#Holy shit THAT'S my biggest problem right now?

[mandareeboo]

Hey I know this is gonna be corny and shit but like. Thank you guys again for the money you all donated while mom and I were struggling. You kept us fed and sheltered in the wake of my dad shuffling off the mortal coil.

Think about that! You guys kept me off the streets. Even something as small as a commission- twenty dollars got us food for the night. We ate a lot of ramen and chicken but it was food. You guys got us food! One donation literally paid my rent for the month. Someone out there gave me a house, and it wasn't that fucking rental company.

I can never repay you all enough for keeping us going to where we are now, where I can have first-world problems like running out of weed. Thank you.

[exopelagic]

this election feels so hollow even though it’s likely ostensibly gonna be a good outcome. labour really just sucks fucking ass rn huh

[sinning-23]

Hot Tatted Uncles (Uncle!SukunaAu X Teacher!Reader)

I’ve fallen victim to the unkuna/uncle sukuna au so HAVE THIS

PART 2 UP NOW!!! <------- Click the link here!

_____________________________________________________

“My uncle be fighting people.” Yuji hums, your gaze immediately shooting to the toddler.

“O-Oh really?” You gulp, knowing kids say the wildest things but after you’re first encounter with the pink-hair boy's uncle, you would put it past him.

“Yeah, he. He told me uh-um-.” The boy sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, to which you sigh and directed him to the sink as he continues his story

“Uh- he told me that he beat up this guy and he- uh he won and that the guy lost.”

You fight the urge to laugh, his sentence seeming so long and incomplete. Typical toddler.

“Well we don’t fight our friends right Yuji? You be good and keep your hands to yourself?” You encourage, ruffling the boy's hair as he smiles, one of the fronts missing.

“Yeah! We use nice hands.” Yuji repeats, leaving you with your thoughts as he grabs ahold of a car to play with.

Why would you tell a 2-year-old you beat someone up?! You sigh, scrolling through your contacts, making a note to speak with his father, even though the boy hadn't done anything, it's still concerning that he might feel as if that’s okay since his uncle does it.

It’s quiet for a moment, your other three students Nobara, Megumi, and Mahito playing together….and then it happens.

WHAM!

A still silence falls over the room and soon a roar of cries as Mahito holds the top of his head. In all honestly the child was a problem so whatever he did to get smacked over the head with a wooden block was probably warranted. But the bigger problem was that you biggest fear had come to fruition. Yuji, had hit and essentially started to fight with another child, as Mahito had hit him back. You’d definitely need to speak to his father now.

The rest of the children had gone home now, Yuji being your last child as you closed your classroom down. Your class usually ended around 6:00 and it was pushing 6:15 now. Just as you were about to make your courtesy call, the door opened with the jingle of keys and a throaty chuckle.

"Look at you, giving your teacher a hard time?" The tatted male asks, scooping up a giggling Yuji with a toothy grin. You, however, were far from pleased, giving a tight-lipped smile as he just barely glances your way.

"Hi, I'm Miss Y/n, Yuji's teacher." You announce, taking a tissue to wipe Yuji's nose one last time before he left.

"Uh huh," He responds, grimacing as you wipe the snot away.

"So, Yuji had a pretty good day today, but I did have to have a chat with him about..fighting and hitting other friends." You explain, feeling smaller under his sharp gaze. His face is tatted too, the thick dark lines running along his nose, cheeks, and jawline.

"You in here beatin people up?" He states sharply at the boy who only nods with a smile.

"Yeah! Like how you said you beat everyone up!" Yuji admits ith joy and his Uncle's face falls.

"Yes so, before Yuji hit the other child he told me that you...fight people and I told him that we use our nice hands. But right after that, he had-" "Hit another kid. The parents mad?" He asks, a bit troubled now, most likely mentally cursing himself for kinda causing this whole debacle. \

"W-well I can't really disclose that. The point is, please just chat with him and hopefully, he can learn that's not okay." You explain, feeling a bit more relieved since the convo went smoother than usual. And part of you was a little... flustered with how seriously he was looking at you. You couldn't help but look at his tatted and flexed arm as he moved Yuji to sit on his shoulders.

"Yeah, well, here have my number so if anything else happens and I'm picking up you can just let me know." He hums, pulling his phone skillfully from his sweatpants pocket and

Holy shit...

You think to yourself, seeing the print just faintly. You swallow, taking the divide and inputting yoi contact.

The pair leaves, Your heart trobbbing as you take a breath. Being any type of romantically involved with your students' parents was highly unprofessional...but the rules never said anything about hot tattooed uncles.

-in the car-

Sukuna buckled Yuji into his seat, passing the child a happy meal he'd picked up as payment for a job well done.

"Nice work. How bout next time you mention your Uncles got no girlfriend either." He laughs, backing out of the parking space with your number and a grin.

Authors Note; Ok yes i wrote this on a whim I swear I'm trying to finish the stuff I had listed on my update post lmao

Also might make a part 2 for this cause I freaking love this au

[miguelhugger2099]

Hands

Summary: His hands are...big. A/N: I saw someone say this mans hands are 11 inches and i genuinely started tweaking. bro. his hands are larger than my head......

Miguel x Reader, Fluff?, Little suggestive, Drabble,

Spider-Man 2099 was probably one of the biggest Spider-Man ever. Well, if you're not counting the robots and dinosaurs–Miguel O'Hara is abnormally large for a human. Half-Human.

Standing at a whopping six foot and nine inches, his bulky build didn't help with his intimidating aura and height. So yes, he was tall but also wide.

Which also meant that everyone, at least, most people were shorter than him.

You could tell that it even became a problem. While talking to him, he'd have to bend his neck to talk to you. His posture would slouch just so he could hear you speak. When he'd look away, Miguel would rub the back of his neck, massaging out the knots that were forming from craning his head down so much to talk to the other Spiders.

You've seen tall people and you've seen others with muscles–however you were more focused on something smaller. As Miguel would type away on his monitor, viewing and discarding dim yellow screens in the air, you'd not so subtly stare at his hands. A part of you was amazed and a part of you had some sort of sick guilty pleasure watching his fingers move around. You coughed into your fist and looked away when Miguel snapped his head down at you, the familiar heat crawling up your neck.

“What?” He grumbles, his eyes squinting down at you.

“Huh? Wuh?” You turn your head around, pretending to think he's talking to someone else.

Miguel rolls his eyes, a soft scoff escaping his lips before he grabs your chin. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel’s fingers squishing your cheeks and pulling you forward to him. His fingers stop near your temple and you can barely hear his voice through the haze of your mind.

“Wait–wait, say that again?” You whisper while Miguel just stares at you.

He lets go of you and you miss the heat from his palm. “You obviously aren’t focused. Either get it out of your head or leave. I don’t need someone distracted right now.” He tsks and focuses back on the monitors, hands waving in the air. You shuffle from side to side, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists. You fought with yourself wondering if you should let the impulse get to you. “Can I see your hands?” You blurt out. Miguel freezes but his eyes are in a confused wide stare at his screen. “What?” “For like a second!” You defended yourself, holding out your palms and raising your eyebrows in a pleading way. Miguel looks between your hands and face, an uncomfortable and confused glint in his eyes. Pouting, you take it as rejection, sniffling dramatically to yourself. But Miguel looks away as he places his hand in yours gently. You gasp in happiness and bring it up to your eyes. You press your thumbs to his palm, both of them looking tiny. Pressing harder, you notice little slits of his talons coming out and you giggle. Pressing over and over again, you watch as the little claws extract and retract repeatedly. Miguel’s eyebrow twitches. Then using one of your hands, you place yours and his hand together, wrist to wrist as close as possible. You blink and take a closer look at the size difference. Your entire hand barely reached past his palm, his fingers even longer.

While you marveled at how giant Miguel was, Miguel looked down at you with a flushed expression. Blush scattered across his cheeks as he noticed how small you were compared to him. He knew he was a big guy–he knew that compared to him, everyone was pocket sized. But particularly about you, it was more in his face. He had an urge to wrap his fingers over yours, wanting to see how it would engulf yours. You move his hand to the front of your face, your nose bumping into his middle finger. Even then, his hand was still very much larger than your head. “Holy shit. Do they even make things in your size here?” You laugh, your breath hitting his suit and he feels the warmth of your laugh through the fabric. Miguel squirms slightly, watching how his hand is covering your entire face. If he wanted, he could grab you right now. He could grab you, pick you up, cover your blabbering mouth easily, and maybe he can easily push your head into the mattress with a single hand– Miguel burns, looking away and pushing your face away from him. You yelp and stumble back from the force, catching yourself before you hurt yourself on the floor. “OW?” You glare at him. He’s turned away from you, back to bringing up video files and camera recordings of different universes. “Get back to work now.” He growls and you dust yourself off with a huff. You take another glance at him before sighing and facing the other way–failing to notice the tips of his ears a dark red shade.

