Pls Do Download Adblock It Has Saved My Life On Many The Occasion, I Can’t Bear To See Someone Go Without

i love soft kurapkia sm

Kurapika ✩ Mobage Cards ✧･ﾟ: *

if they were playing against each other tendou would either make bokuto go into sad mode or accidentally hype him up because bokuto doesn’t understand his sarcasm

Let’s be honest if Tendou and Bokuto ever met someone would die and everything would be broken

rb this post to give the person u rbed it from a pretty fall leaf :]

July... I’m doomed

You’re sentenced to 10 years in prison and your lawyer is your birth month. Are they getting you out?

Ok just an edit… October is not Philza it’s Kisuke from bleach Philza just used him as his pfp😭

What if it’s Aizawa?

Who is your favorite sensei in anime/manga says more about your mental condition than any test ever could.

THERE WAS A CAT OUTSIDE MY HOUSE AND I WENT OUTSIDE AND IT LET ME PET IT

━"How To Summon A Demon For Dummies"

━Tw: Slight flash warning for the gif separator

Summary:

The supernatural wasnt real. Magic was a cheep party trick; all smoke and mirrors to con people out of their money. Demons were a myth created by parents to scare little kids into eating their vegetables.

That's what (Y/n) thought. Untill they were caught up with a demon of their own, who dead set on getting his way.

━Notes: The beginning of something dark

━Song: "Empty Hallways" By Steve Gabry

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

(Y/n)s fingers hurt.

The fact that someone was leaning over their shoulder munching on some brand name chips didn't make this research any easier.

For the past half hour the free-lance artist had been silently typing away at an old keyboard clogged with food crumbs and flecks of paper. Using their life long friends computer wouldn't normally be their first choice, but seeing as they had stayed longer into the night than planned it looked like (Y/n) didn't have a say in it.

They cringed lightly as Alex swallowed a mouth full of food right next to their ear; presumably to ask a question.

"Remind me exactly why you're using Wikipedia of all places to look up whatever the hell this is." (Y/n) didn't have to look up to know that her muddy blue eyes were staring at what they were typing into the computer.

"It's a commission." They responded shortly. Alex raised an eyebrow waiting for them to go on.

"I got a dm on discord. Someone wants me to do a full body of their oc or whatever and I had to do some research on what species their oc was." (Y/n) continued, clicking on the enter button as they finished their sentence and scanning the results that came up. "No other websites had information on what I was looking for so I turned to Wikipedia."

Alex snorted and backed up. Heading to her messy couch, she flopped on it and snatched the remote.

"Ah yes. Wikipedia. The place where weirdos and crazies hang out. Should be perfect for you." She said all of this in a sardonic voice, pressing some rubber buttons on the remote in her hands to pull up a video. (Y/n) meerly huffed out a slight smile. Playfully flipping them off without looking they retorted.

"Just becuase I became an artist instead of starting a tattoo shop with you doesn't make me a weirdo."

"It was our dream job though (Y/nnnnn)!" Alex whined. They just chuckled and scoured the shitty website more as she surfed the internet.

(Y/n) heard Alex let out a small gasp of excitement as well as say something along the lines of 'he uploaded!' Only after they heard the loud and sadly familliar words 'top of the mornin to ye laddies!' did a groan escape their lips.

"Really Alex? This guy again? All you watch anymore is him. Hell you even drink the coffee he sells, and you hate coffee." With a grumble they added the last part in hopes that their friend would pause the video to argue with them. At least then they could get some work done without the t.v screaming at them from behind. But she meerly shushed them and settled into the stained couch with a giddy grin.

Sighing, they tried to ignore the sounds of a sharp Irish voice from behind and the sound affects of some random video game.

Not but two minutes of listening to that God awful video had passed before they sighed in relief. At least they had found what they were looking for.

"A glitch demon." They read aloud to themself quietly. "An entity that lives and feeds on the internet, often appearing unstable and like its name suggests; a glitch."

