namazunomegami

[namazunomegami]

Slippage

pairing: geto suguru x fem!reader

cw: canon divergence, age gap, implied parental abuse and neglect, implied complex trauma, dubious boundaries, teacher-student scenario, hurt/comfort

a/n: this is a small scene from my dilf!geto fic. It's highly unlikely that I'll finish it in the near future, because this fic takes an excruitiating mental toll on me. I haven't hit that point in my recovery where I can face this shadow of mine, express it in a way that it doesn't hurt and create something meaningful out of it. It's too personal, hits too close to home, reader is just a plain self-insert here. Everything that I am, all my ugliness, all my mistakes that I repeat over and over, all the things that make my life difficult sometimes is encapsulated in this fic. But this scene is the most beautiful thing that I've ever written and I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy.

This drabble is not proofread, so terribly sorry for the horrendous mistakes here and there.

"I know her better than you do. I’d only cause trouble if I go back home. I can’t leave my mimics here, nobody can control them, they’d wreak havoc at home, and it would only anger her. I just… I don’t want to deal with that shit I had to endure before I was –"

Taken? Rescued? Saved? What is it this time?

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, and then, you continue.

"It’s for the better that she never sees me again. I bet her life is more peaceful now that she doesn’t have to deal with what I am. I’m a ruiner. I only ruin and fuck up everything, whether I’m here or at home."

Your nails are plunged into the flesh of your forearm. Pain, but it is the soothing kind for you. Sometimes it's better to feel it on your skin rather than in that bottomless void inside your chest. Geto knows this habit of yours too well, he can spot the prints of crescent Moons peppering your complexion. He keeps it for himself though, he must ask your something.

“What do you need? Comfort, advice or distraction?”

You turn your head slowly in his direction. You look borderline horrified by the question and he’s just as shocked by your answer as you are.

“I… I don’t know.” you manage to get it out, shakily and confused. “Nobody asked me before.”

A very old sensation bubbles in Geto’s chest. A kind of hate he hoped he could get rid of in his younger years. A passionate, all-consuming hate that can leave the world in ruins. He hoped there’re no remains left from it. No, it’s still there, deep down and repressed and now, your words wake it up again. You unknowingly ignited this pile of absolute abhorrence.

Luckily, he swallows it down, just like his curses. Everything going on inside his head is perfectly concealed by a calm, almost flat expression.

“If you need comfort, I can offer some kind words, maybe a hug. If you need advice, I tell you how I’d deal with this kind of situation. If you need distraction, I bring up another topic, lead your focus elsewhere.”

Crippling the inability to decide as you’re processing his words. You’re not sure that it’s right to give in to have your suffering soothed, you don’t want to breach that unknown border that separates you, because once you cross that line there’s no going back to this exact spot. You want to think about the consequences, will it bring calamity or something that you’re inherently craving? It still makes you uncomfortable to be perceived as weak and vulnerable but at the same time, you feel seen, understood in a weird, twisted sense. In this moment, he means much more to you than any other sorcerer cramped up in this place. He’s not just a mentor to you anymore. He knows your burden, he wants to carry it with you.

“I think I can use a hug.” you murmur.

Geto stands up from his seat, arms slightly ajar and to your surprise, he waits. You’re at awe how different he is compared to anyone you know. Even though you asked for it, he doesn’t force it on you. He wants you to come to him at your own accord. You have the right to refuse.

But why would you do that?

You walk towards him slow and unsure, still frightened about an imaginary repercussion, you expect something bad to happen before you can get your well-deserved affection. Your body is tense and stiff as you snuggle into his embrace, arms still folded, nails digging into the skin of your forearm, in a self-soothing hug that you just can’t unlearn because that’s the only thing you’ve ever got. You glue your ear to his chest, still strong and solid, but a bit softer with age. His heartbeat fills your ear up, resonates through your whole being and for some reason, tears swell in your eyes. You’re in a much more fragile state of mind. You wish that he would be bare, so you can cling closer to his skin, being eased by this strange, primordial rhythm. Maybe you’re just reminded of that time when you were just an infant, placed to your mother’s chest. You want to reject that feeling, that image inside your brain. You wish that he could have brought you to this world.

His arms are closing around you slowly. Like he doesn’t want to scare you, but you still tremble when you sense his palms touching your back. It’s such a strange sensation… You’re a shelter dog, unlearning that belief that not every human will kick you in the side once you’re close enough.

(He thinks you need to eat. A lot more than you let yourself. As soon as you quitted the meds the weight started melting off from your bones. But you’re not used to eating with a company. You don’t particularly feel safe to do that. You only eat when you can get alone, bringing your game to a secluded place like some kind of a predator. You don’t trust the others.)

