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dazaiandhislovelybandages · 3 days

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15. "I'll keep kissing you." "Until you're sick of it?" "Until I can't think of anything else but you." For Gojo? Like s/o was feeling insecure if he really wants to date her but this is how he reassures her that he loves her dearly?

Quite The Romantics {Gojo Satoru}

A/n: thank you for requesting, I hope you like the outcome

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x fem! reader

Trigger warnings: mentions of self-doubt, insecurities and overall angst, implied sexual activity

Being in a relationship with the strongest sorcerer alive was easy. The late night calls that signalled missions, him worrying about his students, the higher ups... everything was manageable. It helped that you were also a sorcerer so you knew what the dangers were and Gojo didn't have to keep things a secret in order to protect you.

Being in a relationship with the most handsome man you've ever seen was not easy. It had been a mutual agreement to keep things lowkey and so far it had been fine. The students knew about you two and they were fully supportive and excited when they saw the two of you together inside the school grounds but things were not so simple outside of campus.

Gojo and you didn't share a home, yet at least since he had been pestering you for a month to move in with him; having a huge and luxurious apartment always had its perks. So when it came to dates there were only two options: either Gojo would pick you up or you would meet him at the date spot.

With your line of work, the latter was what usually worked best.

Tonight's date had been marvellous. From the food to the music to the view, you had to hand it to him; Gojo Satoru had taste. And even after the date, when the two of you returned to his place... everything was perfect. Perfect apart from one thing.

"Where's your little mind travelling?" Gojo returned from the bathroom, grey sweatpants on and a white towel on his head. The usual scent of sex had now been replaced by the smell of his body lotion and shampoo: roses.

You were a little hesitant to reply and in your mind it was only natural. Who wouldn't be nervous when the love of their life was asking them what is going?

"Oh no!" He plopped next to you on the bed, a small smirk on his face. "Can I guess?" He nuzzled his face in the crook of your head, his arm already wrapped around your waist.

"Go on." You sighed and turned on your side, facing him. Something about the way he hugged you felt comforting and you knew he knew it. It was a small trick Gojo always had up his sleeve that not even he knew how he had found out.

"Is it about the girl that came up to me while I was waiting for you at the restaurant? Don't be shy with me honey." He giggled. That bastard knew what he was doing and your silence wasn't helping your case. "I knew it." He pulled away from you with a smile.

You didn't want to admit it. Mostly because you were confident in yourself and in your relationship with him. But there were times when you could see other people flirting with him and something in you broke. You weren't nearly as confident as him, nor that much of an outgoing person and your ego was in normal levels. So what was stopping him from breaking up with you to find someone else?

Being in a relationship with Gojo Satoru only had perks. Gojo knew you better than anyone. He knew how to make you laugh, how to make you moan, how to make you stop crying. He also knew how to touch and kiss you.

"What are you doing?" You tried pushing him away but he was strong and he wasn't letting go of you. Pushing him away, especially when laughing at the same time, was never easy and you knew it, but you still did it anyway. Not because you wanted him away from you but because you wanted to piss him off.

"I'm kissing you." He laughed, placing another small peck on your collarbone before travelling up to your neck and then your cheeks and then your mouth.

"Haven't you kissed me enough already?"

"I'll keep doing it, I don't care."

"Until you're sick of it?"

"Until I know you know I can't think of anything else but you."

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nunalastor · 3 days

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Vampire Hunter Alastor

When Alastor was alive, he came from a family line of vampire hunters. He hunted other supernatural creatures like werewolves, occasional demon but specifically vampires. He would still hunt vampires when he became a radio host, but not as much as in late teens and early twenties. He still needed an outlet for his hunts so he would hunt down unsavory humans.

When Alastor went to hell, he never bothered to tell anyone that he was a vampire hunter. He’d rather be known as the Radio Demon because that’s a reputation he made of himself, not something he inherited. Plus, last thing he wants is for people to think he was a hero. If they ever do find out, Alastor would just say it was a family obligation and not really for humanity’s sake.

The real kicker is that Alastor’s clan were famous vampire hunters. They had feats of stopping the apocalypse multiple times or the world being taken over by vampires, etc. Alastor himself actually saved the world once from some big shot vampire lord, but it was a casual Monday for him.

Hazbin Crew don’t believe it at first cause it’s Alastor. But when they do, they are shocked. Charlie is even more determined to redeem Alastor because he deserves to be in heaven! Lucifer on the other hand is more disappointed of the revelation. Because it proves that the ‘best’ of humanity are just as depraved or can easily fall. Like he’s glad to know that Alastor saved a lot of people, but he still chose to commit evil acts. So in Lucifer’s opinion, Alastor should stay in hell and just stay by Lucifer’s side forever.

