#but like. JUST because so many people are against him getting with a guy. i hope they make Sophie a man

[glitter-stained]

Incredible how dc pushes the "Jason died because he was reckless" narrative to try and absolve Bruce of blame because, victim-blaming aside, that's worse, right? You understand how that's worse?

No matter how you interpret it, in Jason's post-crisis run, Bruce is gonna be partially responsible for Jason's death, because he was the one to offer him Robin in the first place in exchange for a good foster home (Batman 1940 #408), and because he had fucked up with Jason to the point he felt the need to run to a whole other continent in search for family (Batman 1940, a death in the family). Like, that part of responsibility, that remains no matter how you spin it, because regardless of why specifically Jason went in the warehouse, that's why he was in Ethiopia with the Robin suit in the first place.

But this aside, in canon? Jason goes in the warehouse because Sheila betrays him and he does what any hero, and many children, would do in his place: he wants to help Sheila, he listens to her, he trusts his mother. The people directly responsible for Jason's death, in canon, are Joker, Sheila, and crowd of goons that helped Joker and Sheila take Jason down in the warehouse. It's clear as day who the villains are in there and it doesn't add any stain on Bruce's ledger.

But according to that victim-blaming narrative that Alfred and Bruce (and others later on) spin in-story, and that dc spins in meta? Jason died because he was reckless. So it's Jason's fault right? Yes and no. I need to write a more detailed meta about the two types of recklessness and how confusing the two accidentally led to Starling writing a compelling narrative with Jason, but basically the important question here is why was Jason reckless. And Starlin answers us, in text, in a death in the family: Jason has been behaving abnormally recklessly recently, because he's suffering. Bruce tells us, straight up, that he suspects Jason to be suicidal. This isn't the first time Starlin's Batman says Jason is suicidal: even in Batman (1940) #416, Batman explains Jason's "reckless" behaviour to Dick as a symptom of being mentally unwell, and very clearly implies Jason already struggles with suicidal thoughts (which I maintain is the reason why Dick changed his mind on Jason so quickly and gave him his number with a "you can reach out to me, don't let a lack of communication become your achille heel" talk at the end of #416.)

And Bruce's POV mind be often biased, but we see, ourselves, Jason jump in front of bullets in aditf and it's like... As much as I'm not convinced with Bruce's random explanation for Jason's struggles in aditf, I do agree that he is being suicidal (and considering the stories that come right before this one, I completely understand why he would be.) So that's why Jason is reckless in aditf. It's not why he died, but if we listen to that victim-blaming narrative that claims his recklessness is indeed what killed him, doesn't that make Bruce more guilty? Because that means Bruce knew Jason was suicidal (literally jumping in front of bullets with apparently no consideration for his life) and left a fifteen years old active suicide risk alone in a completely foreign environment after having messed up very severely with him during the whole issue, and then he told him "do not go into that warehouse alone, there's a very dangerous guy who wants to kill you." In terms of responsibility, Bruce is actually very damn lucky Jason, like some impulsive suicidal teenagers his age would have, didn't think "oh well, I'll try my luck against the guy who wants to kill me alone and that way either I win and get reassured in my heroism and right to be alive, or I die and that saves me the trouble of buying rope and a step ladder!" Bruce took the Robin costume from Jason to protect him from this exact type of situation but didn't seem to realize the danger he was putting Jason in at that moment. And it's not just me saying that! I don't have the exact reference (I think it was in Gotham Knights?...to verify) Barbara, after finding out about Jason's death, literally tells Bruce that this is his fault and that she warned him Jason had issues.

Of course, all of this is moot point, because it's not why Jason went in the warehouse in the first place, but I can't help but feel baffled at the audacity of DC, who are so deep into their psychophobia, classism, general victim-blaming bullshit and ingrained stereotypical conception of the "troubled teen" that they don't realize that the revisionist interpretation of Jason's death they are defending is literally worse for Bruce. And I have to say, it certainly doesn't paint people trash-talking Jason and blaming him for his death to prop Tim up as "better" and "different" in a very good light either (especially since, if i'm not wrong, there's an arc in which Tim struggles with suicidal thoughts himself... especially since Tim's trauma happened after he became Robin and is, for the most part, a direct consequence of his heroism. Doesn't exactly paint the adults in Jason and Tim's life in a favourable light...)