[thesoulbonder]

The Rise & Fall of a Midwest Deadpool

Hey peeps!

So… uh… saw Deadpool… I love this scrimblo of a man so much it’s… a bit of a problem?

No but like this man has altered my brain chemistry it’s not even funny

To illustrate: I stayed up until 5 AM after watching Deadpool & Wolverine in theaters making a 35 Hour long Deadpool playlist and it’s all I’ve been listening to since then, I’ve filled up three separate sketch pages of just Deadpool, two for Wolverine, which is CRAZY RIGHT NOW, and I’ve reblogged literally hundreds of Deadpool related posts onto my reblog account, so much so that I can’t scroll anymore

BUT HOLY SHIT I FEEL GREAT

All this to say - Wade would be the biggest Chappell fan and I won’t even die on this hill. It’s just canon. There is no hill to stand on because he broke the fourth wall and told me personally that he’s a Pink Pony Girl and he dances at the club oh mama aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[skiddlecat]

you know what? fuck it. the dynamic between taco and microphone is really interesting and dumbing it down to "evil terrible abuser and poor innocent victim" flattens both of their characters simultaneously.

they both hurt Each Other in ways that can't be undone!!! mic did her fair share of Fucking It Up Big Time as well and i think the way their fallout went down is the best example of times mic could have been better. and before anyone says it NO i'm NOT saying she didn't have a right to back out when she did but what i AM saying is that i think the way she handled cutting taco off showcases one of her biggest character flaws EXCELLENTLY:

when she's hurt by someone, she will hurt them back twice as hard. cheesy makes an insensitive joke? she calls him a monster. taco relapses in her bad habits? she weaponizes her past friendship with pickle. i'm pretty confident in saying both of these responses are Pretty Damn Disproportionate. and i think that's really interesting!!! we should talk more about this!!!!!!!!!

taco did a lot of bad things in their friendship and should absolutely be held accountable for it, but i also think simply calling her a heartless abuser is horribly undermining her character. like, imagine with me, if you will:

(post-writing note. HOLY SHIT this was way longer than i thought it'd be. putting the rest of this post under the cut because the previous paragraphs are pretty much all my thoughts but i kind of go into a full taco character analysis below. if you want to see that then keep reading i suppose LMAOOO)

you once accidentally formed a friendship with someone based off of a lie. you exposed the lie, sabotaged that relationship, and cut him off. that was the last conversation you had. a good while later you realize that, oh no, you actually DID care about this person, and you miss him! but he's GONE and it's YOUR FAULT!!! so you write. you write, you write, you write, hoping to get a response, but you never do.

and then. and then you find someone else. someone who's loud, chaotic, cast out. she reminds you a little too much of the lie you built for yourself. and so, you help her. for your own selfish reasons, sure, but you attempt to reign her in. she doesn't trust you at first, you don't trust her either, and you are... less than kind to her. it's not pretty, but at this point it doesn't really matter to you, because right now she's just a means to an end. she doesn't mean anything to you.

but slowly, over time, things start changing. she starts seeing past the brick walls you built around yourself. starts trying to break them down, little by little. you avoid, you resist, you do everything you can to prevent her from getting through, because vulnerability is frankly disgusting, and you don't want to talk about your problems anyway! but, this doesn't last. you actually apologize to her, for being so closed off, because you should be doing better, and she seems to appreciate it.

someone brings up that old friend to her. you get MAD. it's like rubbing salt in the wound, reminding you of every reason you're not happy, every reason you've been scared of getting too close. he suggests that you will leave her the same way you left him.

and. surprisingly. your ally does not side with him. she tells him you're changing. you're changing. she looks at you and all of your disgusting flaws, and she sees someone not beyond redemption. and you think that maybe. maybe you can trust her. maybe you CAN let your walls down. maybe you won't screw it up this time. and, and...

one mistake.

a pretty big one, granted, but a mistake nonetheless. you relapse into some bad habits, because the situation you entered was not the one you planned for. and she's mad. so mad, in fact, that she takes your old friendship, something she knows is a touchy subject, that hurts every time it's brought up, and she weaponizes it. she looks at you as if you mean nothing to her, and then she leaves. she leaves before you even have a chance to respond.

one. mistake.

one mistake is all it took for her to grow sick of you, for her to agree with all of the terrible things people say about you. and what hurts the most is that you TRUSTED her. you thought you could be open with her, you thought she was DIFFERENT. but no, she's not different. she's just like everyone else. and maybe, if the one person who believed you could be better gives up on you... maybe they're all right about you.

the walls are back up. they're thicker, stronger, and as far as you're concerned... it will take FAR more convincing to let anyone get through ever again.

...and then mepad comes along and says he doesn't even believe you're a bad person in the FIRST place, which is. astounding and very hard to believe but he's seeing you at your absolute worst being needlessly cruel to everyone and is STILL saying this with complete confidence so, fuck, kind of hard to keep THAT up for very long. then ii16 happens and you know the drill SHE'S DOING BAD.

hoo boy this went on for a lot longer than it was supposed to. anyway all this to say i think we should talk more about how they both hurt each other rather than push the narrative that one of them was "the abuser" and the other was "the victim" because frankly that's not even how it works in real life. thank you for coming to my ted talk i've been sitting on this for weeks afraid that i'd be told to kill myself over anons 👍

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

blank space - m. murdock

a/n: uhm... this one is dedicated to my friend arin who doesn't like daredevil but is encouraging me to be more unhinged. i hope you guys enjoy because i had a blast writing this. possible part two in the works, please like and reblog with comments and feedback <3 warnings: i cannot emphasize this enough-- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT there is so little comfort to all of this hurt. matt is abusive and mean and reader is tortured and quiet and readers dad is an addict and a gambler and also stabbing, cursing, talking about fucking, sub/dom dynamics, nicknames, fem reader, lmk if i missed any! word count: 3.5k summary: Your dad makes your life horrible. Matt can make it worse. paring: dark!matt murdock x reader now playing: blank space (taylor's version) - taylor swift "so it's gonna be forever/or it's gonna go down in flames?/you can tell me when it's over/if the high was worth the pain"

You never meant to get involved with him.

Really, it wasn’t anything you did.

 As usual, it came back around to your father, who had a bad gambling problem, as well as a substance issue, and would often be tempted to gamble big prizes for things like coke or heroin. He would bet money, college funds, heirlooms, your house.

But of course, he couldn’t pay these debts.

Your mom had been gone for quite some time, and you suspect this is where your fathers’ addictions stem from. But you’re trying to just make your way through your adult life. You had gone to a local college, unable to afford much else. Now, you worked in a dingy little office where they constantly abused your work ethic.

Between your grief, his constant betting on your lively hood, and your asshole boss, you felt your bones grow tired. Not the sort of tired that could be fixed by a good night’s sleep. The sort of tired that could be fixed by a new life, not that you had the means for that.

You think your mother would haunt you for the rest of your days if you abandoned your dad.

Friday night came, and you were ready to go home to the small apartment you shared with your father, and drink some wine, and get a nice sleep.

You had been told by your boss that you needed to stay late to translate paper files to the digital system. No, you would not be getting paid overtime.

It was dark by the time you finally left, your feet aching in your heels as you made your way through Hell’s Kitchen, wanting to get home so as not to start crying on the streets of New York.

You don’t make it home.

As you turn the corner by your block, you notice a van creeping up on you. How long had it been following you? If you weren’t so tired, maybe you would know.

But the van pulled up next to you, and you did the only thing you could in this situation. You started to run.

Only, you made it about ten feet before you twisted your ankle with these stupid fucking heels. As you fall, you let out a cry of pain, and before you can think, two men are outside the van. They grab you by the arms and pull you into the van, the whole time you struggle.

Someone puts a black hood over your head and wraps duct tape around your hands. Your ankle is fucking aching.

You aren’t sure how long you drive for, but someone is then pulling you out of the van and drags you along. They give you an opportunity to walk but your ankle hurts to the point where you can’t walk.

They drag you again, and your foot is dragging, and holy shit, you can’t believe that your biggest concern while being kidnapped is how much your ankle hurts.

Eventually, hood on your head still, you are sat in a chair. Your hands are untied, and you want to jump up and fight, but you know your ankle won’t help you here.