When this was discovered by heaven, they were appalled to know that Alastor was in hell. He and his family had protected humanity from the supernatural for centuries, so to see one of their warriors emerge as a demon was unacceptable.

Bonus, everyone wants to hear about his time on earth as a vampire hunter and the battles.

Kind was inspired by Castlevania for the Alastor backstory. I was going to go with Alastor is a Belmont if I wanted to do a crossover, but I with inspiration instead.

👀

#hazbin hotel #nunalastor asks #alastor #vampire hunter alastor #lucifer #charlie #castlevania

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dazed-and-confused23 · 15 hours

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Dear Hearts and Gentle People 13

Summary: You are kidnapped in the middle of the night while the two of you are camped out a little too close to fiend territory. Cooper finds you and makes them pay the price for taking you in the first place.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst and Violence. Dark themes. Cooper is not a happy camper. Forced drug use and sexual assault but no rape. Blood and death.

Masterlist

It's been a week since the fiend leader Motor Runner and his crew of misfits had captured you. It'd been in the middle of the night, Cooper asleep and you on second watch. Your mind was already drowsy, and you hadn't been paying the best attention to your surroundings when you'd wondered off to take a pee that night. Four of them had jumped you, stuffing a dirty sock in your mouth and spraying some type of chem in your face that made you pass out within seconds.

Since then, they've kept you hopped up on a concoction of drugs. It was mostly a mix of jet and med-x, drugs that made you feel calm and foggy brained. Motor Runner had learned quickly that he couldn't touch you unless you'd been double dosed and restrained, wrists lashed behind you as you kneeled by his throne made of human skeletons They'd taken your clothes early on, leaving you in nothing but the thin underclothes to protect your modesty.

Cooper had woken that morning and found you gone, but your things still left behind. Panic and anger had set in immediately, and the ghoul gathered everything up before he started to follow the tracks that led into the destroyed city that surrounded the Strip. It was slow going. The ruins were rife with all kinds of surprises, and he'd had to fall back more than once after getting overwhelmed by a gang of fiends.

However, he'd finally arrived at Vault 3, and nothing was going to stop Cooper from getting you back.

You swayed side to side, high as a kite, and so drugged up that you weren't sure which was was up and which was down. The world spun around you, making you feel sick as bile curdled in your stomach. Motor Runner was saying something, but you couldn't be bothered to pay much attention. Your hearing felt muffled, but you could feel the vibrations of some type of explosion going off further up the Vault.

"Hear that, bitch? Sounds like someone actually tried to come save you. It's soo fuckin' bad that they'll never make it down here."

A gritty hand grabbed your jaw, and cool metal was pressed to your temple, digging in hard enough that it cut into your flesh. Blood wells up and drips down your chin to mix with the other disgusting fluids and gunk that stains your front. Your jaw aches, but you know better than to fight against what the fiend leader wants from you.

Cooper tosses another grenade down the hall, a terrible grin on his lips as the fiends scream in pain, shrapnel shredding through their flesh and sending blood splattering the walls. His side arm flashes in the dim red lighting of the vault, and Cooper relished in the carnage that he leaves behind him. The fiends deserved worse than death, and he would happily be the one to deliver their silence.

They put up more and more of a fight the deeper he went inside the Vault. The ghoul ducks into an abandoned room and quickly reloads, sliding rounds into the chamber with steady hands before he ducks back out into the hallway to blow away three unlucky men that'd been charging down the hallway with pool sticks.

One of them gasps for air, but he's still alive, so Cooper stops for half a second to haul the man up, slamming him against the wall. The bounty hunter's face is stained with red, and the fiend howls in agony when Coop digs his his finger into the bullet wound on the raiders' side.

"Where the fuck is she?" He spits and shakes the man when all he can do is cry, "Answer me you son of a bitch!"

"Down! Motor Runner has the bitch!" the man eventually screams and Cooper puts him down like he would a rapid dog. On he went, dropping fiends and tossing explosives when he could. The walls were painted red by his actions, and the entire vault looked like a murder scene by the time he'd made it to the lowest level.

Tears fell from your eyes as Motor Runner used your mouth, his heavy cock sliding in and out as he takes pleasure in using you. He grunts and moans like an animal, and you have never felt so shamed and disgraced before in your life. You gag around his length, and a sick combination of precum and drool drips from the side of you mouth to mingle with the blood already there.

This is the scene that Cooper arrives to, his features pulled down into an awful snarl as he points his hand cannon at Motor Runner. He takes you in, your bare chest, and the thin panties you wear that hardly cover anything. The fear and broken, defeated look that you wear across your beautiful face.

