#bald sho

[str8upjorkinit]

Saw a headcanon where Alan miiiiiight have facial blindness

Edit: It was this post

[kalira]

WIP Wednesday Sentences

From my November 13th post here; have added to my [redacted] project and here's Dose of Realism for @bald-rights and @whimsicalmeerkat, thanks!

That hurt like glass in his heart. Kei never had, and Sho didn’t want to even think of what it would be like. ~ Kei’s mind was spinning, tension strung through him so tightly he was nearly shaking. He’d heard, of course he had - from Sho’s lips, from Toshi’s brushing it off as easy, obvious - but this was . . . different. He didn’t know what to do, how to- Sho’s faltering hesitation was bleeding into panic before him.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[spacebaby1]

Heyyyyy. Ive read your content and i loved it. Im so glad requests are open!. If you don't mind, how about a Rindou Haitani x gf reader.

- Where she comes to visit them during their time in juvie. And she just laughs at their haircuts, especially Rindou's. Saying it was better than the old one he use to have (blue hair, bald sides.)

-she still has a bunch of photographs of those bald sides. And she still teases him bout it even after he grew his hair out.

I absolutely love this idea. I'll write one with each brother separately.💕🙂‍↕️ This is such a cute idea!

It became a weekly routine for you to wait for Friday and get to visit Rindou since the incident; they were sentence to four years in juvenile, it's already been two years and you'd never miss the visitation day.

You waited patiently, tapping your fingers on the table in front of you with a sigh. You heard the door open, and you looked up for a second, then looked away. But you slowly looked up as Rindou stood in front of you. Rindou was expecting a hug like you'd usually hug him; a silence filled the room between the two of you."Okay, Ursula," you wheezed, slapping your hand over your mouth, before getting up and hugging Rindou and touching his new hair, "cute!" You wheezed, unable to hold your laughter back. Rindou rolled his eyes; there's no way he'll get away from your teasing. "Stop laughing at my hair."

"I'm not! I'm not, jellyfish, " you snorted while laughing and couldn't stop wheezing, slamming your fist on the table as tears rolled down your eyes. That's how hard you were laughing. "I'll go if you keep laughing." You grabbed his hand and moved to the chair next to him, still holding his hand, "No, I'm not gonna laugh. I'm sorry, babe. I'm just-wow- I mean - i- uh, it's too purple, it's just sudden, when did you even change it? I thought it was not allowed to dye your hair in here," you asked, running your hands through his soft purple hair. "Well, we thought we'd change it -" you raised your brow, "we? Did Ran turn into a jellyfish, too?" You started wheezing at your own joke. Rindou flicked your forehead, unable to hold his own smirk; he just loved the way you laughed, and if he's the reason of your laughing like that, then he'll take it. "No, you dummy, he cut his hair extra short." You hissed, "Wait till his girl sees him. Aww, but you look so cute with this hairstyle. I'm honestly sho-" You couldn't finish the sentence before you fell in another fit of laughter and tapping your hand aggressively on the table Rindou gave up and chuckled with you, "Is it that bad?" You gasped, looking at him, "No, absolutely not babe. It's actually stylish, to be honest. Well, at least it's still long, and I can get to play with it. You know I love your hair." He looked at you with a raised brow, and you grinned wide, "Come on, I missed you so much!" You hugged him, "Wow I feel like I'm hugging a different man." He hummed as you laughed, "I missed you more. Stop calling me jellyfish, you silly girl." You nuzzled your face in his neck, "I'm your silly girl. Ursula." He bit your cheek making you giggle, "Don't call me that, call me baby." You rolled your eyes, holding his hands and placing a kiss on his knuckles, "my sweetheart, my baby, my beautiful Rindou." You pulled your phone and took a picture of him and laughed before scrolling through and showing him his old picture, "this is my boyfriend, do you know hi-" you wheezed dropping your head in his chest as he joined you in laughing at you silly jokes.

[tokyo-debunkers-headcanons]

is it possible to request da vagastrom ghouls + jin and luca and their reactions when someone makes their s/o cry (preferably romantic if that’s okie) i would really love to see ur ideas on this!

Ooooh! I love this one! Thank you for sending in a request!

ALAN MIDO

Alan is VERY protective of his partner. It doesn't matter if they could kick his ass in a fight, he is protective. The second he catches wind of his MC crying for ANY reason, he drops his tools and goes RUNNING to them (like my mans is SPRINTING).

He first and foremost makes sure that MC is physically okay before getting to what happenedm He's not the best at comfort so he starts by using his size and reputation to get info from any witnesses.