After seconds, minutes… your perception of time is blurred, you finally succumb, you surrender. Your mind is finally silent, your body is finally limp, just like your arms hanging next to your sides.

“It’s not your fault.”

Your breath becomes rapid, it hitches in the back of your throat. Your body is in a frenzied spasm again. Your head desperately tries to pull itself between your shoulders, shaking in utter denial. You refuse his statement.

“It’s not your fault.” he repeats in a stern, yet still soothing tone. “You didn’t cause it and you’re not to blame.”

You immediately broke down. Crying like you never did before, soaking his shirt with your warm, salty tears. But strangely, your reaction doesn’t come from sadness or pain, it’s more like a relief. And he waits, waits, and waits, until your lungs are tired out. Only then creates some space between you by pushing you back by your shoulders.

Your face is a red, puffy, wet mess. A glistening mixture of tears, snot and saliva is smeared all over your features.

“Remember, I’m always here to help. Loneliness is a cruel place, a well that you can’t crawl out of on your own. It’s a prison that we build for ourselves.” he says, with a voice as soft and tender like velvet as he’s drying your wet lashes with a finger. “Don’t let yourself be swallowed by your solitude. Call for me. Look for me. And I reach out and touch you in your loneliness.”

You’re sure that he means it in a more metaphorical, figurative way, but you do yearn for his touch. All gentle and warm, it eases you in an unknown way, fills you up with something so genuine and unconditional but sadly, you can’t even put a name on it. Yet, it makes you feel so loved and secured.

[namazunomegami]

It's impressive how Neil Gaiman vanished from the internet. Wish Rowling would do the same.

[namazunomegami]

Slippage

pairing: geto suguru x fem!reader

cw: canon divergence, age gap, implied parental abuse and neglect, implied complex trauma, dubious boundaries, teacher-student scenario, hurt/comfort

a/n: this is a small scene from my dilf!geto fic. It's highly unlikely that I'll finish it in the near future, because this fic takes an excruitiating mental toll on me. I haven't hit that point in my recovery where I can face this shadow of mine, express it in a way that it doesn't hurt and create something meaningful out of it. It's too personal, hits too close to home, reader is just a plain self-insert here. Everything that I am, all my ugliness, all my mistakes that I repeat over and over, all the things that make my life difficult sometimes is encapsulated in this fic. But this scene is the most beautiful thing that I've ever written and I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy.

This drabble is not proofread, so terribly sorry for the horrendous mistakes here and there.

"I know her better than you do. I’d only cause trouble if I go back home. I can’t leave my mimics here, nobody can control them, they’d wreak havoc at home, and it would only anger her. I just… I don’t want to deal with that shit I had to endure before I was –"

Taken? Rescued? Saved? What is it this time?

Your breath hitches in the back of your throat, and then, you continue.

"It’s for the better that she never sees me again. I bet her life is more peaceful now that she doesn’t have to deal with what I am. I’m a ruiner. I only ruin and fuck up everything, whether I’m here or at home."

Your nails are plunged into the flesh of your forearm. Pain, but it is the soothing kind for you. Sometimes it's better to feel it on your skin rather than in that bottomless void inside your chest. Geto knows this habit of yours too well, he can spot the prints of crescent Moons peppering your complexion. He keeps it for himself though, he must ask your something.

“What do you need? Comfort, advice or distraction?”

You turn your head slowly in his direction. You look borderline horrified by the question and he’s just as shocked by your answer as you are.

“I… I don’t know.” you manage to get it out, shakily and confused. “Nobody asked me before.”

A very old sensation bubbles in Geto’s chest. A kind of hate he hoped he could get rid of in his younger years. A passionate, all-consuming hate that can leave the world in ruins. He hoped there’re no remains left from it. No, it’s still there, deep down and repressed and now, your words wake it up again. You unknowingly ignited this pile of absolute abhorrence.

Luckily, he swallows it down, just like his curses. Everything going on inside his head is perfectly concealed by a calm, almost flat expression.

“If you need comfort, I can offer some kind words, maybe a hug. If you need advice, I tell you how I’d deal with this kind of situation. If you need distraction, I bring up another topic, lead your focus elsewhere.”

Crippling the inability to decide as you’re processing his words. You’re not sure that it’s right to give in to have your suffering soothed, you don’t want to breach that unknown border that separates you, because once you cross that line there’s no going back to this exact spot. You want to think about the consequences, will it bring calamity or something that you’re inherently craving? It still makes you uncomfortable to be perceived as weak and vulnerable but at the same time, you feel seen, understood in a weird, twisted sense. In this moment, he means much more to you than any other sorcerer cramped up in this place. He’s not just a mentor to you anymore. He knows your burden, he wants to carry it with you.

