#file. crack

[tsuiokuno]

“so when people posts about 'doing the bare minimum at work' on social media everyone is supportive, but when i, kusakabe atsuya—”

[hinamie]

mentor

[zorangezest]

switcheroo part 2 electric boogaloo (soundwave edition)

for those of you who were wondering, yes soundwave is still the most loyal hes just a flamboyant conniving megalomaniac, and yes starscream is still traitorous hes just calculating and methodical and very very patient

part 3

[sixeyesonathiel]

co-parenting? no. co-pettying.

pairing — single dad satoru x single mom reader

satoru is just trying to console his crying daughter over her tragic bangs—until he finds out the kid who roasted her is your son. petty parenting, unresolved feelings, and karmic bangs ensue.

a/n: in honor of me getting bangs again. pt 2 later ig

satoru gojo is seething.

not the explosive kind. no, this is a slow, bitter simmer—the kind only young single dads with too much pride, a permanently furrowed brow, and daughters crying over their butchered bangs can manage. he sits on the park bench like it personally offended him, ice cream in one hand, the other arm wrapped protectively around his daughter, who’s still sniffling beside him. the vanilla scoop is melting, forgotten, dripping onto his jeans. he doesn’t care. he’s glaring at the sandbox like it insulted his bloodline.

"and then he said i looked like a mushroom," she sobs again, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. her voice warbles. her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. her bangs—god. they're a battlefield. uneven, jagged, more suggestion than style. like she challenged a pair of safety scissors to a duel and the scissors didn’t even try.

satoru bends forward, crouching beside her like he’s about to deliver a sacred truth. his long fingers gently cup her tear-streaked face, the scar on his knuckle catching the sunlight as he exhales dramatically. "you are beautiful," he says, like he means it, like he’s declaring something holy. "you look like a high-fashion mushroom. like... couture fungus. like the kind of mushroom anna wintour would cry over."

his daughter hiccups through a giggle. small win.

he pushes her hair behind her ears, lets out a sigh that feels older than he is. he’s only twenty-two, but the weight in his shoulders says thirty-five. he ruffles her hair. "who was it?" he asks, too calm. that special, terrifyingly pleasant calm dads get when they’re about to ruin some six-year-old’s entire lineage.

"hiro," she says, almost sulking now. "he laughed and said i looked like a button mushroom. his mom picked him up after school. she gave me a candy and told me boys are dumb. she was really pretty."

hiro.

satoru blinks. that's your kid. he stares ahead, almost offended by the realization. the same hiro who offered his daughter a capri sun last week like he was proposing marriage. the same hiro who now, apparently, inherited your pettiness like it’s a family heirloom.

he remembers it all too well.

the way you stormed down the hallway in high school, bangs equally doomed, fire in your eyes, shouting at him for the fourth time that month. you always looked cutest when you were mad. he’d called you mushroom head and dodged a flying highlighter.

in his defense, he was sixteen and stupid and thought the way your face twisted in outrage was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. he was in love. tragically, stupidly in love. he just expressed it by emotionally terrorizing you every fourth period chemistry class.

now your six-year-old is carrying the baton like a prodigy. divine retribution, with extra glitter.

he sees you a few days later.

the playground buzzes with kids and shrieks and parents scrolling phones with mild exhaustion. you’re sitting on a low stone wall near the swings, sunglasses pushed into your hair, drink in hand, scrolling your phone with one finger and the smuggest smirk he’s ever seen. your earrings catch the late afternoon sun. your nails are fresh. you’re the picture of composed pettiness.

"gojo satoru," you say sweetly, like you’re greeting a man you’d happily watch trip over a lego.

the way your mouth curves around his name is criminal. he hates how much he notices that. hates how fast his ears burn. he adjusts the collar of his hoodie, trying to look unaffected.

he gives you a dry look. "heard your kid's been practicing stand-up comedy. at my daughter's expense."

you hum, tilting your head. "is that what we’re calling emotional resilience these days? because if he gets it from anyone, it’s me."

satoru eyes you. his hoodie’s stained with dried syrup, there’s a faint bruise on his temple—cabinet incident. his posture’s a little slumped, like sleep is a distant fantasy. he scratches the back of his neck. his fingers tap a silent beat against his thigh.

"he called her a mushroom."

"a cute mushroom," you counter, not missing a beat. "like, toad from mario. he’s a legend."

you sip your iced latte without breaking eye contact. he scowls.

"you taught him that."

"you say that like i wouldn’t weaponize shared trauma."

the corner of his mouth twitches. your words are sweet and soaked in petty, and it’s driving him insane. you’re too calm about it. too good at this.

"you’re enjoying this."

"oh, i’m thriving," you say, leaning back slightly, letting the breeze catch your shirt. "do you know how many years i waited for the universe to do this? it’s like my karmic investment finally matured."

his jaw ticks. "i was a kid. you were cute when you were homicidal."

you laugh, but there’s a bite to it. "i was feral, satoru. you made me snap a pencil with my bare hands."

