush his partner even more strongly against the wooden surface, his grip twisting at the arm he'd captured. Suguru grunted —in pain? in effort to fight against the escalation?— but held stubborn, still wriggling and fighting to get free.

It wasn't unusual for stalemates like this to drag on between them without someone to call the match, regardless of who had the upper hand. They shared a stubborn pride and a desire for victory, and the occasional success in slipping out of a hopeless hold pushed them onwards. But something else seemed to stunt the progress of the fight today as the sound of their laboured breathing hung sharp in the air and bodies pressed together with the motion of violence and Satoru had a sudden thought.

"Don't be a— a sore loser," Satoru was pressed right up against his partner then, words raspy between sharp intakes of air as he spoke them right next to Suguru's ear. "Tap out, you're being an embarrassment right now, and you're going to make it up to me."

With a smirk, he ground his hips against Suguru's backside and near laughed as he felt more than heard his partner's sharp intake of breath, the way his body jolted in response and how his pulse seemed to quicken even further than the pace set by their fight. He paused for a moment, and within seconds of not getting the answer he wanted, mercilessly pressed their bodies together once more.

Suguru yielded with a bitten-back whimper, the free fingers of his left hand tapping weakly against the wall.

Satoru barked a laugh, almost derisive as he eased back a step as if to free his trapped opponent; then he dived back in, grabbing a shoulder and flipping Suguru to slam into the wall once against his back. Satoru caged the other between his arms immediately, his eyes twinkling with intent. One hand slid against the surface to the back of Suguru's head, fingers roughly intertwining themselves into hair none too gently.

"...you okay with this, yeah?" He paused for a moment to check in with his partner, and with a swallow Suguru nodded his consent. At that Satoru with his rough grip in hair, pulled up, forcing his partner to his tiptoes until the tips of their noses brushed together and their quickening breaths mingled. He pressed forward a half-step, pinning his partner solidly against the wall once more, his free hand settling itself on Suguru's waist.

Then their mouths met in a kiss and they both tasted of their battle, salt lingered on their lips as beads of sweat trickled down their faces and copper lined their mouths. Satoru lapped it all up aggressively, eagerly, fingers curling tight to pull at black hair and uniform cloth. Satoru loved how Suguru turned to putty beneath his touch, near helpless as Satoru manipulated him however he wanted, pausing only to murmur some insult between gasping breaths.

Satoru was learning just how much fun it was to have this kind of power over someone, knowing exactly what would undo them. When he finally pulled back some time later, he looked appreciatively at his partner's dazed state with his own calm smugness.

"How about we get cleaned up, and go back to your room?"

#>> answered #antishaman #v1 >> where our blue is #suggestive //

suguru had a group of leaders within his cult that had various tasks, including but not limited to, recruiting. when he learned of a potential candidate being approached by an official jujutsu tech member, there was some anxiety over shaman being poached to the wrong side and willingly giving out information. to ease worries, suguru promised to take care of it, and take care of it he did. finding this person, a student by the looks of it, was easy; their cursed energy was all over the place and left a trail right to their apartment. after a brief interrogation, suguru declared that such potential wasn't worth the loose lips this person had, and made quick work to killing them.

the thing with residuals is that this kid wasn't the only one to leave a trail behind. suguru, hopeful for a better demonstration of his power, also left evidence of his precense behind for anyone to follow. a specific person to corner him. blood splatters against the wall, some of it got on his face and hand and the dark clothing he was wearing. running fingers down the length of his ink well of hair, suguru grinned.

'were they supposed to enroll this upcoming season? pity.'

A near decade Satoru had built the foundations of his own principles, or at the the shadows of such. Nurture the next generation; teach them to be capable of protecting themselves and protecting each other, together. His own happiness was buried in a past that could never be returned to, but his students still had a chance.

Satoru hadn't been involved in the recruitment process. He hadn't even known how big his class would be that year yet, as new Sorcerers rarely showed up perfectly in sync with the start of a new school year. But when he'd been called in, when he'd seen the corpse and felt the residuals —like a flower, delicate veins breaking apart as he strode through it— for a moment he couldn't breathe.

This was wrong. Not wrong in the way that people liked to place moral meaning on things such as the taking of life, it was wrong because it did not make sense. Suguru had always been a painfully principled person, everything he did was in service of his beliefs. Everything he ever did had a point, a purpose, and made sense.

So when he cornered Suguru then, a mixture of grief and rage on his expression, it felt too much a repeat of their previous meeting. His best friend reeked of blood; spilt blood with all its meaning held particularly tightly onto cursed energy and it radiated off of him in a thick miasma.

"What the hell are you playing at, Suguru!?" Cursed energy gathered around Satoru like a storm, the surface roaring with silent threat, like a handsign once pointed at a retreating back.

"I thought you wanted to protect sorcerers! That you wanted to build a new world!" Hands clenched tight, and a shadow of a memory of a pain brushed his consciousness of a button digging into flesh, drawing blood, the sharp pain bringing no relief.

