8:01

cell phone doesn't like water because it is a combination of the other three elements. it is a rock (earth) that we fill with lightning (fire) that can control radio waves (air). if it contained water too, it would be too perfect; it would be like a god. to prevent this, the universe kills the would be uniter-of-the-elements. it's basic science.

gojo satoru.

a freshly turned seventeen year old, with crass and violence only ever painting him—most get tired of him. because when the pretty thing opens his mouth, without you present to offer silent sympathy, it never ends well.

as the passage of time carries on, change in gojo is little, but hefty in others surrounding him; accustomed and changed befitting to survive through his moods.

but the.. curiosity (maybe even frustration from people who see him in a romantic plight) only becomes covered in layers, instead of dying down. to question his character, the incessant wonder for the reason of his friskiness.

and he’s aware— observes the dull remarks or lingering eyes with nothing more than a shrug that is a second too quick and barely noticeable pout, the jut of his lower lip acting as a childish gateway to his feelings.

in his head, taking the title as the strongest, fingertips skimming heaven, it has no setbacks.

despite his denies, his power never came without stripping something; ousting him from the realm of elysian and chaining him to humanity. giving him traits of a god but characteristics of a human.

and what they failed to give him, was a proper tongue.

in moments like these, more specifically.

finding you sitting on the engawa shrouded in shadows, while he took his usual midnight walk when sleep didn’t come.

his stomach drops without reason, yet his feet carries him towards you, sitting close enough to bump shoulders. you’ve bumped hips, shoulders and heads before, forever affectionate and familiar— this time it feels wrong. your body motionless and swayed slightly with his movement.

he clenches and unclenches his hands, staring out towards the training grounds as you are. his normal banter isn’t coming to him, and you haven’t said a word.

with a few blinks, his eyes rest on the side of your face, and he turns into a jumble of nerves and shock when he sees your eyes cloudy and a wet trail of tears left behind. tears that have been shed not long since he joined you because your skin glistens.

he gulps, hard.

and when his hand softly touches your thigh, caressing the flesh with hesitant strokes, your gaze flits on him. immediately he drops eye contact, focusing on drawing patterns on your skin as his complexion pinks with your attention. you tilt your head slightly in his direction, drinking in his attempt of comfort.

you lean on him gently, your face finding its home on his neck. the feeling of your wet eyelashes on his skin sends shivers down him. your chest rises and falls, and with each breaths he counts, the uncertainty in his touches dwindles. your lips curve upwards when you feel his arm travel across your waist, tugging you closer.

(you know the reason for his bravado. though you’ll hand it to him that it’s nothing but subtle.

articulating his emotions will never come to him easy. he will never know how to start or say it right. awkward and tense at times of vulnerability, so he resorts to puffing out his chest and making it worse, sticking with the hot headed persona.)

as he angles his head on top of yours, quiet in hopes to calm the turmoil brewing behind your eyes, you have half a mind to tell him he’s not as bad as he fears.

but for now, you like being the only one who cracks his facade.

the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” is actually not the full phrase it actually is “curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back” so don’t let anyone tell you not to be a curious little baby okay go and be interested in the world uwu

Writing challenge: Describe everything with only the most random fucking details.

"Gregory had ten unclipped fingernails and nine unclipped toenails, as a 14-year-old he had had the greatest lung capacity in his entire biology glass, and his eyes were the colour of moon dust."

"They entered a building that had been constructed from 12,9050 calcium-silicate bricks."

"Emma's dog barked at 92 decibels. He had four strong legs and no knowledge that he had an ancestor who once mauled a man to death for trying to steal a cappage."

Satoru has never gotten into your bed gently; has never sunk into the mattress without a bounce, without jostling the plush surface with an audible oof and pulling you from the depths of sleep. Never. Not once.

And tonight is no different.

It’s an impossible task for him, it seems. Like trying to breathe underwater or pick something to watch on TV. And the worst part of it all is that you know he’s doing it on purpose. No matter how hard you may try to will yourself to sleep through it or how much you may complain when he finally settles beside you, the man is unrelenting. A pain in the ass, even at one in the morning. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so damn annoying.

“Satoru,” you warn, though it’s not as threatening as you hope it would be. You blink over at him with heavy lids, tone dripping with exhaustion. “Must you do that every time you get into bed late?”

He has the audacity to think about it. “Mm, well I suppose I don’t have to,” he coos, voice low like he’s trying to lull you back to sleep. “But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t wake up my little sweetheart to give them a goodnight kiss when I got home?”

“A better one?”

Your eyes slip closed as if shutting them will make him disappear (or shut up). It doesn’t. Instead, it only serves to spur the sorcerer on. Now, Satoru crowds your space, wrapping you into a tight bundle and pulling you so close your nose squishes against his cheek.

He’s entirely scandalized by your rebuttal, gasping in your ear as if you’ve just told him the most offensive insult imaginable. “I can’t believe you’d say that about your dashing boyfriend.” As if to prove his point, Satoru pulls you away only to drag you back in to plant multiple exaggerated pecks against your cheek, a sappy muah sound accompanying each one.

