#But worse

[olenvasynyt]

A meme I made while writing...something

Art credit to @cauldronblssd and the artist @oexas btw!

[shiftythrifting]

toe.... sculpture....

[prettyboykatsuki]

cw for ; cheating like really bad cheating dskfsk, mind games, bisexual reader (its relevant!!!), emotional sadism, yandere in the most uncomfortable flavor, and sexuality fuckery.

readers gender is intentionally left neutral!!. @p00pdev1l tag for my beloved.

You can feel yourself starting to cry again.

You have a headache. The noise of the izakaya is flooding out into the streets. Even with alcohol and cigarettes and other distractions, you can't help but feel like you're about to throw up. The dry-heave works itself up to your throat, and you smoke a little to shove it back down.

You were careful this time.

When you hear footsteps walk themselves next to you, and see nice black dress shoes from your gaze is downcast - you already know it's Suguru.

You feel yourself getting sick again. Your voice is hoarse, scratchy with pain and tears. You're unimaginably angry at him, and you're sure if you were a little drunker, you'd take your pocket knife to his throat.

But the words don't come. You're so frustrated you just ended up crying again, hiccuping. Something falls onto your shoulders, a jacket that smells like cologne.

That wakes you up, makes you turn your head to one side. Your heartbeat is hard and loud, and your anger is the only thing in your body. Your seething, all hard lines and rage.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He shrugs. "It's cold. You'll get sick."

"Don't act like you give a single fuck about me, you psychopath."

His reaction to that is cold. Makes your blood run cold. "Call me whatever you want but don't say I don't care about you."

"Fuck off, Suguru," The feeling of his name is intimate in the same way knives are. Sharp against the roof of your mouth because of the smooth way the syllables slice. The familiarity of a cut. "Go inside and fuck off. Go be with..." Your words trail off.

"I'd rather be out here," He assures, then shrugs. He joins you in smoking, but you turn your gaze back to the pavement so you don't have to look. "She'll be fine without me."

There's a lot of things you don't understand about him. What you understand least though is this. How long has it gone on? How long did he plan on doing this?

The first time Getou stole the girl you loved from you, you're nearly too heartbroken to stay friends with him. It was your first real crush. A girl in the same year as you. You loved her. She smelled soft like roses and put her head in your lap. You managed to confess to her despite yourself at the end of your second-year.

She was your friend, still - even as she let you down gently. Told you that she had a boyfriend now. He was your friend, actually.

The first time it happened, you thought about cutting your ties with Getou. He didn't pretend to be apologetic to you, said she was cute and he liked her. He didn't say he was sorry.

Instead he said: "You shouldn't be with a girl who could get over you so easily." And leaves it at that.

You almost got physical with him, you remember. Gojo stopped you.

Over the years, the incident becomes pattern enough to recognize. The first is a mistake, the second a frustrating coincidence. The third time it happens you do get into an altercation. Each time Getou confronts you he says the same thing. That if a girl really loved you, she wouldn't been with him so easily. If a girl really loved you, she shouldn't have been so easy for him to persuade.

You think abut killing him. It's so frustrating, so humiliating, so painful it nearly puts you in therapy. The fourth time in happens, you try to cut him off but you can't. Your lives are so tied together you can't avoid seeing him and for whatever reason he can't leave you alone.

When there's no one you're interested in, he's your friend after all. That's the strangest part. The part that makes the least sense, that he acts like your fucking friend when he does that to you but he does it again and again and again. It hurt less when it was just puppy crushes. Eventually you grew numb to it. Gave up on love for a while.

When you meet Mikoto, you don't make the mistake of showing your interest. You especially don't show it around Getou. On the job, a sorcerer from a branch in the Nara prefecture who's recently moved. A nice woman with black hair and soft eyes, you seek her friendship first and don't let yourself indulge in anything more.

You don't dote on her more than friends. You don't show your feelings off. You don't tell anyone, not even Gojo whom you tell everything, or Shoko - who you tell when you don't want Getou finding out. You bury the feeling of love in yourself and hope they die there. You hope she ends up with anyone but you, or you in some miracle.

