I Haven't Seen Anyone Talk About The Fact That Alastor Canonically Calls Lucifer "Daddy"

all that glitters — gojo satoru x reader

a/n: it’s time we embrace that I am a loser who can not stick to a single decision

gojo gazed at the corpse of his friend, best friend. the shaky sigh that left his lips was inevitable.

he didn’t know if he will be able to destroy his body with his own hands and technique, so he chose to at least bury him in a secluded area. it’s only after the evening that gojo is done.

his eyes are dull, his eyes are tired, their void is dark.

the stars are not glittering.

today, he walks to the grave, looking at the stone where he carved his friend’s name. he had done this a thousand times, the only difference today is that you’re with him.

your hand in his, and your thumb stroking the back of his hand. he can’t help but let out a small sigh. you’re here at least, he thinks.

geto’s name name stares back at him; however, it’s less daunting now and he doesn’t know whether it’s the passage of time or your hand that’s grounding him.

“you okay?” you call in a soft voice. its sweetness startles him for a moment, but you don’t notice. he likes it, your voice.

after composing himself, he hums lightly as you finally come to a stop.

“was he was a good guy that succumbed to madness?” you speak up.

he shrugs, “not exactly, suguru was a great person, kinder than I am, more righteous; it’s just…” and he loses his words, they are on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know what to say exactly.

you nod in understanding, “…I think I get it…”

his eyes slowly fixate on you, and you continue talking, “you know that it’s okay to feel remorse and sadness, right?”

he nods slowly, “but I am the strongest—if I am not in my best shape and standing tall then everything falls into chaos.”

you listen closely as he continues.

“some people’s faith is only there because they know that there is someone who is called the ‘strongest’ for a valid reason and can actually back it up,” he exhales, brows furrowing as he stares at the ground.

a bitter smile makes its way to your face, “that’s true in a sense, but that, in no way, erases the fact that you’re human.”

“you feel, you love, you care and you break like anyone else,” you look at him and he turns to you, and even with the blindfold on, you know he is looking you straight in the eyes.

your hands slowly go up to cup his face and gojo holds back from leaning into your touch, “what makes someone strong isn’t their inability to feel sadness, but the ability to feel it and then recover from it,” you pause and stroke his face, “you, satoru, have done that and you’ve proven to the world that you’re the strongest in more ways than one.”

he chuckles lightly, but it’s empty, “not all people think like you, y/n.”

“that’s because they’re blind,” you sharply respond making him smile slightly, “plus, you’re much more than the ‘strongest sorcerer’ to me and to a lot of people.”

“oh yeah?” he quips, anticipating your response and you nod with confidence.

“to some, you’re their mentor and their guidance, to others, you’re an irreplaceable friend and presence, and to me, you’re my husband and the love of my life,” you feel his hands come to rest on your hips and your husband can’t help but press a kiss to your palm.

he takes a breath, “sometimes I wonder just what did I do to deserve someone like you.”

you rest your forehead on his and smile, “well, fate just decided to put us together; who are we to say no?”

night has fallen, both in the sky and his eyes. both have stars that fill their canvas, but, for once, the stars in satoru’s eyes glitter and shine brighter than the ones in the sky.

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The Sound of Being Loved

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Possibly OOC. I'm posting this at like 12am and I am so tired sleepy but I needed to finish this Or Else

Warnings: some hurt/comfort, talk about The Scar™️

Word Count: 737

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion let out a stiff breath as your fingers brushed over the scar. The poem. The sigil. Whatever it was Cazador'd carved into his back.

You'd asked him about it before. He'd answer curtly and bitterly - as he’d always done when his master was the subject of conversation. But that was so long ago now. At least, it felt quite long ago. He couldn't really be sure. All he knew was things were finally dying down and becoming normal. As normal as things could be, anyway. And you couldn't stop yourself from asking again.