"Ha! Nice job gettin' down here, Rotter!" The fiend leader hisses and snaps his hips, vulger curves spewing from his lips, "Just in time to watch me cum down your cunt's throat."

Cooper hears you whine and watches you clench your eyes shut. He can hardly see through the film of red that covers his vision, so raged filled that his hand shakes from how tightly he holds his side arm. Motor Runner still has a pistol pressed against your temple, smart enough to not take any chances.

"She ain't yours, Fucker," Cooper snarls right back and takes a couple of steps forward, only to stop when the raider jerked you around to kneel in front of him, on display like come kind of fucked up prize. The fiend scoffs at him.

"Doesn't look like it's your cock in your mouth right now, does it?"

Even drugged and out of it, you can still register what's going on, and hateful shame fills you up to your core. With a vault full of fiends, fighting back had felt hopeless, but seeing Cooper made rage build up and bubble over. Motor Runner had made a mistake when he pulled his attention away from you, and you took your change the second You felt the barrel against your temple go slack.

Cooper watched as Motor Runner's face went white, a silent scream falling past his lips as you bite down as hard as you can. Your teeth pierce his dick, and blood wells up in your mouth as the fiend rips away from you. You fall back, jaw aching at you hit the ground with a thud. You grunt when the back of your head hits the concrete floor, and you see stars.

The ghoul dashes forward, grabbing you the arm to haul you to his side while the fiend wallows on the floor, his hands grabbing at his dick that hangs limp between his legs. Cooper fishes out his knife and cuts the rope around your hands, and you move before he can make sure that you're okay.

You fling yourself on top of the fiend, pinning him down with your knees on his shoulders as you wrap your hands around his throat. You use every ounce of strength you have left, squeezing and watching the life fade out of the man's eyes before you roll off his cooling body, laying on your back as you cry and stare up at the ceiling.

Cooper carefully picks his way over to you, crouching by your side and gently gathering you up and in his arms. You don't fight him and only cry harder when you pick up his familiar scent when you shove your face in the crook of his neck. You shiver and shake, relief filling your body as your ghoul holds you tightly.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get to you, babygirl," Cooper rumbles, but you shake your head. You didn't care, the ghoul had come for you, and that's all that mattered. He gathers your frame up and stands with a soft grunt.

"Let's get outta here."

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #fallout tv series #cooper howard x reader #x reader #the ghoul x reader #dear hears and gentle people #angst with a happy ending #kidnapping

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philosophiums · 2 days

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hooooo boy i haven't posted a fic here in a long time but @hinamie's itafushi art fully possessed me so please take this offering as my first ever jjk fic

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Night has set in like a bruise – a dark sky framed and mottled by light pollution, a memory of violence hidden behind a veneer of something almost pretty. There’s evidence of life in the distant city, but nothing close by. Megumi can hear a soft thrum of traffic and the occasional shout or laugh, but the immediate vicinity hosts only crickets and the restlessness of his companion.

Itadori is pacing at the bottom of the staircase Megumi is sitting on, and Megumi watches him closely out of the corner of his eye. It’s nothing new for Itadori to hype himself up before a fight, so Megumi isn’t worried, exactly, but there’s something abnormal in the fierceness of his movements, the rolling of his shoulders, the way his head tilts like he’s trying and failing to have a conversation in his head.

He doesn’t want to mention it. Conversations with Itadori are often marred by the reality of what the finish line looks like – they can’t both make it out alive. They both know it. Itadori likes to pretend he hasn’t grasped the reality of the situation, but Megumi understands the depth of the haunting he carries around when he thinks no one is looking. Which means that when Megumi asks after him, inquires into his wellbeing, Itadori brushes it off with a smile and a laugh. And his smile is as brilliant as the sun, so of course Megumi has to look away to protect himself.

Somewhere in the nearby bushes, several of his rabbit shikigami are maintaining a perimeter around the area, allowing him to relax while still doing everything he can to stay on high alert. Shibuya shouldn’t have turned into such a mess, and maybe it wouldn’t have if more people had been suspicious to the point of paranoia. It’s too late to fix that, too late to take away Itadori’s scars, too late to take back the suicide pact he himself signed, but he can at least look ahead to whatever future awaits them. He can do his best to keep them safe.

“Fushiguro.”

Oh no. Nothing good ever comes from Itadori’s serious voice.

Please.

If I die, you’ll kill me, right?

He blinks and finds himself looking at a stationary Itadori, hands in his pockets and eyes on the building behind Megumi. “What is it?”