As they read more and more, it got less interesting. You could tell this article had been written and edited by someone with less than average vocabulary and it made for a very annoying read. The only part that stuck out was a bolded paragraph in italics, practically begging to be read. Summoning The Entity- was the subtitle that hung over it boldly. That grabbed their attention fairly quick.

The words were forien and complicated to (Y/n)s curious eyes. So much in fact they felt the urge to sound it out as a pathetic attempt to understand it better.

Besides, how real could these things really be.

"Πείτε αυτά τα λόγια και θα ακολουθήσετε. Μόνος σου δεν υπάρχει πλέον δυνατότητα. Παρακολούθησε και ακολουθούσε από οθόνη σε οθόνη. Θα συναντήσεις τη μοίρα σου με μια κραυγή."

It was a strange language. One that they wernt entirely sure was real; not even to mention if they read it right. And while it left them confused, the attention of Alex from behind them had finally been grabbed.

"What are you reading there buddy." She asked with a mix of caution and curiosity. They waved a hand signaling her to come over without taking their eyes off the screen.

"I found what I was looking for." They worked some saliva around in their oddly dry mouth. "The article on glitch demons 'member? Yeah and there was a summoning part. Wanted to see what it sounded like aloud."

Looking away from the screen for the first time in a while to find Alex looking at then with worried eyes, neither adults noticed the glowing white screen fritz out into a green pattern before going back to normal.

The pair proceeded to share a look and have a silent conversation. Alex had always believed in the strange myths that came from the crumpled pages of musty books. (Y/n) was always more of a no nonsense person, dismissing those claims of UFOs and magic as the incoherent ramblings of a crackhead on the street corner.

"It's says here glitch demons, if summoned, can follow someone by electronics kept on one's person (Y/n)."

Alex had turned her attention back to the computer. Reading aloud, their face was set in a grave look that (Y/n) had to resist the urge to roll their eyes at.

"So you're telling me satan's gonna follow me home through me discord." They deadpanned, cutting off their friends words before they could speak again. "Alex you do realize these articles are written by thirteen year olds with an obsession for the paranormal right. This shit is about as real as the ninja turtles you had a crush on in the third grade."

Ignoring the comment made about the fictional vigilantes she had been infatuated with as a child, Alex huffed at (Y/n). She went on a small rant about how this wasn't a laughing manor and that they should be legitimately worried.

(Y/n) managed to calm them down by promising to turn off their phone when they took the bus home that night. It was enough to get her to stop lecturing them, so they took that as a sign to log off the computer and walk to the kitchen.

"Come on. Let's have a drink or two. I think after today we both deserve it."

As the night went on and many glasses were filled to the brim, their phone lay by the computer.

Every once in a while it would glow green.

They woke up with a splitting headache and aching body.

Blinking through an eyeful of crust and bright light, (Y/n) eventually managed to look at their surroundings with a low groan. Everything was sore all over. Like they had jogged twenty miles before getting home last night.

While dirty clothes clung to sweaty skin, they used their elbow to prop their form up on the slightly messy bed. Hair stuck up in every which way as evidence of a good night's sleep.

How exactly did they get home last night? (Y/n) vaugly remembered a lone bus ride home with droopy eyelids and breath that reeked of wiskey. Thanks to their appearance they has gotten their own corner on the bus- no one wanting to sit within three seats of the drunk mess.

Slightly wincing at the memory, they sat up. One thing that stuck around from last night's escapades, besides the clothes on their back, was the aftertaste of hot alcohol in their mouth.

Smacking thier lips together the bleary eyed artist stood up and made a slow beeline out of their room and to the bathroom down the hall. They really had to get out of these clothes.

The shower they indulged themself in didn't take long; nor did the hygienic routine after. Just a simple scrub n brush and they were already strolling back into their room with wet hair feeling ten times better.

While in the shower they had remembered how they neglected to turn off their phone when traveling home last night, but shrugged it off. It was simply to ease Alex's mind anyways, and if she didn't remember the promise what was the harm in ignoring it.