"still the hottest thing i’ve seen."

the words slip. he bites the inside of his cheek too late. his eyes flick up, reading your face, then quickly dart away.

you blink, slowly. your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. then you scoff, shaking your head with a little smirk, like you’re filing that away for later.

hiro runs past then, thrusting a friendship bracelet toward satoru’s daughter. it’s neon pink, too tight, barely holding together. she takes it like it’s the crown jewels. behind them, someone’s kid faceplants into the mulch. a mom sighs deeply without looking up from her kindle.

"see?" you say, lifting your brows, voice light but smug. "my kid has more emotional intelligence than you did at seventeen."

"okay, that’s—"

"—true," you interrupt, standing. you stretch lazily, fingers laced above your head. your shirt rides up slightly, revealing a hint of skin. he notices. his eyes snap away too fast.

you glance down, lips curling with practiced sweetness. "how’s it feel? to be on the receiving end of the mushroom prophecy?"

"is this revenge?"

"no," you say, brushing invisible lint from your jeans. "this is me being a good mom. and maybe also petty. definitely petty."

and then—god—you wink. like this is your sitcom and he’s still the fool in love.

satoru groans, slumping on the bench, hands dragging down his face. beside him, his daughter is giggling, her butchered bangs fluttering as she tugs hiro toward the slides.

across from him, your laughter rings out—soft, wicked, triumphant. it curls through the air like the ghost of a grudge with perfect eyeliner, like the echo of a high school hallway where a boy once said "mushroom head" and a girl nearly committed homicide with a highlighter.

god. he’s losing a custody battle against karma. and karma’s wearing lip gloss.

he watches you walk away, heart pounding, throat tight. he never said it. maybe he never will. but god—you still do something to him.

and maybe that's the real punishment.

not the bangs. not the karma.

just the ache of wanting you, after all this time.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

With you at my side, I've forgotten my homesickness.

[olessan]

The Dark Lord Sauron

Shampooed Halbrand + Big Pathetic Puppy Eyes 🥺

[disterra]

a shameless remix of this fanart and inspired by this image of lewis

[okthisway]

finally triggered this scene 😤

[tsuiokuno]

“it's about your physical appearance. personalities have no bearing on it whatsoever.”

"Stop saying I look like Skelly J. Graves ( Chicken Little ). He's dumb, and a coward! AND I AM NOT A COWARD".

[charmzero]

something something aitsf 5th anniversary

[carlislefiles]

will they let you to come in the bathroom if they're taking a shit?

listens to you talk about your day as you sit on the counter, completely unfazed that he's quite literally shitting (absolutely shameless, takes you everywhere) ╰►fushiguro toji, gojo satoru, ino takuma, inumaki toge, yuuji itadori, aizawa shota, kaminari denki, kirishima eijiro, shinso hitoshi, takami keigo, bokuto kōtarō, hinata shōyō, kuroo tetsurō, matsukawa issei, oikawa tōrufu

thought it was weird at first that you wanted to continue talking to them while they used the bathroom, but hey, if you don't care, they don't care ╰►hiromi higuruma, ieiri shoko, kamo choso, nanami kento, yuta okkotsu, midoriya izuku, sero hanta, kozume kenma, sawamura daichi

takes them months, if not years, and they're never fully chill with it, but whatever makes you happy...right? sometimes, when they're really going through it, they still kick you out (how evil :/) ╰►fushiguro megumi, geto suguru, kong shiu, shigaraki tomura, todoroki touya, ushijima wakatoshi

absolutely never happening, doesn't even entertain the idea, prays for the day you stop asking ╰►ijichi kiyotaka, sukuna ryomen, amajiki tamaki, bakugou katsuki, ida tenya, todoroki shoto, kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei

[cherium-meadows]

I want y’all to know I’ll be back once I’m done having my fill w/ the new update LMAOO

In the mean time why did he do this when I gave him an egg😭😭😭😭

[bisexualfbiagents]

THE X FILES | Sanguinarium (4.06)

[thealdersgateoffice]

“I can’t fucking be in there with it like that. Put it back how it was.”

Slow Horses | 4.02 A Stranger Comes to Town 🐌🐎

[slabmaxxing]

ribs

[robespapier]

I saw Robespierre's briefcase again in the Carnavalet's temporary exhibition Paris 1793-1794: une année révolutionnaire. The briefcase used to be in their permanent display but was removed at some point between summer 2022 and 2023. They rotate the artefacts on display, and it's also possible the briefcase is fragile.

The cool thing is the way it was displayed in the 1793-94 exhibition allowed for a much closer look at it.

I previously could only read "Robespierre" on the front but turns out it also says "Correspondance de la veille"; makes one wonder how many of such briefcases he had for different files ?