It actually manages to work somehow and as soon as he gets his hands on the jackass who made them cry. Its straight to the pit to make an example of them.

When the two of them are alone at last. He does his best to try and comfort them, but like I said he's not the best with that stuff. So the best is an awkward hug, a listening ear, and him trying very hard to find and play a YouTube video to make them feel better....but very they have to help him with it.

SHOHEI HAIZONO "SHO"

He heard from Leo that MC was caught crying while he was cooking and for once, he quickly made sure that there was no chance of a fire, and stops in the middle of his cooking to go find MC.

Sho, on the other side of things, kicks ass before anything else. He's dragging the dumbass to the pit and kicks the shit out of him. Sho doesn't hold back like Alan does. It was an clear win from the get go, so the Sho betters in the pit were taking candy from babies.

After wiping the floor with the dipshit, he runs back to MC, gently taking their hands and lead them right back to the Vagastrom kitchen. He sets aside whatever he was cooking beforehand and asked what they wanted to eat.

He won't take no for an answer, and it doesn't matter if he doesn't have the ingredients. He will take them out on Bonnie to get their mind off of things. When he has everything he needs, he'll make whatever they want to eat.

If they want they want to, he'll even try his hand at baking. With their help of course, but he's more of a cook than a baker. Anything to help his MC feel better

LEO KUROSAGI

Oh HELL no! They're done. Absolutely destroyed. No not physically, Leo doesn't fight.

But word gets around quickly, especially on the social medias but Leo waits for MC to come to him. In the meantime, he finds as much dirt as possible on whoever the hell was there.

He's looking at security cams, wickchat posts, tiktoks, etc. It takes him at MOST half an hour to find who fucked up. And another half hour to find out some pretty juicy dirt on whoever it is.

He used an alt account to leak said juicy dirt by the time MC came to him. When they do, he lets MC cuddle up to him and doomscroll tiktok with him, filtering out anything about what happened and focusing on animal and funny tiktoks.

JIN KAMURAI

This is another who would wait for MC to come to him. But if they take too long he's sending either a text or Tohma to go bring them to him

He actually sends Tohma to get details on what happened as soon as he can. Tohma being Tohma, gets all the details that Jin needs.

Jin looks for things he can use to make that person's life a living hell. Assuming they're a student, he uses his connections to get them all the way down to probation.

And te thing about Jin is, his lasts. He makes an example of this person for MONTHS or at least as long as he can get away with it.

As for what he does with MC when they're crying. I think he takes them to his room and puts down the tough guy act for once. He'll give them a little forehead kiss and talks all nice and quiet with reassuring words, but just this once. (That a bald faced lie, he's just too stubborn to admit he's soft for his partner)

[fandomhopper7]

I had a dream about Bradley uppercrust the third struggling with life after the gamas. Becoming Max's friend and helping him study for exams. Especially when he found out who one of his teachers was and knew how frustrating her exams were.

One of the key things about this exam entry was to enter the exams you had to have your student id so that you could enter.

Brad had plans to meet Max at a skating park but Max never showed. Well max did show before him and was pushed into shenanigans with the warners. Wako Yako and Dot. He dropped his card and when Bradly shoed up to meet him he waited for ever. Finding his card as he left.

There was some true blood stuff happening and then Max hurried to the testing place only to find his card was gone. He couldn't get in. He started freaking out till Bradly who was sitting in the big waiting room full of students who were getting last minute cramming in spoke up. Th guard scanned the card and Max dropped to his knees to hug bradly. Thanking him and Bradly told him he picked it up when Max stood him up. Max apologized and told him he wouldn't leave him behind even when he' balding. Idk. MAx went up with the others to do his testing. There was a bunch of stuff going on

Then I think Goofy showed up to buy him congratulation MacDonalds but he was talking about pastries the whole time. And brought pepper who was this little girl from the tv show who had little orange pig tails. Anyway Max stepped out for a smoke of his joint cause he was stressed out. He ran into Bradly as he was out and they shared a smoke by Goofys car. When Goofy came out he was glaring at Bradly. Grabbing his son and walking them away to a picnic table with the others.

They all sat down and Max invited Bradly. Goofy asked Max to go play arcade games with him and he did. Only so he could ask what his son was doing with Bradly. Max told him it was all ok. Bradly apologized for what he did and he's changed. When they get back to the table they find pepper is gone and everyone is confused. Thinking she went with so in so.