They quickly tie your hands back to the chair, with rope this time. Whoever ‘they’ are.

You’re starting to have trouble breathing, because you’re realizing what sort of situation, you’re in right now.

You’ve been kidnapped for something; you have to assume in some way that it’s to get back at your father.

The hood is pulled off your head, and your eyes take a moment to adjust.

The room you’re in is dark, dingy. You know there’s two people behind you, big enough to carry you. You can hear water outside the room, assuming you’re in an abandoned office by the docks. Then, there’s three people in front of you.

One is a man, with long blond hair. He wears a nice suit and is just standing in front of the door. Another is a woman, with even longer blond hair and she also dons rather luxurious apparel. Your dirty work clothes make you look meager next to her.

The last is a man with dark hair. He wears a simple, rather expensive suit, and red glasses.

If you weren’t on the verge of a meltdown, you’d probably realize how hot he is.

Oh, he also holds a knife.

The blond man talks first.

“So. Do you want to start, or should we?”

“What?” Your ankle throbs.

“I guess we should, then.” He hums. “Do you have five grand worth of heroin on you, dear?”

You could throw up.

“I—”

“No, of course you don’t. You and your boyfriend probably used it all.”

What is he talking about? Now, on top of being in pain and panicked, you’re confused.

“The man you live with?” The woman finally speaks. “I assume you two used all the heroin he stole.”

You realize she means your father. You realize that your father stole five grand worth of heroin. What else did he steal?

“What else does he owe?”

“No, darling,” she scoffs, “We ask, you answer.”

“I don’t do heroin.”

“So, how do you know he owes us more?”

“Took a wild fucking guess.” You spit. “Figured you wouldn’t kidnap someone over five grand, figure money is no object.”

The man with the knife steps out of the shadows. Your heartbeat races, and he chuckles. He crouches in front of you.

“You’re a spitfire. I like that. In fact, I love that in a woman, don’t I, Foggy?” He turns his head back slightly.

Foggy answers.

“That you do, man.”

His head turns back to you. But you get the impression by his glasses that he can’t see. So how is he looking right at you?

“If you give us some sort of sass like that again, I’ll stab you and make sure you feel every second of pain.” You whimper, and he laughs again. “Not so cocky anymore, are we, sweetheart?” He stands and goes behind you, his arms landing on the outside of your own, caging you in. He leans down and whispers in your hear, “Is this.. turning you on, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“Liar.” He whispers back, the knife gracing over your ear. He cuts your ear just enough to make it bleed, and tears slip down your face. He makes his way back to the front of you and crouches again. “I’ll ask you again. How do you know he owes me more?”

“I figured he would, when gamblers start, they don’t stop.”

“Not only did you lie to me again, you also just gave yourself away. Lie to me again and I hurt you worse.”

Your foot that isn’t hurt goes up and kicks him in the face. At least it tries, because his reaction is too quick, and he grabs your ankle.

“Bad, bad girl.” He tuts. He lets go of your leg and picks up your other leg, the one with the bruising, swollen ankle. You start to shake. His hand squeezes the wound and when you yell in pain, he just coos at you. “Aw, does that hurt, sweetheart?”

You’re busy crying.

“Answer me!” He demands. It shakes you to your core. You realize you do not know who you’re dealing with, and you’re even angrier at your father for jeopardizing you like this.

“Yes!” You sob, and this seems to satisfy him. He takes the knife in his other hand and slowly cuts open your stocking, loving the way you’re shaking with fear.

 “Keep moving and you’ll cut yourself.”

You try to calm yourself down, on the verge of a panic attack. The knife grazes your leg, and he starts to focus in on your thigh, twisting the knife around your skin.

“How do you know him?” he asks. And you aren’t sure why you try it. You don’t know how he knows when you lie.

“I’ll find a way to pay you back, just let me go, I promise, I’ll tell you where he is, just—”

Then you feel it.

The knife pierces your thigh and is lodged into your leg. You scream in pain, gripping the arms of the chair. Fuck, it hurts. Your vision blurs, and you’re unsure whether it’s from pain or from your tears.

 He stands up in front of you, ignoring the stares from Karen and Foggy. He knows he might have gone a step too far for someone he’s pretty sure is innocent in all this. But he can’t help himself. He likes hearing you wither in pain, and he likes being the person administering the pain. He has all these things he’s in control of, but at this moment, no one else is in the room. It’s you and him, in a rather intimate moment.

He pats your chin, “C’mon, focus, right here, sweetheart. Tell me the truth and I make the pain go away.” He tells you, breaking through the wall of pain and fear that blocks your ability to think.

“He’s my father!” You finally cry out. It comes out as if you’re yelling in church, screaming to God a confession you can’t bear anymore. The only thing missing is your position on your knees, but being below this man like this is as close to an altar as you can see yourself being. “I know he has a gambling problem, and I know he has a drug problem but that’s it! I don’t know anything else, I just lost the parent roulette, okay?!” Your words come gasped out, in between sobs and when you’re not too distracted with your pain.

He seems to be satisfied with this. He gets back down, closer to the ground. Now he’s the one at the altar, but the devil has no place in a church, only between your thighs. He tilts his head and kisses the inside of your thigh.

“See? Good girls get rewards.” Bad girls get stabbed. He stands up, and with him, he pulls at the knife. Blood gushes as you cry out in pain again, sure he'll leave you to bleed out, to be fed on by rats.

He drops the knife at your feet and adjusts his tie.

“What should we do with her, boss?”

“Go get her father.” He says, “But don’t let her go just yet. I’d like to keep her a while.” You think you’ll be sick. “Knock her out though, we don’t want her knowing where she is.” That’s the last thing before the butt of a gun meets your head.

It’s a nice relief from the pain.  

• • •

You wake up on a bed with silk sheets. It’s almost nice enough for you to forget about the whole situation. Maybe your whole life has been a dream, and really, you’re a rich housewife for a man who loves you deeply and your mom is still alive.

But then you sit up, and your stockings are ripped, and your heels are gone.

A brace wraps around your hurt ankle. A bandage wraps around your thigh. The pain isn’t there anymore, you’re not sure what drugs have been given to you.

The room is rather barren, you realize, with little to no works of art or even photos, and it’s rather dark. It’s also freezing cold, a central air system whirling around you. You wonder, if you’re a prisoner, then why put you in a room like this?

What is happening?

The door opens and immediately you went to defend yourself, though there were no weapons around you.

The man from the night before steps into the room, and he looks... casual. He wears dark jeans and a tee shirt, his glasses discarded. Bandages wrapped around his knuckles.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” You don’t respond, just stare at him. “I’m Matt.”

You stay quiet.

“You’re not being tortured anymore, honey. If you want, you can lie and be mean now, I don’t bite. Not anymore. Not unless you want me to.”

“I’m Matt.” You repeat, unable to believe it. “You stab me in the leg and kidnap me, and you go as casual as ‘I’m Matt’?” He grins.

“I told you; I love a woman with some fire.” You wonder how many times he’s used that line on people. “Telling them they’re beautiful just doesn’t hit the same way when you’re blind.” He says, going over to a door, and when he opens it, you realize it’s a closet.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“No?” He turns to you, and smiles. He says your name. How does he know it? “You went to college for Marketing, cute. No siblings. Your mom died a few years ago, after a long battle with cancer. I’m sorry.” This sounds sincere. “You were engaged once, but he cheated on you and is now married to the other woman.” And he goes back to stinging. “Your father, I know all about him. David is an addict and a gambler. Now, addict, I could deal with. Addiction runs deep but it can be managed. It’s the gambling that frustrates me, and Sweetheart, If I’m frustrated, you must be riled up. He gambles everything, I should know. He gambles it to Foggy, who shares it with me.” He hums. He picks clothes out of the closet and heads back to you, “The pants are your size, but the shirt is mine.” He tells you, laying the clothes out in front of you. “Don’t worry about me watching, or anything.” It’s almost enough to make you smile.

You get changed, the challenge of slipping into the slightly lose jeans the hardest part. The bandage fits right in there, but even whatever pain meds have been given to you, aren’t enough.

“So, your father,” You groan, your face in your hands. You get it, your father is awful, and he hates him, but you know that your father is awful, and you know that you hate him. Why must he keep involving you? “I know, sweetheart, you’re in pain, and you hate him, but just stay with me on this.” he says, a cooing tone to his voice. You don’t know why, but you’re compelled to listen to him. “Your father forces you to live in this small apartment, because you’re the only one who works, and he always manages to find your money to gamble away. But it’s not just the money, it’s your electronics, your nice shoes, any pills you have in the house. And really, by doing all this, he is gambling you. Because not only is he risking not being able to pay his debts and someone taking you, but you’re tired. Aching for absolution that will never come. But the worst part is that even though all this stems from his grief around your mom, he gambled her wedding and engagement rings, the one you were always told you’d be proposed with.”