That's how you ended up straddling his thighs as he laid chest-down on the bed.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," you reminded him softly. You kept repeating the phrase when he tensed beneath your fingers, or got that quiet, distant aura about him.

He hummed, turning his head to peek over his shoulder at you. He offered the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go on," he encouraged. "He's dead - it doesn't matter anymore."

You tilted your head. Sharp eyes studied him, searching for any hint of a lie. He sighed quietly as your hand massaged the back of his neck. "But it still happened," you said, "you still hate it."

He smirked, but his quiet voice gave away the false confidence. "You know me too well, darling."

"Yes," you leaned down to kiss his cheek, "I do." He turned his head slightly more to catch your lips for a momentary kiss. Your lips hovered over his, eyes boring into his soul, searching. "I can stop."

"No. Please. I... I want you to know every part of me. I trust you."

You kissed him once more, languid and sweet, before sitting back up. He closed his eyes and tried to relax under your fingers. They danced across his back, tracing each line in their circular pattern. One hand slid to his waist to thumb circles into his side. He wondered why for a moment. Surely it would be easier to feel each infernal letter with both hands? Then he realized: it was a distraction. You were giving him something to focus on while you studied his back. His undead heart stuttered in his chest.

“I could translate it,” you whisper. It’s a gentle offer. “If you wanted to know what it says.”

Cazador is dead, he reminds himself. Whatever the bastard carved into his skin, it shouldn’t hold so much power over him anymore. But the thought of knowing exactly what was written there… His lips pursed.

You pressed a kiss to his spine, in between the circles of text. He lets out a breath. “No. Let it die with him.”

You’re quiet as you go back to tracing. He wonders if you’re translating it in your mind. He… doesn’t mind the thought - not as much as he thought he would. He trusts you, enough to know you would take the words to your grave. They would never be used against him, held over him as leverage. They’d just sit in a corner of your mind and collect dust, until their meaning is lost forever. He doesn’t mind that at all.

Once you’ve felt all of the letters, your hand traces the circles themselves. Starting right at the center, you go out ring by ring. Where scarred lines branch off, you ghost your touch up and down the ridges. There are several at the bottom of the scar. It almost looks like dripping wax, sealed into his skin forever. Imagining what it was like hurts too much.

He peeks over his shoulder again as he feels your hands, full, flat-palmed on his skin, sliding over his sides. You lay on top of him, sliding your arms around him, squished between his stomach and the bed. You’re so warm. Your head rests between his shoulder blades, breaths sliding across his back and shoulders like a warm summer breeze. His body fully relaxed into the affection. All tension faded away, and he allowed his eyes to close in the comfort.

“I love you,” you hum near his ear. “My beautiful star.”

Astarion smiles. “I love you, too. My dearest blood donor.” He relishes in the way you laugh against him, full and bright and free. And he hopes, when he’s lived for centuries more, and loses the spark of life in his eye, he remembers exactly how it sounds to be loved.

(through gritted teeth) sometimes what's good for your mental health isn't another do nothing day or a little treat sometimes what's good for you is putting in some of the work. Not all of it at once but sometimes you have to finish that essay or at least take the next step or you have to clean your room or at least dust the shelves or you gotta do the laundry or at least put it all in the hamper and it's not fun and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks and it sucks but you have to because i read a post on the internet that told me that's what being nice to yourself is sometimes

Missin’ You

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader Fix-It Fic)

Summary: You’d come back to your hometown from nursing school for one week. Just for spring break. It was one goddamn week. Why, oh why, did things always have to go to shit so quickly around here?

And why was Steve Harrington falling out of the ceiling with a body tied to his back?

Contents: Eddie/Reader, graphic gore/injuries, canon fix-it

Word Count: 3.8k

Song Inspiration: X

Keep reading

"Look into the mirror, but make sure you look deeply. Your reflection is the only thing you can not hide from."

Alastor in the last episode be like:

and then.... "this place reeks of death, there's a chill in the air-"

btw I used this as reference

some more incorrect quotes