He'd been wrong all these years. Even now, after he'd learned that painful say in Shinjuku that Suguru was capable of lying to him, he still had never been able to shake his faith in the boy who had given him everything, who had made him feel loved, who had always known what the right thing was.

The boy who would lie to his face, break his heart, leave him trapped in the vast agony of loneliness, and who would murder a sorcerer child.

"You're not— you're not him anymore, are you?" And in that moment Satoru's voice breaks and he feels it for a moment: grief. Grief for a boy who died so long ago and now he stood before a stranger simply wearing a stolen face. Then he stabilizes, snapping back in control and his voice sounded distant with the words he spoke next.

That day in Shinjuku, Satoru's threat had been toothless. His handsign had lacked any cursed energy, unable to summon the will to snuff out that life he treasured above all else. The maelstrom of his energy gathered into his hand, pulled expertly into the weaving of Blue and Red.

"You wanted me here, didn't you? Well, you've got me. If you have a death wish then I'll oblige."

#>> answered #antishaman #v2 >> those waiting to be saved

the following years since their vow to command each other left bread crumbs of peace that bloomed into shared goals being completed, retirement, and a happy life filled with pure love. suguru had complete trust that mimiko and nanako, along with their peers, would pave the path for a better life not just for sorcerers, but for the despised counter parts. content with their care, he asked satoru to go on journeys of spiritual awakenings with him, had the rare ocassions of vulnerability where brief repeats of abusive history would come up, and ending it with a satisfying life residing in the countryside of japan. he bought an abandoned home, refurnished it, and decided to plant flowers intending to sell them on the side. for so long, it's been depraved of a need for violence or a sense of urgency for combat. suguru had let his guard down. he wasn't expecting a customer to come in with a thirst for vengeance, or to be left in the dirt, his own blood pooling around him for satoru to find ❤

Satoru never thought he'd grow old.

It wasn't so much that he had ever expected to die young, his younger self having never even conceptualized such a possibility— but neither could he have imagined himself here now, looking simultaneously too young and too old for his seven decades of life.

His white hair was too white and too pure, his skin radiating a paleness that belied sickness and remained free of blemishes, and his eyes retained that bright eerie clear blue that seemed the only mark of pigment upon his figure. But the old sensei at Jujutsu tech spoke with a heaviness that dragged the weight of lifetimes of suffering behind it, and lifted up with lifetimes of love and joy. The formerly strongest sorcerer was so much in every way, and he imparted wisdom that befit his hallowed status.

With age came a growing list of people he outlived; both those that were taken too soon and those who went when their time was up. In his youth he'd been irreverent about the ritual surrounding grief, but over time he'd learned to examine and confront his own detachment as the damage that it truly was. He'd learned to remember and to feel. Riko Amanai and Misato Kuroi. Yu haibara. Karasu Hoshino. Yuji Itadori. Tsumiki Fushiguro. Masamichi Yaga. Shoji Gojo. Minoru Gojo.

Suguru Geto.

Satoru dropped cross-legged in front of the river that ran by the property his best friend had spent so many peaceful years tending to. A small plaque sat next to the water's edge in place of a tombstone, commemorating a tumultuous controversial life and the greatest love of Satoru's heart. Some old flowers lay before it; clearly the twins had visited not too long ago.

He worked to opened up the lid of the drink he held, the brittle plastic being annoyingly stubborn, and quietly he observed the warmth of the sun on his shoulders like a gentle grip, and the way a breeze picked up to ruffle his hair as if reminding him that it was getting too long and he needed a haircut.

"I can take care of myself, you know that Suguru," Satoru chuckled lightly as the lid finally popped open, and he held it out to pour some into the merrily bubbling water where once the man's ashes had been scattered. "I brought one for you today. Peach oolong, it's been a while since you had one of these huh?"

He pulled the drink back, gulped about half of it down, then dumped the rest into the river. Afterwards he sat back and nursed a strawberry bubble tea for himself, a smile tugging at his lips as he near saw Suguru's exasperated yet resigned expression. Satoru always had an inclination for food and drinks theft from the man he loved to annoy the most, and who always tolerated his worst of habits.

He talked. It wasn't the energetic yapping that he'd been known for in his younger years, and while his mind was still razor sharp he no longer dropped words as fast as they flitted across his thoughts. He deliberated, paused, thought of stories and news that his better half would appreciate and spun them in the most entertaining ways he could; he'd grown to be a good storyteller in his old age, and he flexed his growing skill shamelessly. He missed Suguru; he ached for the time that they failed to steal, but undeniably the years they had spent together were stolen, precious, and hard-won through sweat and rivers of blood. To regret any of it was to stain the memory of them, and so, Satoru Gojo chose to know peace.

As the hours passed to twilight, two cups sitting empty on the grass and mosquitoes began their assault on Infinity, Satoru pushed himself back to his feet. It was time to return to Tokyo; he had classes to teach in the morning.

"You keep waiting for me, old friend. I intend to be a little late in joining you," he declared as he always did, and without pause, without regrets, he turned and left to face another day.

#>> answered #antishaman #r >> everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it // antishaman