Tears well your eyes.

“Please, stop.”

He sits next to you on the bed, and you don’t have the energy to move away from him. In fact, you lean against him ever so slightly. He must know it too, you figure, since he can tell when you’re lying and when your heartbeat races. He’s warmer than you imagined. He’s a beacon of warmth in this cold, dim room.

He takes something out of his pocket, and then drops it into your hands. It’s a necklace, just a simple chain. Three things hang on it. A silver charm with an ‘M’ on it, and two rings. Your mom’s engagement ring, and her wedding band. You thought you’d never see it again, not after you came home and went to your jewelry box only to find out from your dad that he had lost it in a poker match a few weeks before.

You clutch the necklace in your hands.

“M for Matt?”

“Or Murdock, whatever you’d like.”

“You’re in charge, right? Just how in charge are you?”

“I run everything. There isn’t a corner of this city that I don’t have men in.” So, he’s the kingpin. The boss. Matt Murdock, a man feared by all, gentle to only you. Only for this moment.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?”

“Bun, I was never going to let you go. But I don’t think you want to leave, either.”

You stay quiet. You can’t run. He made sure of that. Was he always going to stab you? Had he decided that from the moment he heard you whimper or was it your reaction to his pet names that did you in?

His fingers come up to graze your ear gently, but you flinch, since it’s where he had cut you.

“Bunnies are always so sensitive to the ears. Fragile. It’s not like you can hop away. Besides, you need time to heal, and I could take away all the pain. No more mean fathers, no more mean bosses, and no more mean thoughts.” He says gently. “I could put you back together.”

His voice is soft, as if his intentions are as well, but you’re sure he’ll destroy you. He will not put you back together, only break you down, collecting tiny pieces of you for his collection.

You consider it. You would never have to work again. You would never have to do anything again. You would never have to see your father again.

You turn your head, and nod.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay.” It wasn’t as if you had a choice in the matter. But nonetheless, He grins, and takes the necklace from you, only to wrap it around your neck, and clasp it on.

Despite the rings being something you had longed for, the ‘M’ alone weighs on you like a boulder.

He tilts your head gently, his fingers brushing against your chin, and you look away, ashamed of what you have done. He grabs your chin and keeps you looking at him. He leans forward and for a moment you just stay, feeling his hot breath against your lips. Tears escape from your eyes and run down your cheeks. He tuts softly and kisses your cheeks where the tears lie.

“Sh, Sh.. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he comforts. His other hand trails down to your thigh, where two of his fingers find the stab wound, and push into it. You whimper in pain, grasping his wrist. He sighs deeply, “Pretty noises.” He hums. “I would never deny you anything, bun. But if you deny me what I ask, it won’t end well for you. Understand?”

You nod, but when you aren’t verbal, he pushes down harder, the bandage and his fingers soaking with blood.

“Tell me. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Matt.” You manage to whimper out. He takes his fingers away and kisses your cheek.

“Good. Good job, honey.” He says softly, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and licking your blood off them. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

He leans forward and kisses you, and it’s full of a gentleness you weren’t sure he was capable of. You kiss back, afraid of what he’ll do if you deny him again.

He winds up kissing you to sleep, not mad at you for falling tired as you kiss. You lay with him in these silk sheets, freezing cold as you cuddle into him. He relishes being wanted. You accept that this is love. He feels you shivering and pulls you closer.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers tickling the bottom of your torso. You whine when he does this, burying your head in the crook of his neck. He laughs, kissing your head.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll buy you blankets. Blankets, Diamonds, anything you want.” He tells you. You’re tired. You just want to nap. You want him to give you more of the drugs that dull the pain of your thigh, and you want to eat something homemade that you didn’t cook yourself.

You want to give in and remain thoughtless. Just be happy with him since no one is looking for you anyways.

But as you drift off to sleep, feeling his hands crawl along your skin, you begin to plan. You’ll let him think you’re in love with him. You’ll let him love you, fuck you, put you back together. You’ll be his bunny, his arm candy, his toy to dress up and do whatever the fuck he wants. You’ll let him think he owns you.

He’ll know that he does.

And you’ll become close to his friends too. You’ll dress in pretty dresses, and he’ll pretend he’s oblivious to how much everyone wants you.

 And then, when your wounds heal, you’ll run.

You’ll flee the country, you’ll change your name, dye your hair.

But you don’t yet realize how relentless he is. How deeply enamored of you he is. By how determined he is to have you.

Escaping the devil will not be as easy as you think it might, not when he can hear your heartbeat, not when he can smell you, not when he wants you.

And it doesn’t help when he gives you the honor of killing your father.

That’s when you start to fall in love with him.

[catboybiologist]

Transition journal and documentation: Jan and Feb of 2024

Measurements for January are up, and February will be soon to follow! Tagging @whalesharkcat and @trans4hire here. If you want to be tagged when I post these, let me know! The advice for injections is in the journal below.

Some quick notes to clarify things:

I'm consolidating qualitative observations into my journal. Oftentimes these haven't been easy to cleanly classify into different categories of observation, so I'm not really gonna bother.

As I'm sure you've realized, the timing of these observations isn't consistent. I have a private document with exact date stamps for everything, and these are mostly right at the end of the month. But my levels checks don't match up to this cleanly, so I group them with the closest set of other measurements. Sometimes I don't have one that cleanly fits.

I can't trust myself to measure height anymore, to be blunt. I want to ask the doctor every time but chicken out about it easily.

But anyways.

And now, as a journal, a brief summary of my thoughts on the past two months:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

*deep breathing*

fuuuuuuuucccckkkkkkkkkk

Okay. So. I'm not gonna list off everything that's happened since the year started. So many independent things started happening, one after the other, that I had to start formatting it as a bulleted list to tell people I know irl what's been going on. Each one has been a crisis on its own- massive emotional events, health problems, health problems in people close to me, transphobic drama with former "friends", academic&research problems, and a resulting mental health spiral. And all of this leading up to my qualifying exams at the end of February, for which I barely scraped by and passed.

But. With all of this. There's silver linings.

The biggest one is that the start of this year has been a stress test of my overall emotional state since starting HRT. I'm not gonna lie- if all of this had happened a year ago, I don't think I would be here now. I either would have completely snapped and done something I regret, or... yeah. But as it stands? I cried. A lot. I isolated a bit. I had mood swings and anxiety and anger and excitement and relief and highs and lows beyond my wildest dreams. It was intense. It was not pretty. But it was cathartic, and healthy. Before this, I would've processed all of this as a generic, stressful, anxiety-ridden malaise, that would've weighed down on me until a breaking point. As it stands, however, I made it. Not in a neat way, not even really in an emotionally stable way, but I made it. And there is no fucking way that would be true pre-HRT. I think I can genuinely say at this point that estrogen has been life saving for me.

In the middle of all this, I switched to injections, right at the start of February. A mistake? Maybe, but I'm too fed up with delaying my progress because "the time isn't right", so I stubbornly refused to delay that change any further. It's a goal I worked out with my provider ahead of time and I stuck to it. So how's that been?

It's been an incredible and WILD experience. I'm on estradiol valerate. For those that don't know, estradiol is conjugated with another compound, which is then cleaved over time in your body to release it. For injections, that results in a peak irculating levels about 1-3 days afer injections. Some people feel it more than others- and holy shit, do I feel it. This has given rise to "the Sundays", because on Sundays, I'm going fucking nuts. My senses are heightened, and I start craving and reacting to physical touch in intense ways. It's not always sexual- while arousal comes easier to me the closer I am to peak, mostly I just become a cuddleslut. It is WILD. I'm also more emotional and cry more easily. Some cis female friends I have confirmed that it mirrors the feelings they get at a certain point in their monthly cycle, so essentially the fluctuating levels are giving me the sensory and emotional effects of a period every week.

The flip side of this is that I feel like shit on Thursdays, like I missed a sublingual dose when I was on that. After the first two weeks, I started taking 2mg sublingual on Wednesday night and Thursday mornings to avoid this, which helped a lot. My provider specifically said this was a good idea, so if you're dealing with that yourself, consider trying it out. I might move to a 5-day injection interval instead, but we'll see.

