You ever think about dad Wyll and cry
Does it need saying?
play wresting — gojo satoru.
(Warning for mild not sfw implications)
“So this is it, then? I’ve finally… finally been bested.”
From this vantage point, you tower over a certain melodramatic man, whose long limbs cover the king sized bed at awkward angles. His soft, snowy hair blends in with the stark white comforter. He tries lifting himself up, but his arms buckle from the exertion of such a physically demanding act. The feigned helplessness comes close to breaking your composure.
“Humor a dying man’s final request,” Gojo rasps. “Did you ever love me? Or were you just after the money and status all along?”
The term money and status reverberates in your head, taking you back to the rumors whispered behind closed doors by those opposed to your engagement. Gojo, being the person he is, delighted in playing into your supposed alternative motives whenever a ‘well-intentioned’ member of the more conservative factions tried tipping him off.
“Babe? Did you hear that?” He had called you over once, a hand to his chest, as if he’d learned the most scandalous news. “This man here said you’re only after my assets. Is this true? I thought for sure it was my devastatingly good looks and charm that won you over.”
(The face of the man in question went beet red over how loud Gojo spoke these words. Unsurprisingly, he slunk off at the earliest opportunity).
You try assuming your role as the indifferent black widow here, looking down your nose at him. “Nope. I’ve been biding my time all these years.”
You’re not sure what spurred him on to flex his acting muscles. When you entered the room, you were overcome with the urge to tackle him onto the bed. You’ve both loved roughhousing each other since you were in high school. Given the sheer, unfathomable extent of Gojo’s abilities, he was perfectly capable of dodging you or standing firm against your attempts. Alas, those two options must not have interested him.
And so he’s writhing in faux agony, putting on a show, as he is wont to do.
“Do I get any final requests?”
“Hm,” you hum, fighting how desperately your lips wish to curl into a smile, “That depends. What is it?”
Whatever he murmurs next is unintelligible.
Curious, you step forward, urging him to repeat himself. He does. Despite speaking slightly louder, the syllables and consonants blur together, spoken in such rapid succession that your brain can’t piece it together. You draw close enough for your knees to hit the side of the bed. Whatever he’s planning, this must be the grand finale.
This time, you understand him perfectly fine. You don’t know whether you should laugh or roll your eyes. Perhaps both.
“Let me hit it, just one more time,” Gojo says these words as if in actual pain, successfully melting your apathetic facade.
You can feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves over the fact you broke first. Not willing to accept total defeat, you huff and pivot on your heels. You can feel his eyes boring into your back as you saunter toward the door. You answer the question that’s undoubtedly burning his tongue before he can speak it.
“Consider your request denied. I need to start searching for my next rich husband — time is of the essence.”
You gape as the once open door is now shut, faster than you could blink. In front of it is your apparently resuscitated Gojo Satoru, who acts as a human barricade. He extends his long arms out to ensure you’re not going anywhere. His grin is all teeth and his brilliant blue eyes gleam.
“Sorry babe, this rich husband’s still alive and kicking. Better luck next time.”
She's digging graves and you can come too if you need something buried ^_^
Grian: Acting so normal about my crush
Scar: You have a crush??
Grian: DO NOT COME CLOSER
I’ve been thinking about how often we see stories about people getting out of an awful situation and being surrounded with support and care and getting to move on and recover.
But what if they don’t. They’ve spent god knows how long in their own personal hell, captivity, torture, isolation. For what felt like an eternity, they held onto the idea of finally being freed, rescued, released. And one day it just happens. Political pressure, a hostage exchange, a rescue. Whatever happens, one day they’re just free.
But they come home and everything’s different. They never had a huge network to begin with, and now the people who still care just don’t know how to deal with them and their trauma. It’s all too much. They’re not the person they used to be, the person their friends used to love.
Sure, they’ve been given medical treatment for their obvious wounds but the doctors just don’t seem to understand them when they say that there’s a pain that never quite goes away. They’ve had the mandatory counselling, but the therapist’s empty platitudes made them feel all the more disconnected from their reality.
For so long, they waited for this. But now it feels like their past is an impossible weight on their chest, never letting them move forward. People tell them that they have their future ahead of them, but they can’t help but wonder if they should have just died there.
Subarashii chinchin mono
Kintama no kami aru
Sore no oto, sarubobo?
Iie! Ninja ga imasu
Hey hey let's go! Kenka suru
Taisetsu na mono wo protect my balls
Boku ga warui so let's fighting
Let's fighting love
Let's fighting love! ٩( ᐛ )و
oh boy... i made this comic for a week before game awards cause i was SURE that pizza tower would win. and right after i woke up, i find out that it LOST... however, let's not forget that the nomination was already a big success. pizza tower has already won in our hearts. we love you mcpig.