“Are there really curses in there? I thought they couldn’t step foot in a church.” Itadori looks genuine when he asks, and it wouldn’t be the first foolish question out of his mouth, but the tone he used to call Megumi’s name just… doesn’t match with the question. Seriousness followed by off-handed curiosity isn’t exactly Itadori’s style. This isn’t what he had wanted to say, but something made him pivot into an unplanned conversation.

Maybe Megumi has been paying too close attention to him. Maybe Megumi should know better. It’s all doomed anyway – a heat death guaranteed to happen. There’s no point in devoting so much time trying to learn someone’s intricacies when they’re inevitably going to leave, by force or otherwise. He should save himself the heartache. He should have learned his lesson the first time Itadori died.

His arms shake with the phantom weight of Itadori’s body in his arms, limp and lifeless and bloody with that stupid soft smile still on his face even in death with a hole in his chest. His parting words still circle in Megumi’s head sometimes.

Part of him wishes that Itadori had cursed him in the end. Maybe it would have been easier.

“You’re thinking of vampires,” Megumi says. “Or demons. Curses can go anywhere.”

Itadori makes a sound like he’s not really sure he believes Megumi, which is insane because Megumi is not the one who watches movies with vampires and demons in them. At least, he hadn’t before Itadori walked into his life and demanded movie nights at the school and midnight viewings at the theater.

“A church, though?” Itadori continues, insisting. “Aren’t these supposed to be, like, full of positive energy?” He tilts his head up and to the side, and the closest streetlight reflects across his face, highlighting his jaw, catching in his eyes until they glow damn near gold.

Megumi has to look away. His chest hurts if he stares too long at everything he can’t have.

“Just because something is comforting doesn’t mean it can’t be a curse.” As soon as the words leave Megumi’s mouth, he knows he shouldn’t have said them. Even in his peripheral, almost entirely out of his view, he can see Itadori look at him with his expression opening into surprise or something worse.

Fuck. He really can’t allow himself to be so obvious, especially when they’re hours away from stepping through the barrier around the first Tokyo colony and into the Culling Game. They’re about to put their lives on the line again. Now isn’t the time to lose his composure.

Before he can catch himself, his hand is in his pocket, digging out the pack he keeps for what he considers emergencies. There’s a cigarette between his fingers in a matter of seconds, and his lighter is in his other hand a moment later.

Itadori swipes it before he can light up, and Megumi is left with wide eyes and a cigarette dangling limply between his lips as he looks up at the boy suddenly standing over him. He forgets, sometimes, just how fast Itadori is.

“Since when do you smoke?” Itadori asks, all childish curiosity, not an ounce of judgement in his tone. And yet, the stolen lighter feels like judgement – a withholding of something, well… harmful, sure, but it’s not like Megumi isn’t aware that every inhale of nicotine is an inch closer to his death. What does losing a minute or an hour or a day matter when he’s probably not going to reach the age of thirty, anyway?

“Since middle school,” Megumi replies, reaching out to attempt to quickly reclaim his lighter, but all Itadori has to do is lean his torso to the side and it’s out of reach. “Can I have that back, please?”

“Why?” Itadori hasn’t had such a soft look on his face since they dragged themselves kicking and screaming out of the warzone Shibuya turned into.

“Because there’s a cigarette in my mouth and it would be a waste not to smoke it.”

Itadori makes a face, a petulant little pout just this side of sticking his tongue out. It’s cute, and Megumi has to close his eyes for a moment. “I meant why did you start smoking in middle school?”

The sigh that leaves Megumi’s lungs is heavier than he wants it to be. He’s not… good with emotions, and he’s even worse at expressing them. It wasn’t a problem when he was all alone, with the second-years distant due to their classes, and Gojo either a nuisance better avoided or thousands of kilometers away taking care of a curse too powerful for anyone else to handle. But then Itadori, fresh off the loss of his grandfather, sacrificed himself for not only his friends but for Megumi as well. And he has refused to leave, no matter how hard Megumi tried at first to put up his barriers and protect himself.

Because the truth is that Megumi was helpless from the moment Itadori jumped through a window and crash landed on a curse. He is the very definition of someone with an unshakeable character. The fact that they’re here, now, on the backside of a slaughter, newly scarred and traumatized, and Itadori can still smile at him in a way that softens his eyes proves beyond any doubt that he is who he is and that won’t change. And it guts Megumi from the inside out because everyone who has ever touched his life has become poisoned by him.

