#i hate this i wish i could just find them

[fromthestacks]

I’ve been sitting with this for a couple days because I want to respond (hopefully) thoughtfully. And on the one hand, it’s a really good point and I can see how all the “I hate men” stuff could wear on the guys who AREN’T, you know, raging assholes. But on the other hand, my forty years of lived experience is pushing back on that. Long-winded rant under the cut.

I have a fair amount of men in my life by choice- family, friends, boyfriend. The ones I choose to spend time with are, by and large, really good guys. They’ve also heard more than their fair share of my own “I hate men” rants, and to their credit they’ve never been upset about it. They know I don’t mean them because my words and actions back it up, and they understand where I’m coming from because they hear the stories accompanying said rants and generally agree with my assessment.

All this to say, as much as I sympathize with the good guys who have to listen to the “I hate men” rants, I also very much don’t, because they have arguably more power to help shift that narrative than I do. The shitty men of the world do not care that people think they’re shitty, they are not changed by reason or logic. Men who, for example, sexually harass women don’t (generally) hear the many, many stories from women’s perspectives and have a lightbulb moment where they realize how wrong they’ve been. They will likely never be Ebenezer Scrooge throwing open the windows to wish the town poors a merry Christmas. But maybe, just maybe, if enough of the good guys start speaking up to call them on their behavior, that might have even a small effect on them.

“It shouldn’t be our responsibility” well no shit, grown adults shouldn’t need to be spoon fed basic human decency, but here we are. Women telling men how much we hate being catcalled doesn’t seem to be fucking working, so if the good guys aren’t willing to try telling them, then I’m out of ideas that aren’t along the lines of Goodbye Earl.

One last thing, this is getting away from me. I work a public service job, and it involves a fair amount of face time with people needing help finding things and using stuff like printers. I’m always polite and reasonably friendly, but it’s never anything beyond professionally kind. Even at that, it’s more than half of my interactions with men that leave me feeling uncomfortable. I’ve had men try to take my hand, I’ve had men ask if I’m single thirty seconds into me walking to their computer to help, I’ve had men stand right behind my chair while I’m looking something up. “Why don’t you just say something to them?” Because I’m not trying to get assaulted or shouted at, I’m trying to make it to the end of my shift and go home. It’s extremely well documented that a lot of men don’t handle rejection well, which ends with a lot of women getting assaulted or worse. And the thing about THAT is, you never know which men are gonna be the ones to lose their cool. So you just hedge your bets and tread carefully with everyone in case.

SO. What this very long-winded rant is saying, is that a lot of women encounter a lot of shitty men, and it sucks absolute donkey dick to deal with. If the good guys out there want to stop hearing about how terrible men are, they need to step the fuck up and help, because women are exhausted. The other, smaller, part that they might not like is that it’s not our job to constantly reassure them that I don’t include them when I say “I hate men”. If I’m spending time with you, and trusting you with these stories or complaining or whatever, then go ahead and take it on faith that I don’t mean you.

Maybe I’m alone in feeling this way, I don’t know. Just needed to get this out there.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[firelightmlpoc]

This is Pansear (if you want proof, look at my pinned blog; I'm well aware that there are a lot of imposters out there). I wish to say thank you for being open minded while also acknowledging that- yes- I did fuck up at times. I didn't treat Azriel the best. I was selfish towards the MAP collaborators. I wasn't a particularly great person in general- all that I admit, and I have my own separate posts for those. Overall, I'm sorry.

The harassment was too much and the screenshots were obviously fake. It wasn't fair to me. It wasn't fair to anyone either including those who believed were fake too, even to future potential victims of allegations and former victims of harassment campaigns. I left not in admittance of guilt, but to everything else that has boiled over (again, I detailed this in a post).

I know there's people beaming to know that I'm alive and well (and of course, people who are angry that I'm not). I just want to say that I'm sorry for having to leave everyone in the dark for so long, and that I was basically a POS back then.

It saddens me as well that this whole situation not only affected me- it has affected most of the fandom. It has affected the other artists, who no longer feel safe and comfortable. It has affected my friends, who missed me and feel lost in the dark. It has affected my fans, who worry about me and feel so conflicted about everything. It has affected friend groups who are distanced in their conflicts.

Even for the things I didn't do, I still felt horrible. There were no winners in the end, and any winner I could describe are those vile people hiding behind anons who have hurt the most.

People can already predict that I will never return and that is definitely the case. Not just for the sake of my well-being, but I believe it's for the best for everyone in general. It's been far too long that I danced through the harsh weathers- some strange fucked up game of ping pong, and it's time to put it to rest. I don't care if people will hate me still, all I care about is everyones' safety and for those who have been hurt to heal from this.

I have no real say on the Emily side of things. Indeed what she did to Azriel was irresponsible, but she doesn't deserve the harm and harassment she's got and been getting. Nobody does. Not even my calloutters and my harassers. Looking at their responses and posts just makes me feel bad. I can't help but feel sorry for them.

I hope you yourself are doing well. To all others reading this, I hope you all are too. The fandom isn't the same but I know love can persist somewhere. I am leaving it all up to you to make this place so much better, and that one day everyone can laugh again.

For now, I'm hoping things can rest.

I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright. And as you’ve said: Yes, you have done things wrong, but the actions taken against you were far beyond the pale for what you actually did.

An apology backed by action towards self-betterment is a good apology, & is what you’ve shown to be doing, though I truly wish that the cost you’ve had to pay for this all wasn’t so steep. I hope that you’re still able to find enjoyment in your art still, & hope that you’re able to heal from all of this, even if it takes a good bit of time to do so.

May the path you walk no longer hurt to stand on, & may you find yourself at peace with all of it some day.

[alwaysthefool]

But She’s Not You (x Zayne)

Technically part 2 to Opposite (linked) but you can read it stand alone too.

Warnings: insecurity

Tags: Angst to comfort, f! Reader (pro trans blog), MC Reader

Synopsis: After you saw him with someone else and misunderstood, Zayne lets you know you’re the only one for him.

Sulking at the waiting room couldn’t get past Yvonne’s sharp eyes. It had been a week since you’d come to the hospital. You didn’t pick up Zayne’s calls after you ‘ended things’, and him, being the gentleman that he was, did not push it. He was probably busy again, and now he had someone else to keep him company. Unfortunately for you, you had a weird and constant chest pain that was getting hard to ignore. You begged the receptionist to get you any other cardiologist than Zayne, which meant you had to wait, because Zayne would never make you wait when it came to your heart.

“What’s wrong?” She took a seat beside you at the metal chairs. “Trouble with the doc?”

You sighed, your head down, grateful she was here. “I saw him with another girl. Laughing, with another girl.”

“Dr. Zayne laughs?” Grayson slumped down on the other side of you. That just made you feel worse. Right, he was usually stoic, but who wouldn’t laugh when someone like her was making a joke?

Yvonne pinched Grayson, as if begging him to read the room.

“Well, he’s doing terribly.” Grayson spoke immediately. “I don’t think he took a break this entire week. Jo almost has to force him to take a break at times.”

Tears filled your eyes immediately and you hated that it wasn’t because you were concerned about him, but rather that he had another girl who’d remind him to take breaks, to eat sweets, to smile every now and then. It was selfish to think like that, but you couldn’t help but wish it was you.

“Dr. Grayson.” Yvonne warned, gesturing to you. “Don’t you have a surgery to get to?”

Grayson took the cue noticing your silent crying, pretending he was paged for something important, running away.

“There’s really nothing going on between them.” Yvonne tried to help you, patting your back. “There’s been new discoveries on Protocore syndrome treatments, and Jo is from the institute that made the discovery.”

You tried to stop the tears. Right, it couldn’t be helped. “It’s just… hard to be with someone like him.” You wiped your face with your sleeve. “Someone who’s always going to be wanted by people who are more than me. I’ll make one mistake, and he can find another girl who’s better than me in every way, and will never make any. I don’t want to spend my life thinking I have to compete.”

“Ms. [Name].” Zayne’s voice spoke from above you, sending your already struggling heart into a frenzy. “Please see me in my room immediately.”

You looked up to see him walk away, into his office, the nurse beside him, apologising to you. “I tried to hide it from him, but he was furious when I didn’t tell him you were here.” She whispered. You told her it was okay, silently following him. He held the door to his office open for you, closing it behind him once the two of you were in.

“You might be mad at me, but did you really have to try and change doctors?”

“I didn’t want to waste your time.”

“Nonsense.” He looked back at you with furious eyes. His hair was a mess, he’d definitely not had enough sleep, and you could see a bit of stubble on his jaw. No matter what happened, Zayne would put effort into his appearance, but you’d never seen him like that before.

You wanted to say something, ask him if he was alright, but you could only take your place on the couch in his office.

“How long have you been experiencing this?” He asked sternly, still standing, looking at your chart.

“A week.”

He shot you an exasperated look. “A week? And you’re only coming here now?”

I didn’t want to face you. You wanted to confess, but you settled with “I thought it’d go away by itself.”

Zayne tried to calm himself down, placing the chart on the table, sitting down on his desk with his head in his hands. You didn’t have control over yourself as your legs walked over to him. Even if he liked someone else, you couldn’t let him go. You couldn’t help but reach for him, your hand lightly resting on his back.

“Zayne?”

“Can I hold you?” His voice was broken, pleading. You let out a soft ‘yes’, and he immediately pulled you into his lip, hugging you tightly.

Was Zayne… crying?

“You’re here.” He whispered, resting his face against your neck, nuzzling into it, tightening his protective hold. Even if you couldn’t hear it well, you felt his wet eyes. He still smelled of coffee and mint. “Please don’t leave me again. I thought I messed up for good. Please give me another chance.”

“I overreacted.” You put your hands in his hair, and he kissed your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” He pulled away, holding you firmly on his lap with his large hands on your waist. “I didn’t understand how it must’ve looked to you. I’m away all the time, I don’t make time for you, but if it’s not you…” He looked intensely into your eyes. “It’s no one.”

Your heart felt less heavy, the pain easing into relief. You took a deep breath, but it still hurt your chest a little.

“And I’m sorry for what I said.“ He continued.

You teared up again. “Yeah, you should be. You have no idea how I felt.”

“I’ll win you back, if you’re not yet convinced.” He kissed you on your cheek, taking a handkerchief out of his bag to wipe away your tears. “Tell me, what do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

“What I came for. A diagnosis for my heart.” You smiled.

Zayne turned red, clearing his throat, helping you off his lap but not letting go of your hand. “Of course. I need you to come with me to get some tests done.” He used his free hand to look at his notes on the chart.

“And after that, you’re coming home with me so I can make it all up to you.”

—x—

[revelboo]

I just wanted to say, thank you for showing me where to get the little models, I've been having so much fun putting these guys together the past two days

Sorry for the quality of the photo

Shockwaves! I found the Blokees models purely by accident, but I love how tiny and posable they are. I ended up moving my Flame Toys Megs to my plant shelf just to make more room for these guys

Gravity Pt 6

IDW Optimus x Reader

• “Why Earth?” Turning away from his work at the soft question, he finds you sitting cross legged nearby watching him with a little frown. Yours been quiet so long, he’s assumed you were resting. At his questioning look, you roll your hand in a vague little gesture. “Why did you all come here? Why Earth?”

