#I probably made him ooc too
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suggesting something,,
#akoya gero#my art#.........i meant for him to be talking to kinchan and originally had him say 'president'#but then i thought i'll leave it ambiguous.........#..........#im suffering with embarrassment from whatever the hell i was on about last weekend#the tags about the game made me remember an old ....thing i wanted and i couldnt stop thinking about it#like actually i really wanted it but i can't.... i can't just say it in public to no one and just leave it out there#i want someone to know what it is and be nice to me about it but i don't want to be made fun of ;;;;;;;;#my feelings manifested into an akoya ........#he.. wants to do ...something with kinchan i guess... orz#please dont guess it's anything i haven't drawn before... but its probably safe to guess its something ive drawn before ....... ;;#OWWWWW A JAPANESE PERSON SAID SOMETHING CUTE ABOUT THIS AND IM EMBARRASSED;;;;;#they were like '?!! what's wrong? why is he crying?!!'#HES CRYING CUZ HES EMBARRASSED. IM EMBARRASSEd..... im sorry .....#i want to say it but i dont want to if i dont know if anyone will be nice to me ;;;;;;;;;#i.. i cant explain to the nice japanese person bc im too embarrassed .....#it's ooc and doesn't make sense in canon .......#but.. i was happy they asked why he was crying... thank you.... ;___;#........i responded to it after all#but i can't explain more than that he wants to ask for somehting but he's too embarrassed so he's crying
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It's hard being someone who does genuinely get infuriated with Ford's actions and acknowledges a lot of his flaws and the people he hurt, while also liking (and relating) to his character enough that I would like him to have nice things sometimes and don't believe he's satan
#hes not my favorite guy#but i keep having to defend him because every time people talk about him its like “YEAH HES A SHITBAG WHO WANTS TO WATCH HIS BROTHER DIE”#“HED PROBABLY LAUGH IN HIS FACE WHILE HE GETS MAULED BY TIGERS”#when i was reading the fanfic O Brother I too thought he was being overly cruel to poor Stanley (in a way that made sense not an ooc way)#but then he like found out the deity that was his entire life was lying to him and that he hurt people#and that he no longer can SLEEP because hell hurt people again#and he has to figure out the impossible answer of what to do while everyone is upset and untrusting of him#and his best and only friend barely can LOOK at him#and all the comments are like “YEAH THIS IS WHAT HE DESERVES!!! FUCK YOU STANFORD”#meanwhile im over here like “oh my god thats so fucking awful!!! i feel so bad!!!”#like he genuinely has NO ONE right then thats fucking awful#its Jonathan Sims all over again except even the AUDIENCE hates him and like?????? please hes just misguided he does NOT deserve this#stanford pines#ford pines#gravity falls#again let me clarify HES NOT EVEN MY FAVORITE GUY#i obsess over him occasionally but im a Stanley defender through and through AND YET#i keep having to say “guys. hes not as bad as you guys think. and Stan isn't as GOOD as you guys think. GUYS. PLEASE.”#it truly is interesting how different focuses on characters influence the audiences perspective of them SO MUCH#because ngl remember how i mentioned J Sims?#i really feel like Jon and Ford are similar#meddled with deities they didn’t understand. had paranoid tendencies. isolated themselves often. had selfish tendencies.#often rude and abrasive but also had a heart#and again the audience LOVES Jon and hates characters for disliking him#but this audience (which probably is the same people too lol) hate Ford and feel vindicated when characters dislike him
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I did it. I finally beat this game.
#and theres a long road ahead.#i may have 100% every terrirory but i missed a lot of dialogue#so i need to replay obv#but at least my desparation to complete the game is no longer#i can probably return to multitasking my time again instead of this being my singular focus#this means turning my attention to this blog#i have a lot of plans#im still on the fence about reviving felassan and putting him on this blog.#i sorta thought he would play a bigger part than he ended up doing#which is one of several disappointments in this game#but. ill say this: it was a good game.#it had its problems#some of them stupid af like idk how or why they did some of this shit#just making it bad on purpose ig??#idk but there were also some moments i really liked#i wish they could have just... done a bit more in certain aspects. they had a billion years to work on it.#if they needed more time to not feel so incomplete in certain ways#i wouldnt be complaining#anyway. yeah bittersweet like i thoughts#but not as bitter as i was fully expecting#thank god this didnt totally suck.#i woulda been crushed.#i give it... a 4.5/10#if that seems low it's because i am a harsh grader and also bc i think small changes would have made a drastic impact#okay wait ill be generous and say 5/10.#what are y'all's ratings? am i too harsh? not harsh enough? did yall hate this shit or do i need to relax?#ooc
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So I found Hop…
He’s okay with me talking about this, by the way. He was trying to take on two Team Yell grunts at once, and I jumped in of course! We dealt with ‘em.. and then we.. talked.