They all split up to look for her. Max and Bradly look around the near by motel and Max finds a door unlocked. He opens it to find pepper inside. He runs to her and asks what happens. The little girl tells him men that looked like Bradly kidnapped her. Max turned to ask Bradly if he ahd anything to do with it but the guy was gone. Max took pepper to PJ and went looking for Bradly. Finding him in an alley near by pushing some Gammas and telling them what they did was wrong and out of line and that he'd have them expelled. They start beating him up four to one and max charges in he grabs Bradly and they started running.

Then I woke up because it got to immersive at that point and my adrenaline kicked in.

[mugentakeda]

azula and lu ten things because i am insane

-lu ten does that shit where he appears at azulas door randomly with a bowl of fruit. he cuts them and peels them himself (<-frequent kitchen invader). he kinda floats in and drops it off at her desk silently while maintaining intense eye contact with her like a weird ghost

-they do a lot of “parallel play” together. azula didnt go to the fire nation academy for girls until after lu ten died, so while she still was being taught within the palace, theyd do their work together in the palace library. shed do her studies, lu ten would pour over his scrolls. when lu ten does this stuff with zuko there’s always chit chatting, but when its azula they just do their thing in each others company and in silence. lu ten likes to bring blankets and pillows and tea so they can do it on the floor instead of slouching over the tables

-when bad summer storms roll around the three like to sleep in lu tens room because his bed is the biggest. azula likes to whisper menacing shit like “cousin when youre firelord i will usurp you and make you and zuzu my court jesters” when zuko falls asleep. and lu tens just like Okay💯

-whenever they see each other with snacks they like to make it a goal to snatch it and run off as fast as possible. one time lu ten snatched a mooncake right out of azulas mouth and hauled ass through the courtyard. ursa and iroh were playing pai sho together and he kicked the whole table over just to slow azula down

-azula spontaneously appears in lu tens room to annoy him when shes bored and cant find zuko or if zukos busy. she stands outside his door complaining until he lets her in and then she just wanders around his room and messes with his stuff and stands there menacingly. And rhen she just leaves and lu ten will call after her like “and stay out WEIRDO” and azula will respond like “YOURE BALD”

-when azula was a baby and lu ten was still looking after her for ursa, he eventually had to teach her how to eat on her own. everytime azula ate shed have to bathe cus shed get food Everywhere. face, clothes, hair. under her clothes. eyelashes. up her nose. it was disastrous

-lu ten was always someone azula knew would be there for her but. he was only her cousin. and lu ten taking care of azula while ursa suffered from her ppd is a secret that lu ten kept to the grave for the sake of ursas pride, so while lu ten loved azula a great deal and to a very intense level that mixed and complicated the love and older sibling has and a parent has (complicated because lu ten was only 15 at the time lol), azula never knew. and unless ursa tells her in the future then she never will

-itll always be one of the things azula hates her uncle most for. what she finds most disgraceful and pathetic about him. she’ll have to spend more years remembering lu ten than she did knowing him, and its all her uncle’s fault. and all they have are ink portraits and paintings. so eventually, his features, his human face, will slowly ebb from her mind. and the minds of everyone that ever knew him.

her father never talks about him, never talks about any of the phantoms in their family. they don’t do anything for his birthday. so she just lets herself in his room, and messes with his stuff to find proof of his existence.

its dusty. clean but untouched, like he’s just left for a long vacation and tidied up a bit before going out the door. the robe he last wore is still slung over his desk chair. his sandals are still kicked across the floor with one flipped on its side. the lounge chair on his balcony has marks on its seat and back from how much he sat on it.

but theres no humming to nonsensical tunes just to fill the silence (because azula used to swear he liked to hear the sound of his own voice). there’s no scrolls and papers stacked madly on his desk. the scent of spiced saffron tea doesnt linger in the air anymore. it’s not strangely lived in. it makes sense where the servants tidied some areas up, when lu ten never made sense in how he did anything. it’s not right.

it doesnt feel haunted, though- the dread she feels when she goes into mother’s room doesn’t exist in lu ten’s. the sunshine from the always open drapes warms her. the dips in the mattress from when the three of them would cram together, where she and zuko would crawl all over him and dig their elbows and knees into his lanky limbs, they call to her welcomingly. like the silence after the whisper, like he’s under the covers telling her to quit standing at the doorway like a weirdo and to just come in already. like if she pulled the blanket back he’d be there to listen when she’d tell him about the horrible dream she had.