Anyway, stop blaming Jason's death on his recklessness to absolve Bruce: you're only making it worse.

[pinecavity]

Thinking about how Caleb sleeps facing the door. Always.

It doesn’t matter where you guys are, his place, your apartment, he subconsciously positions himself between you and the exit like a human shield. You used to complain about it when you were kids, not really understanding why you always had to wake up to the view of his broad back. You’d even shove at him when you were groggy and annoyed. Move over, Caleb. You take up too much space. And he would just grumble, shifting only enough to let you push your cold feet against his calves before settling again, always between you and the door.

And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when you wake up to the soft sound of his breathing, you wonder if he ever truly sleeps. His body is still, but there’s a tension in the way he lies, like even in unconsciousness, he’s braced for something. For a threat that’s not there. Like the moment he lets go, something will come to take you from him. Like safety is only real if he’s awake to guard it.

Now, you don’t complain. You don’t tell him to move. Because you know that he’s not just sleeping that way because he wants to. He’s sleeping that way because he has to. Because something deep in his bones won’t let him rest unless he knows, knows, that if anything were to happen, if someone were to come for you, he’d be the first thing they’d have to go through.

So now instead, you press your forehead to the line of his back. Wrap your arms tight around his backside to help ease his mind, even just a little. That you’re here. That you’re safe.

And for a moment, he wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t react.

Then, ever so slightly, his shoulders would relax.

It’s barely noticeable, most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do. You always do. The way his breath leaves him in a slow, measured exhale. The way his fingers, curled into the sheets, unclench just a little.

You tighten your arms around him, pressing closer, letting your warmth soak into his skin. It’s not much. It won’t undo years of instinct, of trauma buried so deep it’s woven into the way he sleeps. But it’s something.

And when his hand— scarred, steady, yours—finds yours beneath the covers, linking your fingers together in the quiet, you think: maybe it’s enough.

// This was a lot longer than expected… I originally planned to write just a quick little hc but alas, can’t help but get carried away when it comes to him. He’s just so… guard dog?? Also, thank you all so much for your love! I just started this account yesterday because I wanted to post my writing somewhere and I was surprised so many of you like it! Was honestly expecting only five notes kekekeke. I’m kind of new to using tumblr as someone who posts so let me know if you want to be mutuals on here!!

[solxamber]

Ace trappola,romantic,true colors(Justin Timberlake version)

"And that's why I love you" || Ace Trappola

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: True Colors by Anna Kendrick, Justin Timberlake

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 510

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Established relationship, Fluff

Ace always acted like he wasn’t the protective type. He teased you relentlessly, called you ridiculous pet names just to see you groan, and pretended to be indifferent about most things. But you’d learned the truth a long time ago—Ace cared, and he cared a lot.

It was in the way he always matched his pace to yours when you walked together, even if it meant slowing down from his usual long strides. It was in how he always noticed when you were feeling off, nudging you playfully but keeping a close eye on you. It was in the way he hovered without making it obvious, like now.

You’d been minding your business, flipping through a book at the library, when a group of students at a nearby table started whispering just loud enough for you to hear. Something about how you weren’t all that special, how they didn’t get why so many people stuck around you so much.

You weren’t the type to let things like that get to you, but still, their words settled in the back of your mind, a dull ache that you couldn’t quite shake.

Apparently, Ace had heard them too.

Because before you could react, he was there, sliding into the chair beside you with a lazy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stretched out his legs, arms crossed over his chest, tilting his head toward the group. “You guys got a problem or somethin’?” His voice was casual, but you could hear the edge underneath.

They went quiet fast, suddenly very focused on their books.

Ace rolled his eyes, scoffing as he turned back to you. “Hah. Thought so.” Then, softer, “You okay?”

You nodded, but he didn’t look convinced.

Later, when you were alone, he brought it up again, hands in his pockets, fidgeting like he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. “You know they’re wrong, right?” He kicked at the ground. “Like, people just hang around you for no reason. You’re—you’re kinda amazing, actually.”

You blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden sincerity.

His ears went pink, and he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Ugh, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you teased, smiling.