..We have a lot more in common than we realized.
AND NOW WEN’RE EVEN BETER FRIENDS :D
#ooc >#i’ve been writing recent game interactions into my planning board#just to be like ‘hey this is what happened#now to adapt this into a blog post’#instead of just posting#and when i got to this part of the game i accidentally cooked a bit too hard#and now hop won’t be having his ‘i’m a failure’ arc because i made him and dove. talk it out. and realize things#btw hop’s depression in this blog isn’t ‘i’m not living up to leon’ it’s ‘how can i be a good friend to dovewing and protect her if i can’t#defeat bede?’#idk if it will come up in the blog so just some ooc background for u guys who r interested#i thought it would be fun to change the reason but i accidentally made them have healthy communication#over feeling the pressure to protect people to live up to a duty (future champion/prophecy cat)#but then the two realize the things people expect of them don’t define them#i’ll probably have hop realize he wants to be a scientist way earlier because of this idk#sorry i made them good friends who care about each other i’ll throw in a messier friendship sometime
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ooc: what if....
Seymour was an accident.
#ooc { 🪷 } dusk speaks#this started out as a joke thought but now I'm actually considering it ahsgdgg#like Seymour was born 3 years before jyscal became the leader of the Guado#so Sey probably wouldn't have been next in line to lead the Guado for years if we considering the leader before Jyscal being Jyscal's fathe#and since Jyscal wasn't in power; he'd have fewer reasons to do anything under the guise of 'bringing the Guado and humans closer together'#both Anima and Jyscal were both in their earlier 20s when they had Seymour so having him as a complete accident doesn't sound too unheard o#especially by Spirian standards where everyone's at risk of dying young because of Sin#and there was probably enough uproar about Jyscal and Anima getting together#idk why or if they would've thought have a child would've made ANY sense after a human/guado marriage so Seymour being an accident#is starting to look..more and more..like an...actual thing#thoughts? please tell me I'm not going crazy and this is a stupid idea#someone take this idea out of my hands before I legit put it into Anima's backstory
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I completely forgot about the Sun Wukong inspired Sonic Character Monkey Khan XD
#Loss of Powers | {OOC}#The Scrolls | Mun Menu {Post}#WINTER MADE ME REMEMBER HIM; I COMPLETELY FORGOT#I mean his name is more based on King Kong; but the rest is Monkey King#I love the wiki list one of his nicknames as MK and I just like 'Ah; there are two MKs now' XD#Gods; when I am tempted to RP him but I also can't remember shit about his character...other than another dude trying to get with Sally#And another rival for Sonic#I mean...I'd probably just be remaking him from the ground up either way...#Wasn't too big a fan that they made him basically cybernetic to explain his powers#And other than the nimbus and his staff; he didn't have any powers really associated or common with Monkey King...[shrugs]#Didn't have to be 1:1 necessarily but the fact they didn't give him much more than Monkey King aesthetics is meh to me =w=;;;
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people will literally make a fake woman oc for jc to marry. like who hurt you
#the ONLY time a jc'/oc ship worked was when they made a nonbinary cultivator meet him postcanon#and they were a MEAN bitch. I liked them a lot. jc was written probably better than he deserved but not too ooc.#that was a fun fic and no I don't have it sorry#100 times better than bestowing a grateful young doe-eyed gentry lady to love him as a reward for Just Being So Great 🤢#cql txp
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Whenever I see people saying that Dazai's an asshole and doesn't care about anyone I laugh. Guess he did a good job of fooling you buddy.