• Servos flexing slightly, he leans his forearms against the desk. Almost looming over you, but you don’t lean away. Just arching your eyebrows at him, because it’s been bothering you for a while now. Surely there were other worlds closer to his world, to Cybertron. So why here? “In the archives, there were ancient records of worlds the Primes had visited during the expansion before the war with the Quintessons. Of worlds that had been seeded with energon or interacted with,” he says. The words bringing up more questions than answers. Quintessons? Other Primes? Only energon rings a bell, because that’s the stuff he lives on, but seeded?

• Your expression twists and he knows he should explain it all. That he owes it to you after trapping you with him, but the past has only ever wounded him. Dredging it up always brings up the choices and mistakes he’d made. The things he can’t undo, but wishes he could because something small might have led them all down a different path, a brighter one if he’d only been better, stronger.

• “You came here for the energon,” you hazard. He’s volunteered so little of his past, only letting things slip occasionally. Like that his Autobots are at war, that they’d had to flee their world and that their enemies had followed. The details, though? Like why they’d left Cybertron or even what the war was over? Those things he doesn’t seem ready to talk about so you haven’t pushed.

• “We had no way of knowing about your species. You didn’t exist when this world was seeded as a potential colony.” Reaching out, he crooks a servo not really expecting for you to lay a hand on him and let him gently pull you to your feet. “I wouldn’t have led the Decepticons here if I’d known.” And that’s his guilt to carry from now on. Another failure that might cost so much, another sin weighing on his spark, because this world might not survive their war. You might not.

• “You guys were starving, right?” You ask, hand lingering on his servo as he inclines his head. “You were trying to save who you could, I get that.” It’s not fair or right, but you do understand. From what you can gather from the things he doesn’t want to say, things were pretty desperate. He was desperate. And to be responsible for the survival of your people, what would you have done in his place? You’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be nearly as honorable as he is, that you’d do anything regardless of the cost, because you’re not good like he is.

• Spark warming at your soft words, it’s that you understand that makes him curl his servo about you. How can you not blame him for bringing his war to your home? Not hate him or at least resent him? Your little palm slides against his servo like you’re trying to comfort him, worrying over him. It’s a weight from him that you don’t despise him even though he knows that this and what will follow will be his fault. For now he just wants to feel your hand on him and pretend that this one time, his decisions won’t cost him what little he has right now in this moment. Won’t cost you, because you give him something to look forward to every day. Something beyond duty or responsibility, just enjoying your company, the sound of your voice. The soft touch of a hand reaching out to him to break his loneliness.

Previous

[everythingisromant1c]

p2: three reasons why you can't stand co-star!james potter

co-star!james potter x actress!reader

summary: you were finding the first days of shooting your new TV show to be absolutely amazing, aside from the fact that you absolutely could not stand your co-star James Potter. unfortunately for you, you spent enough time around him to narrow down his most irritating qualities to only three:

a/n: hey so this took waayyy longer than i would've hoped to release, but i promise this series is not going anywhere, so tysm for all the loveee and all ur guys' patience <33

also pls pls pls feel free to send in prompt requests for this series i am so all ears

full series: Trouble in Hollywood - masterlist

1. He was insufferably good at his job

You wished you could say working with James Potter was such a challenge because he was simply bad at his job. But the thing was: he wasn't. It turned out he was really the impeccably good actor that your director Minerva seemed to swear he was, as if the talent truly was seeping through his veins. Somehow, that only made working with him more frustrating to you.

"Aaron, you've got to believe me."

James had come to you during the middle of hair and makeup and asked you to rehearse lines with him even before official rehearsals for the day's shooting began, saying it would make him feel more prepared. And, as much as you hated it, you felt the same. Your only regret was thinking you'd be able to stand him and his arrogance before seven in the morning.

"Why should I, Cassidy?"

The brunette responded to you fully in character, leaning back against a nearby vanity with his long legs crossed in front of him as you sat in your cushioned chair. He apparently got out of hair and makeup in under a matter of minutes, looking effortlessly put together with his curls hanging perfectly over his forehead—you didn't have the same luck. Your lovely makeup artist Mary seemed to be unbothered by the interruptions, continuing on with your makeup as you rehearsed your lines, though you caught her amused smile every once in a while from her reflection in the mirror.

"Because..." you began, trying to stay in character as your brain scrambled for your next line.

"You're supposed to say," cut in James, "'-because we can only trust each other right now.'"

"Please stop telling me my lines, James." You repeated the irritated request you'd uttered all morning to him as you put a tired hand to the bridge of your nose, one that Mary moved away hurriedly.

"Watch your makeup," she pleaded with a powder-filled brush to your nose , and you winced apologetically.

"Did you just want me to stand here and wait for you to remember them?" James's voice poked at you irritatingly as you stared up at him from your seat.

"Yes, that's exactly what I want." You fought from rolling your eyes. "You could at least give me a second. I didn't even ask for my line."

He raised his brows with an acquiescent sigh. "Whatever the lady wants."

Ignoring him, a skill you were growing like a muscle, you cleared your throat in focus, trying not to move too much as Mary blended some product on your neck. "Because we can only trust each other right now."

James quickly jumped back into character, right on time. "That didn't mean anything to you the other night."

"I already told you I'm sorry for that. When I heard all the rumors, I ..." you cursed at yourself as your mind drew another painful, embarrassing blank.

"-I didn't know what to think." James looked anything but guilty as his voice met your ears once again, finishing your line for you without fail.

"James!" You glared at him, doing your best to stay out in your chair and not storm out of the trailer he'd so brazenly infiltrated. You shook your head to yourself through your reflection in the brightly lit mirrors . "You're impossible."

James shrugged innocently. "I don't get why you're mad at me for trying to help."

"I'm not."

He scoffed, putting a dramatic hand to his chest. "So is this what you look like when you're happy with me?" The corner of his aggravating lips lifted along with his shoulder in a small shrug, before turning away again. "Isn't very much like how I've pictured it."

You didn't miss the way Mary let out a small breath of laughter from her nose as she switched over to doting on your hair. You gritted your teeth.

"I mean, I'm not mad at you for helping. I'm mad at you because you're annoying."

He crossed his arms defensively, his lips still quirked up, and you fought against the urge within you that had your eyes following the movement of his biceps. "I'm annoying?"

The feigned disbelief in his voice snapped your back to your right mind.

"Yes," you answered plainly. "You and your posh accent."

Maybe you'd stopped making sense, but it was too early for you to care. James was watching your meltdown with what you could only identify as merriment, his unfortunately unignorable presence taking up too much space in the cramped makeup trailer.

Thankfully choosing to ignore the part about his accent, he put up his hands innocently. "Last time I checked, I wasn't the one who keeps forgetting their lines."

"We just got the updated script for this episode last night." You shifted in your chair to face him, and you heard Mary wince from behind you, probably getting fed up with how much you were moving around, though you were too annoyed to stop yourself. "How the hell are you already off-book?"

James shrugged smugly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaned forward. You squinted your eyes at him. "An actor never reveals his secrets, love."

You twisted your mouth in disgust at his words—because you definitely felt something as he said them, whether it was disgust or not you didn't want to think about—and probably only made him more satisfied. "Mary," you groaned, looking at her through the mirror in front of you. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She shook her head and gave your reflection a sharp look back. "Not in that freshly ironed shirt you're not."

You sighed, settling back into your chair and sparing another glance at the man to your right. He tipped his head at you, almost tauntingly, and you felt your jaw tighten. It was going to be a long day.

2. Everyone else seemed to love him

You'd been going about your Thursday innocently, filming scenes when called upon—finally having memorized all your lines properly—and somehow getting through the morning without any irritating interactions with your least favorite person on set at the moment. That good feeling, of course, could only last so long.

"What's this?"

Minerva, your director, had been walking around set with you until you both stopped at the sight of a crowd forming outside one of the sets. You followed her, making your way through the crowd of your fellow actors and crew members until you were met with a nauseating sight: James Potter.

At the sight of your director, his already proud smile grew to a beaming one, almost blinding, as he greeted her. "We've all been really busy with this week's filming schedule, Minnie, and you mentioned what a hassle it's been ordering enough food for everyone every day with our budget, so I pulled some strings and got my family's chef to cater our lunch."

Your jaw slacked as he nodded his head to his left, where a number of tables were set up with what looked like pizza ingredients, a moustached-man in a chef hat standing behind the scene proudly. You couldn't believe your eyes. Apparently, neither could the woman next to you.

"Oh my- James this is ... amazing!" Minerva—or Minnie, as James somehow had grown accustomed to calling her—turned to your co-star, expression as bright and beaming as James's crowd-pleasing smile was. "But you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble-"

"It was no trouble at all. Francis was more than happy to help."

He waved a hand at the chef, who you assumed was the 'Francis' in question, who nodded back at him happily with a pizza cutter in his hand. It was like something out of a movie, the way everyone clapped for James who stood at the front of the crowd like the beloved man he was. You felt sick to your stomach.

"What's wrong? Do you not like the pizza?"

You'd taken your lunch shamefully, making sure to hide your amazement at the endless selection of pizza toppings that James had arranged at the build-your-own-pizza station, and were sitting with Remus, who you'd met at auditions for the show and luckily got casted in a role other than one that'd gone to James, and Sirius, another one of your co-stars who you'd quickly become friends with since you spent practically all your time on set nowadays.

You looked up at Remus briefly before returning your gaze to the pizza in front of you, the perfect slice underneath the sun seeming to taunt you. "No," you grumbled. "The pizza's amazing."

Sirius chuckled. "You'd think you'd be happy about that."

"I would, aside from the fact that it was Potter who brought it in."

The black-haired man tipped his head at you curiously. "What's your problem with James again?"

You shook your head forebodingly. "Don't tell me he's brainwashed you both with his hundred-dollar pizza too."

"I doubt the pizza's that much money." Remus bit into the slice in his hand, talking through the bite. "But it is pretty delicious."

"It is," Sirius nodded. "It was pretty nice of him to cover lunch for the day. If anything, you'd think you'd like him more for this."

You groaned. "He brought in his family's private chef, for God's sake. It's not like he rescued a cat from a tree or something."

Sirius and Remus shared a look as you spoke. You knew you sounded ridiculous, but you currently lacked enough dignity to care as yet another slice of pizza sat on your plate, ready to be eaten.

"James is actually a really nice lad," reasoned Sirius. "Take it from us. We kind of grew up with him."

That fact had yet to escape you as soon as you'd met the two of them. According to the stories they'd relayed to you, Remus's mum had been an on-set tutor to James growing up when he was acting in some movie, while Sirius's parents had been producers for some of James's parents' films. Safe to say, the three of them certainly left you feeling inexperienced in the world of acting.

"James should be the least of your worries," urged Remus. "He's harmless."

"If he's so harmless, then why has he gone out of his way to be a pain in my ass since I met him?"

Sirius snorted. "We said he's harmless, not that he's not an idiot sometimes."

"But," Remus added, "whatever James has done, just know that it always comes from a good place. The man doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

You sighed inwardly. The James Potter you knew seemed to be very different from the one that everyone else seemed to be familiar with, and it was driving you crazy.

3. He was an obnoxious flirt

When you said 'flirt', you not only meant that he flirted with you—unfortunately—but that he seemed to flirt with anyone in sight, whether he realized it or not. In fact, you'd been forced to watch as he smooth-talked one of the hairstylists on set for the past ten minutes.

You couldn't hear everything they were saying, thank god, but you were sure she was probably more charmed by the fact that his last name was Potter than anything he could remotely come up with to win her over. You'd had enough conversations with him to know that the movie-star smiles he offered were enough to charm people before they realized just how insufferable he was.