“Like I just said some sappy line straight outta a romance novel.” He scrunched up his nose, then huffed. “Not takin’ it back, though. You should know by now—I don’t stick around people unless I really wanna.”

Your chest felt warm. “And you really wanna?”

He glanced at you, smirk tilting up at the corner. “Obviously.” Then, a little softer, “So don’t let anyone make you doubt it, okay?”

You nodded, and that was enough for him. He grinned, ruffling your hair like the menace he was, before tugging you against his side. “Alright, c’mon, let’s get outta here. I need to remind you why I’m the best boyfriend ever. Ice cream’s on me.”

And as he pulled you along, you thought, Yeah. This is what love feels like.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[arabella0001]

saw an edit with him on this song and yeah...

i said i'd catch you if you fall

cn warning: dom/sub undertones, Manhandling, teasing, fuckbuddies-with-feelings, overstimulation, rough oral sex(male receiving), degrading/praise kink, eating pussy, breeding kink, size kink, deep emotional undercurrents, fluff Gojo Satoru wasn’t an easy man to decipher—always grinning, perpetually untouchable, radiating that insufferable, all-knowing arrogance. But you? You knew him in ways most people didn’t.

You knew the sharp tang of adrenaline on his lips when he kissed you too hard after a mission, the way his voice dropped into something lower, smoother, still arrogant. Even when his hands tremble, marionettes of something raw and unscripted. You knew the intimacy of him shutting off his Infinity just for you. Not that you are the only one but the impossible contrast of power and vulnerability, how effortlessly he let you touch him when no many people could.

And that? That pissed you off more than it should.

Because what were you supposed to think? That you were special? That you meant something to him beyond a way to let off steam? No. You weren’t going to fall for that. You weren’t going to be another one of his playthings, just another moment of reckless indulgence before he threw himself back into the world that demanded too much of him.

And yet…

There were moments. Small ones. Moments when you wondered if he cared.

Like the night you jolted awake from a nightmare, only to find yourself wrapped in his arms, his voice low and drowsy as he whispered something utterly ridiculous, just enough to make you roll your eyes instead of shake.

Like the night your phone buzzed in the dead of night—a family number, hushed voices, something hurtful. You hadn’t said much when Gojo found you outside, your fingers curled around a cigarette you weren’t even smoking, its ember flickering uselessly in the wind. You’d tried to brush him off, but he sat next to you anyway, nudging your shoulder, cracking some offhand joke about how terrible your poker face was.

Like the time you broke up with your ex, the only relationship you’d had in  alone Gojo, but of course, he showed up anyway, a smug grin hiding something softer in his gaze. He didn’t say ‘I told you so,’ even though you knew he’d never liked the guy. Instead, he took you out for drinks, let you rant about everything, and then got you so drunk you barely remembered him carrying you home.

Like the time he let something slip, just a little, about how exhausting it was to carry the weight of the Jujutsu world on his back.

You turned your head, catching the way Gojo’s chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. His usual annoying retorts was stripped away. His eyes half-lidded fixed on the ceiling, like he was looking at something far beyond it. You asked mostly in a ironic voice, but a hidden curiosity is behind your question. “You ever get tired of being the strongest?”

“Me? Tired? Never,” Gojo exhaled, the sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, but it didn’t quite reach the usual cocky arrogance he wore like armor. He pause for a second before adding  “But hey don’t fucking get it,” he muttered in a tone like he want to act unaffected, tilting his head just slightly toward you. “The higher-ups, the old bastards pulling the strings. They talk like they know everything, like they’re untouchable.“ His hand flexed against the sheets, a restless movement, like he was barely holding something back. “They just sit there and expect me to clean it up. Like I always do. Like I always fucking will.”

He fell silent for a moment, his tongue running over his teeth, like he was debating saying more.

“Gojo, you really think to stop listen to them everytime, you have a life to live too— “

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue, rolling onto his side before you could push him further. And before you could blink, he had you wrapped up in the sheets, pinning you down.

“You’re way too nosy, you know that?” he huffed, voice dropping back into that infuriating, teasing lilt.

“What? But you started—”

“I should just tickle the curiosity out of you.”

