Reader dragging Sukuna to play hear me out cake after seeing a tiktok video. And made prepare all the pics n shit. And these were wild, from cartoon animals to models and anime. and then the reader finally, at the last one, drops Toji, and runs out before kuna can catch-
no, but listen.
this is literally 100% something reader would do and i just know he'd be so miserable the entire time and just go 'really?' every 10 seconds. imagine the side-eye. and if reader dropped toji, he'd fucking lose it. omfg
was i planning on focusing on the right of rule today? yes. will i write this one instead? probably
thank you anon <3 this is amazing, i have a new mission in life now.
edit: guys, would love to hear your ideas on who to put on that cake to piss off sukuna!!
Maybe a drabble where Katsuki (and the rest of 1-A) is invited to EraserMic's wedding after the war, because after everything that happened, they don't want to put it off any more.
And Katsuki is introspective about it, because there they are, two adult male heroes, getting married to each other. While the wedding is a private affair, and you know Aizawa hates the press and wouldn't let them anywhere near their big day, it IS public knowledge.
And Katsuki, long suffering a deep devotion to Izuku (and realizing what that actaully means, ie, he's in LOVE with the idiot) and several months into funding and designing that passion project of his, can't help but secretly be heartened by seeing a Queer romantic couple of widely known and loved Heroes be recognized and accepted in the Hero space.
Not that he'd ever be apologetic about his feelings for Izuku, or his own Queerness, but Katsuki finds comfort in seeing Eraser and Mic so happy, smiling at each other in that way, as if they can finally be open.
He looks at Izuku, finding the nerd beaming brightly at their teachers' happiness, and imagines one day, that he could be that happy with Izuku, and they could gather in front of all their loved ones. And the Hero World would welcome them too.
wc: 0.3 K
summary: You and Simon work together. He brings dead souls to you, you give them a new life. A constant cycle of life and death. But what happens if an angel loses its wing?
warnings: angst/no comfort, no y/n used, religious themes, graphic descriptions
a/n: got this idea on a random wednesday from a random picture I saw and here it is. Keep in mind, this is just a concept idea for now. Enjoy!!
Rosy blood mixes up at the shore near you. The usual, crystal-clear sand is getting dirty from your mess. A mess you can‘t control.
Your once clean and peaceful working area turned upside down; clouds dark with a hard stench of iron and stark wind.
Finally, you manage to catch your breath, only able to hear your shallow and slow breaths that are painful to intake. The once favoured place of yours got destroyed after one mistake. The dead souls you give a new life to are supposed to never sin once they return to earth.
The demon you work with hasn‘t visited you yet. But you find yourself wishing he‘d be here. Your wing, that got ripped off without batting an eye, still lays somewhere around your area. The once white feathers now a dirty grey with hints of blood droplets. You skin at your back, once clean and smooth, now decorated with a large scar where your right wing once was.
It feels like it stopped bleeding; not sure if that‘s a good sign or not.
A soft sound of someone walking through sand interrupts your racing thoughts, making you flinch. You turn your body around with effort, hissing when your back muscles flex and tense from the movement.
Ghost, already weary of the situation, stops in his tracks, taking in the scene before him again. And again, he tries to process the pure gore he sees before him. Your eyes wide, scared; face falling into shadows, destroying your once innocent appearance.
Tucking away the dead soul he carries in a small sack of pearls, he strides over, hopeful he isn‘t too late.
You feel his strong hand cup your face, falling into his touch suddenly. Everything feels heavy and unfamiliar, taking every muscle and vein to stay awake. Maybe the blood that flowed from your back was too much. Maybe you are finally dying again. And your trusted demon has to take your soul instead of watching your hands form another life for someone else.
HOW DARE YOU STAB ME IN THE GUT THE IDEA OF VAGGIE BEING MORTAL!
SO RUDE!
But at the same time just... thinking about vaggie wanting to grow old with charlie. that sort of show of *trust*, of being vulnerable with charlie in a way no one's been with her before.
and it probably takes some more conversations, but... I want to hope that charlie eventually understands just what vaggie means when she wants to spend the rest of her days with charlie. and how much meaning that carries when those days are *finite*...
MY POOR HEART HOW DARE YOU
well this almost turned into a fic now didn't it? hm. whoops
(had Reinaeiry's song "Left Behind" on repeat for this ^w^;)
.... a new sinner comes to the hotel, sometime After.
they came in past the giant golden Dazzle statue out front, creep through the foyer, tense and ready for a trap, spot Sir Pentious's portrait- and the matching one, hanging up next to it
(fresh flowers sitting in vases under them both)
it's a picture of a woman. Steel grey skin, faded angel wings, a missing eye- deep laugh lines at the corners of the eye she has left
she's leaning back in a chair, sitting casually in her hotel manager uniform, her thin smile a little crooked and a little sharp- definitely someone used to having problems and finding solutions. Not someone to mess with. The walking stick in one hand is held more like a weapon
there's a wedding band on her finger, on full display she reaches up to cover the hand resting on her shoulder
(rest of that person out of sight) (hand clawed and pale as porcelain, cuff of a red suit bleeding out of frame)
and it's odd to see someone else sharing a memorial picture-
(more than one person had died a little, that day)
-but more odd than that is the way looking at the picture makes the sinner frown.