You fall in love with her because it's who you are. Getou shows up with her at your gathering the minute you begin to accept it.

If he doesn't hate you, it must be something much stronger. Disgust or pure disdain. Something stronger than hate must drive him to do this so perpetually.

It's not even something you can tell anyone. What do you tell girls before you go out with them? What do you say to people when they ask why you and him act so odd?

There's nothing to say. Nothing to explain. It's so fucked up that you wouldn't even know where to begin.

Your voice is trembling as you take another drag of your cigarette. "How did you know?"

He laughs a little. "You make it obvious."

"Why do you keep doing this to me...?" You ask, defeated. Broken, maybe. "....I really loved her."

Getou shrugs again. You can tell even if you don't see it. "She was the same as the rest of them. I'm doing you a favor."

"Do you even like her?"

He takes a drag of his cigarette and looks at you a little longer than you expct. "So-so."

"I hate you," You give up on everything else, letting your cigarette fall to the ground. Your voice is shot. "You're fucking horrible. Just leave me alone. Please, please just leave me alone."

There's a minute of silence there. He stamps his own cigarette out and sighs. "You should come in. You'll catch a cold." You don't reply. He sighs again. "I'll buy you a drink."

You break down in tears all over again.

When you're in highschool, you date Satoru for a week.

Suguru remembers this. It's one of the only things about his highschool experience that feel standout. A defining moment of his youth, where the two of you try it just because everyone says you should and neither of you really like it. You end up being friends again, laughing it off after it happens.

But he hated it.

There was a pit in his stomach the entire week. Even though you barely dated, and only really held hands as a joke - Suguru hated it. You kissed Satoru too, you confessed. He was a decent kisser, but you didn't feel much.

It was a joke of a relationship. Still.

He remembers too, the first time you had your first real crush. Up until then, you'd really never thought of anyone else. There was no one for Suguru to care about. But he remembers exactly when it happened, and where - how the four of you were slacking off in the storage room, passing around Shoko's cigarette. He remembers the way you got embarrassed telling them about her. How you could barely keep the smile off of your face.

The first time Suguru steals someone from you, it's during highschool. It wasn't because he had really wanted her. He hated her. Hated how she smiled at you and hated how innocently she spoke. But when he stepped closer to her, she blushed.

It was to get her to fall for him. And that wouldn't do, he didn't think. How could you like someone with so little resolve? When she couldn't be even a little loyal to you?

He asked her out on a whim that time. But he saw how angry it made you. How your eyes were wet with tears and how much you hated him in that moment.

How much you thought of him. Have you ever before then? Considered him so much? Suguru didn't think so.

It becomes an obsession, Suguru can admit. It didn't really matter who it was, though it'd been mostly girls. Anyone you showed interest in. Anyone who caught your eye. Suguru got their first and you always, always looked so miserable about it. Like a puppy who can't get on a couch, he thinks.

He prefers when you've already been with them. He prefers knowing that your skin has touched theirs. The parts of you that linger in their life become Suguru's so wholly. When he can smell your scent and taste your cigarette smoke. It'd be better if it was you, but there was something gratifying in this.

In the roundabout ways of finding you. Of seeing pictures of you in their phone, or of tasting you. It's like being with you, even though it's never enough. Always wants to make him break you more.

He likes when they cheat on you with him. He likes when it's just after. They get some cheap thrill out of it. Suguru can entertain it even if it disgusts him.

It's the only way your shirts end up in his closet. The only way he can smell your new shampoo so deeply because you share it. They think that he must hate you. He's sure you think that too.

But that's not it. He couldn't hate you. All the people he's ever fucked, he's tried to find evidence of your intimacy with them. Kiss marks he didn't leave on their skin, clothes they don't own, music they wouldn't normally listen to. You would. They're all yours.

He'd ask about you to them. Often. Listen to the parts of yourself that you'd been trying to keep secret from him.

He'd take it all by force and discard them all afterwards. That was all he wanted. You were all he wanted.

He liked seeing you angry with him. Liked seeing you cry and weep. Liked that you couldn't go anywhere or love anyone without thoughts of him following you and haunting you.