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it between his knuckles. “I don’t know. I wanted…” This time when he sighs, it’s softer, and he moves his gaze away out of embarrassment more than anything else. Itadori and Kugisaki already made fun of him for how he acted in middle school, and he doesn’t want to go through it again. “I wanted people to be afraid of me – teachers, students, upperclassmen, underclassmen, it didn’t matter. I wanted to look and be as aggressive as possible so they didn’t mess with me or Tsumiki.”

Itadori snorts, and less than a second later he’s laughing with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. For the moment, he’s unguarded, and Megumi uses the opportunity to stare. In the low amber light, he looks impossibly young, soft around the edges where his scars and personal losses have hardened him. The pink of his hair dims into the gentlest of dawns, and the happy tears that pearl in the corners of his eyes are more stunning than the thin veil of starlight overhead. In a world overflowing with curses, Megumi has never believed in angels, and yet it’s the only word he can conjure that comes even close to describing the boy in front of him.

Megumi knows he’s in love; how could he not be?

“That’s just like you,” Itadori says, breathless, and Megumi suddenly feels like he’s falling even though Itadori is the one suddenly dropping to sit on the stairs beside him.

Itadori is a morning person, even though he’s slow to wake up. He won’t drink coffee unless it’s iced. He never tucks in his shirt tags. When he’s upset, he throws himself into social situations to hide behind other people’s laughter. He carries snacks in his pockets and will offer them to everyone. These are all details that Megumi has collected about Itadori, stashing them away like a crow with shiny objects, hoarding them as the treasures that they are and that he can never truly have.

He had never once considered that Itadori has been observing him just as studiously in return.

Their knees bump, and Megumi knows he should pull away, but he can’t bring himself to. The night isn’t cold, but Itadori’s warmth is a comfort, anyway. Megumi hasn’t had many comforts in his life.

“Give me my lighter back,” he says instead of acknowledging anything else. His chest hurts. His heart is too loud in his ears. Itadori is right there, lips twisted by his scar, eyes flashing with the humor that’s still rolling through him, shaking his shoulders as he looks back at Megumi.

Instead of answering or acquiescing, Itadori leans forward until their shoulders press together, blocking out the ghost of a breeze flowing in from behind them, and rolls his thumb over the spark wheel until a flame catches. His hand and Megumi’s both come up at the same time to cup around the other side, protecting the small flame from the elements, and it’s tender and intimate when Megumi’s fingers brush against the curve of Itadori’s palm.

He pretends not to notice as he puts the cigarette back between his lips and ducks his head. The first drag to catch the paper and tobacco on fire takes a while, and he is so incredibly aware of how close Itadori is, of the protective shell they’ve made with their bodies as they keep this flame going between them. He can’t think about it, can’t acknowledge it, can’t –

As soon as he sees embers, he sits up and leans away, creating a small pocket of space for him to exhale into. But the flame stays lit, Itadori’s thumb still pressed into the fork to keep the gas flowing out.

Megumi smacks his arm without looking at him directly. “You’re wasting the butane.”

Without protest this time, Itadori listens, and the flame dies with a soft click as the fork snaps back into place.

The stillness of the night around them settles again, crickets becoming the dominating sound over the gentle rattling of leaves and the far distant honking of a car horn. The tobacco sizzles as the fire slowly eats through it every time Megumi takes a drag.

Itadori’s unwavering gaze on him feels like a physical weight. There’s a tender smile there, Megumi just knows it, but god damn it he won’t look. This can’t be a this. There’s nothing here but a road that dead ends on a bottomless cliff. No one has forever, despite claiming that they will, but he and Itadori don’t even have years. They could die tomorrow, the moment they step through that barrier. Fuck, the curses in the church behind them could come out and catch them off guard right now, and no one would know where to look for their bodies.

So it doesn’t matter that Itadori sometimes looks at Megumi like he hung the moon. It doesn’t matter that Megumi understands the plight of Icarus when he sees Itadori smile. He is not going to create a situation that is doomed to end early. He is not going to push his feelings into the world just for the universe to stomp them into the dirt. He is not going to let himself muddy the lines on a friendship that is already too good to be true.

He takes a drag in that’s harsher and longer than the last, fast enough that his lips burn from the fire racing too fast through the cigarette towards the filter. He lets it hurt, tells himself he deserves it, and exhales the smoke slowly with his eyes closed.

For a moment, he just sits there, his arm draped across his knee, which is still pressed into Itadori’s knee, and tries to pretend that everything is fine. It’s normal. It’s just a crush. It’ll go away. He would rather die with longing in his heart than risk living long enough to experience a loss that will crush him.

When he brings his hand back up to take another drag, fingers on his wrist stop him in his tracks.

“Fushiguro.”