its not dread. its warm feelings and nostalgia lingering, but slowly becoming infected by her own bitterness. a gentle reminder of something she’ll never get back. a question wondering what she did to the universe for it to take away the one person that always corrected her, but never while also judging her or scolding her simultaneously.

and as she looks at the knick knacks on the shelves, she knows that lu ten wasn’t meant for a soldiers death. it’s not just because he was a prince. it wasn’t just because it was down in the trenches, among filthy barbarians in a far off city. it was because she just knew lu ten was meant for the long and simple life, and then a simple death. in his sleep. leaving happy memories like the ones azula has, with tons of kids and grand babies that he loved to pieces and helped raise. by the beach at sunset. leaving an imprint everyone forever, a fond memory brought up at every turn. he didn’t deserve to just be known by a family and a palace that liked to suffocate everything within it.

when she takes ba sing se in her fist, she still knows that. and knows this is probably not even what he wanted, because her cousin was gentle and fair. but he’s also dead forever. he’s her gentle and fair, dead forever cousin. she’ll never stop thinking about how happy he would’ve been to be surpassed by her with lightning, because winning never mattered to him. he’ll never be older than twenty three.

so she will do what she wants in his memory rather than doing what he would’ve wanted. she will do everything shes wanted to do since she knew he was crushed out of existence like a dying star. she will find her uncle and make a wound in the shape of her bitterness, right in his chest, and twist the dagger until he howls like a dog. she’ll rip his arm off for his disgrace, for coming home with only a limb of her cousin’s, and no rage to show for. no want for anything.

[mintmatcha]

aizawa would be SO happy that your ex is now bald. he’d even brag about his long, healthy hair (yes, it might be a little bit dirty and extremely tangled but hey! he’s got a full head of hair!)

— 🪐

"Who is that?"

Aizawa hopes there isn't a twinge of disdain in his voice, but he knows it's obvious. It's clinging to the curl of his lip as he peers over your shoulder, peeking at the unfortunately familiar face on your screen.

"Oh-" You wave your hand nonchalantly, barely even glancing his way, "My ex-boyfriend. We still have mutual friends on Facebook and his picture came up."

Aizawa has no doubts that you're telling the truth. He's secure in your relationship.

But he scans over the picture one more time before leaning away. You're both huddled on the couch, focused on your own activities in shared silence.

"Hmph."

You pause, then finally turn his way with a confused expression.

"What was that?" You say.

"What was what?" Aizawa replies. He's returned to grading papers, marking off incorrect answers with a simple tick of his red pen.

"You grumbled."

"I always grumble."

"That was different though. Sounded like you're happy with yourself."

His pen pauses about an answer for an almost nonexistent moment.

"It's nothing."

"It's clear not nothing, Sho,"

"Don't 'Sho' me."

"You love being called Sho."

"I tolerate it."

You make your own little sound, a mixture of a huff and a hum. Aizawa taps the tip of his pen against the paper, leaving a trail of red dots as he thinks. Usually, he'd mark this answer as completely incorrect, but today he he has a reason to be happy, so he only takes off half of the points.

"I'm just...pleased," Aizawa says.

"That my ex is on my Facebook?"

"That he's aged worse than I have." The phantom pain where his leg once was pulses as he thinks about it. "Which is an accomplishment on his part."

"You're aged wonderfully," you coo, nudging your thigb into his, "Like a nice wine."

"I've aged like box wine."

"I love boxed wine."

"You have bad taste."

"I do not!"

"You clearly do if you dated that."

[madameaug]

oooo can you do when Jeanie pranks jungkook by saying another man’s name? Love the fictions keep it up!

Sure! I'm going to keep the 'wrong name' basis but add my own twist :) Hope it still meets your requests.

*just for this imagine Jungkook has continued down his path as a singer/member of BTS. Not a boxer but everything else remains the same

Pairing: Jungkook x Jenentte

"Guess what I learned about your daddy?" Jennette asked to Peanut as she swung her legs to the right. She wiped her daughter's hind legs with a moist wipe, removing all of the urine.

"Appa?"

"Yes! Guess what I learned about him." Jennette tossed the wipe into the trashcan, sliding up the fresh diaper up Peanut's legs. She babbled a response squirming slightly from the cold air. Tilting her up, her polka-dot leggings rose with no issue.

"His English name is Justin. Isn't that a funny name?" Wiggling her nose against Peanut's, causing her to laugh. Her two baby teeth peeked out of her gums. As quickly as Peanut was growing up, she was starting to resemble a lot like her mother. Those first few months of baldness were over and she had a decent amount of hair. If Jennette used a small rubber band, she could do pigtails.