After what felt like hours, he said something to the woman in parting and left her looking flushed and smiley as he strolled away. You sighed, happy to finally be rid of distractions, and looked back down at the script on your lap that you were trying to memorize but stopped almost immediately as you felt an unwelcome presence lingering from in front of you. You looked up and fought a groan.

James tipped his head at you innocently. "You wanted me?"

You tensed at his phrasing and did your best to go back to ignoring him as you focused back on your script. "I did not."

Not taking the hint, as usual, he stayed put, shoving his hands in his well-tailored pockets. "Well, you've been staring at me for the past ten minutes, so I just assumed you had something to say."

"Well, you assumed wrong." You gave him a tight-lipped smile from where you sat. "And I wasn't staring. I just miraculously found it hard to concentrate on memorizing lines when you were harassing that hairstylist right next to me."

He squinted at you quizzically before shaking his head, finding your banter more amusing than you probably were. "Admit it. You're obsessed with me."

You scoffed, blinking rapidly to truly portray your disbelief. "You wish. Reality is, Potter—I think I hate you."

James peered at you with a glint in his eye like he'd never heard anything more amusing, leaning back against the wall next to you. "You think?"

You shrugged tightly. "The jury hasn't come to a decision just yet." You thought back to the unfortunately delicious pizza he'd provided, and all the things that Remus and Sirius had said to you that stood in stark contrast to practically every other experience you'd had with him.

James grinned, finding teasing you the most entertaining part of his day, even on set for a TV show. "So I still have a chance?"

His eyes glistened and you reeled. "A chance to what? Did you not hear the 'hate' part?"

"Hate is a strong word, don't you think?"

You shook your head. "Strong, but appropriate."

"Ouch." He touched his hand to his chest in that dramatic way he always did, something you blamed on his actor roots. "Your words hurt, you know." You rolled your eyes, truly trying then to get back to memorizing your lines so James would have nothing over you during filming the next day, but he didn't seem to care. "Look, I get it. You said you hate me. But really, I don't think you do."

You sighed, setting your script aside as you looked up at him with finality. "And why is that, Potter?"

"Because," James began, and you didn't like the tease in his tone as he looked down at you. "A little birdie told me you had some say in whether or not they cast me in South Bay. And that you actually encouraged it."

Your lips parted, those words being the last ones you expected him to say after weeks had gone by since the chemistry read. You didn't know who'd ratted you out, but whoever did would be getting a stern talking to. Or a partially stern one, since they were more than likely your boss.

You shrugged weakly at him. "That ... that doesn't mean anything."

James's thick brow lifted effortlessly. "So you're not denying it?"

At his challenging look, you relented with a drop of your shoulders. "I'm not. It's true; I told Minerva I think they should choose you to play Aaron becuase you are good at your job, James. As much as it annoys me. I mean, you're clearly a great actor, you get all your lines memorized overnight, not to mention the entire crew is in love with you for some reason-"

"Oh, I see."

You paused, looking at the way James's slight grin turned into a shit-eating one. "What?"

He tipped his head at you tauntingly. "You're jealous."

You let out a laugh harsher than you meant it to be. "Please. There's nothing about you I could possibly waste my energy being jealous over."

The brunette tutted, and you hated the feeling it sent through you. "For such a great actress, you're not a very good liar."

You felt your breathing shallow for a moment, not knowing what to do with the compliment that flowed so easily from his lips like he hadn't given it a second thought. You pushed the thought aside, focusing on the insult part of his statement instead, and rolled your eyes.

"Look," James continued at your expression. "Jealous or not, we're going to have to work together on this show for God knows how many more months. Years even, if it gets renewed for a second season." The thought both filled you with excitement and dread as it came from James's lips. He looked down at you with an honest curiosity. "How much longer can you go on pretending to hate me?"

You noted that what he was saying was true, letting the words sit in your chest for a moment, but you also noted that you had more fun being petty. You tilted your chin up at him. "Funny that you think I'm pretending."

James put a hand on the table you were sitting at, leaning forward slightly and making you freeze up. "Funny that you're still not a good liar, love."

Your throat felt tight with something you wanted to again dismiss as disgust at both his proximity and the delicate word that fell from his lips. You let an unpleasant pinch form between your brows. "I thought I told you not to call me that."

James felt something warm, almost giddy, form in his chest, and it didn't matter that you looked like you were considering slapping him right then. He let the corner of his lips quirk up. "You're adorable when you're mad."

"Don't call me that either." You huffed, picking up your still un-memorized script and standing. "I'm going to my trailer."

James quirked a brow, following you with only his eyes. "Is that an invitation?"

You rolled your eyes, walking away and calling over your shoulder. "Absolutely not."

taglist:

@ilovejamespottersomuch @empath-bunny @santaasi @veysxrge @bitterspoons @ladyhestiaa @rorybear14

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hiiii, can I request some headcanons for the seraphim?? I absolutely adore these little evil angels o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

Thank you for waiting anon! I love the angels just as much so I think I have a few hc's I can throw out there~

✝Even though all three seraphim sleep in the same room, they each react to each other as if they are intruding in their personal space each time

✝the reason they don't have their own rooms is out of choice, they hate each other but they also don't want to be separate from one another

✝Raphael is really the only one out of three of them that eats regularly. Gabriel and Michael fast regularly

✝All three of them absolutely cannot stand being touched by lower angels

✝Gabriel and Raphael are the only two who don't entirely hate MC, Michael however will never like them no matter what

✝When God was still in Heaven he only really liked speaking with Lucifer. He could never tell the others that he found them exhausting without breaking their spirit

✝Gabriel attacks Gehenna the most because he's upset that Satan got to MC first

✝Michael at one time had a small shrine of Lucifer, it's one of his 'sins' that he keeps secret

✝During the annual orgies, the seraphim do not participate but they do watch to make sure no one takes off their chastity belt

✝Raphael is the only one who takes his belt off secretly after interacting with MC. Michael doesn't think about anything regarding MC. Gabriel tries to figure out how to remove his, obsessed with thinking that God has greater plans for him that involve having it off

✝When the seraphim do eat together, it's usually in the same area like a makeshift family dinner. This usually ends up in arguments about how Lucifer isn't there to lead in prayer

✝Everyday each one tries to kill each other out of annoyance alone. They literally cannot function without big brother Lucifer around

✝As children, the seraphim used to be more affectionate toward one another. Holding hands when going to the bathroom, when sick they would take care of each other. Lucifer raised them to be that way, yet somehow when they were older...it vanished

✝Raphael is allergic to seafood. Michael is allergic to fake metals. Gabriel is lactose intolerant.

✝They used to race each other in the skies as a past time childhood game to practice stretching and using their wings. Michael would win every time and the others would say it's because of his wing on the back of his head

✝Raphael throws up a lot and quite easily, sometimes Gabriel will have medicine set aside for nausea but make it to where it looks like he didn't put it there for him to find

✝Michael secretly does not hate his brothers. He's just frustrated and upset that Lucifer is gone and can't regulate his emotions in order to deal with his brother's attitudes

✝Raphael wishes it was his mark that was on MC instead of Gabe's

✝Gabriel has every hymn in existence memorized in various languages

✝All three seraphim cannot stand Selaphiel collectively

[seeingivy]

girl i've always been

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

previous part linked here

songs mentioned: girl i've always been by olivia rodrigo and state of grace by taylor swift

--

--

sukuna very desperately wishes that he had a better sense of judgment. about three things specifically. 

first and foremost – he wished that he hadn’t let you walk off the night prior. he was filled with irritation, because he should have been smart enough to ask for your number. or question you farther to parse out where you were going to be next so he could meet you there. 

second – he wished that he had made a more productive use of the night that followed. that instead of listening to your entire discography and watching every interview he could find, he should have slept through the night. 

the pursuit only made him more irritated with every interview he watched, because he grew more curious the more he found out. 

there were a few things that were obvious to him. that you never went down without a fight, that your fans weren’t short of support for you, that you were cemented as someone who made major moves in the industry – without the help of previous connections like most people. 

but other things were entirely lost to him. like the fact that you used to be so close with kim and aimee at one point but they had never brought you up. that you never stood down to a fight, despite losing greatly at times. that there was some part of the image that you put out that he didn’t necessarily understand. 

yet. 

and third – he wished he hadn’t forgotten that one of his biggest pr interviews was going to be the next day. 

he was at almost zero energy and the cameras littered around the bar of the coffee shop were starting to stress him out. only because this was the last interview that he wanted to tweak out at. 

sukuna cracks his knuckles three, four times.

it’s only two hours. and drinks that he had made hundreds of times. 

“are you good?” yuuji asks. 

“yeah. just slept late last night.” sukuna responds. 

yuuji squints his eyes at him. 

“yeah i heard you. what were you doing?” yuuji asks. 

“just listening to music. was finding it hard to fall asleep.” sukuna responds. 

“mijo, you never change, do you?” 

sukuna turns the corner to find the source of the voice, only to find alina with a hand propped up on her hip, the features of her face all scrunched up and prepared to scold him, and freddie lingering behind trying not to laugh. 

if there was one thing that freddie hated, it was getting scolded by his mother. by proxy, watching someone else be the aim of her wrath filled him with the utmost joy. 

sukuna worked three jobs in high school. he got fired from the first two (a car garage where he assisted the mechanics and a dishwasher at a high end restaurant) and got very close to it with the third, which was being a barista at alina’s coffee shop, play coffee. 

he’s not sure what it was that kept alina from firing him – something he was convinced was a mix of pity and the soft spot she seemed to have for him – because he most certainly deserved to be fired. 

he couldn’t make the most popular drink, the lavender matcha, during rush hour and seemed to make things worse just by being around. he was less of an asset and more of a problem that persisted. 

but somehow, he’d spent the last ten years of his life keeping the coffee shop running by helping her make drinks (the ones he could actually make) or watching freddie in the back room when he was younger. 

more notably, he’d saved them from getting evicted from the building with the first paycheck he got from his acting job. 

it was only when he claimed that it was an investment that she gave in to such a hefty favor, which was followed by her cementing his name on the wall with yuuji’s as one of the co-owners. 

that and the fact that she had to give in, because yuuji and sukuna had already paid it behind her back. she thought it was too much. but to sukuna, he was just repaying a long standing favor. 

a true investment it was because sukuna was dedicated to getting the name out and bringing in more business whenever he could. which included today – an interview that he was doing for vanity fair while covering the morning rush at the coffee shop as part of the pr before the premiere of the show. 

“someone has to keep you on your toes, alina.” sukuna responds. 

it earns him a snort from freddie, who gets a consequent glare from alina, before she turns back to him and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“keep me on my toes? more like keeping me ten feet from my deathbed. do you know how much you stress me out?” alina asks. 

sukuna shrugs, ignoring the question, because he knows that he would hate the answer. he hated giving her more stress than she needed.

he makes his best efforts to divert away from that conversation, only because he knows he’s not even awake enough to deal with getting read to filth so early in the morning. 

“do you happen to know the dates for your graduation yet freddie?” sukuna asks. 

freddie glares at him. 

it makes his stomach lurch, thinking about him wearing a dark blue high school graduation gown and going to college a few months from now, when all he can remember is freddie biting him when he was trying to rangle him out of the car for the first day of third grade. 

“it’s september, dude. how would i know the dates already?” he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

sukuna glares right back. he was getting just as snippy as alina. like mother like son he supposed. 

“okay fine. i’ll just retract the car i was planning on buying for you.” 

freddie’s eyes widen. he can already sense the immediate switch up. 

“you were going to buy me a car?” freddie asks. 