Satoru thinks he should just ask you out already. Suguru doesn't think he's broken you down enough. You need it to hurt a little more. You need to think of him a little more until you can't love anyone else.

Suguru wants to see you hurt a little more. Until you're so broken you're really begging. When he brings her with him today, you react even worse than he could have hoped for it. He shivers a little thinking about it.

He's getting closer to really breaking you, he thinks.

He looks at you now as he puts out his cigarette, broken from his thoughts.

"You should come in. You'll catch a cold." You don't reply. He sighs again. "I'll buy you a drink."

Suguru turns around to leave after he says it. Goes back inside. Before the door of the izakaya closes again, he can hear the way you sob so desperately.

He smiles at that. Just a little.

[metropolisblue]

?????

[galehowl]

there he is, the asshole

[the-witty-nerd]

Imogen calling Ben out while dressed like Barbie was very iconic of her. That pink suit!!! Margot Robbie would be proud.💖

[loveisparpall]

but WHY?

[rahuratna]

He's got the look

Part 1: Hitting like a Hammer

Content: crack, humour, fluff. Gojo being ... Gojo.

Satoru yawned as he bent at the waist, the top of his head coming into view in the bathroom mirror. He had always been one of those people. The ones who  could wake up every morning, looking what some would call 'deliciously disshevelled'. Stray strands of silver fell forward softly over his forehead, the pure, crystalline eyes blinking slowly as he took himself in.

Satoru was fully aware of how attractive he appeared to others, physically speaking. While he didn't place much store by it, he did like looking his best, even if it was largely concealed under the blindfold. Eyes roving over the rippling muscle of his torso with a kind of satisfied disinterest, he sighed and was about to reach for his toothbrush, when something on his head caught his attention.

Were those ... split ends? And why was his hair looking distinctly duller in hue than normal? Considering his cursed technique, Satoru was seldom affected by environmental conditions. Winter was coming? No problem. It was particularly humid out that day? He'd still stroll along, unaffected, while people wilted around him like soggy paper towels. It was raining? Hello, built-in umbrella.

So, if there was an issue with his hair, it must be internal. Was he not getting enough of the necessary vitamins in his diet? Was all the sugar finally catching up with him? Unthinkable.

Still, something had to be done.

Contrary to how things seemed to others, Satoru worked exceptionally hard in his role as a sorcerer. Difficult missions didn't take quite so much time and effort when you were the self-proclaimed strongest. Thus, there was not much time to spoil himself.

Today, however, was a very rare, relaxed Sunday. He'd have to take action. There was only one person he trusted with his hair. Retrieving his phone from the counter, Gojo typed in a quick message and hummed slightly, applying moisturizer to his face as he waited for a reply.

"How? How can this be?"

"Er ... Gojo-sensei?"

"Yuuji! This is a disaster!"

"Whoa, whoa. What is?"

"My hair stylist! He's injured his back and won't be back for six whole months. What will I do? How will I survive? Am I supposed to rid the world of curses while my hair looks like this?"

"Uh ... yeah?"

"Wrong answer!"

Yuuji raised his hands, laughing slightly at the stricken expression of his teacher.

"Okay, okay. Hey, here's an idea. You know who has really nice hair?"

"Who?"

"Nanamin! His hair is always nicely cut and ... shiny? Maybe ask him who he goes to."

Satoru huffed.

"If I wanted a seven three parting and a cut so severe I'd look like I was about to serve fifteen years in the gulags, I'd go see his barber."

In his apartment in the city, relaxing in the living room with a cup of coffee in hand, Nanami sneezed violently. Unaware of this distant repercussion, Satoru was tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"There is a replacement in for my stylist, though. They said he was young, but talented."

"Oh? Why don't we go check it out then? If your previous stylist trusted him enough to take over, then he must be good, right? We can see him in action and you can decide if you trust him enough to do your hair!"

"Hmm. All right. I'll go for it, Yuuji!"

Now in a decidedly better mood, Satoru mimed finger guns at his student.

"Let's hoof it."

The hair studio was located in Harajuku, a twenty minute walk from where they exited the subway. The trendy boutiques that lined the street caught Yuuji's eye, and he knew that Nobara would have loved to have come here.

