#like me 😞

[verlierer-is-lost]

Undergrad Henry

[hyunpic]

[sunnymainecoonx]

SOMETIMES Nightmare needs to indulge them in their mortal needs... to keep them functioning yk. But yk to be as lazy as possible just have them sleep together..

[dootznbootz]

Penelope is also Athena's pet/blorbo/special little mortal/etc. and if you think otherwise you're straight up wrong.

You're also wrong if you think Athena only likes Penelope because of Odysseus and/or Telemachus. As if Athena didn't see a young Penelope pull some shit and immediately think "Oh! Another mind to mold! C'mere you! Let's do some riddles and weaving!". Athena was happy that two of her favorite pets have met and fell in love!

[flea-palace]

the important thing is that he remained calm

[arolegos]

the father who stepped iup ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[eiyriny]

Possibly an unpopular opinion but: Jin Guangshan wasn’t exactly lying when he said WWX humiliated Jiang Cheng behind his back. Like sure Lan Wangji, WWX never explicitly said "I couldn’t care less for Jiang Wanyin, the family head!" but WWX's words and actions during that banquet practically screamed it. He outright spat on Jiang Cheng’s authority as his clan leader when he stormed that banquet & threatened everyone there with full knowledge that JC would NEVER authorise him to do such thing, and even more so when he declared that Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop him from doing whatever he wanted, basically broadcasting to everyone there that he had no respect whatsoever for Jiang Cheng's role as clan leader.

Jin Guangshan had risen to his feet as well, his face etched with shock, rage, fear, and hate. “Wei Wuxian! You’re just running riot because Jiang…because Sect Leader Jiang isn’t here!”

“Do you think I wouldn’t run riot even if he was here?” Wei Wuxian shot back. “If I want to kill anyone, who can stop me? Who dares to stop me?!”

And yet, even after being publicly ganged up on, humiliated by the other clans, and disrespected by WWX himself, Jiang Cheng still came crawling to the Burial Mound, begging for an explanation from WWX. And the fact that WWX already made sure that the barrier would allow JC access to the Burial Mound in the first place? It's like WWX had already decided that Jiang Cheng would be the one to come to him—adjusting the barrier to let JC in, like a dog owner leaving the door cracked just enough for their loyal pet to find their way in. Like, Jiang Cheng, baby, pls stand up!😭

And not just that—when he got there, the very first thing he did wasn’t even to punish WWX or throw him out of the clan (like a normal clan leader would have done) but instead he still try to save WWX and extract him out of the whole clusterfuck. Like that is soo??

This is exactly why I find it so ridiculous when ppl claim Jiang Cheng "fell for Jin Guangshan’s manipulation to pit him against WWX" like fell where? Even after everything, this loser was still trying to save WWX, even with a heart full of resentment and hatred, in the end, his love for WWX still won out. It was only when WWX himself rejected Jiang Cheng’s form of protection that Jiang Cheng let him go. (Another reason why I love JC. He loves so hard and so fiercely, but he would never drown the ppl he loves in that love. He knows when to let go, even if it breaks him.)

[nats-revival]

nsfw ! — thinking about ex!ellie with a marking kink. she just couldnt help herself when you ended up back at her place. and obviously youve been with other people since her, but she fucking hated the thought, loathed it even. shes fucking you so good (the both of you knew this but youd never tell her this), her strap hitting your g-spot has your eyes rolling.

ellie wouldve been holding you close while sinking her teeth into any part of your body she could. your neck, your shoulders, your collarbone. it feels like shes all over you all at once. shes grunting softly while shes listening to those oh so pretty noises she enjoys so much. she sinks her teeth into your skin one more time for good measure while you’re on the brink of your orgasm. it was hard enough to draw blood, and she laps it up with no problem. while you’re cumming for her, she smiles, but it wasnt a content one.

she admires her work for a second, running her hand across the marks while you were catching your breath. “i wonder how long itll take before you come running back to me again after saying youre ’done with me’.” she jeers, making you roll your eyes.