“going to. but you’ve got such a shit attitude that i’m reconsidering it.” sukuna responds. 

“cuidado con tus palabras! fuiste criado por lobos?” alina scolds. 

alina scuttles away to the other end of the bar to arrange the cups, as sukuna and freddie stifle down a laugh. 

“wolves? that means wolves right?” yuuji whispers. 

freddie shakes his head. 

“she gets more dramatic as time goes on. me wanting to move to new york doesn’t help either.” freddie responds. 

freddie was in the process of applying to colleges. three weeks ago, sukuna got an hour long run down from yuuji – that alina and freddie were in the midst of a big fight about him wanting to apply to colleges on the east coast and on the east coast only. 

safe to say that alina didn’t take it well. at all. he could feel the animosity lingering in the air from the way that they were glaring at one another. 

alina shortly returns and gives the two of them a look, before passing one of the freshly baked scones over to yuuji. it was a long standing tradition, to taste test the pastries for the day before the shop opened, and alina always showed her bias by letting yuuji take the first one. 

“none for us?” sukuna asks, wrapping his free arm around freddie’s shoulder. 

“maybe if you earned it.” alina responds. 

“and what did yuuji do to earn a scone? he’s been sitting on his ass all day.” freddie responds. 

alina shakes her head, before reaching forward to pinch yuuji’s cheek. 

“amor de mi vida, he’s always so sweet. the two of you should be taking notes. talking about staying up all night and sueños de new york.” alina responds, before walking away again. 

sukuna and freddie parse a glare for yuuji, who only smiles at the two of them gloatingly. 

“i can give lessons. you two have a lot to learn.” yuuji responds. 

“hilarious.” sukuna responds. 

“by the way, you don’t have to worry about the car. he’s just pulling your leg, we already bought it for your birthday.” yuuji responds. 

freddie widens her eyes, an excited smile spreading across his face as she looks up at sukuna, waiting for confirmation. he all but rolls his eyes, before yanking the key from his pocket. 

“did you really buy me a car?” he asks. 

“have to give it to you early since we’ll be in new york for premiere stuff next week.” yuuji responds. 

“senior year and all. have to drive there and go hang out with all your little friends, don’t you?” sukuna asks. 

freddie wraps him in a harsh hug, almost borderline painful, before scuttling over to yuuji’s side and doing the same. sukuna presses the key into his hand, letting yuuji show him the pictures on his phone, before shuffling over to the other side of the bar to where alina’s arranging the cups, to do some damage control. 

“you don’t have to worry about me. or freddie and his new car. you should worry about yuuji. and how hopeless he is.” sukuna jokes. 

sukuna can tell that she doesn’t find it funny. that freddie’s immediate excitement is something that worries her. 

“i should worry. about all of you. you can’t even put your shirt on the right way. you’d walk face first into the street if i didn’t worry about you.” she responds, tugging on the back of his shirt. 

sukuna lifts his hand to the back of his shirt, feeling the tag, as he feels his cheeks warm at being called out. he pulls the shirt over his head, readjusting it to the right way as she continues rambling. 

“yuuji is hopeless when it comes to love. pero, at least he’s sensible in the ways that matter. you and freddie, you think too much with your hearts. get a little reckless, too excited. yo pienso que you love him but he’s not responsible enough to take care of a car! and i’m going to call whoever is paying you because you should be more responsible with your money instead of buying him whatever he wants!” 

sukuna heaves a sigh. 

“creo que estas atacando porque no quieres que se mueva.” sukuna mutters. 

alina pinches her eyes shut. 

“of course i don’t want him to move away! do you know how far new york is?” 

“i’ll buy you a private jet. you can go see him whenever you want.” sukuna responds. 

alina reaches for the closest towel and smacks him with it. 

“you’re not funny. and he’s too young to move out there on her own. and you….you have some nerve saying yuuji’s hopeless in love. you’re even worse! don’t think i didn’t see what they were saying about you on the news two days ago.” she responds. 

sukuna rolls his eyes, before reaching forward and placing his hands on both of her shoulders. he squeezes hard, noting the stressed wrinkles that are imprinted into her forehead at this point, as he shoots her a smile. 

it’s moments like this where he feels bad for being reckless. when he’s reminded of the fact that he’s not the only one affected by his actions. 

“you should take things one day at a time. taking on so much does nothing for you, mi amor.” sukuna responds, mimicking her voice. 

“don’t repeat my words back to me.” she responds. 

“it’s good advice. you should take it. maybe worry less about freddie and new york and just focus on making sure he takes good care of the car and learns some responsibility. and yuuji is my responsibility, so i’m working on that.” sukuna responds. 

alina rolls her eyes. 

“and who’s going to work on you? you need some serious help too.” 

“i have to keep you in a job, one way or another.” he responds. 

sukuna hears the bell against the door ringing, accompanied by loud voices that he can instantly recognize. he watches as satoru, suguru, shoko, megumi, and nobara all stand at the front of the cash register, animated hands moving as they talk to yuuji and eye all the cameras. 

“which one is the boy?” 

“spiky hair.” yuuji responds. 

alina tilts her head to the side. 

“really? esto?” 

“trust me. he’s just as hopeless as yuuji. i think they’re made for each other.” sukuna whispers. 

sukuna pushes up off the counter and joins them at the register, trying to catch the end of their conversation. 

“sukuna and i have to sit out but we’d love to come.” yuuji states. 

“you’re no fun. it’s going to be such a great performance.” gojo whines. 

“plus, she’s like way more famous than all of us combined. it would be a good look for the show if we all go together.” shoko adds. 

“sit out of what?” sukuna asks. 

nobara turns over to him, a hand popped up on her hip. 

“megumi invited us to go watch y/n’s tiny desk performance with him. she told him that he could bring whoever he wanted since she knows about promotion for the show and all that and we’re all going so we can watch gojo shit his pants from excitement.” 

sukuna can feel his heart hammering in his chest. like it’s fate. 

like the stars are aligning in his favor, a clear cut sign from the universe that something was going to happen. that things were going to go his way. 

he looks back over at gojo, noting the tour merchandise shirts that he had seen on your website only hours prior, and feels his stomach lurch with excitement. 

at the opportunity. 

“i’m going.” sukuna responds. 

“what?” yuuji asks. 

sukuna shakes his head, almost too adamantly, as he reaches to unlock the cash register, now ready to speed through the interview and run over there right now. 

“we’re going.” sukuna repeats. 

“what about freddie’s car?” yuuji states. 

“we’ll drive it over afterwards. but pr is important and you know people will talk, so we should go.” sukuna whispers. 

yuuji narrows his eyes at him. 

“shouldn’t you be lying low? what if shoyo gets mad?” yuuji whispers. 

sukuna almost gets mad. at the thought of being stamped out of the opportunity in front of him. it’s why he responds so harshly. 

“you’re acting like i’m going to give an interview while i’m there. we’re just going to listen to her sing and leave.” sukuna seethes, convinced that the urgent tone is almost giving him away entirely. 

yuuji shrugs. but at the end, he gives in. and there’s a newfound energy as sukuna prepares to make drinks for the next two hours. 

--

--

the rest of the day, right up until he’s sitting in the front row seat waiting for you to come out, feels like a blur. he can barely remember the drive over, when his interview at the coffee shop ended, whatever it was that satoru was blabbing about in the car, because the sheer anticipation of possibility of a conversation was driving him insane. 

sukuna hadn’t exactly noted it yet, but he was too attached to the plan that he had dreamt up when he met you the night prior. maybe even obsessed with it, but that felt like it was a little on the nose. 

there was something extremely tantalizing and intoxicating about the thought – about getting revenge on aimee for tainting his good name so close to his show without having to do it himself, by getting a group of fans ready to rally behind him in the efforts that were being made to smear his name, and most importantly, getting to be around you and your snippy retorts you had offered him the night prior. 

it was making him sick to his stomach, thinking of all the different ways he could approach the prospect. singling out the best way to present it to you. thinking of all the mouthy responses that you’d give him in response. 

how does he get your phone number? he has to make sure that he finds out where you’re going next to make sure that if today doesn’t work out in his favor, he gets another chance to talk to you again. 

would he rub salt in the wound by bringing up your past with kim and aimee? or would that push your right over the edge into agreeing with him? there was clearly some vitriol there, if they were able to digress from dragging him under the bus to do it to you instead. 

and most importantly.

is his plan even viable? is it insulting for him to propose that you write fake songs about him to help his public image? surely there was nothing that you would gain from it, so was it even a legitimate thing for him to ask? 

the hours of research that he had done last night made it feel like he had a crystal clear image of what he needed to do. but the courage and bravery that he was feeling last night was dwindling close to almost nothing when he knew that you were only a few walls away, that he was subject to your mercy when it came to this entire thing. 

he thinks that the lack of sleep, coupled with the slight delusions that he’s entertaining at the current moment, are going to bite him in the ass.  

it’s right at that moment when he hears a clapping as you walk out onto the set, a purple guitar in your hand as you take a seat at the main stage. he can hear his heart beating in his ears, automatically stretching up in his seat as he watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and wave at the crowd in front of you. 

“hi guys! how are we doing today?” you ask, leaning into the microphone. 

there’s a resounding sound of cheers, one that you give a big smile to, as you press your hands to your chest to stop the beating. 

the facts are running through sukuna’s head. the purple guitar is the same one that you use on your tour. when you tour. the silver ring on your pointer finger is one that a fan gifted to you in lisbon. you learned how to play piano when you were five. 

“for those of you who are new here, i’m y/n. i’m so so flattered that npr invited me here to sing a few songs for you. i’m so excited to show you some of the new stuff i’ve been working on and play some old ones while i’m ahead. but yeah –” 

sukuna watches as you pause mid-sentence. he watches as you pause, almost in confusion, to the point where you stop talking. 

correction. 

sukuna watches as you pause mid-sentence at the exact moment that the two of you make eye contact. that you’re confused at his presence, that you recognize him, that it’s enough to warrant a pause. 

it sends a wave of elation through sukuna as he lifts his hand, giving you a polite wave from his seat, one that he watches you graciously return, with a sweet smile, before looping the strap of your guitar over your neck. 

sukuna pretends that it doesn’t make his heart swell up in hope, that he had elicited a reaction from you. that you returned the wave that he offered you. that this could go his way, in the slightest. 

“well, right. this first song is a new one that i’ve been working on. i wrote it around a few days ago after i went to this stupid afterparty from one of the events that my studio was holding and it’s about some of the company i’ve kept. it’s called girl i’ve always been.” you state.

"Baby doll, you have changed" That's the thing you always say Cursin' me, trash my name I rained all over your parade Now you're on my couch, you're fightin' tears You say I'm cruel beyond my years And as I'm walkin' out that door Say you don't know me anymore

sukuna quickly realizes that there’s something about singing that does it for you. because your entire demeanor changes. you relax your shoulders from the tense position they’re usually in, swing your hips to the beat of the song, and make very expressive facial expressions that seem even more lively than the videos he had watched all night. 

you seem electric. 

Well, I have captors I call friends I got panic rooms inside my head And I get down with crooked men But I am the girl I've always been I got wrapped up in the game again And you woke up in an empty bed And I can't say I'm a perfect ten But I am the girl I've always been 

“holy shit. i know jake’s somewhere shitting his pants over this.” nobara murmurs. 

“that’s what that dumbass gets for airing out that she wouldn’t have sex with him. like that’s something he’s entitled to.” megumi responds back. 