When they reached the studio, both teacher and student paused, taking in the shop front.

"Uhhh, was that always ... "

"Nope. This is new."

" ... Gojo-sensei, maybe we should just call Nanamin and - "

"Now, now, Yuuji. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Something Nanami has probably never said in his life."

"Hey! That's not very -"

Somewhere, in a neat cafe, Nanami burnt his tongue on his third cup of coffee for the day and uttered a soft 'fuck', before looking around to see if anyone had heard him.

Before Yuuji had a chance to defend the honour of his other mentor, Gojo had pushed open the door to the salon, whistling merrily. Pausing outside, Yuuji swallowed as a sensation of impending doom threatened to overtake him.

The facade that had been erected over the entryway was of a large and garish tornado, shaped into a classic pompadour, neon geometric shapes superimposed over it in what was clearly meant to be 'arty'. It reminded Yuuji of the anime he had been following religiously as a kid, Bobo's Bazaar Adventure. While he loved the show, he wasn't sure how effective it was in inspiring confidence as a hair studio. Shrugging slightly, he followed Gojo.

The interior was no less psychedelic. Assistants wearing bright pink rollerblades, clip-on angel wings and yellow overalls flew here and there, sweeping up fallen hair and delivering hot drinks while barely avoiding calamity. Hair stylists in chequered aprons snipped away at a frenetic pace, creating some of the most avant garde hairstyles Yuuji had ever seen. His eye was caught by a young woman with a purple up-do being shaped into a top hat and nearly collided with Gojo.

The moment Gojo entered, all eyes were drawn to him, of course. Today, the special grade sorcerer was wearing casual clothes, a dark jacket over a white t-shirt that clung to his very toned abdomen, fitted jeans in black that made his legs look like they'd been airbrushed in real life, and a pair of horrifically expensive sneakers. Gojo cheerfully saluted, tapping the side of his sunglasses that had probably cost more than Yuuji's entire education.

"Yo! I'm Gojo, Maurice's usual customer. I was told to come in today to see Hattori?"

The new receptionist dragged her eyes away from Gojo's pectorals with an audible gulp and hurriedly turned to her computer, her fingernails clacking swiftly over the keys as a burning crimson blush arced over her nose.

"J - Just a moment, sir. Er, ah, yes. Gojo Satoru, correct?"

"That's me!"

"He'll be right with you. Let me call him. I think he's just finished with a client."

Gojo surveyed the studio with interest from behind his shades.

"So he doesn't work out here on the floor?"

"Oh, no. He has a private room upstairs where his personal clients see him. Give me a moment."

She lifted a hot pink receiver and spoke in hushed tones into it. After a few minutes of waiting, she waved to the stairway behind her.

"Go on up. He's ready for you."

The room they entered was obviously supposed to be some sort of den of intense creativity. The matte grey walls were covered with modern art pieces in neon shades, humanoid figures distinguishable in the sinuous, branching tracks of colour. A giant window, forming a one-way looking glass, took up most of the outer wall, showcasing a stunning vista of the city below.

A single styling station, the mirror, chair and stands for various paraphernalia, stood alone and stark in the centre of the room, surrounded by the large fanning leaves of tropical plants. Flowers that Yuuji had never seen before provided bursts of colour where they hung from the ceiling in coconut mesh.

There was a woman, presumably the previous client, who was sitting before the mirror. Yuuji stared. Her hair was coiffed and curled in some kind of artistic representation of a rose, the layers tinted in colours ranging from dark crimson to the finest blush of the sky at dawn, creating a depth and dimensionality that anyone would be hard put to find in a painting, let alone on someone's hair.

The man standing behind her flitted about like a hummingbird at a flower, his slightly high-pitched voice rising and falling as he spoke a litany of encouragement to himself. Upon their entry, he hadn't even turned his head.

Gojo seemed content to stand and wait, so Yuuji cleared his throat slightly. Immediately, the stylist (who must be Hattori) froze and turned, a slightly crazed expression on his narrow, pinched features. Yuuji recoiled, but when Hattori's eyes moved across to Gojo, the change in the atmosphere of the room was palpable.