"Why would he want to name himself Justin. Your appa is so silly." She carried Peanut in her arms and walked out of the woman's bathroom. "Let's prank him, okay?"

Not really sure what her mother was stating, Peanut clapped.

"Appa. Appa."

They returned to the table of three where Jungkook was sitting. Peanut slid perfectly into the restaurant's booster. It had been a while since the family of three had been out in public together. With Jungkook's commitments and Jennette's new managerial role their time together was limited.

But with the members pursuing solo endeavors now, it was the most free time Jungkook has had in a really long time. He was spending every moment possible with his family.

"Peanut cheese!" Jungkook pulled out his phone, taking pictures. Ever since he became a father, he's found no reason to take a picture of Peanut. Her first time at a restaurant, he took a picture. First time touching the grass, he took a picture. First time using the potty, you guessed it. He took a picture.

Like a subject of classical conditioning, Peanut started cheesing. Her cheeks were open, her eyes closed, and drool slipped down her mouth. Jennette jokes that if Peanut were to model, she wouldn't be camera shy.

"Justin, can you pass me that napkin?"

Watching the clear liquid string down onto Peanut's shirt, Jungkook moved with haste. Not even registering the name Jennette just called him.

"What did you say?

Before Jennette could respond, the waiter brought the food out.

The steam coming from his plate enticed him. Jennette was treating him to breakfast at a black-owned restaurant. He decided to be spontaneous and try shrimp and grits. Looking at his dish, he could tell his shrimp was well seasoned. The grits were thick and cheesy.

Taking a spoonful, he had to bite his tongue from releasing a satisfied moan. The grits were hotter than he anticipated, but they were too good for him to spit out. So he tried to cool it off with his mouth.

Nodding his head he quoted the saying of food reviewer Keith Lee.

"For sho, you right on." He fed himself another spoonful. "I don't know why you kept me from this place for so long. It's so good."

Jennette smiled, seeing Jungkook enjoy his food.

"Well this can become our little spot."

"Absolutely."

"Justin." Peanut grabbed onto Jungkook's shoulder. She wanted to get his attention and try some of his bowl's food.

"Who's Justin, baby?"

"You're Justin, Justin."

"What?" Jungkook was addled. Slowly scooping up a Peanut appropriate amount of grits. Who the fuck was Justin? This man who apparently has been around his girl and baby. Jungkook looked to Jennette for a clue, but her face was neutral.

"Tell appa who Justin is baby."

"Pleaseeee." She leaned her body, trying to get closer to the spoon of grits in Jungkook's hand.

Not denying his baby girl the grits any longer, he fed her. Watching the good food hit her belly. She smiled, then opened her mouth again.

"Justin look at this funny meme." Jennette laughed while showing her phone. It was a funny new parent post of Instagram that Jennette had been following since she learned she was pregnant.

Taking her phone, Jungkook tucked her phone under his thigh. "Who the hell is Justin? Cause it's not me, and you got my Peanut repeating after you."

"Just a guy I know."

"Who is he." Jungkook's tone was becoming more assertive. He was tired of repeating of himself. And the longer he was going without knowing 'Justin's identity the more he feared ruining this nice family breakfast.

"Jennette, please, my patience is thinning out."

Taking him at his word, Jennette answered his question.

"I found an old video of you saying that you wanted to go by Justin. I shared that with Peanut in the bathroom. It was just a prank, there's no Justin."

Jungkook's face immediately softened. He playfully rolled his eyes. Knowing exactly what interview you were referring to.

"Oh gosh, you watched that clip." He physically cringed. Peanut whined still wanting some grits. Jungkook pulled her onto his lap. Feeding the remaining of his grits to his baby girl.

"I'd hate to be Justin right now." Jennette laughed.

"Whatever." Jungkook kissed Peanut's cheek. Enjoying the rest of the breakfast hour with his little family.