A towel rested upon their barely clothed shoulders when they approached their bed, catching any stray droplets that dared fall from tangled locks. Closing their eyes to ruffle the damp mess of hair, their ears perked up.

It was quiet.

Way too quiet.

(Y/n) brought their movements to a still so they could look around. They hadn't noticed it in their slightly hungover haze, but it seemed that the power was out.

Fans had stopped running their usual white noise, something that hit them hard in the midst of the summers morning. That was the first thing they noticed.

Then it was the black face of their monitor staring back at them.

With a string of small 'shit shit shit shit shit shit's making its way from their lips, they scrambled over to their drawing tablet. As an artist that worked from home doing odd jobs here and there, all of their work was on that goddamn computer. And if they didn't save every last piece of art- well you could kiss that much needed cash goodbye.

After pressing down on the power button hard enough to leave an imprint of the companys logo on their thumb, (Y/n) waited with an anxious demeanor for it to start up.

The feeling that coursed through them after seeing the start up screen beginning to run its usual course was akin to coming up for air in a pool.

If I'm being honest though I think the thing that threw them off was the small green hello that popped up instead of a lockscreen.

(Y/n) blinked once. You could argue it was from the water droplets that were still cascading down their face, but more realistically it was becuase of the five small neon letters looking at them

I think what put them off more was the fact it seemed to be waiting for a response.

With much trepidation, they typed back.

h̷e̴l̵l̸o̵

what's this

n̴o̸ ̴n̷e̸e̴h̷d̸ ̶t̸a̵ ̷b̶e̶ ̷s̴o̸ ̴h̸a̶r̴s̶h̸ ̸d̷o̸l̶l̶

Furrowing their brows together slightly at the weird way of typing, the questioned this unknown stranger about it.

what's with the font

ā̶̹c̸͔̒c̶̡̣̾͂ȩ̸̮̾n̵̟͆t̷̫̲̓

who are you

i̷m̶m̸a̸ ̵b̷i̶t̷ ̵h̷u̶r̵t̴ ̴y̵e̷ ̵d̴o̴n̸'̷ ̸r̴e̷h̵m̷e̶m̴b̸e̸r̷ ̴m̸e̶.̶ ̴y̸a̸ ̶d̵i̸d̵ ̶c̵a̶l̴l̴ ̷f̶e̴r̶ ̷m̴e̶ ̴a̶f̷t̷e̴h̴r̶ ̸a̶l̵l̵ ̷(̵y̸/̶n̸)̷ ̷

how do you know my name

The past few minutes of pure silence was interested by (Y/n) clutching the end of their work desk so hard they heard a shrill creak. Despite audible proof of the strain on the furniture they didn't let up untill the three dots behind 'they are typing' ceased to a hault.

c̶u̸t̶e̷.̴ ̷i̸l̴l̶ ̷c̶a̷t̵c̵h̸ ̴y̸e̷ ̸a̶r̵o̴u̷n̴ ̸l̷a̵s̸s̷.̷ ̸y̴o̸u̴l̴l̶ ̷s̷e̴e̷ ̶m̵e̶h̶ ̶s̵o̶o̵n̸ ̶e̷n̶o̸u̸g̷h̵ ̸

And with that the screen resumed to its normal state. Seconds later the power came back on with it.

Despite the regular noise of their everyday life starting back up again (Y/n) didn't move. They just kept staring wide eyed at their screen as if something was about to jump out of it.

"Well fuck. Maybe those crackheads are right."

Finally done. This took like five hours. You bastards better like it /lh

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. | 𝐠.𝐬.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ex!gojo satoru x reader

𝐰𝐜: 2.5k

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: thousands of words he wished he could've said, and a missed chance he didn't take; gojo satoru was truly a disappointment. inspired by the song save your tears - the weeknd

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐰: angst, hurt/no comfort, probably ooc (?), mentions of alcohol, mentions of family problems, gojo has abandonment issues, college au (no actual college references are made, but the characters are around college age), modern au, no-curse au; please let me know if I missed anything!