“an idiot like that probably thinks that he’s entitled to everything.” nobara responds. 

sukuna can feel his ears burning. his chest heaving – because there’s too much information, because he doesn’t know what to do with all of it – but he knows that it's important. that he could use it the way he needed, if he worded it right. 

jake was the guy from last night. he was friends with aimee, maybe a little too close with aimee, who you clearly weren’t fond of either. and if there was one thing that aimee was, it was possessive. jealous. angry when she felt that things weren’t going her way. 

that’s why she was so pissed when he ended it with her, since he was the one who had the upper hand. clearly she’d be even more mad if he retreated to the place that she hated the most – right into your arms. 

it almost feels like time is moving too fast, that his thoughts are plaguing the current moment, because before he knows it there’s a resounding sound of clapping, coupled with you leaving through the door on the left. 

he hadn’t even solidified what he wanted to say yet. 

sukuna’s not sure what wills him to act so quickly, but without saying anything to the group of them, he darts behind you and enters through the door, only to be welcomed to a darkly lit hallway and no sign of you. 

there’s a confusing mix of signs that are littered on the wall, none of which give him any aid towards finding the direction you went in, as he takes a sharp left turn and starts speeding across the plastic tiled floors. 

how could you have disappeared so fast? did he even go in the right direction? 

sukuna counts his lucky stars, because not even four doors down, he finds a paper tacked to the room, your name embellished in sparkly letters and glittering graphics as he reaches for the handle and opens the door. 

this was his chance. to spill it all out. 

his heart pounds as he opens the door, but much to his dismay, he finds the room empty and sans your presence. 

what the hell was he supposed to do now? 

but he takes the quiet moments to stake his claim, only because he figures – he hopes – that you’ll return here at some point as he takes a seat in the chair at the side. and even if you don’t, your belongings might have to give him some clue. at the very least, he could leave his phone number in here and pray that someone would return it to you. 

he’s drawn first to the vanity, the one that he figures you were sitting at only hours prior when you were getting ready for the performance. there’s an array of makeup spread across the table, a handwritten note at the top of the box. 

you’re a doll! good luck on your performance - mimi

your producer. the one that he had seen in the interviews, that you stated was like your sister. he categorizes the thought in his mind, trying to commit it’s importance to his memory. 

the next thing that catches his attention is a picture that’s tacked to the mirror on the left. 

he steals it off the glass, treasuring the image in his fingers, as he looks at it up close. he can recognize everyone in the picture – eren, mikasa, and historia – your self proclaimed friends that you talked about in almost every interview and megumi attached to your side on the right. 

he figures that you must be younger here, only because you look so different. your hair longer than it was currently, the smile on your face smaller than he’s ever seen it. he flips it over, noting the handwriting in the back, in each of the four corners. 

you’re the best friend i’ve ever had - mikasa 

my idol, always - historia 

the one and only love of my life (derogatory) - megumi 

cheering you on forever, star girl! - eren 

it only confuses him more, the premise of each of the messages. star girl means that it had to be recent, because your album had only come out a few months ago. then how could you look so different only a little while back? unless the picture was older? 

why you would feel inclined to tack it to the glass if you were only going to be here for a few hours. what did megumi mean by his statement? 

sukuna can feel his heart drop to the pit of his stomach as he hears the door swing open, coupled with the sight of you in the mirror, with a confused look plastered on your face. 

like a deer caught in headlights. 

“are you stalking me, princess bubblegum?” you ask. 

sukuna immediately drops the picture onto the vanity, turning around to find you standing there, a cup of iced coffee in your hand as you give him a sly smile. he lets out a nervous laugh, only at getting caught so blatantly.  

“just a very big fan, marceline.” he responds. 

you cross your hands over your chest, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“you weren’t even singing along.” you state. 

sukuna grins. 

“were you watching me?” 

“the pink hair is abhorrent. it’s almost hard not to.” you state. 

“most people are into the pink hair thing. it’s one of a kind, you know? and in my defense, two of those songs were new. i’m learning.” sukuna clarifies. 

you widen your eyes. he was too obvious. he was trying to be too obvious. 

“seems like someone’s been doing his homework.” you state. 

“i’m somewhat of an overachiever.” he responds. 

you push past him, taking a seat at the chair in the center of the vanity, and set the drink that megumi had got to you to the left. sukuna takes it as an invitation to invade your space, his hands braced against both of the armrests of his chair, his cheek lingering against your shoulder. 

“i made the drink for you, you know?” sukuna asks. 

“i have a sneaking suspicion that you didn’t know it was for me.” you state. 

“if i did, i would have written you a little note on the cup. i only do that for girls who are special, you know?” 

you roll your eyes. 

“and what did i do to gain such favor in your eyes?” 

sukuna smiles at you through the mirror. 

“i find you impressive. i’m entirely fascinated by how you work and i…i want to know more. i have a feeling that you and i could be very useful to each other.” 

you set the glass down on the vanity. 

“i’m guessing you didn’t just insist on showing up to my tiny desk, despite the fact that you were supposed to giving someone a car? for nothing. was there something you wanted from me? because i’d rather you be straightforward and say it to me instead of speaking in tongues.” you state. 

sukuna clicks his tongue in his cheek. megumi must have told you – surely you couldn’t be that good at predicting everything. 

“perceptive. are you always like this, princess?” sukuna asks. 

“does that bother you? it’s something you’ll have to get used to.” you ask. 

“quite the contrary. i enjoy a challenge.” 

you hum, twisting the plastic of the straw in your fingers. 

“really. what do you want?” you ask. 

sukuna nods, before crossing the way and leaning against the edge of your vanity at your side. 

“i think that you and i could be really useful to each other. i know that you’re not particularly fond of aimee, of jake and all of his bullshit, and i’m not either. that and the fact that she blocked you from getting the number one spot when you clearly had the better song.” 

sukuna watches your eye twitch. he’s found the soft spot. the thing that irritates you.

losing.

“your show is about to get tanked by whatever it is she has coming next.” you retort back. 

sukuna grins. he’s got you exactly where he wants you. you wouldn't get defensive if it didn't bother you.

“you know about my show? have you been stalking me?” 

you feel your cheeks burn. 

“because of megumi, sweetheart. nothing more nothing less.” 

sukuna feels his chest pang slightly, from the embarrassment. because of course you know about the show from megumi. 

“right, well. seriously. it would really piss them off if you started dating me, even if it was just for looks. what they don’t know won’t hurt them.” 

you sigh, pushing off the edge of your chair, as you stand close to him. and you’re able to smell it again, the minty musk, as you give him a smile. 

“i know that you know aimee. i don’t give a fuck about jake, but i do know that people who are as egotistical as that tend to get possessive. especially about things that aren’t theirs. and as scathing as your songs are, there’s one surefire way to piss them both off – to get two birds with one stone.” 

you ponder over the thought. and sink into your chair about how much he’s thought about this, caught off guard by the fact that he’s got it entirely on the nose. 

but you can’t. you need time to think. you don’t even know who he is. 

“i appreciate the offer. but, i’m not interested in getting tangled up with them again.” you state. 

“they started it already. you don’t want to bite back?” sukuna goads, leaning in closer to your cheek.  

“i’m not the type.” you respond. 

sukuna pauses. 

“from what i’ve seen, i don’t necessarily think that's true.” 

“do you think you’ve got me all figured out, sukuna?” you ask. 

he loves the way his mouth rolls off your tongue and the accusatory tone in your voice when you say it. like you’re trying to get him to take the bait, like the two of you are playing a game. 

and he leans closer, smiling down at you as he wraps he cups your cheek with his left hand, before pinching at your cheek. 

“i’m almost positive that i do.” he responds. 

and he’s quick with it, reaching forward and tucking the stray strands of your hair behind your ear, before reaching for your hand, and scribbling something onto your palm.

you only look down at your hand when he retreats, his phone number inked on your hand. 

“either way, you know where to find me if you change your mind.” he states, before slamming the door shut behind him. 

you think about it. think about it all night, the way his hand felt against your cheek, the warmth in his smile, why you even saved the number in the first place.

would it even make sense to help him? would they really be so mad the way that he anticipated?

the thoughts rumble through your mind , over and over, until something pushes you over the edge, right into his hand. 

[hisu]: SOS CHECK TWITTER 

[hisu]: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP 

[hisu]: AIMEE STOLE YOUR SONG

--

--

an: anyways.

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[suplicyy]

Happy happy birthday even though it’s in a week, talking about birthdays👀👀 how would kuroo act on reader’s birthday even though she didn’t tell anyone it was her birthday, it’s not a big deal to her like it’s just another day soo how could he find this out? love your works!!

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

— Tags/Genre: Fluff | Fem!Reader

— Warnings: Unreviewed work, sorry if there are any English errors!!

For you, your birthday was a day like any other.

It's not that you didn't like it, but the truth is that you never really cared about it at all.

So that's why you never felt the need to declare it to everyone. But of course, if someone asked you about your birthday, you would tell them, but without giving it much importance.

So when Kuroo heard your friends talking about your birthday today, he would be more than shocked.

He would be perplexed, his mind swirling with thoughts.

"Why didn't she tell me about this?" "Does she hate me?" "Did something happen?" "Doesn't she trust me?"

The truth is, he would be worried about you, and would try to talk to you about it.

But not without preparing something special for you first!!

In his eyes, you are someone very important to him, so he couldn't let this special date pass, even if you didn't tell him.

So when he calls you out of the blue saying he's going to your house, you find it weird, but you don't mind so much because it's already a habit for you to go to each other's houses.

But you find it even stranger when you open the door and come across Kuroo holding a big cake with candles on top, with a big smile on his face, almost nervous.

Kuroo enters your house, walking quickly to the kitchen, placing the large cake on the counter.

And almost immediately, Kuroo approaches you, cradling you in his arms with a tight hug, while planting kisses on the top of your head.

You hug him back, giggling at the amount of affection he was giving you at the moment. "Tetsu... by chance is today some special occasion?" you say between laughs, but internally wondering why he did that.

"But of course it is!" Kuroo suddenly lets go of the hug, holding you by the shoulders, looking at you seriously. You worry, wondering what you forgot that was so important, and wondering if you hurt him in some way.

"It's your birthday!!!"

An uncomfortable silence fills the room, making Kuroo feel somehow pressured by your gaze, thinking he has offended you in some way. After processing the information you received, you let out a surprised "oh", and then laugh at your boyfriend's behavior, feeling more relieved that it wasn't something so serious.

"So that's it, for a second you scared me!" you relax your posture and rest your head on his shoulder, hugging him gently. "Why are you making such a small deal about your birthday? Do you not like him or something?" Kuroo asks curiously, as he runs his hand through your hair, twirling the silky strands around his finger.

"No, nothing like that! I just don't care much about that." you look away from him, thoughtful. "As happy as I am to complete another year of life, this is something natural for all of us, so... it is still just another day like any other."

"Heh, okay Miss 'A Day Like Any Other', still, you could have told me." he says in an ironic tone, taking his hand from your hair to lightly pinch your cheek. You squeal in surprise at Kuroo's pinch, laughing at his comment. "You never asked me, silly..."

"Well... even if you don't care much, I still want to celebrate it with you, okay?" he bows like a prince, extending his hand for you to take, making you laugh at his stupidity. Following his banter, you bow back, placing your hand on top of his.

"Maybe that's a good idea..." you say smiling at him, which Kuroo quickly reciprocates.

And soon planting a light kiss on your hand, and soon guiding you to the counter, where the birthday cake he bought for you was ready to have its candles lit, which you would blow away wishing for more moments like this with the one you love.