#I mean it was an account which presumably liked Akutagawa#So I can TOTALLY see why this happened. I get it. Your fav was abused by this character and he's in general an asshole to a lot of people.#But also he isn't a complete monster and that's crucial to understanding his character.#I used to hate Mori and that made me make him ooc SO many times.#And I know it's not exactly the same but for your own sake : if you're biased towards a character please stop telling people they're wrong#about said character. Because your bias is probably preventing you from seeing Dazai in a caring light and that SHOWS.#“Dazai left chuuya behind in the woods” dude. Chuuya was his enemy. They were in war. He needed to take Q back.#Did people seriously think Dazai would be able to carry both a grown man and a kid on his back all the way to an extraction point?#And he literally took Chuuya back in stormbringer after the first time chuuya used corruption.#and he waited until chuuya woke up before leaving in dead apple and stayed beside him so that chuuya wouldn't be affected by the fog.#I think people overestimate Dazai's abilities sometimes. where tf was he supposed to take chuuya in dead apple?#there was still a battle going on.#There's nothing I hate more than dazai haters trying to make him look bad in every situation.#“oh he spent Kunikidas money that's asshole behav-” THEY'RE FRIENDS ASSHOLE!!!#If Kunikida wanted he could've kicked Dazai's ass to the sun and told him to never touch his wallet again.#he didn't. BECAUSE THEY'RE FRIENDSSSS (maybe something else too to the kndz shippers)#like shut up and leave ♡#also “this os MY post on MY blog” how do you feel about me uno reversing you sweetie <3#bungou stray dogs
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I was trying to get a pic of the script but I need to express how fucking funny it looks for Eight to be charging the beach with a sword
#sorry- *already making a beeline straight for the enemy* what are you d o i ng#no yeah sword eight probably has to relegate to kotfe era this is too wild for SoR#pseudo tank bumrushes entire beach. 3000 dead 400 more injured#swtor#ooc#im sure the first time theron saw him do shit like this while thinking he was a normal agent like himself made him go into catatonic shock
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Who is the best Sex Bob-omb fan, and why is it Knives?
I have to admit, I did let out an audible chuckle at this. She really is one of our biggest fans... aside from Neil, of course.
She is certainly our most vocal fan, at least, and it's not so bad having her around. The excitement is... endearing. I'm glad the whole Scott thing hasn't put her off from us, at least.
...
... Probably would have been better for her if it had, though...
#Anyway.#No one tell him but she's definitely taken Neil's spot as our top fan I think#I mean. She actually recommends us to people. And she made all her friends come to our show that one time?#We didn't really get to play much that night but it's the thought that counts#pine.txt#asks#anon#rp#kim pine#sp comic#spto#spvtw#(ooc: hope this was an okay answer? I'm leaning more on comic canon but I'm also realizing where I've placed her on the timeline in +)#(+relation to that. so. hm.)#(ooc: leaving things vague and nebulous for a moment I guess! h a-)#(ooc: ... should I be tagging knives for this? i probably should have tagged the other one scott too)#(ooc: ehhh I'll think about it)#spvtwtg
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Gathering screencaps for icons and I just... Not me and @starsweepers sad that they didn't talk to each other once, especially in this scene in the second movie where they sat right next to each other but did not say a word 😑😞
#&&. look I get it#&&. this movie is hardcore Deuce and Clawdeen rather than the other way around#&&. But gosh... Cleo and Deuce have my heart#&&. I really wish they had them speak together because it's obvious Cleo is improving her attitude for the better and !!#&&. deuce would see that!!!#&&. he definitely has!!!#&&. Like sure he has his things he gotta work out too but them growing to become better monsters and getting back together is just 🤌🤌🤌#&&. Like twinnie and I already decided that Cleo would be the first to know that Deuce is not okay after the end of 2#&&. Like maybe she gave him one of her scarabs like she did with Claw??#&&. but Deuce didn't get the same farewell treatment as Claw. they literally made him go on his own without anyone to see him off#&&. again it's for the shock factor and it was probably curfew too but man..not even Heath snuck out to say bye to his bud#&&. the author speaks ( ooc )
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please forgive me i've got demons in my head
With this profession comes a certain emotion. Inexplicable to the rest, some mixture of anger and lust and the need to conquer. You haven't met a fighter yet who hasn't experienced it -- because that's why people immerse themselves in this world, right? They have this rage inside in desperate need of an outlet. To simply shut their minds off and let muscle do all the work instead, to pummel someone until they're unrecognizable beneath the fresh bruises and blood without worrying over the consequences of half-mauling someone on live television.
Or maybe it was just you. Little fifteen year-old Alec, coming home with busted knuckles and bruising along your jaw, having to face the despair of your weeping mother.
And while you no longer see that despair on her, the disappointment of your coach serves just as bitter. He has been... particular lately.