“I think I can use a hug.” you murmur.

Geto stands up from his seat, arms slightly ajar and to your surprise, he waits. You’re at awe how different he is compared to anyone you know. Even though you asked for it, he doesn’t force it on you. He wants you to come to him at your own accord. You have the right to refuse.

But why would you do that?

You walk towards him slow and unsure, still frightened about an imaginary repercussion, you expect something bad to happen before you can get your well-deserved affection. Your body is tense and stiff as you snuggle into his embrace, arms still folded, nails digging into the skin of your forearm, in a self-soothing hug that you just can’t unlearn because that’s the only thing you’ve ever got. You glue your ear to his chest, still strong and solid, but a bit softer with age. His heartbeat fills your ear up, resonates through your whole being and for some reason, tears swell in your eyes. You’re in a much more fragile state of mind. You wish that he would be bare, so you can cling closer to his skin, being eased by this strange, primordial rhythm. Maybe you’re just reminded of that time when you were just an infant, placed to your mother’s chest. You want to reject that feeling, that image inside your brain. You wish that he could have brought you to this world.

His arms are closing around you slowly. Like he doesn’t want to scare you, but you still tremble when you sense his palms touching your back. It’s such a strange sensation… You’re a shelter dog, unlearning that belief that not every human will kick you in the side once you’re close enough.

(He thinks you need to eat. A lot more than you let yourself. As soon as you quitted the meds the weight started melting off from your bones. But you’re not used to eating with a company. You don’t particularly feel safe to do that. You only eat when you can get alone, bringing your game to a secluded place like some kind of a predator. You don’t trust the others.)

After seconds, minutes… your perception of time is blurred, you finally succumb, you surrender. Your mind is finally silent, your body is finally limp, just like your arms hanging next to your sides.

“It’s not your fault.”

Your breath becomes rapid, it hitches in the back of your throat. Your body is in a frenzied spasm again. Your head desperately tries to pull itself between your shoulders, shaking in utter denial. You refuse his statement.

“It’s not your fault.” he repeats in a stern, yet still soothing tone. “You didn’t cause it and you’re not to blame.”

You immediately broke down. Crying like you never did before, soaking his shirt with your warm, salty tears. But strangely, your reaction doesn’t come from sadness or pain, it’s more like a relief. And he waits, waits, and waits, until your lungs are tired out. Only then creates some space between you by pushing you back by your shoulders.

Your face is a red, puffy, wet mess. A glistening mixture of tears, snot and saliva is smeared all over your features.

“Remember, I’m always here to help. Loneliness is a cruel place, a well that you can’t crawl out of on your own. It’s a prison that we build for ourselves.” he says, with a voice as soft and tender like velvet as he’s drying your wet lashes with a finger. “Don’t let yourself be swallowed by your solitude. Call for me. Look for me. And I reach out and touch you in your loneliness.”

You’re sure that he means it in a more metaphorical, figurative way, but you do yearn for his touch. All gentle and warm, it eases you in an unknown way, fills you up with something so genuine and unconditional but sadly, you can’t even put a name on it. Yet, it makes you feel so loved and secured.

[namazunomegami]

My hands are itching to type out that comprehensive list I made with my colleagues based on why Harry Potter is bad af bc J. K. Rowrowrowyourboat deserves every little slander I can come up with

[namazunomegami]

fanfic writers what font do you write in

i know on ao3 it's all in verdana but when you're drafting the fic in word or docs or whatever

[namazunomegami]

this goes with the reader who has a curse in them. minors and ageless blogs dni—you will be blocked.

gn!reader. near death experiences.

—

getou and gojo take you to tokyo.

it's summer; the cicadas hum, a constant choir. the wet lick of a heatwave has settled oppressive over campus. you're sweating, but they sit too close anyway, their skin tacky against yours.

you don't struggle.

"wanna come on our mission?" gojo asks, nudging you with his shoulder. he's sucking on an ice pop, his lips tinted blue, the same brightness of his eyes.

"do i get a choice?"

"nope!"

you sigh. "fine. i'll come."

getou chuckles, pressing closer. "you don't need to make it sound like a funeral."

(it will be, but none of you know that.

not yet.)

you groan. "just go get ready," you say. "i'll meet you by the gate."

you can feel their eyes searing through you; the thing in you flinches. you gasp in a sharp breath. the world blurs for an instant, a watercolor thing.

when the thing in you steadies, so does the world.

there's a shock of cold against your neck, a glacier's biting ice. you yelp as the ice lolly drips against you. you try to push gojo away, but he's stronger. he smears it on the salt of your skin once more, winter's kiss, and then pulls back.