— A/N: I'm sorry for disappearing again!! I promise I'm aware of the requests I received and will try to do them as soon as possible!! So while I finish these pending requests (which are really a lot, believe me......💀), I will leave my requests closed until I can complete them all.🥲

[rabvan]

the most awful thing about thoschei is that they love each other.

they were childhood best friends. one of them murdered for the other and changed the trajectory of their lives forever. they grew up to hate each other, they’ve spend hundreds of years fighting and exchanged an amount of “please, join me” and “over my dead bodies” that’s honestly a little embarrassing. they hate each other so much (“how could you kill?” “how could you cure?”) but there’s no one else who knows them as well as the other. it is familiarity at first. i know you, and i will keep knowing you, and maybe hating you is comforting enough. the time war happens. if they didn’t understand others, they certainly don’t now, last of the time lords as far as they’re aware. if that wasn’t enough, one of them finds out the other is this deity so far out of their worldview (“above” them) and shatters.

and THAT. that’s what hurts. because if they were rivals, it would just be unfortunate. you are stuck with the person you hate the most, but you find other things to do, and they show up sometimes, and it’s fine, you leave them to their own devices. there’s a whole universe to see, after all. it’s possible to keep your distance. you don’t have it in you to care.

except you do care. you love them. you’ve loved them through every regeneration that it might as well be written into your artron energy. you need to be as close to them as the universe allows, so you plan to kill them as an excuse to see their face. and it is an excuse. if you really wanted them gone, you could have killed them off by now. for all your elaborate, stupid at times, schemes and silly costumes you are remarkably clever, and if you’re being honest with yourself, the costumes are just a way to get their attention. because you love them. even when you don’t want to. you like it when they look. you burn cities so they’ll turn their head.

sometimes you find yourself on the other side of the equation, and you love them. you love them so much it kills you over and over because you keep giving them a chance. you keep begging them to run away with you, and they won’t, and they never will, and you carry hope anyway. it kills you and kills you because you love them when you shouldn’t. you see it in every companion’s face. your empathy for them has gone past your usual savior complex into something raw, something ugly, something you keep hidden away between your two hearts except for when they’re in front of you and it comes pouring out. you love them. you wish they made it easier.

[kaliforniahigh]

Oooh you got any Jolly Thots?

Oh, yeah. I got them!! If anyone wants to send in their Jolly thots, my ask is open!

Warning: this is very angsty and there is no happy ending :( Also smut (p in v). Jolly is kind of a jackass in this, sorry.

WC: 1.4k

Jolly had you on your kness, back pressed against his chest as he pounded into you from behind. You could feel his breath on your neck, and the feeling of his hand pulling on your ponytail.

It was always like this. He'd call you, tell you he's feeling lonely and longing for you. You'd tell him to come over, only to have your heart broken over and over again.

When he had you like this, though, it was like the feeling of rejection didn't exist for a while.

"You love this, don't you? Me inside of you", he murmured in your ear, you only moaned in response. There was a time when you entertained his praises, but not anymore. Instead, you wished he'd just fuck and stay quiet.

He lets your hair go and you fall on your hands on the bed. His pace picks up and you can tell he's close by the way he's gripping your hips. He starts rubbing circles on your clit, and you're right there with him.

You hate the it feels so good, you hate the way he always seems to know what to do get make you fall apart for him. The way he hits all the right spots.

You wish he was as good with feelings as he is fucking you.

Seconds later, he's spilling inside the condom, with a grunt. And your shaking underneath him, knees giving out as lay sprawled on your bed.

You both take a few seconds to recover, and the part you dread the most is about to happen. Again.

You can hear him going into the bathroom, to discard the condom and wash his hands, you guess. You stay on the bed, now laying on your back and pulling the covers up to your chest.

There was also a time when you felt comfortable with him seeing you naked on the back after you finished. Now, you just felt kind of cheap. With how detached you've both become, the only thing missing was him slapping a couple of tens on your bedside table before leaving.

"Folio is having a party on Saturday. He says he wants to celebrate his new collaboration with TAMA", he tells you as he pulls his boxers on.

"Yeah, he told me", you responded with a detached tone to your voice. Watching him redress.

"You going?", he asked you.

"I'll see"

He only hummed in response. Grabbing his wallet and looking back at you.

"I'll see you on Saturday then. If you go", he opened the door of your bedroom.

"Yeah"

On Saturday, you found yourself knocking on the door to the boys' house. You pondered a lot over the week if you even wanted to go. But decided that your little situationship with Jolly shouldn't drift you apart from your other friends.

Besides, you were determined to ignore him tonight.

You guessed he wasn't there yet when you arrived, because you surveyed the place, but didn't find him. Good, you hope he wouldn't come, you wished to yourself, but knew that wouldn't be true, because he wouldn't miss celebrating his friend.

You were actually enjoying yourself and talking to people around you. You had a drink in your hand, but wanted to stay mostly sober for the night. Before, there was no problem with you getting drunk and spending the night at Jolly's room. Now, it just felt like you were overstaying your welcome.

Maybe an hour after you arrived, you could see two people entering the living room, when you looked in their direction, it was as if the whole world stopped spinning and the room became completely still.

There he was, dressed in all black, with a beautiful girl hanging on his arm.

You obviously knew he was fucking around with other girls, but he never actually brought them over to their house. Also, the fact that a few days ago, he was in your bed, fucking you, and now he was here, with a new girl, made your stomach twist.

Before he had the chance to come any closer to where you were standing, you turned around and made your way upstairs to the bathroom.

You closed the door behind you as you tried to calm your heartbeat that was pounding in your chest. You desperatly tried to think of an excuse to leave this party right now. You shouldn't have come in the first place.

After a couple of minutes, you decided to leave and then shoot Folio a text apologizing. You already had the chance to congratulate him, so that wouldn't look too bad.

Slipping out from the bathroom, you made your way through the living room with your head down, not wanting anyone to see you. Opening the front door, your stepped into the slight breeze blowing outside.

Taking a deep breath, you started to walk down the street to where your car was parked.

"Y/N", you heard a familiar voice behind you, but you didn't turn around, you didn't acknowledge him.

"Hey, where are you going?", he tried again, picking up his pace this time and walking beside you.

"I'm going home", you said, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. You tried to keep yourself in check, because you were sure if you stayed here any longer, you'd start crying like an idiot.

"Why? The party has just started".

Could he really not understand why you were leaving? Was he this dense? Instead of feeling sad, you were now feeling angry at his obliviousness.

"Are you fucking serious? Are you actually this stupid or do you just like to pretend that you are, so you don't have to own up to your mistakes?", the anger in your voice and fire in your eyes made him take a step back.

"Are you talking about?", he was wary now, but his eyes told you he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"Do you actually consider me your friend or do you just keep me around because I'm an easy fuck?", you were becoming tired of him dodging your questions.

"You're not an easy fuck. Please don't say it like that", he tried to take a step closer to you, but you took a step back, and he stayed in his place.

"Oh no? But you text me everytime already knowing I'll tell you to come over. You take advantage of the fact that you know I'm emotionally attached to you", you crossed your arms over your chest to try and protect your heart that was already broken in a million pieces.

"It was never supposed to be like this", he told you, and you desperately wanted him to stop making excuses.

"But it is. Next thing I know, you're going to be paying me for my services from how much a cheap transaction this has become"

Jolly just stood there, his eyes were wide and you could tell they were a little glossy from the way the light from the streetlamp hit his face.

"I'm so fucking sorry, You gotta believe me when I say I never meant to make you feel this way", his voice trembled a bit towards the end of his sentence. You could see a little glimpse of the old Jolly you met years ago.

"I'm not sure I believe anything that comes out of your mouth anymore", you stood your ground this time.

"I'm so fucking sorry", he looked down as he apologized to you. He couldn't even do it looking at your fucking face.

"Me too", you said as you fished your car keys from your pocket. "I'm going to delete your number, and I never want to speak to you ever again", now it was time for your voice to tremble. You were not only endind whatever you two had, but you were ending a friendship of years that developed into something neither of you could control or deal with. "Tell the boys I'll stop coming around"

With this last sentence, you turned around and walked the rest of the way to your car, now letting the tears fall freely from your eyes.

You unlocked your car and gor in the driver's seat. You told youself you wound't look back, but you couldn't helo but take a peek on the rear view mirror.

You Jolly sitting on the curb, you could tell his shoulders were shaking, and that his hands were covering his face.

Too bad, he should've shown some emotion all those times you desperately needed him to. With a shaky, deep sigh, you turned on your car and drove away from the most important people in your life.

[haveihitanerve]

The batkids visit Bruce’s grave. 

Dick.

“I hate you. I hate you so fucking much B. So much. How could you- how could you do this to me? To us? I don’t want to be Batman. You know that. You knew that. Why did you have to leave me? I love you. I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you.”

Jason

“… dickhead is pretty mad at you. I suppose I am too. You took the easy way out. Couldn’t just come home and figure out how to deal with me and our new relationship, couldn't come home to deal with Damian, your actual son. No. You took the easy way out and died. … I fucking hate you for that. Because… because I was willing to try. To fight. For you. For us. And you… you left me. Again.” 

Tim

“Hey B. It’s been a while. I uh… I could use your help on a few cases. I know, I know.. Work talk later. Ahem.. I miss you. I wish I didn’t. I wish… i wish this was really just a job. Just something I did in my off time. An internship. But its not. You wouldn’t let it be. You just… just had to adopt me huh? Make me feel like a son.. Made me feel like you were my dad……… I hate this feeling Bruce. And I know- I know you're not dead. You can’t be. You- you plEAse you cANt be.... fuck..” 

Stephanie

“… I hate you, I think. You never trusted me. Not the way you trusted the others. Well, I suppose that’s not true. You trusted me sometimes. As spoiler mostly. You were just hurting. And broken. … I think I can understand that. I loved you. Once. I love you. I hate that I forgive you when you’re dead. I hate that you said everything on a video tape for us to find and not in person. Why couldn’t you just say it in person?… I still love you.” 

Barbara

“You’re a right asshole Bruce Thomas Wayne, you know that? A right asshole. You hurt us. Them. So much. I’ll never forgive you for this, I hope you know that. But dammit Bruce let me hate you. Just come back. Let me… fuck. Let me hate you in person. I hate hating you if you’re dead. But I think if I don’t hate you I’ll just… have worse emotions. Please don’t be dead. Please let Tim be right… I hate you..”

[yuppie-forcemasc-caption]

A FORCEDmasc story inspired by a post on here. This is a repost, I messed up the previous post.

Plot: Being targeted by a man who find and beat you up once a week, every week. The beatdown will continues until you successfully become a man.

You might be a spineless creature, but after getting beaten up regularly, you realized that there's no other way out, and your fear morphs into the desire to fight back and survive.

Maria had grown to fear the shadows he cast. The man, whose real name she never managed to learn, was broad-shouldered and scarred, the kind of man whose fists had done the talking in a thousand fights. His eyes held no pity, only disdain and cold calculation.

“You still look like a scared little girl,” he sneered, “I thought you were trying to be a man. Guess that was a lie.”

Maria clenched her jaw. She hated him. Hated his voice, hated the way his words seemed to crawl under her skin. But most of all, she hated the truth in them.

She barely had time to catch her breath before the man’s shadow loomed over her, his presence almost as suffocating as the blow that knocked the air out of her lungs. She crumpled, gasping and cradling her midsection, her knees scraping against the concrete. Pain shot through her body, zapping any energy she might has mustered.