“Don’t you fucking dare”

But it was too late. His fingers dug into your sides, and you shrieked, twisting under him, kicking uselessly as he laughed, the weight of his words disappearing into the air like they’d never existed.  You should’ve known better than to think he’d ever let you really see him. And now?

Now you’d had a shit day.

The kind of day that made you want to punch something, where everything went wrong because for whatever fucking reason every damn thing piled up until you were ready to snap. Like you did something different in the morning and the butterfly effected begin.

And the last thing you needed was to run into him.

But of course, you did.

You spotted him before he saw you, standing with Geto, laughing, his sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he shoved a dango stick into his mouth. His uniform was slightly rumpled, the high collar making him look as effortlessly attractive as always.

You were not in the mood.

He turned just as you were about to slip past, and that stupid grin stretched across his face.

“Hello?! What’s with the storm cloud? Someone spit in your coffee this morning?”

You looked at him for a second with an annoyed expression “Not today, Gojo” And before he start opening his mouth again like he always do, you add “Leave me the fuck alone.”

His brows lifted at your tone, a flicker of something passing through those bright blue eyes. You didn’t stay long enough to figure out what it was.

You left. And you thought that would be the end of it.

You didn’t know it, but he was worried. He knew you. He knew when you were pissed in a way that meant something real. And for all his teasing, Gojo had never been the type to ignore things that mattered.

So when you shut the door to your apartment and locked it, thinking you were finally alone until he start knocking before teleported inside.

“You really think a locked door can keep me out?”

His voice came from behind you, and you nearly threw something at him.

“Are you fucking serious, Gojo?” you snapped, whirling around. “Get out.”

He leaned against your wall, arms crossed, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

“You sure?” You glared at him, not wanting to play this game with him. “Not everything can be solved with your dick, Gojo. Get out.” He smirked. “Debatable.” You wanted to punch him.

But his teasing expression shifted a little, enough for you to realize he was actually paying attention. His eyes dropped over you, taking in the tension in your shoulders, feeling how stressed you are.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Damn him.

You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to admit how fucking exhausted you were, how much today had sucked, how much you just wanted something easy for once. His fingers brushed against your wrist. A light touch. “You gonna tell me, or do I have to make you?” Your glare was sharp, defiant. “You’re not making me do shit.” His lips twitched. “Oh? Wanna bet?” His fingers traced the line of your jaw, slow, methodical, his thumb dragging over your lower lip with just enough pressure to make your mouth part. You hated how easily he unraveled you, how fast  he could pull you into his pace.

“Start talking, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dropping. “You know how this works.”

“I’m not in the mood,” you bit out.

“Liar,” he murmured. The silence stretched between you before his fingers brushed against your hand, light, almost absentminded, but there, you hadn’t even realized how tense you were until that moment. “It’s stupid,” you muttered. “Try me.” You shouldn’t. You didn’t even want to. But when you looked up, you saw something in his face—not just amusement, not just curiosity. Something that looked too much like genuine interest. “It was a mission,” you started, voice tight. “It went wrong.” Gojo hummed, a soft sound of acknowledgment. His fingers traced over your palm, slow, aimless. “Someone died,” you admitted. “And maybe, maybe I could’ve done something. Maybe I fucked up. Maybe I should’ve—” Your throat closed up as his fingers curled over yours. “Mhm,” he murmured, his touch sliding up to your wrist, his thumb brushing against your pulse. He wasn’t comforting you exactly. But he was there, listening. You exhaled shakily. “They blamed me for it,” you muttered. “Not outright. But I could tell. The way they looked at me. The way they didn’t say it.” Gojo let out a breath, something quiet and his touch wandered, trailing along your forearm.

“They’re idiots.”