"don't be late," he says with a grin, popping the lolly back into his mouth.

you scowl at him, holding a hand against the numb spot on your neck. it's sticky.

"be nice, satoru," getou scolds. too late, as always.

gojo laughs, pushing to his feet. getou joins him, though he nudges against you one last time. gojo waves energetically as the two of them leave. you don't return it.

as promised, you meet them at the gate.

they squish you between them in the manager's car. you hadn't expected anything else. you stare out the windshield as the landscape speeds by, their voices a background hum.

the manager drops the three of you off. you follow them into the site, the hairs on the back of your neck rising as the seething mass of cursed energy ripples towards you.

neither of them seem particularly bothered.

it's simple. at least for them. they dismantle the curse piece by piece, calling back and forth to each other with grins.

you just watch.

it ends as it always does: with them the victors. they're already making their way back to you, swapping jokes, when everything explodes.

it's thousands of small curses spewing from the wreckage of the special grade. they fill the air like a swarm of bats, swooping low and plucking at you the way a guitarist picks at strings.

gojo blasts a path through them. it fills instantly.

"shit, that's annoying," he groans.

"have fun," getou says with a chuckle. "it's your turn, anyway."

"ugh. fine."

it's too late for you to realize.

a pulse of cursed energy leaves gojo, rippling out like water. the little curses screech as it washes over them, disintegrating into ash. it rushes over you like the tide, all consuming.

the thing in you withers instantly.

your heart stops.

you clutch at your chest, sinking to your knees. there's ash drifting through the air like confetti. you see getou and gojo turning towards you, the way their jubilant expressions melt.

things get blurry, then. you think you're out of touch with the world, that you're just a step behind it.

"fuck!" you hear, but it's muffled, as if you're underwater.

something slides under your back. it takes your weight, holds you up. there's fingers at your jaw, pressing into the hinge of it. they snake to your mouth, dip between your lips.

something presses on to your tongue. it's rancid. meat gone rotten mixed with the sludge of overripe fruit.

"swallow," someone urges. "swallow!"

you think you do.

something unfurls in you. it webs across the root system of your nerves; it slithers its way into your heart. it wraps around it like a fist and pulses.

your heart pumps, just once.

it does it again.

your heart kicks. stutters. then it starts again, battering against your chest like a drum.

when it settles, your heart is beating in gentle rhythm, like waves washing against the shore. you hiss in a breath. your chest is tender, a stitched wound.

you peel open your eyes.

getou is kneeling beside you. his hair is loosening from its bun; it spills over his shoulder like calligrapher's ink. gojo is at your back, his fingers sinking in to the spaces between your ribs.

they're both talking, but you can't quite hear them. getou cups your face, his hands a cradle.

"you're okay," he says, the first thing to break through your daze, a shattering of river ice. "you're okay."

something in you stirs. it has a mouth like you've never felt before, its teeth sunk into your bones.

"what did you do?" you croak.

but you already know.

—

it will take years, but one night, suguru will come to you. there will be blood spattered across his clothes, rusting into a deep brown.

"i'm leaving," he will say. "come with me."

his curse will throb within you.

you will not have a choice.

you take his hand and let him lead you out the door.

[namazunomegami]

[namazunomegami]

Seeing my colleague's jjk tattoos and with the new hidden inventory movie coming out... I hope my brainrot will come back and I can finish the 687485749 wips I have for my mass murdering maniac husband who always ends up as a yandere in my fics

[namazunomegami]

BAN ON CONVERSION PRACTICES IN THE EU. GO SIGN IT. DEADLINE IS FUCKING MAY 17. WE'RE STILL MISSING 800.000 signatures. FUCKING DO IT.

[namazunomegami]

Oh damn the Catholics have joined in on the war against AI "art".

[namazunomegami]

omg all the moodboards are so gorgeous I had to join!!

I’m a bit unsure if I should call myself emperor or empress, I do love masculine titles a lot…

Anyway behold empress Nene

can we all do an empress moodboard

thank you lamb for this idea and amira for feeding into it

this would be my dress

[namazunomegami]

Nanami and Patrick Bateman both having an office worker crash out at 27…

[namazunomegami]

a bit late 🧢

[namazunomegami]

he love his wife, also i do hehehehe

[namazunomegami]

Eastern European father Alucard cutting up apples for Seras as an apology

Post Rio canon

[namazunomegami]

FOUR HORSEMEN

[namazunomegami]

for the angel of death,the totenkopf is most becoming.(comment from Major)

but I drew a whole skeleton for Walter XD it seems cool right?😁