He stood over her, cold eyes narrowing, his voice rough and cutting. “You’re weak,” he said, “And if you stay that way, this will never stop.”

Maria wheezed, trying to gather herself. Her hands shook, her heart pounding with fear. She wished she could melt into the asphalt, disappear where he couldn’t reach her. But he wasn’t done. 

With a swift, merciless kick to her side, he sent her sprawling. She choked on a sob, feeling the sting of gravel against her cheek. Her tears were hot, burning trails down her face, mixing with the ache in her ribs. The man knelt beside her, fingers tangling harshly in her hair to drag her gaze up to meet his.

“You think someone’s gonna pity you? You think crying is gonna make you safe?” He pushed her away, letting her crumple back down. “You’re nothing. Weak. Soft. You call yourself a man?”

“Get up,” he demanded. “Or don’t. I guess cowards like you never learn unless someone forces them.” He hauled her up by the collar, her limbs weak and unsteady. “People like you, too soft to fight for what they want, don’t deserve to have anything. You know that, right?”

Maria’s sobs were muted, and her body trembled, not just from the pain but from the weight of his words. Somewhere deep inside, a small, flickering ember of anger smoldered, but it was so buried beneath layers of self-doubt and defeat that it barely registered.

The man stood, hands on his hips as he watched her crumpled form. “I’m doing you a favor,” he declared, his voice oozing disdain. “Until you can stand up for yourself, until you can make me back down, this is how it’s gonna be.”

That ember in Maria flickered out, swallowed by the overwhelming darkness of her helplessness. She tried to crawl away, but he kicked her back down. Mocking laughter followed, harsh and unrelenting.

“Running? Pathetic.” He sneered, leaning down close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “You wanna live like a rat? Always scurrying, always cowering from anyone stronger than you? No matter where you go, I’ll find you. And then what?”

He straightened, and his fists came down like a hammer, one punch after another. Maria did what she always did: she covered her head, tried to protect her face, and flailed, weak and ineffective. Her body jolted under the impact, each hit a fresh reminder of how small and powerless she was.

When it was finally over, she lay there, dazed, sobbing, and humiliated. The man shook his head, disgust dripping from every motion. “You don’t even fight back. What a joke.” He walked away, leaving Maria broken in the alleyway.

---

The bruises never had time to heal before fresh ones layered over them. One day, under the weight of perpetual fear, Maria broke. Not outwardly, but something cracked in her heart. She couldn’t keep living this way. If she wanted any hope of peace, any chance of survival, she had to fight. She has to get stronger.

The place felt alien. Clanging weights, grunts of exertion, the smell of sweat. Everything felt too loud, too sharp. Her heart pounded in her chest as she spotted him, the same man who had beaten her down countless times. He was leaning against a punching bag, wrapping his hands. He didn’t acknowledge her.

For a moment, doubt paralyzed her. Why was she here? Why was she even trying?

But his voice cut through the noise, directed at her, calm but mocking. "You gonna train or just stand there looking useless?"

Her fists clenched, anger flaring up. It was the only thing she had left to hold on to. She walked over, every step feeling like a battle, and forced herself into a routine she had only half-remembered from YouTube videos she’d watched months ago.

The man didn’t help her. He barely looked her way. But when she fumbled a lift or hesitated too long, he came over, correcting her form with a harshness that made her grit her teeth. He didn’t let her quit. Every time her insecurities bubbled up, every time she whispered she couldn’t do it, he barked at her.

"Shut up," he’d snap. "Do you want to stay weak? Do you want to stay at the mercy of anyone stronger than you?"

It was agony. The weights felt crushing, her body protesting every motion. She had never felt so small, so inadequate, but she couldn’t let herself stop. The memory of his beatdowns drove her forward, a fear that sharpened into determination. She pushed herself to the brink, but every time doubt crept in, he was there, snarling at her to stop whining. To be a man.

---

Weeks blurred together in a fog of pain and exhaustion. Her body began to harden, muscle slowly weaving into the places where soft curves had once betrayed her. But the man’s torment didn’t end. Whenever he thought she was slacking, he showed up like a nightmare, reminding her she wasn’t free yet.

“Fight back,” he’d taunt, delivering blows that never quite broke bone but felt like pure agony. He knew how to make pain sear without causing lasting damage, a skill honed from a past he never shared. Maria learned to guard herself better, to strike back even when she wanted to curl up and cry.

And in that grim, relentless world of survival, something began to change. Maria still feared him, but she feared her own helplessness more. Each time she clenched her fists, she tried to beat back the voice that said she’d never be strong enough. She had to be. She had no choice. 

The nights were still brutal. Whenever he decided she wasn’t working hard enough, he’d find her. Another fight. Another reminder that she had a long way to go. But the difference, however small, was there. She began to anticipate the blows, to guard herself better. Once, her fist even connected with his rib, and though it wasn’t enough to do any real damage, the spark of defiance inside her flared brighter.

The man only grinned, something dark and satisfied flickering in his eyes. "There you go," he taunted. "Finally acting like you want to survive."

---

As the days bled into each other, he noticed subtle but striking changes in himself. His mind, once clouded with depression and self-loathing, was now sharp, clear. The looming dread of the weekly fight, the anticipation of pain, had somehow burned away his old insecurities.  

The world seemed more manageable, even welcoming. Where he used to shy away, he now walked taller, he met people’s eyes, even spoke without the nagging fear of judgment or rejection. The fight against the man made everything else seem trivial, as though the world had shrunk to the relentless need to survive the onslaught, and to overcome it.

The man had planted something stubborn in his mind, a challenge that felt both like a weight and a promise: Until you believe you can win, you never will. The words echoed in his head, taunting him. There was truth in it, he realized. His doubts, his timidity, they were all fuel for the man’s fists, weaknesses the man exploited again and again.

In the gym, he trained harder than ever, feeling the testosterone surge through him, his thoughts aligning with a sharper edge. Every time he hit the punching bag, he pictured the man’s face, his mocking grin. His fists landed harder, more controlled, less flailing, and his frustration transformed into raw, driving energy.

The softness he hated gave way to muscle, his jawline sharpening, his shoulders broadening. He was still lean, but now there was power hiding beneath the surface, coiled like a spring.

But no matter how much Mark changed on the outside, the beatdowns never stopped. Every week, the man would show up like a shadow Mark couldn’t shake, ready to test him, to challenge everything he had fought so hard to become. Mark knew that if he ever let his guard down, if he ever slacked in his training, the man would crush him without a second thought.

It was this knowledge that kept Mark on edge, kept him moving forward. He no longer felt the suffocating depression that had once anchored him to his bed, drowning him in hopelessness. He was too busy bracing for the next fight, too focused on trying to land a punch that mattered. The dread of the weekly beatings replaced the old emptiness, and strangely, it felt like a kind of freedom. He had something to fight against, something other than himself.

One evening, Mark stood in front of the mirror in the gym locker room, studying his reflection. His shoulders were broader now, his arms roped with veins and muscle. His jawline had squared, and his voice had deepened to a steady baritone. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him, and for the first time, that felt good. Pride replaced old self-loathing, but it came with something more: a hunger. He was still fighting, still growing, but he wanted more. He wanted to win.

The man never stopped pushing him, even outside the gym. “You think just looking like a man is enough?” he’d sneer. “Where’s your conviction? Where’s your will to fight?”

Mark gritted his teeth every time he heard those words. It hurt. It hurt because there was a grain of truth buried in the cruelty, and it struck at the core of who he had been. He remembered the trembling, fearful girl he used to be, filled with doubt and desperation. But now he could feel something new — a simmering heat, a desire to prove himself, to wipe that mocking smirk off the man’s face. It was like a fire in his veins, no longer just from testosterone, but from something deeper.

“You’re never going to win,” the man taunted one day, as they faced off under the flickering alleyway light. “Not until you believe you can. You can pack on all the muscle you want, but if you don’t have the guts, you’re just another coward pretending.”

The words sank into Mark, igniting a fuse. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. Something inside him shifted, clicked into place. He wasn’t just surviving anymore. He wanted to win. He wanted to put an end to this, to prove he had become everything he had once dreamed of.

---

Then, one night, the weekly showdown came again. But this time, he felt it in his bones – a readiness, a certainty. He could see it in the way the man smirked, in the way he cocked his head, watching, as if testing. There was a silent dare in the man’s eyes, one he’d seen a hundred times, but only now did he fully understand it.

The man swung, fast and brutal, but Mark anticipated it, dodging just enough that the blow skimmed his shoulder instead of shattering him. Before the man could recover, he countered, throwing a punch that connected with the man’s jaw. The man staggered, just slightly, his eyes flickering with something almost like surprise.

“Finally,” the man muttered, a grin pulling at his lip despite the blood that trickled down. He didn’t waste a second, charging again, but Mark was faster, dodging, weaving, and then landing another punch – this time harder, square against the man’s chest.

The fight went on, brutal and unrelenting. But he didn’t feel the desperation he used to. Every punch, every movement was intentional, focused. When the man tried to corner him, he slipped out, throwing a jab that left the man momentarily off balance. And then he was on him, throwing his weight into each punch, channeling everything he’d been taught.

With a final, well-placed punch, he watched as the man fell back, hitting the ground, laughing even as he wiped the blood from his mouth. The guy’s fists ached, his knuckles raw, but he felt an unshakable thrill as he looked down at the man, victorious.

Mark’s fists clenched, and for a moment, the rage he had suppressed for so long exploded. He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him, and drove punch after punch into him, the pent-up anger and humiliation pouring out like a dam breaking. The man took it, laughing through the pain, until Mark’s fury finally spent itself.

Breathing heavily, Mark let the man drop back to the ground. He took a step back, his heart pounding with a strange mixture of triumph and exhaustion. The man’s laughter tapered off, leaving a quiet, heavy silence between them.

“You… you’re messed up for doing this to me,” he said, voice low, struggling with the words. But his gaze didn’t waver. “But… you were right.” Mark looked down at his bloodied knuckles and then at the man. “I’m not… her anymore”

The man grinned, wiping blood from his mouth, and gave Mark a grudging nod of respect. “Took you long enough. You were pathetic back then. But now?” He raised an eyebrow. “Now you’re worth something.”

He stepped back, his face setting into a calm, unbreakable resolve. He was no longer the shattered, self-doubting girl he’d once been. The man had stripped him bare, ripped away his illusions, and forced him to confront every flaw, every weakness. Now, he stood as a man. Not the hesitant shadow of manhood he once imagined, but a true one. A man who acts. A man who faces, who does not falter. 

In the end, he understood, to be a man is to choose action over fear. It wasn’t exactly the dream he’d had when he’d first started testosterone. It was something grittier, harder, and strangely, it was better.

With a final nod, he turned and walked away, knowing that he didn’t have to look back. 

[sonicexelle-junkary]

How did house party shadow find out his bf was a cannibal? How did that confrontation go?

I’ve been meaning to make a comic for this, but every time I tried to plan it it just made me frustrated, so I’m just gonna explain it. This still goes for the non au versions of these guys BTW.

Long story short; after a few months of dating, Sonic thought that Shadow could get in on their little murder cannibal family dynamic. Assuming the local delinquent punk had a taste for murder and/or cannibalism, Sonic brought him to a secret sectioned off room where they do their usual murdering and butchering. Shadow initially thought that Sonic was bringing him into a room to do specific things, but when he realized what was actually going on, he didn’t know what to feel at first.