They leave wet lip prints in their wake that you’re too tired to rub away. Eyes still closed, you furrow your brows, accepting your fate as you cuddle into the curve of his throat – right beneath his chin.

“My dashing boyfriend who can’t do anything quietly to save his life.”

“Hey,” he whines into your hair. “I can be quiet!”

“Oh yeah? Then let’s play the quiet game.”

You can feel him hum somewhere deep in his chest as he thinks it over. “What do I get if I win?”

Your limbs feel heavy as you rest your arm across his stomach, curling your hand around the hem of his shirt. You can only muster enough energy to mumble, “Winner gets breakfast in bed tomorrow.”

“Ooo, okay,” Satoru presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Be prepared to make me a huge stack of pancakes tomorrow, baby.”

“Mhm, fine. 

“With extra chocolate chips.”

“’kay.”

“And,” A hand ruffles your hair. “A lil extra love, maybe?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Without opening your eyes, you can tell there’s a retort brewing in Satoru’s, and you stop it before it has the chance to fill the air. “Quiet game starts now.”

The room immediately falls into silence, only broken by the soft sound of your combined breathing. Satoru’s warmth and the steady movement of his chest as he breathes — up, down, up, down — bring you right back to sleep’s door, as if Satoru hadn’t woken you up at all. Maybe the quiet game had been the answer this whole time. You kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

You nuzzle closer, nose brushing against his collar bone as you feel yourself drift off, but right before you completely fall into the clutches of exhaustion, you hear a tiny voice mumble, “Love you.”

It’s punctuated with another kiss to the crown of your head and a warm palm gliding up and down your back, and you can only bring yourself to tighten your hold on his shirt before you fall asleep.

The next morning, you awake to an empty bed and the sweet smell of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air.

AOT + JJK men as random pics i had saved on my phone

a complete shitpost while i slowly chip away at the rest of my RED (TV) event requests (^̮^) pt 2 & pt 3. hq version

EREN LMFAO, yuuji, connie

porco, JEAN, megumi, getou, yuuta

jean, porco, MEGUMI, reiner

armin, YUUTA, connie, yuuji

NANAMI, reiner, LEVI, inumaki

eren, GOJO, connie, inumaki

NOTE: if this was funny and u enjoyed pls let me know bc i was giggling and it was so easy to do LMFAO. i have so many pics like these in my saved 

I mean yeah he’s evil and all but what if I were his favourite

lol some Miami firefighter got suspended for texting this

A/N: HI! I rewrote these, because I hated them. Now you can expect a part two lol.

Synopsis: These are separate drabbles of Megumi x reader encounters where his dogs come and visit you when he’s getting it on. These are just progression encounters in an strangers to lovers timeline. I intend a part two, but here are the first five in the series.

All of the characters in this are aged up, despite still living on the campus of Jujitsu Tech. (They live in the teachers yard) I never really specify, but the readers job is to research the places sorcerers are to vacate curses from. They then hand the info over to ijich. They are called the Jujutsu Librarians.

One

Your cheeks coat in cold moist streaks. Your half asleep state chalks it up to a window left open, likely a November chill nipping your skin, but then its warm, then cold and wet. Licking.

You snake your hands around your attackers neck, pulling them into a snuggle, soft fur puffing between your fingers. You beg for five more minutes with a promise to give them all your attention at a waking hour, but as your mind begins to slip back into a blissful rest you are presented with two absolutes.

You are not home, and this is not your dog.

With a grog you have to fling yourself from a black dog leans on your side while another white on peaks at you from the foot of your bed frame. You’d ask who they belong to, but the red symbols on their foreheads tag them as Megumi’s.

The black dog weaves through your still packed suitcases hopping to your unoccupied side. You look around wondering why they could be here.

The only times you’d seen the pups was when they were hunting curses and from the look and feel of your surroundings their was none.

White dog pants onto your nose, slathering you in a slobber gooped kiss.

“oof,” you say, rubbing your nose, you voice caught between normal and sandpaper. “thanks for that, um-” you look around the shut window and door. “how did you?”

Behind your studio apartments door three knocks echo through the room pulling your and the dogs attention.

“Come in-”

Megumi peaks over the lip of the door, freshly showered hair dripping onto the rug. “hey,” His eyes find both butts of his dogs wagging at him as he steps inside. “I’m sorry about them. They uh- Tend to wander when not working.”

“it’s fine. I don’t mind the company,” you say, thinking about the millisecond of peace you felt in the animals familiarity. “My dog hasn’t yet arrived from my home country, so they’re being very comforting.”

“right um-” he holds out his hands, the dogs dissipating from reality. He goes to turn before pausing in the doorway. “you’re the new librarian, right?”

You pull your pajama shirt straight wishing this wasn’t your first official meeting of the sorcerer. “At standing yes.”

He nods. “what is your name?”

“L/N.”

“Hm,” he says, “nice to meet you L/N, sorry again about the dogs.”

Keep reading

- While the media calls it the resistance of the Ukrainian people to the Russian invasion, on the other hand, the resistance of the Palestinian people to the Israeli occupation is called terrorism.