aestras notes: i will not be elaborating on this until further notice. 😇 i didnt proofread this too much so please dont kill me if theres grammatical errors. 💔💔 writing to you while i am also not wearing my effing glasses!!!!! i hope it was good at least tho xx. rbs/comments r appreciated cause im def chronically online and will respond in like thirty seconds!! 😜

[jkvjimin]

(180/∞) the perfect nose for butterflies to land on it ♡

[p1nkshield]

Saw a post about the juxtaposition between “disaster boy™️” Richard Grayson and “just a little guy™️” Jason Todd while in “I’m a new mom and I don’t know what I’m doing™️” Brucie’s care and had to add to the conversation

The Richard parenting experience

Bruce: What a nice quiet evening.

Somewhere in the manor: *boom* *crash* *the distinct sound of something very expensive breaking*

Bruce, running full tilt to the source of the noise thinking the manner has been compromised: Is everything okay?!? What’s going-

Robin!Dick, on the floor next to a broken chandelier, a smashed heirloom and a shattered wardrobe: uhhh…Oops?

The Jason parenting experience

Bruce: what a nice quiet evening… too quiet.

Bruce sprints to where his son was last: Jason?

Robin!jason: yes?

Bruce: *oh he’s still there!* what are you doing?

Robin!jason: …reading

Bruce: …oh

Robin!jason: that’s allowed right?

Bruce: yes that’s fine.

[elyfonart]

Late to bed / early to rise

[dailytogachako]

from pinterest!

[hyunpic]

HYUNJIN 🧸🤍 240806 INSTA LIVE

[autism-swagger]

Not enough love for Harrow's weird fucked up attempts to cover her face in the beginning of HtN methinks.

[satoruhour]

a/n: jjk 236 spoilers, mentions of suicide from reader’s side, no comfort, cry. around 1.4k. tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @saiki-enthusiast @arminsumi @shotorus @satohruu so yall can suffer w me

the first signs of grief manifests in you when there’s a bright light that signifies gojo’s disperse of cursed energy, the familiar hollow purple that obliterates half the buildings around the two strongest sorcerers — one from the heian and the other one from our times. surely, your lover wouldn’t do something as foolish as involving himself with the blast, but gojo satoru is always one to take risks.

when he took up the job of taking care of megumi and tsumiki at just eighteen years old and providing all the things they needed to fluorish. gojo is risky as he convinces a kid with a terrifying curse to make some friends and learn about cursed energy. he sometimes puts himself in danger when he takes up more missions he can shoulder just to show the higher-ups that he can kill them any time.

gojo satoru has the world of jujutsu in his hands; how his birth had changed the trajectory of the society, altered the balance of the world and now—

“satoru!” you call out once the smoke clears and he’s still there, intact, smiling a sick smile like the many times you’ve seen him done at megumi and after burning french toast. you brief a sigh of relief and the pounding of your heart calms down momentarily before sukuna emerges and he’s missing a hand and a leg and your heart pulls lower and lower seeing the kid you raised be such a ragdoll for sukuna’s entertainment. but there was always the hope to isolate the king of curses’ soul and save megumi somehow. shoko and you had discussed it, you know it to be true, it has to be true, until there’s a sharp noise that cuts through your ear drums.

it’s high-pitched, like a flash of light that shines in your eyes too abruptly and you have to cover them. but it blinds you as much as it deafens; an attack from god knows which end and you swear you hear the reaper’s scythe.

gojo thinks you look beautiful like this; hand on your cheek and head in your hand as you watch him and the melodic sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board. you’re so concerned about him cutting his hand again that you’ve dragged your chair all the way into the kitchen to watch him closely, which was counterintuitive; the whole reason why he had bled in the first place was because he was looking at you so much.

he admires the way you curl into yourself on the beanbag in the apartment, a book on your lap on how to get to know your teenager better, hair falling over your eyes and the reading lamp not even helping that much in illuminating the words. gojo skims over your features and the way your chest breathes slowly, like everything good in the world. he hopes he’s able to get that with you in this life, for as long as he lives.

you feel it before you see it in the screens that the fight is broadcasted from — something is missing. a light has switched off, satoru has stolen the blanket at night and left you freezing again, seeing your favourite snack missing from the fridge. and you run. past the students you’ve raised, past the bright blinding screens and into the battlefield, past the debris and each crunch of cement under your feet brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes. the tokyo winter is cool, snow starting to slowly fall upon you and the saltiness on your face seem to crystallise and harden and you’re not even sure any more. there’s a tingling feeling in your feet, in your finger tips and a pull of your heart. you know where gojo is before you see him.