I've only had one problem with injections so far, which I'm dealing with right now- on my fifth self injection ever, I had unsteady hands and hesitation before stabbing myself, causing a not-great needle stick. Currently, I have a nasty looking injection bruise. Not painful, and healing pretty well, but not fantastic to look at. Self injecting has been intimidating and scary, moreso than I thought it would be. But the actual physical pain is much, MUCH less than I thought it would be, its just that the lizard brain refuses to stab yourself.

If you're thinking of switching to injections, here's a bit of my advice:

keep as many oral/sublingual pills on hand as you can anyways. These will be helpful if you feel your injections aren't carrying you emotionally for the entire interval, or if you don't have an environment where you can inject regularly

If you have a provider, they should provide a nurse tutorial and consultation for you to inject properly. If they don't, try to insist on one. They'll give better advice than I can.

think less, do more. Ideally, the actual moment of the stab should be painless. Be quick and steady about it. The fluid entering feels like pressure and slight burning, but nothing more than that.

vary your injection sites. A doctor or nurse should explain this to you, but this reduces risk of doing what I did and bruising yourself.

be extremely sterile about things. All of the wiping down and sterile technique you'll hear? Don't fuck around with it. Infection is no joke, and absolutely can happen.

Purchase spare needles and syringes from a pharmacist or online. Several reasons for this- one, if you make a mistake and a needle is no longer sterile, you don't want to hesitate about throwing it away. And two... well, let's make a second point about this.

If you want to stock up on estradiol for the future (if you're worried about future access to HRT), this can be easier with injections- but you have to be careful, and you'll need extra needles (for the love of fuck, do not reuse needles). Vials will always have excess medication, because it allows standard volumes to fill and distribute, and it also ensures that needle draws will always be able to be fully submerged. Do NOT try to run your vial out. You WILL run into sterility and contamination issues. That said, vial expiration dates are typically measured from time of first puncture. This will vary, but for me, I was told that the vials are good for 4 weeks after the first puncture. This is overcautious, but not egregiously so. My recommendation would be to use each vial for 1-2 extra punctures, and open the next vial a bit later. Still get prescription refills as frequently as you can. That way, you can stock up on unpucntured vials in case anything happens to your supply. THIS SAID- if you notice ANYTHING wrong with the vial- if the seal isn't containing the fluid properly, if bits of the seal are falling into the medication, if you can see a noticable hole in the seal, DO NOT USE THAT VIAL. Look me in the fucking eye. Do. Fucking. NOT. get sepsis. Do not fuck around with this. The flexibility to be cautious about your vials is a great reason to stock up on a bit extra in the first place.

To anyone in the US, if you're comfortable with doing this to stock up, I would highly, HIGHLY recommend starting this now. Slowly start using your vials for 1-2 punctures extra, stock up unbroken vials. Just in case something bad happens after the elections.

Typically, your medication will come with two sizes of needles- a draw needle (puncture the seal and draw medication into the syringe) and an injection needle. You might want to consider going *slightly* smaller on one or both of those needles. Estradiol is dissolved in a viscous oil as medication, and can be difficult to draw and dispense as a result. But, if you're patient, a smaller gauge might help. For the draw needle, it can help do less damage to the seal and preserve it a bit longer. For the injection needle, if you have a bit more sensitive skin, it might be comforting. Don't deviate too much, though, ESPECIALLY without a medical professional involved.

Remember that I'm not a medical professional, please consult one whenever possible.

I'm still on spiro for now, and I'm continuing it until my next levels check comes back clean. I don't want to erase months of progress getting my levels up by dropping it too early.

Measurement-wise, there hasn't been much change. But I'm starting to realize that the measurements aren't really telling the full story. My breasts look so much larger and, for lack of a better word, breast-like than they did even a couple months ago, but that hasn't been coming through in the measurements very well. I think what's happening is that my fat around my sides is shrinking at the same time my breasts are growing. This is reflected a bit in terms of underbust and waist measurements, but it still seems more dramatic than those are letting on.

Face wise, I think I'm really seeing some changes now. It's hard to put into words, but I'm starting to look more and more androgynous or femme by default, especially if I shave. I'm estatic, honestly, and I hope the trend continues. My chin and nose continue to be problems, but as the structure of the face around them changes, that's becoming less and less true.

I've been getting laser, but so far it's done pretty much nothing. There's lag time, and some of my health issues meant that I had to delay a session and get both sessions at a much lower power than I would've like. I was really hoping to have visible hair removal by June or so, but it looks like that's not happening. That kinda stings, and is a huge blow to my ability to pass by the one-year mark, which has been my target.

I think my boymoding has been holding, for the most part, although its been harder. Even with my sports bras, small bumps are visible under a t shirt, and the face changes won't be unnoticable forever. I've def been more loudly bisexual, and I think most people just write it off as me being fruity. Cis people can also be pretty oblivious, especially when changes are gradual. That being said, I've been coming out slowly to people, giving my usual speech of "I'm still presenting as a man for now, but just so you know this is what's going on", which removes a lot of the pressure and anxiety from boymoding. Still, I haven't told everyone (notably, labmates and family), and my timeline of social transition between June and August seems to be holding steady.

So uh, yeah. If you're curious about anything specifically, I'm an open book, although I may move it to DMs if it gets too personal. Hope that my progress updates are helpful to at least someone!

[salmonskinrolltf]

hey there these video tapes sound pretty far out. The thing is, I’m this awkward, average looking gay dude who is slowly approaching a mid life crisis. I work as a math teacher at a local community college. And my days are filled with teaching students and my nights are spent wondering what I did with my life. Anyways, I really wanted to watch the Neighbors movie with Zac Efron. I’ve had the biggest crush on his obnoxious frat boy character! I mean that body is insane!

You eagerly tear open your Be Kind Rewind package and pull out the Neighbors VHS, barely noticing the die that falls into your hand. Nor do you notice your subconscious decision to toss it onto the floor, rolling a 3 in the process. As you place the tape in the VCR (has that always been there?), you hit rewind so it can play from the beginning.

You can’t wait to vicariously live the frat boy life you missed out on, even if it’s filtered through the perspectives of Seth Rogen and Rose Byrne as annoyed adults in their mid-30s, which hits much closer to home than you want it to. Excitement swells in your chest to the point that you feel almost giddy. You need to calm down a bit, so you take a swig of the beer you don’t remember putting on the table in front of you. Not on a coaster, even. That’s so unlike you…

As soon as the frothy beverage passes your lips, you feel a sense of calm dullness washing over you. You run a hand through your hair, which seems straighter and less tangled than usual.

As you take another sip, your phone pings with an email from a student asking about a particularly tough problem you presented during your lecture that day. You look up and see that the movie is still rewinding, so you suppose you have time to answer. But as soon as you open the email to explain the answer, the numbers start swimming in front of your eyes. The 3 should go… where again? And why the hell are there so many letters in there? This is math. Math is numbers, right?

Fuck, this is too frustrating. You toss your phone to the other end of the couch and chug the rest of your beer. You suddenly need to piss like a racehorse, so you head to the bathroom. Once you’re done, the dull buzzing in your head prevents you from even considering washing your hands, but you do stop by the sink when you see your reflection in the mirror.

Holy shit. Your face is, like, morphing or something. Your eyebrows thicken, your nose elongates, your jaw cracks and broadens. You feel a squirming feeling under your shirt and you tear it off, watching as muscle blossoms from beneath your skin. Any excess weight sloughing off, just like every last bit of body hair, leaving you with a taut and smooth torso. A brief flash of pain accompanies a tattoo that appears on your newly built pec.

You try to summon a feeling of shock, but you just… can’t. That dull buzzing is even stronger now. And you look too good, dude! You admire yourself in the mirror, not noticing as the bathroom furnishings change behind you.

You step out of the bathroom into the foyer of a house you no longer recognize. Well, you almost recognize it, but it’s definitely not YOUR house. You might have been able to put your finger on where you are, but something distracts you. A shirtless Zac Efron is standing in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned and a finger to his lips.

Is this… Are your fantasies coming to life? But in your fantasies, he’d be kissing you by now. He wouldn’t be giving you the shooing motion he’s currently doing. Za- Wait, what was his name? Zaccy? Zaddy? Teddy. Yeah, Teddy. Teddy whispers to you. “Get out of the way man, I’m pranking the new pledge.” You comply, your thoughts still hazy.