The stylist threw his scissors to one side, eyes opening wide, expression even more manic than before. The client who had been seated before him had to duck as the blades passed dangerously close to her face. Coming forward in a zig zag, as if pausing at different angles to take in Gojo completely, the man approached.

Close up, Yuuji could see that he didn't look in the best of health. His skin was dry and his lips cracked, the lines standing out at the corners of his eyes, even though he probably wasn't more than a few years older than Gojo. His bleached blonde hair bore the brittle look of many dye-jobs, and his fingernails were stained. He bore a striking contrast to the image projected in the rest of the studio.

Nevertheless, he was looking at Gojo like he was the Mona Lisa come to life. The lady seated at the mirror cleared her throat.

"Thank you Hattori, I'm - "

"Yes, yes, you're done now."

"Well, I just - "

"Speak to the front desk for the care routine." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand that left her gaping. "Now, who, who, who do we have here?"

"Gojo Satoru. I hear you've taken over from Maurice. I was a client of his for many years."

"Ahhh. Maurice, my dear mentor. Such a tragedy about his back injury. Can't even stay upright for longer than five minutes. Now, on to more important things, namely, you."

Hattori had now sidled right up to Gojo, his manic expression never toning down in intensity. The sorcerer in turn, regarded him with his usual good natured condescension. The woman with rose-like hair was now scurrying out of the room, scandalized. Yuuji watched her leave nervously. He didn't like being in this room. Everything just seemed weird and wrong.

"But ... I have to say... Maurice certainly kept you a closely guarded secret. Gojo, you say? No. No, I've never heard him speak that name. But look at you! You're... just ... a ... I have no words. Look at this shade of hair! Look at your jawline! Your facial structure! Superb. Superb. A true muse. Yes. A ... oh, this is .... wait. I must ... inspiration  has struck!"

Scurrying over to the styling stand, Hattori withdrew a notebook and pencil from the drawer, flipping open the book and beginning to sketch as if his life depended on it, his hair standing slightly on end, as if it had a consciousness of its own. Gojo raised his hand.

"Can't I just request my usual? Maurice always - "

"Usual? Usual?"

Hattori almost dropped the book in his hand.

"Dearest Gojo, please, never, never use the word 'usual' to refer to anything regarding yourself again!"

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and grinned.

"I mean, yeah, I know I'm exceptional, but - "

"Not just exceptional!" There were tiny, red capillaries standing out in the whites of Hattori's eyes now. Yuuji crept a little closer to Gojo.

"No, exceptional is too bland a word. I can't believe that Maurice kept you from me."

Yuuji could think of several reasons.

"Now let's see. Yes, yes, that would be - come and have a seat! I'll get started!"

"But I haven't told you - "

"Forget everything you know! I am Hattori, and I am inspired by a muse above all others ... you! Gojo Satoru! I will do with your hair what nobody has ever attempted before!"

Yuuji cleared his throat, speaking loud enough for only Gojo to hear.

"Uh, sensei ... "

"I know. Relax, Yuuji. I'll handle this."

Gojo pulled out his phone and typed a quick message, before sauntering over to the styling station.

"All right then, Hattori. I place myself in your capable hands."

Hattori chose, at that moment, to finally glance over in Yuuji's direction. He froze, eyes opening to dimensions that defied the basics of human anatomy.

"Wait. What ... what is that?"

Gojo looked over, confused.

"Oh, that's my student. Itadori - "

"No! That! The colour!"

Hattori was positively shrieking by now, and Yuuji laughed nervously, backing away.

"Uh, are you talking about my hair colour?"

"Yes! What kind of... of ... monstrosity is this? Salmon pink? In that single shade? No highlights? What were you thinking, boy?"

"What do you mean? This is my natural colour?"

Hattori laughed, tears of rather demented mirth gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Natural? What are you? Some kind of anime character?"

Gojo sighed.

"Oi, oi, oi. I'll trouble you not to pick on my precious student. What's he got to do with my hair anyway? Isn't that what we're here for?"

"He needs to go! He's going to taint the whole process with his presence!"