“Itadori?” He turns his head and opens his eyes in the same movement, wondering if there’s a problem, if all the actions he took to be obsessively vigilant were for naught, if somehow something got the drop on them. “What –”

The press of Itadori’s lips against his own shuts him up fast and leaves his mind spinning and his lungs devoid of air.

What?

Why…?

Itadori makes a noise at the back of his throat – soft, questioning, encouraging – and Megumi forgets every reason he has ever had on why this is a bad idea.

He kisses back.

It’s not a desperate kiss. There isn’t a sudden light switch that flips on and turns them into feral horny teenagers crawling all over each other, desperate to touch in as many places as possible as fast as they can. Three points of contact is all they started with and all they still have. Their knees, digging into each other in a way that almost hurts, but the warmth is so strong that it doesn’t matter. Itadori’s fingertips oh, so gently resting against Megumi’s wrist, not even touching skin. And the tentative slide of their lips as Megumi tilts his head and Itadori seems to crack a smile.

Itadori’s lips are chapped, and Megumi can feel the texture of scar tissue as they blindly search for an angle that feels better than the others. It probably wasn’t meant to be a long kiss when Itadori first leaned in, but Megumi can’t bring himself to pull away even though there’s absolutely nothing physically holding him here. The instinct to jerk back with his hackles up is there, just under his skin, but every exhale of Itadori’s sounds like a blissed-out sigh as it shivers across Megumi’s cheeks, and he finds himself more and more willing to just have this.

Itadori is the one to break the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Megumi’s and just breathing into his space. Megumi feels like he just ran five kilometers; it’s impossible to suck enough oxygen into his lungs to stop feeling lightheaded. His cigarette is still between his fingers, slowly burning itself down to the filter, but Megumi has completely forgotten about it.

“What was that for?” Megumi whispers, eyes flicking back and forth looking for clues in the depths of Itadori’s eyes. It’s an accusation, yes. They could have kept pretending. The pain at the end of this is going to be unimaginable. But it’s also a desperate plea.

Don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t apologize. Don’t say you didn’t mean to.

“I don’t know,” Itadori admits, and that crooked smile is back, perching on his mouth in a way that tempts Megumi to kiss it away. “Good luck? Felt like the right time.”

Megumi drops the cigarette by his foot and moves his hand to Itadori’s face, cupping his cheek and the curve of his jaw. He can feel himself shaking with adrenaline and the fear of an unknown dark path laid out in front of them. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but even he can hear the fondness in his voice.

“Mhm, yeah, you’ve said that before.” Itadori’s hand covers Megumi’s, and the shaking subsides. “But you kissed me back, so what does that make you? Reckless?”

“Insane,” Megumi offers, just to hear Itadori laugh. He isn’t expecting the second kiss that follows, but he’s glad for it, anyway.

It’s funny, he thinks, even as he pushes a little closer and sighs into the shape of Itadori’s mouth, that regardless of the church behind him, regardless of the temples he has walked through time and again, regardless of the habits he hasn’t broken of prayers during the new year in exchange for fortune slips that hold no merit to him – despite religion flowing in and around his life, there is no higher power in the universe he believes in as much as he believes in Itadori.

If anyone can defy fate, if anyone can push through to the other side of certain tragedy, it will be Itadori.

Start by saving me, he had said, and this isn’t exactly what Megumi had meant. But his chest is warmer than if he had tipped back some sake, and he certainly feels like he could face down a special grade curse and win right now.

They’re not going to have forever. They may not even have twenty-four hours.

But they have tonight. They have right now.

“You better not die tomorrow,” Megumi warns, just barely breaking away enough to speak.

Dying alone is all but a guarantee for jujutsu sorcerers. One day, one of them is going to leave the other behind, and it’s going to rip the survivor to pieces and scar like a phantom limb. Even without a confession, their feelings have splattered like a hemorrhaging wound onto the staircase between them. No amount of backtracking, of lying, of pushing each other away could mop it up now – they’ve left a stain, and their hands are doomed to always have each other’s blood caked under their fingernails.

“Would be a shitty good luck kiss if I did,” Itadori says before leaning back with a smile as broad as the sky.

Megumi pushes him away with the hand on his cheek, and Itadori’s laugh overtakes the crickets and the wind and the far-off traffic as he pulls himself back into Megumi’s orbit with their fingers tangled together.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itafushi #jjk fic #itafushi fic #this is going up on AO3 as well probably as soon as i think of a title for it #3.2k of pining and longing and denial and - finally - acceptance #I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE AAAAAAA #just take it i cannot keep staring at it #my fic

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modernsuperhero · 3 days

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Btw ages ago I came up with a Scarian au where Scar is of course the mayor of a lovely city. He's quite wealthy too - before his venture into politics he designed the very successful Scarland theme park, which rejuvenated the city's economy and boosted his own pockets too. He's very active in the community and generally beloved by the people.