Your thoughts remain that way for the rest of the night. And for the rest of the week. And the rest of the month. But despite the constant dull roar, you put a few things together. You’re Pete Regazolli, proud vice-president of Delta Psi Beta. If you weren’t always this way, you don’t care to think about it. You’re still got a massive crush on Teddy, of course. You’re gay after all, and the whole frat knows it. But even if he isn’t into guys that way, at least you still get to spend all your time with him, staring at him when he’s not looking, touching him whenever you get the chance… A chance like the one you have right now, when you’re about to pull off a huge prank on this new pledge who has no idea what’s coming… Bro, it’s gonna be so lit!

[lisannastraussisanangel]

oh oh oh i’ve got one :D

guild members’ relationships with makarov headcanons!

Omg this is gonna get me so emotional! This post is gonna be so long holy shit

Makarov knows that these kids are super traumatized when they come to him. That's why he dresses like a funny little jester man. He doesn't want to scare them when they first join

He always takes the time to get to know and work with each kid that joins the guild. Makarov will take that child under his wing for the first week just to make sure they are comfortable

A lot of the members genuinely refer to him as their grandpa/dad (depending on which generation).

Makarov was still figuring out how to deal with children when Cana first joined. He feels he didn't do a good job at helping her when she first came

Cana, of course, disagrees and thinks the old man did a great job at helping her out when she joined

Cana has a ton of respect for him so when he asks her to cut down on drinking. She does so without question. (cutting down meaning drinking one barrel of liquor instead of two)

The two of them do regularly drink together tho

Gray goes to Makarov for advice the most out of the guild members. He really struggles with making the right decisions and Makarov is always there to listen with only minor judgement

Gray feels super indebted to Makarov. Even tho Makarov tells him all he wants for any of his kids is to live long and happy lives

Erza gave Makarov the most trouble when joining the guild. He had no idea how to get through to her. She was always polite and listened to him, but he couldn't get her to open up for the life of him

He just desperately wanted to make the little girl smile. The first time Erza smiled at him, he bawled his eyes out

Erza always makes sure to shoot him a smile when she enters the guildhall now

Natsu decides that since Makarov found him, he now owes Makarov his life. Makarov nearly has to beat it into Natsu that he does not owe him anything and that he is not to lay his life down for Makarov

Natsu then decides to live by the rule: 'you saved my life so now I'm your problem'

Natsu has so much respect for Makarov it's not even funny. But Natsu's love comes with a price. And that price is constant headaches

Mirajane actually didn't like Makarov all that much at first. She appreciated him bringing her family to the guild but she thought he was too lax with how he ran the place

The two of them really bonded after Lisanna's death

Lisanna adores Makarov. She's one of the few people who can catch him off guard and tackle him in hugs (it happens a lot. you'd think he'd catch on by now)

Elfman views Makarov as the perfect man. He wants to be like him. Makarov insists Elfman should find better role models

Mystogan views Makarov as his father. He cannot imagine anyone else who deserves the title

Mystogan's biggest regret was not being able to tell Makarov how much he appreciated everything he did for him

Bisca and Alzack were so upset that Makarov wasn't there for their wedding that they ended up getting remarried just to have him be a part of it

Every time Makarov compliments Gajeel, Gajeel has to fight back tears. He worked so hard to earn Makarov's trust and respect so now every time the guy is nice to him its almost enough to send Gajeel into a sobbing mess

[genolover]

So I read @aughtpunk 's cotl forgiveness au in like 2 days and now I'm hyperfocusing on it. I just keep thinking of cute little things. Particularly between Shaun and kallamar. Aughtpunk probably shouldn't read this.

Like they have regular are-we-still-engaged chess matches. The first time kallamar wins, they regretfully tell the others the engagement is off. Most everyone is like, you were engaged?? How?? Since when?????? The next day they're engaged again. It great and not at all confusing. Pretty soon no one is sure if the engagement is even real or not. Don't ask kallamar, he's not 100% sure either. Like they play games to see who's responsible for the flowers or menu decisions but is it real? Half the group is sure it isn't until it's the night before the wedding and Holy shit this is actually happening wtf and Shaun is just so disappointed in them. Kallamar is too, right my love? Kallamar is like, yeah, I can't believe they doubted the seriousness of this situation. Internally he's screaming. Shaun also didn't think it was that serious but over time he got sick of people shit talking kallamar to his face so he was like, now I gotta marry him in the biggest most amazing wedding ever. I just gotta.

I also just like the idea that they would use games to settle most disagreements. They watch eachothers strategies and moods to figure out how serious they need to be. If it's a lighthearted thing then they joke the whole time and whoever wins, wins. Gg. If it's something more important to one than the other then they give a good game but let that person win since clearly this is a significant matter. If it's an important matter to both, they use the game as something of a distraction. I can't kill you for not understanding exactly where I'm coming from by magically reading my mind if I'm too busy trying to figure out if the move you just made is even legal. By the end of the match, whomever wins, it comes out as more of a compromise.

They do have this problem where if they don't have a clear goal for a game, it can escalate into terrible ends. Like Shaun makes a flirty double entendre about calamari, kallamar says something gross about cannibalism, suddenly its 3 am, they're in the kitchen with heket who is waaaay too happy about cooking some of her brother's flesh with the intention of giving it to his ex-fiancee to eat (shaun being grossed out by cannibalism made him lose), and questioning all of their life choices.

Oh and after wedding thought. Shaun asks narinder for a life flower (that what I've been calling them in my head). Narinder is grossed out but Shaun gives this whole speech about how they aren't gonna use it now, he just wants to show kallamar that he did notice that he wasnt sure how serious he was about the wedding but he is very serious about wanting to have this life together with him and growing their family together. Narinder does reluctantly give him a flower. Little while later kallamar asks for the same thing. His explanation is a little more based in logic. They've talked about children before and he's probably gonna be the one carrying them so it just makes sense for him to have the flower. Everyone is like aww they're gonna present these flowers to eachother and it's gonna be cute or something. Meanwhile kallamar is confirming that he and his husband aren't needed for anything else tonight and maybe the flower might work if brewed into a tea but eh it's better to not chance it and just. Fucking. Eats it. Right there. Infront of God (poor jake) and everybody. Did his husband see that? No, of course not. That would prevent any miscommunication drama. It's like, dude, did you guys plan on that or...? And kallamar is like, we've had some of the most important discussions about this already, I fail to see why we can't start trying now. And then he leaves to go spend his wedding with Shaun in private and now the whole family has no idea what to do with themselves. They did not need this information.

I also have thoughts for their kids. First set is twins. They are cute. They look like normal lambs just tinted blue. At first. They actually have tendrils they hide amongst their wool. They're also good at team hunting. If you see the both of them, it's safe. If you only see one, it's a distraction, turn around, you are being ambushed.

These are just fun little thoughts I had. Feel free to ignore me.

[persesphonestears]

Another tattoo

(Gif not mine :>)

A/N: So I have to make this a more than one part series because I wrote like way too much and I’m gonna die if I don’t post this already. Also so sorry it’s only Ghost in this post, but promise the second part will have the others!! I actually had so much fun writing this like omfg, I don’t have any piercings or tats for myself thanks to money problems atm but like actually I don’t know where I was going with that- uh anyway enjoy! I’m very tired. (looking at the amount now seems rlly small so sorry :/) ALSO I FUCKIN HATE THE NAME TOO LEAVE ME ALONE.

CW: He/they pronouns used for reader(? I might have ended up just using they/them), Reader has tattoos and piercings, I DONT THINK I USED Y/N LES GOO, I call ghost Simon when he isn't at work, Probably incorrect tattoo health procedures, Reader may be a little bland when first meeting Ghost(?), small mentions of gods(?)

Word count: 1342

Simon was finally let off for a break, given it’s only because Price knew he wasn’t keeping himself healthy or sleeping, so being the ‘dad’ boss he is, Simon was forced to take time off. While Simon wasn’t even close to being happy about having to not stay at base and having to make himself food and all the other human necessities, he’d been wanting a new tattoo for some time now. While maybe some of the privates would simply tattoo each other with pen ink, he’d rather die on the field than die from an infection from a more than likely shitty tattoo.

Walking through the somewhat dodgy looking part of his hometown, looking for a seemingly decent tattoo shop. While walking his eye was caught by the small little tattoo shop that looked clean and not all that dodgy. A small bell as the door opened rang as Simon stepped through, looking around at the walls he was impressed with the artwork that was displayed. He could hear faint 2000s rock music in the background of the shop, standing awkwardly waiting to see if anyone was actually here.

Turning around to walk out, he heard a small crash and a string of curses that followed.

Simon stopped and turned to see a short tattooed and pierced person walking out from the back of the shop. “Hi, sorry I was uh..” their talking trailed off as he looked down to see a fresh and unfinished tattoo on their leg. Unknown to Simon, the person in front of him was just very very happy that they weren’t able to be seen from the back, preferring not to be caught staring at the huge 6’4 man in their shop. 