they're still frowning when the hotel founder wanders over
(done arranging for a new room) (doing double duty as hotel manager) (laughed it off earlier- hasn't yet found the time to put up a job openings ad) (a bad liar)
and she's a lanky, tall demon in a red suit, looking more like a living doll than a princess of hell, proper demon image only hinted at with the claws and the fangs
she shows off the fangs when she smiles at the portrait of the woman- then, belatedly, at the new hotel guest
(still their hotel) (still their new guest) (even After...)
she asks,
"Like them?" and smiles a little wider (wider than a human could) (a little forced now) "They're, pretty cool pictures, huh?"
the new guest hums noncommittally. Still frowning
a laugh from the demon standing next to them, clasping her hands, spinning ring on one finger-
"I guess it's harder to know how good a picture it is, if you've never met the person in it." a hard swallow. "She would've.... really liked to have be here. To meet you."
"Not sure I'd want to meet her," a quip, thoughtless, not looking over. "Kinda a scary lady."
the demon's stricken look "-does she look scary?"
a casual shrug. "Just a feeling. Seems like she meant business."
"She did..." fangs biting into lips, smile gone, shoulders slumping, the demon caving inwards. "....but not like that. She, she was scary for people she loved- and kind. And thoughtful and-"
"What about him?" pointing at Sir Pentious in full battle gear, egg boyz everywhere.
the demon's very weak attempt at a smile. "Oh, you'll see him around eventually. He comes down to visit when he can, and likes calling a lot in between."
eyebrows lifting. Realizing. "He's the one who made it to heaven?"
"He is. He-"
"But not her?"
"...."
tall frame hunching, horns out now, dark marks bleeding down pale cheeks like burnt tears. A tail lashing silently behind her.
the demon breathes carefully. Gingerly.
"She... wasn't here to be saved. Not like- not like that."
"Huh."
a dubious, suspicious noise- the hotel is still a new idea even after all these years- a brand new addition to the fabric of creation with a lot of trust issues still to iron out.
"So what happened?" the sinner prods, watching carefully out of the corner of one eye. "Why's her picture up there with his?"
that gets a smile again, strangely.
a tearful one and a thickness in the demon's voice, but still a smile as she steps forward, reaching up to the portrait frame- touching it, lightly, with a pale, clawed hand that matches the one resting on the painted woman's shoulder.
"...they both gave their lives to their friends."
the demon whispers, still smiling.
"They made their home here, in the hotel, with us, and... and they'll always still be here. They'll never. Really leave-"
the words cut off and the sinner shuffles awkwardly in the silence
staring up at the portrait together, one frowning sinner-
-one hell princess slowly leaning against the woman's gilded frame, forehead butting it desperately, clearly trying hard not to cry in front of the first new guest
(that she's had to greet on her own)
finally the sinner speaks up (uncomfortable with pity) (a dangerous, weak thing to feel in hell) scowling hard at the woman's portrait, demanding-
"Where's her spear?"
the demon turns, wet faced, surprised. "Oh- she didn't want..." Blinks. "Her. Spear?"
"The cane thing looks stupid." crossed arms, a judgmental eye. head tilted to the left like bird, like the right eye was better at looking at things- "It's just a stick. How's she supposed to deal with stuff with just a flimsy piece of crap like that? The thing doesn't even have a blade."
"It had one." murmurs the demon, still shocked. Slowly straightening. "It had, hidden inside, there was a blade- Niffty made it for-"
the demon stops. Frowns.
"But. You didn't know her. The spear... How did you know about the-"
another shrug. "Just vibes."
"Vibes-?"
"She looks like a spear kinda girl."
a flex of the sinner's empty hand, gripping empty air, glaring up at the cane in the woman's hand-
"Just seems right, you know? Better than the stupid twig stick."
the demon eyes flicking down to watch, staring. "...she called her cane that, too."
a faint comment drifting up like the ghost of years gone by.
snorting, the sinner turns away. "I bet." eyes the rest of the hotel with hands on hips, critical and on edge with that stare still burning between tense shoulder blades. "So where's my turf in this place? I'm guessing I don't have to fight for it first, right?"
"Room 12, second floor." many times rehearsed words finally popping out without thought. "Key's on the front desk. I'll show you up-"
"Don't bother." sinner already striding off, clearly glad to get away. "I won't kill anyone on the way there, don't worry."
"I wasn't.... that's not why I..."
there's something. Something about that brisk, focused way of walking. Something in the set of those shoulders-
(like a military march) (like the shoulders are braced for wings that aren't there)
(like the sinner should be carrying a spear-)
Charlie lurches forward.