Obviously—despite being a delinquent— Shadow has his own set of morals that he follows. He hates most people (mostly authority, leaning more towards an anarchist), but he would never wish something like this happening to them. So after taking a moment to process exactly what he was seeing, immediately any love he had for Sonic turned to disgust and hatred.

Shadow shouted at him, calling him sick in the head to like this stuff or to even think HE liked that stuff. Sonic tried to argue back, but he wasn’t having it. The only reason why Shadow didn’t call the cops right then was because of Knuckles and Amy still in the house, and those two would’ve killed him if he even tried. Luckily he managed to escape, with Sonic preventing the others from killing him (he’s still not over him, he swears he can get him back. He’s very delusional).

Afterwards, Shadow knew that the police wouldn’t be of any help if he reported what he saw. The hedgehog family were just regular every day people , there was no reason for them to be cannibals. Plus, he’s a delinquent— a well known one at that— no officer would even want to hear his story, they’d just put him in handcuffs and arrest him.

So for a while, after getting his thoughts in order, Shadow decided to prevent Sonic and co from killing and eating people as much as he can. He had been only partly successful in doing so until Silver came along.

[papersnatch]

Does Potemkin like his uniform? What would he wear if he could wear clothes without issues? How does his mutation affect things like clothes or self grooming? Does he like being able to take care of himself? What about what his favorite things to draw? How much food does he eat? Does he have favorite books? What's his guilty pleasure? Does he have a crush on anyone? Tell me.

anon, i see you and i hear you. you are indulging me so bad, and so obviously i will Listen

Potemkin (Guilty Gear) headcanons 2: Electric Boogaloo

Does Potemkin like his uniform?

- He doesn't feel anything real strong about his uniform. It's just a couple of garments he wears for formality's sake, not much else. He appreciates the small pockets though!

- But his helmet? God, Potemkin appreciates his helmet sooooooo much.

- Albeit only slightly, very very slightly, he's got some eyesight issues - but his helmet's got some prescription lenses installed in there that bring his vision back to 20/20.

- Potemkin doesn't really notice the eyesight problems when his helmet's off, but once he looks through those lenses again, it's like seeing a whole new world.... kind of. In reality it doesn't make much of a difference, but Potemkin appreciates it nonetheless!

What would Potemkin wear if he could wear clothes without issues?

- He's already so used to his firm uniform, no matter the issues, so I feel he'd instinctually go for something tight and cozy to emulate that feeling.

- On simple outings, he values comfort over fashion. A simple sleeveless t-shirt and trousers is all he needs. Maybe even a jacket.

- ... yeah, Potemkin's not too big on fashion. Again, he prefers comfort over anything, considering the lack of it that he has in the first place.

- He definitely doesn't mind showing some skin though (NOT IN THAT WAY AUGH). Mostly his arms, since he finds most long-sleeved shirts very uncomfortable.

How does Potemkin's mutation affect things like clothes or self grooming?

- For self grooming, he finds he's often breaking hairbrushes, toothbrushes, hair ties or anything else, completely by accident. His sheer strength makes it hard to use anything without taking extra care to do so gently. It's annoying, but Potemkin makes the most of it.

- Gabriel, the worried mentor that he is, always orders in extra-sturdy replacements for these tools, made just for Potemkin's sake. Potemkin is ever so grateful for it, as you'd expect.

- For clothes, Potemkin has to get them refitted every couple of months or so. Have you seen how skin-tight his Strive outfit is?

- well yeah t's for the sex appeal dude.but that's daisuke's fault not mine

- (In some XX cutscenes, there's images of him clearly wearing clothing that isn't practically glued to his skin. Maybe during Strive, he was simply due for a refitting of his clothes again...?)

- It's a hassle, and quite a costly one at that. but really it's no biggie. Just that all that body proportion measuring does get to him a little....

Does Potemkin like being able to take care of himself?

- Hooh! Ahem. Uhh, well, it's definitely better than not being able to...?

- Yeah, sure, Potemkin says he doesn't mind, and that's true. But on the bad days, when he looks in the mirror to brush his teeth or tie his hair up, he just feels... disgust. He's too big to fit in the doorway, or some low-hanging ceilings, or the mirror itself.

- Potemkin's mutation, the one that's taken hold of his life, opened so many paths and closed all the others... he resents it. Hates it. Wishes he could just be normal, with regular proportions and lacking of his superhuman strength. It's a blessing and a curse. It's-- no. No. There's no reason to dwell on it. It'll only lower his morale.

- Being independent is something Potemkin is glad he's able to do though, despite the difficulty of moving around and the horrible, horrible body dysmorphia. He'll find a way to cope with it. The self care needs to get done either way, he tells himself.

- (He might need some kind of therapist to help him with his self image issues, actually...)

What are Potemkin's favourite things to draw?

- Potemkin claims that he doesn't have a 'favourite' thing to draw, he simply follows along with whatever inspiration struck him in the moment.

- But, one with a keen eye would be able to spot the fact that he seems to adore drawing portraits of his friends and associates. The way their expression lights up when they see their own face, captured in perfect integrity and drawn by Potemkin's own hands, warms his heart.

How much food does Potemkin eat?

- A bit more than the average portion, since Potemkin has to keep up with his more demanding metabolism due to his larger size.

- But usually, he can get away with eating regular portions, so he does just that. It's a lot more convenient for him that way, especially when he's not preparing the food himself.

- He has been prescribed with a dietary plan, but it's become a little irrelevant lately.

Does Potemkin have favourite books?

- Not really. Well, at least he claims he doesnt, but you'll easily find him binging the old old classics, like Shakespeare. He's read all of Shakespeare's literature. Like, all of it.

- What can he say, they're titled as 500 year old classics for a reason! He's moreso surprised that they're still preserved and out there if anything. Such is the wonders of history preservation...

What's Potemkin's guilty pleasure?

- Fanfiction.

- ...

- What else is there to say?

- He finds beauty in the fact that people can take the base of someone's original story and craft their own out of it, using someone else's characters, setting and world to make their own personal piece of art. The storylines, the interpretations of characters, the twisting of the original plot... He holds the poetic value of it quite highly.

-And obviously, considering the fact he does consume some media, he's sometimes starving for more content of the characters he enjoys.

- What? No, I'm not projecting. Who told you that?

Does Potemkin have a crush on anyone?

- So, have you heard of this guy called Faust Guilty Gea(GETS SHOT AND DIES)

- ...okay, seriously, if he'd have a crush on anyone, I think it would be Faust - even if the crush was only for a fleeting moment. He's far too occupied with his job to really consider a romantic relationship, but him and Faust have bonded closer than he thought ever possible.

- Being so tall your back always hurts, being so bulky you struggle to get around, your giant hands getting in the way all the time... Faust gets Potemkin's struggles. Maybe not to the same degree, but he definitely gets it.

- And the fact that, considering their pasts, they're definitely both working to improve on themselves. It'd be so, so helpful to have someone to lean on, someone to share their struggles with, someone to come back home to.

- Yeah, it'd be tricky as hell for Potemkin to juggle his work and a relationship at the same time... but what the hell, maybe he could try anyway, just for the sake of it?

^ I'm not really one for ships, but like. Do you understand. (while actively frothing at the mouth) i think you need to put me down anon

hey if you are my friend and you see this post i give you permission to maul me, anyway Potemkin Guilty Gear.......

[griddleharkbrainrot]

You have brought this upon yourselves

Tagging the people who reblogged this so they can read the final product: @commanderbabygirl @shoot-i-messed-up @kuronekofe-ao3 @yourinfernaimajesty @kneehighrainbowsocks @cipher-fresh @fashion-foxy

Before I begin I would like to clarify that this is about how Batman is a trans allegory, whether the character himself is or is not trans is up to the reader's interpretation.

First I would like to break down some key elements of the character Batman

Dresses up at night as a different persona, with a different name, voice, and clothing

Thinks of himself as Batman and states that Bruce Wayne is the alter ego and that he is Batman

He spends the day engaging in behaviors contrary to what he truly wishes to do so that people will not doubt his identity and realize that he is Batman

He does not want to act like playboy Bruce Wayne, even stating once that it makes him uncomfortable

He tries to hide being Batman from friends and family because he is afraid of how they will respond and if they will be safe

He views himself as a monster at times for identifying as this thing which is seen as not human

We sometimes see Batman fear that his parents would hate what he has become.

Some people consider Batman a corrupting influence and blame him for Gotham’s problems

Now that we have broken down some key aspects of what makes Batman himself, I would like to tell you a story and let you draw the parallels.

TW Transphobia in the deep south

Sally is a young girl who lives in Alabama. Deep country Alabama where they shoot you if you’re queer cause they can’t have you corrupting the children. Most people don’t call her Sally, they call her Alexander, a name that isn’t hers but she can’t tell them that because it isn’t safe to do so. What if they tell someone else and the secret gets out? What if they accept her but someone finds out they knew and didn’t tell and they shoot them both together? It's far too dangerous for them to know so Sally lets them call her the wrong name even as something chips and breaks in her chest. But at night she is free; in the nearby town there is a bar she likes to sneak out to where she can dress as herself and be known by her own name. For some of the others they like to dress as women for fun and Sally can understand that but for her it's not just a night out, this is her real life. There is a whole other world out there for her at night of people who can truly be themselves. Some are brave enough to be the same person during the day and the night but Sally doesn’t have that option. It isn’t safe for her out here, and so to ward off suspicion Sally buzzes her hair when she wants to shave it out, lowers her voice when she wants to raise it, and dresses hypermasculine because this is the armor she must wear to avoid suspicion. Her parents make her go to church every Sunday and the pastor likes to give speeches about the monsters in the night who are “unnatural and against god”. He warns against the devils who will corrupt you and turn your good-natured children into f*gg*ts. Sally shrinks in her seat while he preaches, knowing that the monster he speaks of is her. Her mother puts a reassuring arm on her shoulder, thinking that the reason Sally is frightened is because she does not want the so-called devils to take her, not knowing her child is one of them. Sally wonders if her mother would hate her if she knew what she was. A mother is supposed to love their children unconditionally, but after all, there is no hate like Christian love.

Apologies if that was triggering for anyone, but I needed to tell it so that you could properly understand. It is not my story (although I did write it) but the story of many young trans people in areas where it is not safe for them to be out of the closet.

Let’s review the previously established characteristics of Batman and draw parallels to the story above and the experience of being trans as a whole.

Dresses up at night as a different persona, with a different name, voice, and clothing

Need I say anything?

Thinks of himself as Batman and states that Bruce Wayne is the alter ego and that he is Batman

I am newname not deadname

He spends the day engaging in behaviors contrary to what he truly wishes to do so that people will not doubt his identity and realize that he is Batman

Protective hypermasculinization/hyperfeminization

He tries to hide being Batman from friends and family because he is afraid of how they will respond and if they will be safe

Not safe to be out as trans and afraid people won’t acccept you

He views himself as a monster at times for identifying as this thing which is seen as not human

Internalized transphobia

We sometimes see Batman fear that his parents would hate what he has become.

Fear that your parents won't accept you as trans

Some people consider Batman a corrupting influence and blame him for Gotham’s problems

The ridiculous idea that transgender people are corrupting children

Let me know if I missed anything or if there are any inconsistencies. Additions are welcome to this post! I am not a batman expert but what little I know was drawing obvious parallels to being trans and so I had to share this mess that has been rattling around in my brain

You guys aren't ready for my analysis on Batman as a trans allegory

[tamagotchikgs]

im trying 2 make up for the fact i lost my seroquel with weed but oh man i am still feeling the effects . so hard