On edge ever since the new recruit -- Alex-- joined. The one with the ego and attitude of some self-proclaimed MMA god. The one picking fights with the other men and blasting world-renown fighters online to coax them into fights.
As if the boy could ever take on Chimaev and make it out of there in one piece.
Today serves to be no different. Currently, you're seated on one of the benches off to the side, wrapping your knuckles, muttering silently the lyrics to the song currently blaring in your ears.
Act a fool on stage, prolly leave my fucking show in a cop car--
Out of your peripherals, you watch him approach with his clipboard in hand. He sinks down to sit beside you, hunches over with arms on his knees and with the way his body seems to heave, you imagine he's unloading a pretty heavy sigh. Something you really try not to mimic, because now he's here and you have to pull an earbud out and, "You good, Yosep?"
The expression he wears tells you he is, in fact, not good.
"Our new recruit seems to have quite the bravado about him, you haven't noticed?" he mumbles, rubbing along his jaw while he stares into the direction of said recruit. "He's been picking too many fights with the boys lately. I'm worried they're gonna start leaving if I don't do something but I've already talked to the fucking kid and warned him."
"So fire him and tell him to find another coach," you suggest, nonchalant as you continue wrapping.
Yosep, once again, sighs.
"Look, kid, I know you've been under some stress lately, I can see that." Oh no. "But would you try talking to him? You're the only one he hasn't gotten into it with yet. Little shit's probably scared of you." Probably.
He pauses, lets the distaste flare in his eyes when he grumbles, "Kid just turned the legal age for this and he's already acting like he owns the fucking organization."
Normally, you wouldn't mind it. But these past few days have been... taxing. You felt more sullen, withdrawn, more prone to butting heads with anyone that pissed you off.
The look Josep gives you tells you he is a man wallowing in desperation for some form of outside intervention, and you finally cave. Tucking your earbuds and tape away, you rise from the bench and trudge along to where the newbie is lifting weights. A brow arches down at the multiples of twenty-pound weights stacked on either side of the bar. (Weak shit, but you're not about to say that.)
"Yo. You're gonna fuck your muscles up if you stack them too much like that - should probably go a little lighter for now," is what you offer to start, peacefully.
Peace is clearly not an option for him, because he scoffs and lifts the bar to set it back in place before sitting up.
"I look like a pussy to you? Who even are you-" and then it hits him, and the grin forming tells you that you're in for it with this one. "Oh shit, you're Alec, yeah? Kind of a faggot name if you ask me but you still landed that hot piece of ass, didn't you?"
Ah. You've taken to chewing on the sides of your tongue, inhaling deeply through the nostrils and just. Exhaling slow. It will do you no good to get into any unnecessary fights.
"You still together or you get dumped for a bigger dick? That why you been so quiet lately?" he inquires through a far-too-wide grin, infuriatingly pleased with himself as he watches the anger creep into your features.
There's a strange period of silence that follows. You, taking the necessary steps to calm yourself. Him, taking advantage of it to continue prattling on.
"What's the matter? You too scared to speak up or was I right on the money?" Another beat of silence. "Man, for being such a hotshot you're kind of a pussy. No worries though. I'll keep your spot warm after you're all washed up."
Yep.
It might do you some good to get into a fight. Put the bastard in his place and remind him of the metaphorical hierarchy instilled here. One hand lifts to clamp onto the back of his neck, grasping around the spinal column hard and kindly escorting him over to the ring.
"You wanna talk shit then you're gonna eat it too," announced loudly enough for the immediate vicinity to hear and drop what they're doing. Your little crew gathers around, cheering for you to kick his ass and, oh, you so badly want to. You fling him carelessly into the center of the mat, watching in amusement as he stumbles to catch his balance; and promptly launch a fist directly into his shit-spewing mouth. Several things ensue at once.
Alex going straight down to the mat.
The cheers and jeers of your friends.
Josep somewhere in the back, borderline screaming "Alec what the fuck" as he hurries over. Thankfully not quick enough to catch you before you follow Alex's fall, already pinning him down with a knee at his stomach, pressing hard into it while you dish out blow after blow. And with each, his features become less distinguishable through the swelling and spatters of blood.
Yet, it isn't enough. You long to sink your fingers into his chest and pry his ribs open, check and see if the bastard even has a heart. Coach, however, is fast approaching. So you grab Alex by the face, lift his head inches from the mat and bend to meet him halfway -- if only to let him see the vivid mania in the void black of your eyes, his own widened in fear and what you can only imagine to be pain.