𝐚/𝐧: my first gojo fanfic ever! this fic was not only inspired by save your tears by the weeknd, but by a childe x zhongli tiktok that appeared on my fyp; I don't even play genshin lol but it was cute; very cute. ngl I am proud of myself for this one but the process of writing and revising was very...tedious to say the least lol. gojo and angst go hand in hand to say the least, its very fun to write. feel free to send feedback or share your thoughts, asks are always welcomed! please look forward to my future works! I hope you enjoy <3

You’re tipsy. He can tell by the way you seem to stumble a bit when moving side to side while dancing with your friends, the alcohol altering how well your brain controls your motor functions. The noise plaguing the party quiets down whenever you enter his field of vision. It wasn’t uncommon for him to give you his undivided attention; you were special like that.

Under the bright purple and pink lights, you looked like a masterpiece. Eyes shining with utter glee as you grabbed one of your friend’s arms and spun in circles, using their body weight as an anchor, orbiting them like the moon does the earth. It makes you even dizzier, but you didn’t care; it’s been a while since Gojo saw you laugh so freely, the sound of your giggling rings in his ears and he has the impulse to shut the world out.

He was leaning against a wall opposite to the dance floor, as far away as possible to avoid being spotted by you, with a red solo cup in his hand. The ice had melted already, watering down the rum flavoured coke he generously poured himself as soon as he arrived at the party—he got here at 9pm; it was almost midnight now. He doesn’t even like rum, but it was the first thing he found that could help him stifle the cogs constantly turning inside his head.

At some point, his imagination had taken over, picturing what it would be like to make direct eye contact with you right as you throw your head back in laughter, have you all to himself again; yours truly is selfish like that, he affirms in his head, rolling his eyes at his own expense. It would feel like the world stopped, just for the both of you. Only you and him in the middle of the room, enveloped by nothing and drowned by everything at the same time.

How much rum did he pour in his cup, again? His alcohol tolerance is not the best—h found out the bad way, after he had three shots and then proceeded to break a wooden table as he lost control of his humongously lanky limbs—so it wouldn’t surprise him that the reason why his fantasies felt so real was due to the cheap alcohol laying around. After all, there was no way you actually spotted him after he strategically hid from you as meticulously as possible, right?

There was always something about your eyes that he loved. Always so expressive and caring; for some reason, always reassuring. At this moment, he couldn't help but lose himself in your eyes. He loved the way they seemed to shine even brighter with the multicoloured, ever-changing lights; it made you look ethereal, more than usual at least. But the more he kept looking at you, the more it felt unexplainably odd.

He couldn’t help but feel a deep bottomless void sitting in the pit of his stomach as he realised your eyes weren’t shining because of the extravagant lighting.

No, your eyes were gleaming with freshly formed tears.

Lips pursed into a wobbling line, and a single tear trickling down your cheek; you were a sight for sore eyes. A sight that couldn’t help but break Gojo’s heart into sharper, smaller fragments that pierced his chest, leaving behind a throbbing ache. Once again, he was the cause of your tears; even after he promised, cross my heart and hope to die, he wouldn’t hurt you anymore, he had failed you. What a disappointment Gojo Satoru was.

Everyone else was too lost within themselves to notice your sudden change in mood. In their defence, everything happened so fast: your piercing gazes connecting, stopping time, and then moving on like nothing happened. Tears dried by your own soft fingertips; the same that used to draw soothing patterns down his back when he couldn’t sleep.

He never explicitly told you he had some sort of self-diagnosed insomnia, but after spending many nights together basking in each other's warmth, you had picked up on his irregular sleeping patterns. The constant tossing and turning, as well as the pacing outside your room when he thought you had fallen asleep, hadn't gone unnoticed by you. At the time, you didn't think that your presence would change much, but unbeknownst to you, it meant the world to him. For once, he was able to succumb to the gnawing slumber knowing someone cared enough to stay.

It took him a while to snap out of it. He should’ve prepared himself for a little bit more heartbreak; he should’ve known. Who would’ve guessed that watching you walk past him, acting like he wasn’t there, pretending you didn’t care about his existence, would hurt so much.

