Rb To Stare At A Mutual Like This:

Flower Pot with Pink Polkadots

I was very, very, very young when mom divorced my bio-dad. Even though the man I call dad now is a ball of negativity, I still love him for being my dad when the bio gave up paternal rights.

WHY are some parents like “ooo we hate each other but we’re staying together for the kids” no no NO you’re fucking fighting and screaming at each other every day you’re traumatizing that fucking kid and making it worse

sukuna core <3

kentoangel -> chositooo ❤︎ i moved blogs ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ᗜ^)

I carry a lot of stuff 😅

come do the "would you sit next to me" picrews i found on twitter (and tumblr) with me!!

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1873485

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/230275

(no pressure) tagging: @kazemiya @ainescribe @thalaglia @dustofthedailylife @venusflwers @kaeffeinee @soleillunne @manager-of-the-pudding-bank @catcze @euniveve @snobwaffles @haliyamori @jingyuansbird @faesther @oveloof @heiayen @akiayama @https-furina @achy-boo @zhongrin @twanette @vennnnn-diagram @mhiieee @realkavehgf @yinyinggie ++ everyone else who wants to do it!! if you see this you're automatically tagged. no pressure though hehe

please vampire gojo please one chance plsssplslsppsl on e chance

Reblog if you honestly have NEVER sent anon hate.

It pains me that only 14,000 people can honestly reblog this

The next time they tell you Americans are “happy” with their employer provided health insurance remember that that “happiness” is fueled by willful ignorance of what the alternatives are really like and fear of losing what little crappy health care they currently have.

cw ✩ ˖  ݁ . domestic abuse (reader is married). zombie apocalypse au. mentions of blood + bruises. violence. death

you and sukuna ryomen had spoken twice before all hell broke loose.

the first time was in front of the elevators — you held an ice pack to your bruised eye, gentle smile on your face despite your predicament as you softly waved at his kid brother, who smiled wide at you, one of his front teeth missing.

“what happened to your face, miss?”

he had smacked him ever so lightly on the back of his head, caused him to yelp out an ouchie, ‘kuna!

“you don’t ask ladies that, brat.”

but your smile had grown, happy to have a conversation. “it’s okay,” you had told them, looking from the tall stranger then to his child. “i’m just really clumsy. i ran into a door.”

the elevator dinged and sukuna ryomen had a feeling you were lying.

the second time was on the roof of the apartment building, late into the night, no adorable toothless kid in sight. your lip was busted that time around.

he was on his second cigarette when you popped up.

“want one?” he inhaled, savored the smoke, exhaled.

“no, thank you. my husband isn’t a fan of the smell — so i should probably leave.” you had laughed, every bit melancholic and unsure.

he figured out the reason of your bruised eye and bloody lip that night.

without hesitation, he dropped the remaining half of his cigarette and stepped on it with his boot.

you were a little dazed, stuck in place.

to have a stranger do something kind for you.

“is,” you cleared your throat almost awkwardly, “is your son already asleep?”

“he’s my brother,” he had shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, let out a puff of winter air. “his name’s yuuji. i’m sukuna. we live in 104.”

you had told him your name. apartment 107. the fact you only —

“don’t take care of that kid. what’s he to you?”

your husband sits across from you a few feet away, elbows resting on his knees, bottle of beer in hand.

you sit next to a sleeping yuuji, hand brushing his pink hair away from his face — you had made sure to clean all the grime from his chubby cheeks with a baby wipe. had fed him a portion of your food. had put him to sleep as his older brother looked for supplies on the upper floors.

“he doesn’t have to be anything of me. he’s a child that needs to be taken care of.”

your husband tsks and stands, throws his beer bottle to the side, makes you wince.

“don’t,” he grabs your forearm roughly, makes you stand up. “take care of the fuckin’ kid.”

you grit your teeth. “don’t touch me.”

your husband laughs before sukuna ryomen appears — grabs him by the collar of his shirt and drags him away from the room on the first floor you started occupying after the infection spread.

he throws your husband on the ground rather roughly, straddles him and throws a nasty punch to the side of his face — another to his nose, mouth, the other side of his head. then, he looses coordination and punches aimlessly — until your husband’s face is disfigured and gushing blood.

“didn’t you fucking hear her, scum?”

you stare with your mouth agape, tears brimming your eyes as you watch sukuna’s grey shirt get stained red.

when he’s done, he turns to you.

you can’t help but to see him as a knight. a savior.

“thank you,” you throw yourself into his arms, sob uncontrollably into his chest. wrap your arms around his body tightly. “thank you, sukuna.”

his hesitancy is palpable, until he slowly wraps his arms around you. mouth dry, knuckles busted and aching as his adrenaline subsides. as he’s wrapped in a blanket of comfort. softness. the faint smell of you.

he swallows and the truth hits his stomach — he’s willing to do anything for you.

ⓘ You can Bite your Friends.