“s— satoru…” you mumble, eyes welling up with more tears when his bottom half stays standing, baggy pants stained with red, red and more red and you’ve never hated a colour like you do now. you hate it, you hate it, you hate it even when he’s proposed to you with a red velvet box and gotten you valentine’s day chocolates in that same darker red and there is just too much blood.

and then it’s like the hierarchy of grief doesn’t matter any more. all those articles you’ve read preparing yourself after gojo’s fated meeting with death at sixteen, and then after shibuya — you think you can’t handle any more of the collecting and patching up and crying and headaches and holding a finger up to your chest and hoping you’d kill yourself with your own technique. the only time you’d accept the absence of the bright blue on his face is when he was sleeping and his chest moved with even breaths, not like this.

not like this. 

“satoru—” your voice cracks and you cannot even see. tears and tears and mucus and the fresh crunch of snow under your feet as you step closer to his severed body.

“baby…” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, hand twitching and reaching out in the direction of your voice because this is infinitely worse than getting stabbed in the neck by toji fushiguro, perhaps a little worse than seeing your best friend of your high school life get manipulated by a cursed user. satoru wants to demote all of that and say that seeing you stumble to your knees in front of him while you hyperventilate and sob hurts the most. 

“d-don’t move, ’toru, we— we’re going to get you b-back, okay?” you’re playing with god now. “shoko!” the doctor stifles a sob at your cry, broken up by the feedback of the sound system. she knows you’re trying to defy god.

“i don’t think—” the light is slowly dying. the world’s light, the student’s light, your dawn and dusk. “m-my love, everything is…”

“satoru, please, you need to—!” they say the last sense to go is touch and hearing. you crouch to his face to see him react to your warmth, eyes moving an inch to where he thinks you were and puts all of his cursed energy into one hand just so he could hold your cheek. you, warm as always as the sun and everything good in the world, a new rush of warmth overtaking his hand when your tears flow over his battered, tired hands, the same hands that has drawn over his love time and time again over your body and you are a canvas made of gojo satoru’s endless, unconditional ardour.

“i-i’m…” it fades out, his voice box is almost gone and you wail again and the snow from below wets your knees. his name is all that leaves your lips and you think if you can’t play god, you can only beg, even if your religion is solely gojo satoru.

“no, no, no no nono, satoru, c’mon, baby, stop it!” you scream in his face, words all mushed together when you feel the breath of life leave his chest, the blues die out in his eyes, “i love you, i love you, darling, i love you—” your lover barely manages to muster a small smile and you scramble all over his chest, clutching at the tattered black t-shirt and his hand that is starting to go cold and he has the energy to mutter out a stupid remark like gojo satoru always does.

“i’m sorry i got y-your favourite outfit stained with red, princess…” satoru whispers and that breaks the dam fully. you sob and groan and cry and wail until your voice is hoarse and you cannot speak any more and gojo wants nothing but to full heal himself again just so he could stop your crying. perhaps hold your face in his hands and kiss your forehead and nose and lips and embrace you until you couldn’t breathe. perhaps even to tell you he loved you more than anything and everything; more than poems and that foolish line he just had to say at the end and kikufuku and waking up next to you.

but in what world will gojo satoru ever get repose and a normal life? you hope for every other universe to have him be a preschool teacher, or maybe a florist, or even a superstar. but not in this one, no.

the hand that caressed your cheek is replenished again with cursed energy.

satoru gives you three squeezes.

[23fallencomets]

GOD I AM IN FACT NOT YOUR STRONGEST SOLIDER