"-Vaggie?"
heart in her throat, fist in her chest, frozen as the sinner pauses at the foot of the main stairs and looks back.
something in that strange face softens. (pity?) (something else...?)
"... not my name, sweetie."
the sinner's smile is crooked. unscarred eyes understanding, and sad.
"She your wife?"
no past tense. just the gaping whole in Charlie- ripped open fresh, thundering and bleeding under her shirt as she stares and stares and tries to see- "Yes." seeing ghosts where there aren't any. "We. For, for so many wonderful years..."
the crooked smile soft as well as sad now, as the sinner thumbs the room key and takes a moment, looking back up at the portrait above Charlie.
"Good for her."
a touch bitter- a sigh, sharp. Pained.
"And, you. Some of us.. never even find who we were looking for, before we lose our chance at having a life with them."
turning and gone in the next second, before anything else slips out. The glint in suddenly exhausted eyes-
Charlie, standing under Vaggie's portrait, slowly starting to shake.
Not this-
"-no."
Slowly backing up against the wall. Claws reaching out, sinking in, ruining wallpaper as the world tilts and turns and Charlie braces her weak knees against the fall.
"-it's not. It's not."
It can't be. The side of the bed that wasn't Charlie's even when she woke up curled up in it- that was real. The dusty spear propped in a corner of their room that Charlie hadn't put there and didn't want there and couldn't bring herself to move- THAT was real.
The portrait behind her, painted when the limp and her balance first started getting bad, when Vaggie still called her cane a 'stupid twig stick' but wouldn't pretend she didn't need it, wouldn't swap it for her spear when Charlie had offered, carried proudly anyway and smirked about smacking ankles when people annoyed her... mostly just thumbed it thoughtfully, when she thought Charlie wasn't looking, smiling that crooked wondering smile- THAT had been- that was-
Charlie could turn around right now and see all of it memorialized behind her (always behind her now) (always in the past, being left further behind).
Charlie had NOT seen, anything else. Because nothing else could BE real.
nothing as real as long limbs folding in, crumping under that damn framed picture, ignoring Husk's worried look from the bar. Husk, glancing up after the new guest, also frowning now-
Charlie and the old habit of hugging herself tightly back together, something not even a lifetime with Vaggie had ever fully broke her out of.
(only ONE lifetime) (not hers)
(her stupid deal hadn't worked in the end) (promise broken for nothing) (Vaggie had died)
(she can't be-)
She can't do this again.
.....
exact words are a bitch sometimes
"Don't let me die without her." (never said- and make sure she doesn't have to live and die alone either, without me)
steve spending so much time at the trailer, even if eddie isnt there, that when steve isnt there for a couple days wayne asks eddie where hes at & when eddie says steve's at home (for whatever reason, maybe his parents are home for once & demanded he come home)
but wayne says "home? wym? i just assumed he lives here now "
Marv and harry robbing some guys home, and Marv finding an old photo of himself and some old friends and every single buried memory comes flooding back--
Harry goes over to see wtf he's doing cause he's just standing there staring at the photo, asking if he's seen a ghost or something--
Harry hears a car pull up and tells Marv they gotta go, but Marv is still tryna process some things, and while Harry rushes out the back he notices Marv isn't behind him-- and the back door automatically locks so he goes to try and open a window to go get the dumb bastard-- but before he can get it open the front door opens--
He ducks down while Marv turns.
"Mike?".
Mike stands there confused as hell. "Who the hell are you?-- what the FUCK are you doing in my house?--". But before he can go and beat this intruders ass, Marv holds up his hands, showing the photo, and Mike stops in his tracks, blinking in confusion and looking to the photo--
"...Cyril?".
Harry meanwhile is listening in, and is confused by this new name.
I just had a thought about how heaven must have a special place for the person who invented cheese which led to me wondering if there's a special place for anyone who invented a thing that led to so much joy. Things like food, technology, art, etiquette even (complimenting each other's outfits)
Which then brought me to wondering what happens to those who meant to do good but it led to suffering.
And then all this brought me to a story idea of two people in the afterlife where one is always praised and respected for their invention/actions that led to so much joy and helped so many, while the other is shunned, ignored, or badmouthed about because of all the suffering and pain that their invention/actions led to even though they did it to help others
Fresh out of law school (or any university degree) a character lying to his parents about being engaged, and having to come up with a fiancée before he heads home for three weeks
That character taking his a mutual friend’s ex-girlfriend back home to act as his fake fiancée but secretly being madly in love with her for two years—possessively and protectively drawn to her
That same fiancée ends up going for a night out with the character’s sister and ends up getting hurt after trying to rebuff a drunk man’s flirting
Him showing up to the bar to take her home and fix up her ankle after she twists/sprains it
Before the week is out, he is already planning to never let her go once he gets her and has every intention to marry her before the three weeks is out.