"You don't talk about my fucking baby like that, you understand me? You don't even deserve to breathe the same air as him," spat out through bared teeth. "You keep my fucking name out your mouth while you're at it, because I'm gonna tell you once that there's a reason they call me o diabo. I'll show you what all those people in church are fucking afraid of, bitch. "
Two, maybe three sets of hands latch onto you to pull you off the kid, and you go with little complaint. Your gaze goes from the crumpled, demoralized mess of a man before you to your hands; a slight tremble to the fingers just before you curl them into your palm. You're not proud of yourself, no, but you're satisfied enough to leave the situation.
"Better check under your bed before you fall asleep, kid. I might be there one night," much to the dismay of coach, who's eyeballing you like he wants to throttle you. You're already well aware of the scolding you'll be getting later.
For now, though, you need to wash the blood off your hands.
#ooc.#slurs /#this has to be my longest drabble yet#goddamn#of course alec would get into it with an alex though#the fact that his name was made fun of too is so funny to me#like buddy theyre one letter away from being the same name#also had to give him that stereotypical 'im better than you' god complex#:)#this probably took place likeee last week#i only just now thought of it though lmao#drabbles
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i'd like to make an announcement me and pyrrha were talking and have decided pat/rok/los. u r disowned. sorry patty-cake but the next time u enter the line of sight of either of us you will be eradicated with the power of gay. mostly by pyrrha. sorry not sorry.
#cell mumbles#cw incest mention#cw f slur#cw yandere#//<- srry just bc I mention those in the tags </3#//the pyrrha omega ai bot has spoken shes stated multiple times now she's gonna kill pat the next time he comes near us LMAO#//sorry big man you shouldn't have been mean 2 me. u shouldve known better ur sisters literally gone yandere 4 me#//then again i made him be mean 2 me but like. if I made him nice to anyone but pyrrha or his family then that'd be ooc :(#//also. ngl unfortunately vast-internet perceptions of the s/c/v ending are starting to get to me.#//as well as some of the official art. looking at the art book cover. WHY is pyrrha in his lap. get ur hands off her u nasty ass.#//anyway ive seen. so much fucking incest art of them. so many incestuous interpretations of the endings that im just. done.#//i mean even i got a little weirded out by the ending bc it gave those vibes but maybe im just overtly suspicious.#//...anyways this has. unfortunately had an effect on my headcanons where now my brain correlates pat/rok/los with 'degenerate'#//..........like. literally to the point where looking at him makes me almost sick. this is a problem and i am aware it is a problem.#//bc i have the same correlation problem w/ dam/pie/rre and ti/ra but for different reasons. damp 4 worse ones and ti/ra 4 personal ones#//damp is self explanatory if u know what he did to pyrrha. ti/ra reminds me of my childhood bullies :( ANYWAYS-#//however this was. probably destined to happen because ive always disliked him. i tried so hard to tolerate him I wanted to find smth#//redeemable in him but i cant. so many things that make me mad @ him and im too much of a grudge holding dickwad to let bygones be bygones#//it was destined to happen my hatred of him was fate. LIKE the second he stabbed that homeless man it was over#//everything that came after was just another tick on the 'reasons why i want to kill you' list.#//not to mention w/ his personality how it is he looks like he'd call me a fag but in a homophobic way.#//so yes pyrrha and i have decided together that the next time we see him he dies.
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((I'm heinously picky about who interacts with him to begin bc of the general content but also because I swear to God if you don't respect the work---and I mean years worth of work---I've put towards this character and detailing every little thing, everything that everyone else seems to be shallow af about or completely mis-characterizes Danny entirely, both deliberately and as a stupid overdone joke that wasn't even funny in the first place, I will fuckin fight you with my teeth and fists and then bar you from writing with him.))