The balcony offered enough privacy for you to let out a long sigh. Kneeling against the metal railings grounded you a little, the material sending chills up your palms. Everything felt like it was slightly vibrating, probably because of the loud music inside. It was comforting in a way, a nice reminder that as soon as you wished to leave the torturous sentiments behind, you could just walk back inside and pretend like you never met the pair of cerulean orbs that made your chest constrict.

For a millisecond, the music grew louder, until the thud of the sliding door prefaced an uncomfortable silence, only accompanied by the ringing of adrenaline puncturing your ear drums. You knew who was standing behind you, but you didn’t dare turn around. Would it hurt to see him again? The thought of facing him made you quiver; the sole idea of feeling the emptiness he had made you feel for so long—it scared you.

“Mind if I join you?”

That’s what you expected from him. His pitchy voice, dripping with cockiness, announcing his intrusion into your makeshift haven, because there was no escape from the oh-so-great Gojo Satoru. Yet, the chilly wind kept on blowing, the muffled music kept playing and the uncomfortable taunt of his words never came. This time it was different. He sounded almost unsure; a bit scared. His voice so fragile, you were sure it was bound to break.

A simmering burn settled behind your eyes. The pain from biting your lip as hard as possible prevented any stray tears from escaping. A bitter giggle bubbling in your throat; you manged to swallow it back down just in time. The idea of Gojo asking for permission was kind of funny—he never really cared about what other people had to say.

He took your silence as an answer. A silent yet teasing, of course I mind you polluting my space with your presence; that’s how he imagined you’d respond. The thought made him want to laugh and cry at the same time. You’d always find a way to tease him, even if stupid, and naturally, he’d indulge you by succumbing to your light-hearted mockery. You weren’t that good at making fun of him; he knew you meant well. The love you laced your jabs with was always so tangible, they wouldn’t hurt him even if they tried. He would eat them up like candy, like a starved man feasting on the affection and attention and the everything he so desperately needed.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He couldn’t help but mimic your body posture, bending at unusual angles as he made himself comfortable on the railings by your side. It would’ve been funny; like watching an adult trying to sit on a tricycle, making themselves as small as possible, with their knees bent, sticking out in weird directions and spine completely curved to grab the too-small handlebars with streamers hanging down at the ends. It would’ve been funny, maybe even adorable, if it wasn’t for the erratic pumping of your heart and the ringing in your ears, both telling you to hurry up and run away.

And you could, if you really wanted to, that is. The door was right there, silently judging you for letting yourself be in this situation longer than needed. Yet, you wouldn’t dare move, your legs frozen in place, as if the thoughts you tried so hard to conceal were silently begging you to say something, anything, to make the moment last just a little longer; to let yourself bask in the intimacy of being alone together one last time.

The desire to feel his warmth clouded your thoughts, pulling you towards him until you were fully exposed, vulnerable. An urge to scream, and cry and laugh maniacally making its way up from your stomach, tickling your palate, itching your mouth, where thousands of questions laid on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to finally break.

With a huff, you straightened up, rolling your neck, and letting the cracks from your vertebrae fill the silence. The sound always made Gojo shudder. His eyes would squeeze shut, creating odd creases on his face that otherwise weren’t there, and his body would recoil, shivering exaggeratedly; he knew it made you laugh.

“I always cringe when you do that.” Grasping onto the faint familiarity, he shook his body in a slight violent manner to, hopefully, entertain you with one of his over-the-top performances.

There was a hesitant pause, filled to the brim with anticipation like the couple of seconds after a singer concludes their act, expecting a big round of applause. The slight smile on his lips was a bit shaky to say the least, eyes pleading for some form of reassurance.

Ignoring him was the best thing you could do in this moment, even if you secretly indulged in his reaction. Reminiscing old times would only waver the little courage you had gathered to turn around in his direction and make direct eye contact with the infinite pools that were his eyes.