He is also secretly HotGuy, the city's vigilante superhero, using his wealth from Scarland and his connections as mayor to try to untangle the mess of corruption and organized crime throughout the city! And also like, saving cats from atop trees and things if he happens to come across those too. The city however has recently become host to a deathly parasite, the lethally beautiful Mother Spore. Because she's an independent villain, HotGuy has no way to anticipate her attacks and just has to drop everything when she starts to try to take over another city block or something.

However, HotGuy is not the only person running around the city with a mask and a dream! There's one character who's known just as much for his menace as for his heroism: Poultry Man! Poultry Man may not be a villain, but far be it from him to veer away from pranks or minor shoplifting. HotGuy has chased him down after catching him egging buildings or nicking treats he didn't pay for, but he's also shown up to help HotGuy pull survivors out of the water when there was a terrible bridge collapse, or help break up fights that start to get too violent.

And then, of course, there's the final masked figure in HotGuy's career: his sidekick, CuteGuy! He simply appeared one day, kitted out in military grade weapons and body armor spray-painted pink and white, complete with frills and bows and bullets, asking how he can help. HotGuy is skilled at combat and firing his bow, but CuteGuy is on another level. For some reason, he follows HotGuy's every command to a T, never taking the lead despite obviously having extensive experience. Despite his compliance, he refuses to discuss his past or identity.

Somehow, though, none of these three characters are ever in the same place. If Mother Spore is ravaging a street, Poultry Man doesn't make a peep, and CuteGuy never comes to HotGuy's aid. Poultry Man always gets away with his pilfered knickknacks before CuteGuy arrives, and so on and so forth. And you see, Scar is no fool. He knows all three's secret identities - or rather, identity.

[More under cut]

It is none other than one of Scar's long-time friends and neighbor: Grian.

Grian has known Scar since his dreams for Scarland were nothing more than doodles in his teenage sketchbook. He adores knitting, baking, and taking his cats (however unwillingly) on walks outside. Scar moved into the mayoral home when he was elected, but he still owns his old house right next door to Grian's. Grian is a cheery architect who proudly boasts about being Scar's friend.

And Scar has no doubt in his mind he is also secretly terrorizing the innocent people around him, and that he has both attempted to kill, protect, and annoy Scar as HotGuy on countless occasions.

...Okay, he doesn't know WHY Grian is doing that, or... how, but it HAS to be him! He swears all of their voices are the same, and even with the different masks on they all look exactly like him! And, he's never seen any two of them in one place! Scar is sure Grian's innocent civilian facade is nothing more than that.

It also explains some things: Mother Spore's flirtatious remarks whenever they fight, Poultry Man's annoying cackling when he leads Scar on another chase across town, and CuteGuy's insistence on keeping him alive and following him like a shadow.

Grian and Scar used to be close. But as Scar's life got more complicated, he had less and less time to spend with his friends.

As baffling as it is, Scar is certain that while he was gone Grian became a supervillain of epic proportions, and he's probably only just begun toying with HotGuy and the rest of the city for his own amusement.

...

The truth is Scar is completely wrong!

Grian, Mother Spore, Poultry Man, and CuteGuy are, legitimately, four different people (or entities, looking at Mother Spore) who have never met.

Or, well, that depends on your definition of "met". :)

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mayashesfly · 1 day

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Run Away

Vox and Alastor gets trapped together in a situation where both of them have to work together in order to escape and survive.

However, Alastor is still recuperating from his fight with Adam and his powers being limited from his deal and his cane being broken that Vox has to be the one that majorly deals with their pursuers.

Their pursuers were ready to deal with Alastor by himself, making it difficult for him to escape through his shadows but Vox still has a few tech he could travel through plus being able to teleport anywhere normally in a short distance.

Vox could've easily escaped by himself if he wants to.

He's not even the main target these people have, it's Alastor.

But regardless, he's adamant with escaping this situation with Alastor alive to showcase just how much more powerful he is and not a coward unlike Alastor.

Time passes by as tensions and emotions well up to the front with the amount of time the two has to experience with the other. Vox was ever so slowly losing steam as his powers were starting to run up dry with how much he has to compensate for protecting two Overlords while being pursued by a larger group all by himself.

Alastor hates this.

Alastor hates having to rely on Vox.

Hates being weak.

Hates being helpless and forced into this situation by a bunch of weaklings who's only as strong as they are because they banded together to take down the Radio Demon.