“Uh anyway, I’m guessing you don’t have an appointment cause I don’t have any till later tonight, but I take walk in’s, both for tats and piercings'' They rambled off as they walked around to the front desk checking through their computer, Simon watched them, surprised by the feeling of fluttering in his stomach. Pushing it away he cleared his throat “Uh yeah walk in, are you able to tat up my other forearm?” he was wearing a t-shirt under his hoodie, happy he wasn’t going to be taking his shirt off. “Mhm sure, I just need to ask a few questions and then get you to sign some consent forms, that cool?” He asked walking back around and sitting on one of the couch chairs at the front, taking a seat after them, Simon sat and agreed to the others' request.

“Cool, alright so first is which arm you want it on obviously and if you have any tattoos on your forearm already?” Simon answered with short and gruff answers “My right arm and no, my left is already tattooed(I think I can’t remember which arm of his is tatted).” “Right cool okay so I’m not gonna bother asking if you're of age because it's pretty obvious because holy shit you are probably the biggest and hottest man I’ve ever seen, but just read through these quick and sign ‘em” Thanking whatever gods there were for people not being able to read minds. Handing the forms to Simon he grabbed them and the pen from your hands, giving a quick read through signing where he had to. Putting them back on the desk, you grabbed them right back and skimmed through them, “Okay Simon, well what do you want?”.

—tiny time skip–

After setting everything up and placing the stencil of the sketch that you drew up (That Simon wouldn’t admit but absolutely adored) onto the gruff military man that was sitting in your chair. “Okay, you ready?” A simple nod was what you received in response. Instead of pushing you continued to go ahead and start his tattoo, not once deciding to ask about some of the many scars that graced his arms. Them seemingly adding onto your attraction for the stranger in your shop as he sat still and silent. Becoming; as you do when tattooing, engrossed in the soft buzzing, the hushed music of your playlist and the ink going into skin at your hand.

“How many do you ‘got?” The gruff voice from above me spoke as I continued to stab his skin. “Tats or piercings?” Responding with another question as I kept my focus on the shading, trying to not let the fact that this absolute 10/10 was asking you about yourself. Sure it was most likely to just make conversation but you could dream. “Both?” The voice behind the black surgical mask didn’t sound overly confident but even when peeking up at the man he was still only looking forward. “I stopped counting how many tats I got a while ago. As for my piercings uh..” cutting myself off to count in my head. “I’d say about 9, not counting my ears.” Feeling a cold gaze turn towards me I stiffen slightly. 

“You only have 6 on your face.” (I chose to give reader a vertical labret, septum, both sides of the nose(like so you could use a chain), bridge, eyebrow :D) His voice replies, stifling my laugh “yeah I know I just don’t normally let people see my chest or just randomly show my stomach.” Giggling, I look up to see his ears turning a slight pink. “R-right sorry.” Trying not to laugh at a client, we continued to talk for a bit more before I suggested to put a movie on more to make it less uncomfortable for me with the awkward conversation. After picking a movie, he seemed to relax just a tad more, getting myself comfortable. I continued to finish up the art piece I was adding to someone's skin.

—another time skip because Ghost would get something edgy and big and I can’t keep writing silly awkwardness—

By the time you had finished and made sure to add some disinfectant and soothing cream to the skin before wrapping it up. You pat his shoulder smiling softly “you’re all done big guy��. Rising from the seat, he walked somehow (even though this man is huge) silently towards the front desk. Scanning his card and giving him the papers that explained how to look after his tattoo. “Thank you. You’re uhm. Very handsome- or uh pretty? I don’t know, can I just get your number?” Stumbling over his words brought a smile to your face. “Sure, I’d uh I’d actually really like it if you took my number” you ramble as you grab some scrap paper, quickly writing your personal number you hand it to him.

Seeing his eyes scrunch slightly, let you know he was smiling at you, and god almighty if the fact that this huge, scary, masked, stoic, man giving you a smile, that you couldn’t even see, wouldn’t make you swoon. Giving you a quick nod he walked out, the small bell above your door ringing in your ears as you watched him leave. 

Giggling to yourself as you stupidly fist pumped the air and twirled around happily, not registering the sound of the bell being rung, indicating the opening of a door. What you did register was the once again gruff voice, clearing their throat as you turned back to look at the man who just left back in your shop. “Forgot ma’ cap.” Swiftly grabbing his hat back with what you could only assume was the smuggest look ever he turned back around. This time leaving you with a curt “Bye now, doll”

Leaving you red faced, in the middle of your own shop. Snapping out of it you groaned loudly before retreating to the floor, hidden by the desk. Cursing yourself for your stupid victory jig you did before even making sure that he wouldn’t come back for a bit. A buzz in your pocket distracted you from your internal dread, pulling out your phone and opening it to see a message from an unknown number. “That lil’ dance was very cute btw”.

A/N: *twerks cutely* ANYWAY

[hellodaydream1111111111111111]

My biggest pet peeve is when certain characters are treated as weak because people won’t actually look into their character, this happens a lot with Illumi especially against Hisoka like holy shit man. Hisoka labeled Illumi a 95/100 and we assume that Hisoka himself is 100 but we don’t know because it’s never stated also begs the question if Hisoka’s scale is counted by 5 or 1. Example 5,10 15 or 5,6,7

People assume Illumi is really weak but they forget that a lot of Killua’s trauma is Illumi projecting and that they are siblings who were taught the same way, what’s Killua’s biggest problem in the show? He runs away from opponents if he thinks that they are more powerful than him. Now Illumi has the difference that he is willing to die in a fight if it will be useful to the Zoldyck family so it’s not out of the question they could fight Hisoka would just have to play his cards right. Like we see when he threatened killua.

Illumi is about equal too Hisoka in terms of strength their abilities just differ in purpose. Illumi’s is made for manipulation and assassinations, he can do combat but it’s not his strong suit that’s why Silva and Zeno do the combat heavy work while Illumi does high profile murders, this is also why he can’t be the heir to the zoldyck’s. He isn’t suited for combat like that, again it’s not that he can’t fight it’s that his nens main purpose is to kill easily and discreetly. Hisokas nen is for general homicidal shenanigans he loves the fight so he’s built his nen around that. It’s versatile whereas Illumi’s is used for the thing he was born to do, Killua’s nen is more like Hisoka where it was a broader general use making him a better heir.

[buds-and-baubles]

hey! I'm wondering if there's a comic you'd recommend to start with on Apollo and Midnighter? I'm reading Superman and the Authority right now, and I can't remember if you said that one did a good job with them or not lol, but I like the characters and I'd like to read something quality. 😊

heya, thanks for sending the ask! i actually needed to take a second to skim through the superman and the authority story to answer this because i had some thoughts about it but hadn't fully read through.

so... in terms of only looking at apollo and midnighter it wasn't in my opinion good. the implications of that midnighter would cheat on him and if he did he would brush apollo off, apollo's lack of speaking up regarding use of force and preferred no-kill policy, and other points that i gotta explain a bit more.

i do not think apollo would be like 'oh my god i was a fan of you'. would he still admire clark's work as superman and find him great? yeah but in the context that apollo always compares himself with a scrutinizing gaze. despite the fact that apollo isn't a bad guy, he always measures people like engineer, swift, and heroes with a lens that he needs to shape up. that they'll never fall to corruption. not really from a fanboy sense but a.. sense of understanding?

he wouldn't be quiet regarding the policy i mentioned. while apollo doesn't enjoy killing, he does it if he finds it absolutely necessary. unless he's super pissed off, he makes it quick and even then a lot of the time he's merciful.

comparatively of what i know about superman, their primary difference is whether they do or do not kill. apollo's got some snark to him and he's very obviously gay, but those are the differences. they're both intelligent sun-powered supers who fight to make the world a better place and their biggest problem besides their few weaknesses is their human-like nature and emotions.

as for midnighter cheating? hahahaa that's a nope. i'd argue that midnighter functioning without apollo for long periods of time is difficult. you leave him alone too long and he'll succumb to listening only to his computer brain, not cheating. a man who has everyone in the crosshairs but apollo wouldn't do something like that.

the premise of the story is for the most part is interesting. i love to see more queer superheroes out there and challenging harmful rhetoric, but morrison didn't really get apollo and midnighter.

that's even outside of them having the civilian names of lucas trent and andrew pulaski. what made the original apollo and midnighter unique is that they didn't have that or a secret identity. also, chopping off apollo's glorious long hair.