Sometimes people read bsd like it is a romance novel centered on their favorite pairing and it shows.
Not me trying to make my own dlc content 💀
Dude just put em in festive sweaters and i will buy that shit, hey Activision are you lis-
Do you have a tutorial for the denim choker and/or the bat keyholder you made?? They're so cool :0
a tutorial on how to make chokers from some old pants!!
you will need:
-some old jeans
-strong thread, for these i used emboidery thread
-spikes and/or other decorative stuff you wanna put on the choker
-seam ripper or small scissors
first get your pair of pants, and cut of the waistband. you can remove the belt hoops with seamrippers (or keep em and sew them on as extra decoration) i always use the part with the buttonhole, it saves on sewing
the band should be a large enough to wrap around your neck plus some extra space
measure and draw on where your button will be placed (on the end where the buttonhole is not) then about 5cm from there, make a small cut in the band and fold the ends in, press together and sew closed. there should be around 2-3 cm of band left next to where youre gonna attach the button (where i drew the white line)
time to gut em!! open the seams on one side (not fully till the ends) and attach your spikes, this prevents the point or screws from pressing/poking into your skin. (i made this part the next day hence the lighting change)
sew em back up and attach your button
i added an eyelet so i could attach charms to the choker, but you can also attach chains, soda tabs, embroidery or whatever on there. after that youre done! you can also use this exact method to make cuffs, just make the band shorter.
this came to me in a vision
play fighting — chrollo lucilfer.
Hot cocoa is a staple when cooler weather starts setting in.
By your reckoning, it could find a place on every tier of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. A warm, decadent cup with wisps of steam rising from the swirling surface. This mouthwatering mental image is what led you to the kitchenette. Dutifully following the package’s instructions, you rip into the chocolatey package by the serrated edge and get to work.
All the while, a pair of inquisitive eyes track your every movement. You can’t imagine why the sight of you in fluffy pajamas pulling milk from the fridge has Chrollo’s rapt attention. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping on his own concoction. Earl gray tea, if the scent is of any indication.
Your masterpiece is almost complete. Now, for the finishing touch — marshmallows.
Alas. You’ve encountered a problem. The marshmallows are stored in a cabinet that evades your reach. To make matters worse, Chrollo has perched himself right where you’d need to climb up. Should you list clairvoyance among his many capabilities? Logically, you know that feat eludes him, but your suspicions remain.
“Is something the matter, dear?”
Ah, you forgot that you’ve been silently squinting at him while the gears in your head spin. Round and round they go, never producing a viable solution.
“No, not at all,” you dismiss. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he takes another sip of his drink. You can see it in his eyes, that ‘oh, really?’ look. You don’t appreciate that look, for you receive it often, thanks to your shenanigans.
“Your drink’s getting cold,” he points out.
Very astute of him.
The way you see it, this can go a few ways. One, you could ask for his help in procuring your garnish. You could, but… he regards you with such bemusement, finding pleasure in every little thing you do. You’re tired of the court jester role. Asking him for something almost always guarantees that you’ll be putting on a metaphorical cap and bells.
So you cling to your pride. You stand close enough for your shoulder to brush against his, as your target necessitates such sacrifice. Straining while on your tiptoes, your fingertips brush against the damnable cabinet handle, gold and mocking. Vigilant as your efforts are, they’re ultimately fruitless. Your prize remains just out of reach.
Huffing, you turn to face Chrollo, who has no right to look as innocent as he does.
“Could you…” you trail off and shoo him with your hands. You hope that gets the message across.
“Can I ask why? I feel perfectly content here.”
Of course he does.
You’re unsure what spurs on your next action. Pettiness? Irritation? Righteous anger? Who knows. You rest both your palms flat against his bicep and push, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle, which, in truth, is a fitting description. He doesn’t so much as budge. The full weight of your body and strength combined amounts to nothing. You can’t comprehend how hard his muscles feel beneath his shirt, it’s like you’re touching a wall.
Although it’s quiet, you hear it. A breathy chuckle escapes his lips.
Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as you go from your nice, secure spot on the floor to being lifted high. Two large hands settle right above your hips, holding you in place. Your reflexes kick in and you squirm. Fortunately, Chrollo’s grasp doesn’t falter. You realize what he’s getting at and make quick work of opening the cabinet and getting your stupid marshmallows. He brings you down. You only relax when your soles touch solid ground.
Chrollo gives your hips a playful squeeze.
“Try again,” he whispers near your ear.
You want nothing more than to scamper off, but his body envelops you, cutting off any escape. You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, clutching a bag of marshmallows, your Hello Kitty slippers askew.
Life certainly has its challenges.
Should you start with elbowing him or stomping down on his feet…?
An old marcanne sketch I forgor to post
the tv girl-ification of terukane…