Hates that it had to be Vox.

Vox can't contact the other Vees.

Doesn't know if he can contact the other Vees.

Or if they're fine and safe and well and

.....

He just hopes that they're safe and unaffected by this little side venture Vox is on.

And that he and Alastor can get out of this alive even if his.... ...something... never wanted this to happen.

It all comes to a head when they finally found a spot Alastor and Vox can both escape from.

A weak point in their pursuers' structure.

But they were getting surrounded and Vox's demon form was too damaged to use.

Alastor tried to go into his demon form, but his magic sputters out as Vox shields him with his body.

"I can look for another escape. Leave. Radio Demon. That's the one thing you're good at. I can handle this by myself!!"

"Don't be preposterous you stupid little picture box! Even you can't handle them at this state "

"JUST LEAVE!!!"

His ears pinned down as he stared into that swirling red eye. Anger, frustration, and fear welling up as digital tears before quickly disappearing.

Alastor could only gawk as he felt his influence get into his brain before he snapped out of it.

"No. I won't do something so stupid, Vox "

"Please"

A flash of that hopeful smile entered his mind as big beady square eyes stared at him lovingly. Before being shattered into a million pieces as Alastor left.

Feeling the suffocating feeling of the chain around his neck as he was being pulled apart from him.

"Just do it for me. Just this once."

He was begging him.

There was a hopeless quality in his voice as radio waves muffled his voice.

But Alastor could clearly hear.

"Just go."

He hates Vox so much.

Making him run away yet again.

(he'll make them pay)

#may asher writes #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #radiostatic #staticradio #voxal #complicated and sad #angst

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spacerockfloater · 2 days

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You know what?

I get it, ok? I understand the concept of Rhysand being a morally grey character. I understand that SJM wanted him to be an anti-hero of sorts. I would be totally okay with him doing everything that he did and standing by his actions if he simply said “The only thing that concerns me is myself, my circle and my people. I’m here to protect my interests first and everything else second. I am no hero, I am just someone who puts himself and his sphere first. I am a selfish person and I’m totally okay with that. I do not need anyone’s approval.” I still wouldn’t be his biggest fan, because I do not tend to admire self serving people, but I would totally understand him. In fact, I might have done the same thing. I guess you can never know for sure what your reaction to something would be unless you actually end up in that situation. I get that the average person would protect themselves (themselves = them and their loved ones) but I do believe that admiration should be saved for people who go against the norm. People who actually put their foot down, say no, protest, fight back, risk their lives, experience loss for a greater good. That’s why I admire Khalias, Tarquin, Helion, Tamlin etc. Because they stood up to Amarantha while knowing the consequences of their actions. I wouldn’t admire Rhysand, but I’d support him if he just owned up to his shit and said “Yup, I’m your average person, I don’t care if I come off as the bad guy!”.

But he does not! He wants everyone to applaud him and thank him and feel like they owe him and appreciate him and and and and… Jesus Christ man, you did the bare minimum and you did it all when you had nothing to lose! Thank you so much that you convinced that frigid bitch to murder two dozens of children instead of me and my family, of course I am now forever in your debt! Relax. You were able to talk Amarantha out of directly harming the other High Lords only after you harmed others to gain her favour and you saved the High Lords only because it served you better to keep them alive instead of some irrelevant children fae. I’m sure that your people should be thanking you because you did it all for them after all, but count me the fuck out of it.

Last but not least: ACOTAR Feyre was, obviously, a hero. She was a morally good character. She sacrificed herself for people she didn’t even know. I’m not gonna debate that. I actually loved her in the first book. However, I think she went through a drastic change after her metamorphosis. Her “human heart” is actually no longer human to say the least. I’m not even gonna elaborate on how she became this cruel, unforgiving person that only cared about how people treated her, or how disrespectful she is towards other people like Tarquin because Rhysand made her feel entitled to do so, or how she is responsible for the destruction of two courts that simply seemed like collateral damage if it meant that she would get her revenge on Tamlin. I’m simply going to say that logically speaking, since Feyre stands 100% besides Rhys and everything he did and supports him, she’s also a morally grey person AT BEST, though I do tend to think of both of them as villains because after all, the very definition of a villain is “someone defined by their acts of selfishness, evilness, arrogance, cruelty, and cunning” and like, come on, this screams Feysand.

The term morally grey is so overused. Someone who’s selfish and cunning and cares mostly about themselves is, at least partially, a bad person. A morally grey character is at least half a villain. When did we actually start to equate anti heros with heros?

#acotar critical #acotar #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti feyre archeron #anti feyre #anti feysand

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