AND SCENE <3

Happy holidays to all of my beautiful followers and readers. May the holidays be enjoyable and relaxing for you. 2024 is just around the corner. Wonderful things are waiting for you. Smooches ~~~

[hopelessdelusional]

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

bonus:

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

the other side of the door

EDIT: i literally don’t know why they made this mature, maybe bc i said a slur🤨🤨🤨 or is it bc i made a fnaf reference??? i literally have no clue it’s not like i wrote gore or porn so

howdyyyyyy

i just know y’all sick of me posting until the last minute, but it’s not 12 yet so it COUNTS

in my defense i had a friend spend the night and then today we went to the ren fair where i went broke so

anyways on a completely different note don’t you hate it when you finally come to terms with ur gender identity and realize that you are in fact nonbinary but then you have to write an x reader with she/her pronouns 😀😀😀😀 lol

anyways love y’all and thank u for dealing with me 🫶

fun facts ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

- bc zu and toshi were close in high school toshi and sho used to “fight” over zu and now they have the funniest beef ever (they love each other so much)

- ko is always on pinterest so she just be finding all these reaction memes and always giggles when she sends them

- tenya finds it very cute

- speaking of them ochako always makes sure to capitalize his name bc tenya is a firm believer of correct grammar so whenever she does it makes him m e l t

- ko is always up for murder (she’s just like me fr)

- fun fact! i love momo

- also i love making sho super out of character and like. gay bc i think it’s the funniest thing ever (even tho he is canonically sassy)

- i got the last lines between y/n and toshi from that one movie with the rock and the bald british white dude

- the app i use to make these messages literally broke so i couldn’t do the reaction thingies and i was so pissed

- hanata got the inspo for the nickname han bc of star wars (he hates star wars)

- you just KNOW kami goes on lore tangents abt fnaf so the gang always avoids anything that will trigger that (#autsim)

←Prev˚✧ Next→

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ updates every wednesday and sunday! happy wildest dreams sunday ✧.*

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ TAGLIST IS OPEN just message or comment: @iiilovemilfs @0anodite0 @bakugouswh0r3 @amethyst123 @nijirosz @bakugoukatsukiwifiu @allnamesredacted @ch3rryhaze @ectoplasmictoast @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tati-the-fangirl @autumnfay @call-me-prodigy

[fleatomatosauce]

Please reblog to increase sample size

[orelsemystery]

The night before it all begins, Charles is staring at his computer, open to an ad on Craigslist:

Private investigator seeks assistant. Position primarily includes receptionist and secretarial duties but may extend to other miscellaneous tasks. 9-5 weekdays with additional hours as needed. Scheduling flexibility preferred. Enquire at 3636 Long St. during business hours or call (412)-555-8468.

Charles has an appointment the following morning to interview with this detective, whomever they may be, and he is trying to be realistic about it. He is trying to suppress the images and sensations that are rising up inside him as he gazes at the neat black text of the ad: a lit cigarette, a single hanging lamp above a desk upon which two shiny-shoed feet are crossed, the dry rustle of old files and the damp smell of one a.m.—no, he thinks, resisting the imagined chill of a dark clearing pooling with fog, no, he says to the acrid taste of pipe smoke, the fireplace heat, the scratching of a pen across paper as it records the adventures of the best and wisest man the world has ever known. No, no, no.

He digs his fingernails angrily into his palm. The biting pain helps, just a little, and he forces himself to conjure up the image of a balding, sweaty man, fifty or so, who spends his time trailing cheating spouses and picking through wastepaper baskets for old receipts and sordid letters. Charles pictures fetching him greasy lunches and making him coffee. He imagines offering tissues to drippy clients and filling out stacks of paperwork. 

Would that really be better than his current job, writing feature articles for the second-largest Pittsburgh newspaper? It’s true, he’s had it up to here with young math champions and church pierogi cook-offs, arts festivals and fundraising marathons. Last week—and truthfully, this is what prompted the impulsive Craigslist job search—he was assigned an article on crosswalks. Crosswalks. But still, it’s a real job, relatively secure, far from some flight of fancy he knows better than to pursue.

Detectives. Honestly.

www.orelsemystery.com/novel/chapter-1

[damnhedied]

Telling the genie I want to be bald so I can cosplay an egg

[lukancreates]

With all the human versions of the Rise turtles I've seen, I decided to make my own versions. And since the turtles are blood related to Splinter, and by extension the rest of the Hamato Clan, I used different members of the Hamato Clan to design each turtle's human form.

I'm gonna go from youngest to oldest, so up first is Mikey.

Because of his short stature, rounded features, and that his future self (from the bad future) had top pattern baldness; I based Mikey's human looks on his great grandfather, Hamato Sho. And like most fans I headcanon him as blasian, so his features and skin tone is skewed to African American and his hair skewed toward Japanese because his future self has (mostly) straight hair. While the freckles are based on his markings since ornate box turtles are speckled. That, and I headcanon all Mikeys as having freckles.

Donnie - Leo - Raph - Turtles

[crimedotnet-ask]

is that a bald spot

oh wait you sho-

Is [Redacted for Client Security] you're ip address?

WOLF NO

You're a child shut up.