as for a reading list to know about them, here's one i've been using!

want to warn in advance that wildstorm is like 90's dc cranked up to an 11 and is marked as mature accordingly.

apollo and midnighter's introduction is in stormwatch vol 2 (1999) issues #4-6. they make appearances a tad bit later on but it's brief confusing time shit. then i'd go with the authority vol 1 (1999-2002) issues #1-12 which are where you really see them shine *badum ts*

the rest of the reading list will take you from there! i'm fairly certain these lists include of the comics that you should tread carefully on the ones that people say to disregard/avoid but if you like to suffer like me, you'll read them to know why people say it was bad.

sorry it's kinda a wall, i had some definite thoughts about superman and the authority which if i had to guess.. also ties into the follow-up warworld thing with them.

i'm just a little tired of apollo being delegated as only m's significant other who doesn't say much, is fridged for the sake of his partner's development, left behind to focus on him doing activities that force him into a nuclear family dynamic, you name it.

think of it as if in they made every appearance of clark into an accessory to a relationship because he was out about his sexuality and forced into a role of there's nothing outside of his relationship and he's the one to stay home to cook, clean, etc. people would be pissed, right? but those who know and care about apollo are significantly smaller than superman sadly so it's questioned less.

thanks for your ask <3

hope you enjoy reading about the world's finest couple, the team they were on, and their precious and precocious daughter jenny quantum.

[shinesurge]

ALSO while we're on the topic of audiences and editing: i made some irl comic friends and they're both extremely Colorado Art School Kids, and my own storytelling education is "angry weird child trapped in appalachia making art out of necessity" so we run into a lot of fundamental differences in our approaches (WHICH is good and fine actually! i'm Learnin stuff). One of the biggest ones is oh my god, holy shit, creators have GOT to interact with audiences more.

One thing my Very Seriously Educated Comic Friend keeps wanting to help me with is that kc tends to be harder to parse because I don't hold the audience's hand, which y'all know is a thing I angst about a lot for various disorderly reasons. He's right! There are a lot of places I could improve in that regard. Mechanically. There's nothing for it as far as actual content goes; Kidd Commander deals with a lot of nuance and abstract concepts and there's not much to be done about that without compromising the story, which I personally won't do, so I've accepted it's better to lean into it rather than worry about appealing to a bad faith audience.

When I tell him this, that there's little sense in trying to dumb things down because there IS no point where that will work any better than it does now, we usually argue (like, the way that you argue about art over coffee). He thinks the goal here is much closer than it is, he's proposing a quick detour to the gas station instead of trying to land on the fucking moon lmao. It is. So SO clear that he (and most storytellers I talk to tbh) has only ever discussed storytelling with other educated artists and not the majority of actual comic readers/media consumers, who have never engaged with media analysis in their lives. Even when he's trying to discuss the theoretical Common Denominator Reader it sounds like this

When I quit interacting directly with The Webcomic Ecosystem for my own health I made the conscious decision to immerse myself into the reader side of things, specifically BECAUSE there are always going to be more Readers reading me than other writers, and I feel like that feedback is very valuable. I also want to understand another perspective that is different from mine! It's certainly got its pitfalls but there are a lot of positives that come from this and I do recommend it if you've got the stomach for it. I genuinely think one of the things that has improved my work and my relationship with it the most is spending a decade reading feedback from people who will never, ever, ever understand comics more complex than instagram pop psychology strips. Or relatives who don't understand how sequential pages work, or people who watch youtube Ending Explained videos, or readers who don't know what to do when a protagonist makes a bad decision. I ALSO went to school for storytelling, I was primed to have this exact problem and I did for a while. But being brought up isolated in a creative wasteland irl AND jumping directly from academic media analysis to the fucking webcomics reddit did a great job burning away a lot of that lmao. WE'RE the weird ones for writing papers about books, or caring to learn enough to create functional stories; this is a WEIRD WEIRD THING we are doing and it's important to know that so you can make informed decisions about your creative actions. Read the comments, be horrified, adjust expectations accordingly.

[gyuzpurizzn]

it was better to let you go than me hurting you more - c.yj

pairing: yeonjun x reader

warning: exes to ??

wc: 844

a/n: im not sure about this guys…. ERRR THIS IS KINDA BAD. its ok. YOLO! but anyways omg. THIS YEONJUN POST. you guys know i had to.

note: listen to talk by beabadoobee!

part 1.

four years later.

holy shit.

you see your ex, yeonjun.

he’s down the street, with his friends, beomgyu and taehyun if you remember clearly.

he looks different, his hair wasn’t green anymore, it’s now ginger.

you see him walking towards the cafe you were at, you prayed and prayed that him and his friends turn their feet around and go to another place.

the cafe’s bell ding, notifying that a customer walked in.

lord, you wanted to bury yourself ten feet underground.

you hoped that he doesn’t see you, unfortunately for you, his friend taehyun saw you.

“dude, isn’t that yn?” taehyun asked yeonjun.

“where?” yeonjun asked taehyun, shocked.

clearly not expecting to hear that name in so long.

he didn’t like how you two ended, sure he had a lot on his plate at that time, but he shouldn’t have been that harsh to you.

the biggest thing he regretted was not fighting harder enough for your relationship.

few months after the breakup, he was miserable and he missed you like crazy.

he lost the one thing that helped him get through life.

—

taehyun pointed to where you were sitting.

you tried to act like you hadn’t just heard taehyun and went on your phone and just started blasting music.

you looked up for a moment and see that yeonjun was walking towards you.

you started freaking out.

what were you supposed to say to him?

fuck. fuck. fuck.

yeonjun tapped your shoulders.

you then took out your airpods and looked up at him.

“yeonjun?” you asked, pretending that you didn’t see him come in.

“hi, yn i haven’t seen you in so long.”

you wonder why.

“yeonjun, hi how are you?”

“i’m good, how about you?”

“im fantastic” forcing out a fake smile.

“mind if i sit down?”

“no, not at all. go ahead.”

when in fact, you did mind.

it was silent for a minute or two, before yeonjun started speaking.

he takes a deep breathe and started.

“i wasn’t expecting to do this today, but i just wanted to apologize. for what happened between us two. i hated the way i handled things. my biggest regret was not fighting for you, but at that time i let the insecurities and thoughts get the best of me. i did not know what i was thinking, i was young and immature back then. and i also had a lot of stuff going on in my life at that moment, and i didn’t wanna burden you with my problems. i know that is not an excuse for the way i treated you, but i hope you can understand. i didn’t mean to hurt you the way i did yn, you didn’t deserve that.”

you didn’t know what to say.

you were left speechless.

you didn’t even know where to begin.

you felt a tear slid down your face.

yeonjun leaning over the table to wipe it.

“sorry, did i go over the boundaries?” he asked

“no, it’s okay. it’s just that this was very unexpected” you let out a laugh.

“i know and im sorry, you don’t have to say anything.”

“don’t be sorry, yeonjun. it’s okay, really. i appreciate the apology.”

“of course, yn. like i said you didn’t deserve the way i treated you four years ago.”

“i just have one comment, yeonjun.”

“what is it?” yeonjun asked curiously.

“you should have told me you were going through something, i know that you didn’t want me to feel burdened by your problems, but i wouldn’t have cared. we could have gone through it together, like we always did.” you said as your voice begins to break.

yeonjun sucks in a breath and responded, “ it was better to let you go than me hurting you more. i wasn’t in the right mind back then. i didn’t want you to keep hurting because i saw the way you looked whenever we fought. i couldn’t stand it.”

“that’s the thing yeonjun. you were hurting more than me, you needed someone to help you. and i wasn’t there to do that, if only, you talked to me about your problems. then maybe we didn’t have to end the way we ended. maybe just maybe we would have still been together.”

“i know yn, and i regretted everything. i swear, i wanted to run right back in your arms the second we broke up.”

you thought about it. long and hard.

“yeonjun. i’m willing to give us a second chance.”

“are you serious right now, yn?”

“so serious. but let’s take things slow.”

“oh my god, you just made me the happiest man on earth. i do not deserve you, yn. i promise to be better for you.” yeonjun said smiling like he won a lottery.

“another thing, yeonjun.”

“hmm?”

“promise to talk to me when you’re having problems or any thoughts at all. i want to help you.”

“same goes for you, okay?”

“okay.”

yeonjun pulling out his pinky.

you laughed at his silliness.

you then bring out your pinky, interlocking them.

“i promise.”

©️ gyuzpurizzn. all right reserved 2023. please do not copy, translate, nor repost my post unless asked and have given perms.