Gojo's cheerful demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. His smile disappeared and in its place was a kind of terrifying calm that made the room grow slightly colder. Hattori looked over at him and quailed.

"Uh, but if, as you say, he is your student, then I can ... make an exception for a favoured client such as yourself."

As the stylist scurried over to Gojo, Yuuji let out a soft breath as he mentally confirmed his suspicions. Unlike a regular person, Hattori had only reacted to Gojo's ire when there had been a change in his cursed energy signature. Hattori was certainly aware that Gojo was a sorcerer. And the hair stylist himself... was not all he seemed on the surface.

Certainly, there was no immediate danger to someone as powerful as Gojo. But Hattori looked unhinged enough to try almost anything. Yuuji kept his eyes on the erratic movements of the man as he darted here and there around Gojo, hands reaching out like the darting tendrils of a sea anemone as he touched and caressed Gojo's hair.

Creepy.

But Yuuji would have his sensei's back, even if his own strength was not needed.

As if sensing his serious mood, Gojo glanced over at him while Hattori whipped out a black bib and tied it around the sorcerer's neck with a flourish.

"Hey Yuuji, why the long face? I guess I'll have an exciting style soon. Something Nanami's never had in his life."

"Oh come on, sensei, you don't know that."

"I do. He was my underclassmen, remember?"

"Well ... what if he had something exciting while he was a salaryman?"

There was silence in the room for a while. Yuuji sighed.

"Okay. You win this one."

Nanami kept his eyes on the woman with rose-coloured hair, following her from a discreet distance. His plain jeans and sweater were helping him blend seamlessly into the crowd, along with the newspaper clutched in his hand and the fifth cup of coffee for the day. He really needed to cut back.

He was a little grumpy, to be honest. Here he was, enjoying his peaceful day at a cafe, when Gojo had messaged, asking him to investigate possible curse activity related to a woman with distinct rose-styled hair, somewhere near a salon in Harajuku. Nanami had hurried to the predicted co-ordinates and managed to spot the woman in question right before she boarded the subway.

It wasn't hard to determine who Gojo had been talking about. Besides the ... really spectacular hairstyle she sported, there was a horrific amount of cursed energy whirling about her frame, concentrated around her hair.

Nanami suddenly felt that same unbearable itch in his nose from earlier in the day and sneezed heavily, whipping out his handkerchief.

Why did this keep happening? Was he coming down with something? 

[rottmnt-residuum]

Hmm why can’t he just let WHAT go? Like the roof thing or am I missing something…?

heres the end of the previous update with the beginning of this one

its the ghost of kraangstmas past

[workingonit-currently]

Something, something, Chainshipping. Something something, haunted by the ghost of who you've become.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Ok but can you imagine the horror for Alastor if his little baby just loves Lucifer and just the smug look on Lucifer's face when they call him uncle Luci.

Omg he would be so MAD!! Like one moment Alastor has all his baby's attention and the next Lucifer comes and just snags them away?

The worst part is he can't even be that mad because he wouldn't even have his baby if it wasn't for Lucifer's help. Plus, his wife would kill him if he tried picking a fight with Lucifer again.

So he just has to watch and sulk as Lucifer soaks up all his cute baby's attention, Lucifer flipping him off from behind.

Alastor once he hears his baby say "Uncle Lucifer"

[krynutsreal]

haiii posting some old sky au doodles happy Valentine's day :]

OK. ALSO. THMEM. KISSING OR WBAGEVER .

holds head innhands . guys they'r so bad at it they're so bad . someone come push them off a cliff for me

[falling-star-cygnus]

Valentino is the most sludge-sucking, horrendous, tone deaf character i have ever seen portrayed in media and i hate him with every bone in my body

but goddamnit im a slut for good character design and the little "o^o" faces he makes HAVE NO RIGHT BEING THAT CUTE

LOOK AT THIS ASSHOLE

[potato-lord-but-not]

you are invading my blog and i am all for it i have NO idea what is going on but slay

I don’t know what’s happening either I’m so sorry

[inchidentalmeowmeow]

HP im in your fucking walls wtf is this shit 💀💀

[konako]

they’ve earned a kiss in the rain