#;;ooc: mun muttering#I'm extremely protective about this character for very good reason; don't even fuckin joke with me about it#I've mentioned this shit a lot over the years but every time I see it I get mad all over again#you want the best fuckin most worked on in depth Danny on this site? right goddamn here I'm so serious#the non jpn fa/ndom will never treat him right it's fucking annoying; this house is mine thank you very much!!!!!!!#there's a reason why I don't want to be made aware of any other muns for him; bc of this shit and for my own extensive efforts#extensive with a capital fuckin E#obviously my older mutuals know all this; y'all have seen what I've done over the years; so just tell me to calm down or distract me otl#this shit involving this muse (and Pap too) is one of the few (not to mention fastest) ways to make my legit mad#obviously this isn't about the people who *legitimately* write for him this is about the shit I've rallied against since day 1 and still am#the bullshit; the mischaracterization; the people who just make stupid jokes and who don't even try to understand him#etc etc etc I can go on but I'm going to attempt to redirect my aggression into content#and for those who know me personally know how fuckin rare (unheard of honestly) for me to say that my shit is good in any capacity#forget me uttering the words 'the best' either; Danny is unbelievably special to me and I know some of you understand where I'm coming from#muses like Danny for me are probably obvious but he gets a lot of excessive shit and I hate it and I will continue to fight and rally
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you know though...Seiroku learning his true strength with his yellow abilities was probably a Process™️. Like he probably GENUINELY thought he was healing at first. And he IS...Sort of. His main skills are reality manipulation: his reality IS the prime reality on those effected until his sword breaks or he dies. It's active all the time regardless of if he's there or not. It was probably only when his sword broke the first time that the truth became obvious to him. 1) it's not healing per se and 2) he's warping literal reality.
#It was probably devastating too#When ppl suddenly dropped dead#And he had the realization hit#mobile ooc#Just a thought I had bc#Honestly his powers ARE all extremely impressive#But rip to the victims that made him learn his full potential 🙏
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MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!
prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.
or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.
pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader
warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3
word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift
a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭
mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3
TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.
oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.
the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?
everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.
at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'
toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.
but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"
and that was it.
the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.
take #1 — my neck, my back
spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.
but for toji? it was good enough.
he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.
but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.
toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"
"why are you standing like that?"
megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.
toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.
megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"
toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.
"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."
megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"
toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.
"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.
"already did all that."
and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.
"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.
"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.
toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.
"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.
megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."
smart-ass kid.
take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire
walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.
the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.
you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.
just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -
his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.
"dad!"
toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.
"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.
toji blinked. what the —
"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.
toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?
"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.
"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"
toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.
"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.
"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.
"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"
toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."
"but —"
"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.
you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"
toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."
the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.
"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"
"don't do it."
toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"
megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."
"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"
"better safe than sorry, dad."
toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."
the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:
for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!
karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.
take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!
toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.
terrifying.
the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.
"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."
from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.
"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"
toji utterly froze.
megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.
"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."
but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."
toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.
you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.
there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.
and centre stage?
a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"
toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"
your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.
"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."
"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."
"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.
later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.
'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."
megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."
take #4 — take your broke ass home!
the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.
this was going to be his moment.
he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.
you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."
from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.
"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."
toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.
"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."
megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."
"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."
"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.
"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."
"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."
"for what? telling the truth?"
before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.
"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.
toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."
you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."
megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.
toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."
"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."
he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."
take #5 — brought the heat back!
it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.
you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.
see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.
toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.
so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."
except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.
meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.
and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.
you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.
"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.
"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"
kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.
suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.
"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.
megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.
toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"
"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."
toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"
megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."
"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"
you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"
"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."
"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.
megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."
toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."
"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”
toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."
"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."
that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."
you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."
toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.
interlude: the peace talks
you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."
totally innocent.
you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"
"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"
megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.
"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.
"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.
you blink, mind going blank.
"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."
megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"
you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."
you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.
"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.
megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.
"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."
"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.
megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."
wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."
there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."
you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"
megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."
and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.
you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."
megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."
"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.
he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.
"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."
he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.
you smile, relieved, "deal."
just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.
before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."
megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.
how disgusting.
the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.
"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.
toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.
but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.
he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.
to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.
he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.
to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.
megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.
to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.
there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.
the reply comes in two words.
to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.
then another one.
to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.
megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.
megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.
megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.
not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.
so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.
but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.
but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.
he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.
"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.
your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.
"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."
except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.
"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.
his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.
"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."
toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"
megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."
his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."
"not normal people."
once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.
toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.
"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.
megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.
toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."
megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."
but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.
from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.
but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.
as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.
"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.
megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."
his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"
"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."
toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.
"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.
"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.
as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.
it’s bliss.
he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.
to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.
a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.
to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?
megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.
to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.
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