Never in his whole life, would’ve he imagined you could make him feel so insignificant. Whenever he needed it, your warmth would lull him into bliss. You were a place of comfort for him to rest; something akin to the loving home that's always shown in cheesy feel-good movies. Homes with kids running in the front yard, playing with a golden retriever puppy, and parents standing on the porch with freshly squeezed but overtly sweet lemonade. Something akin to the loving home he never had.

Getting lost within each other felt like an eternity, the palpable tension only confirming your hypothesis. Both of you knew what was coming, one of you was bound to break, and there was no going back after that.

“Why did you leave?” You cracked first. With the barely-there tremble of your voice, you started chipping at the barrier of indifference you had clumsily assembled. You were always meant to crack first.

A lump started to form in his throat, constricting his airways, making him forcefully fight against the urge to paw at his neck until he could feel oxygen fill up his lungs again. The innate curiosity that constantly brewed inside your gut wouldn't allow you to leave without at least trying to find an answer to the questions plaguing your head. It would eat you up for days on end, and he was aware of that, so then, it was the least he could do, right? The least you deserved was an answer, something to calm down the storm looming over you.

“The truth is…” he felt like his whole skin was on fire. The dam restricting the flow of his thoughts was so close to breaking. The truth hanging from the tip of his tongue threatened to break his teeth and prey his lips open, desperate to come out.

Thinking about it made him gag. It made him feel inferior, like he was going against everything he learned and knew and used as a resource to survive. It felt like scorching bile blistering his oesophagus, begging to come out but despite the bitterness, he refused to let go.

How was he supposed to unwrap his fragile little mind, leave it out there in the open for you to judge? Could he even do that? How was he supposed to tell you that love was such a foreign concept to him, so unknown and painfully scary, that it made him want to rip his hair out and scratch his skin until he’s bleeding?

No one ever really cared about him enough to teach him about love. Looking back, he feels stupid for thinking of love as a transaction. So utterly foolish for thinking that people taught each other about love instead of sharing it unconditionally, growing along with it.

Constantly on the lookout, his little body always sought after some sort of unattainable warmth. For someone to see him as a child yearning to be loved instead of what he stood for. An object that represented his family lineage, the empire they built, with the sole purpose of carrying on a bloodline that didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.

He was nothing, but he had to be everything simultaneously. He learned to mould himself into different versions of the person people expected him to be. To get some words of affirmation, something to validate his existence, he had to shapeshift, please everyone around him, act as the opposite of the broken man he saw in the mirror.

By now, it had to become an instinct of his to hide behind a façade. To protect himself from the outside world and their reaction to learning that under all the layers of stone and dried concrete, he was filled to the brim with insecurities and fears and an insatiable craving of being seen.

Thus, when you walked into his life, taking the time to look past his armour-like persona, treated him with kindness and compassion. When he realised you were trying to love him for who he was behind the walls he spent all his life perfecting, he froze.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let his guard down. If he did, then you and everyone else will know how much of a fraud he truly was. A weak, unlovable child that manipulated everyone into believing he wasn’t on the brink of despair; just an empty vessel of the character he tried so hard to play.

Gojo Satoru is not worthy of anything good, or at least that’s what his subconscious berates at him every single time he doesn’t feel miserable about himself.

So instead of letting himself break down, scream, and cry and curse—because he wouldn’t be able to hold onto the lies for much longer; because he was tired of how malleable he became to the point he couldn’t recognize who he was anymore; because he could not lose you the same way he lost himself—he let out a wet chuckle.

“Well, the truth is,” giggling to himself, the sound puncturing his heart and slitting his throat open; he said with a smirk. “I think I just stopped liking you.”

here have a dose of serotonin

my favorite relationship is the one between humans and dandelions. in childhood we instinctively blow on its little fuzzy seed carriers. we take the role of the wind, we help the dandelions in a crucial part of their lives, and in return we get a wish and a moment of happiness. this is how nature is meant to work. we are just as unaware of our goodness as the honey bees are, pollinating the flowers