“They are not—"

“No, seriously,” he cut in smoothly, like he was stating an obvious fact. “You think I don’t know how you fight? How you think? If there was something you could’ve done, you would’ve done it. That’s just how you are.” Your fingers twitched in your lap. “So what?” “So they don’t get to decide what’s your fault,” he said simply. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe they’re right.” Your voice caught and his fingers ghosted over your shoulder, trailing to your collarbone, barely-there touches that were more distracting than they had any right to be. “You’re thinking too much,” he murmured. “You do that a lot.” “Gojo—” “Shh.” His words were light, but his touch was warm, intimiate, his thumb brushed slow, deliberate circles against your back. “I’m being nice. Just let me.” “You did what you could,” he murmured after a moment with softer “I know you.” Somewhere along the way, your voice had started to shake. Not from frustration. Not from anger. But from something else. And the bastard knew. “Keep going,” he murmured, feigning innocent curiosity, even as his touch dragged over your pulse, making your jaw clench, but his fingers dipped lower. “You’re not listening,” you bit out, voice raising. “No, no, I am,” he mused, lips quirking. “It’s just…Well, you’re a little distracted, sweetheart.” His hands along the dip of your waist, his touch pressing in just enough to make you feel it. And after you slipped a gasp, the atmosphere switched instantly. In one swift motion, he turned you, pressing you up against the wall. “See?” His breath was warm against your ear, one hand slid down, fingers pressing into your hip, possessive, immovable. The other caught your chin, tilting your face to the left so you had no choice but to meet those too-knowing eyes.  “Talking does help.” You were going to kill him. Or fuck him. Maybe both. “Fuck you,” you muttered, breath uneven. His blue eyes gleamed, “Oh, sweetheart.” His thumb dragged over your lower lip. “That’s the plan.” Gojo maintain his grip on your chin, turning enough as he come down to kiss you, his tongue delved into your mouth, tangling with yours. He kissed you like he owned the breath in your lungs, like he needed to swallow every sound you made. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him, and fuck—he was already hard. You moan into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, swallowing your breath, devouring you. His hands slid lower, gripping your ass, pulling you tighter against him until his fingers flexed, tightening ever so slightly before his palm met your skin with a sharp, stinging crack.  

You jolted as his palm cracked against your ass, The sound echoed, heat spreading through your skin. “Gojo—” Another slap. Harder. The sting stealing the breath from your lungs, your hands pushing harder into the door, clinging to something, anything. “You’re too tense,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your legs, pressing over your clothes. He hummed. “Oh? So wet already?” You clenched your jaw. “Go fuck yourself.” His smirk widened. “Oh, baby, I’d much rather fuck you.” And then his fingers were under your waistband from behind, slipping into your panties and start dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. His breath was hot against your neck as he nipped at your skin before overstimulating you, the rough pad of his fingertip teasing over the slick, swollen bud, pressing just enough to make you twitch. “His voice was mocking, looking at you how you restrains your moans. “You want me to make you cum, baby? Relax you a bit?" You hated how your hips bucked into his hand, how the slow press of his fingers made you dizzy. You swallowed, stubbornly refusing to answer. Gojo tutted. “Didn’t hear you.” His fingers stilled, barely there. “Show me how much you want it, sweetheart.” You were not going to beg. But then—he withdrew his hand completely from your pussy. A frustrated whine left your throat before you could stop it, and his smirk turned wicked. “That’s better.” He spun you around, pressing you against the door while his knee nudged your legs apart, and before you could react,  his finger chase your pussy again until it find your hole. Your moan was ripped from your throat as he curled his finger to stroke your inner walls. thee slick sound obscene in the quiet. His free hand palmed your breast, squeezing and pinching your buds exactly how he knew you wanted.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he murmured, his mouth pressing against the back of your neck. “Such a messy little thing.” The heel of his palm start grinding against your clit and you head pressed against the door, your knees shaking. “Gojo—” “That’s not what you call me when you’re like this,” he murmurs, punctuacting his words by sinking deeper and your legs almost gave out. Your breath came in broken gasps. “Satoru—” “That’s it.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Now, be good and cum for me.”

Gojo watches how you writhe beneath him and he know exactly what you need. Feeling your greedy walls fluttering, he add another finger, stretching you more as he plunged them deep inside you, fucking into you with hard, relentless thrusts. Clenching around him like your trying to keep him buried inside your hungry hole, he find your spot that make your wision wide,  making uuour inner muscles quivering arounding him.

The rough pad of his fingertip start teasing again over the slick, swollen bud, smearing your wetness while his knuckle sinking deep in your pussy, before pulling out just enough to tease your entrance, then thrusting back in, filllng you over and over.  Your body start giving up, teetering on the edge. With trembeling thighs, you spread wider as if to take more, to feel everything and grinding into his hand, desperate for that last push.

Gojo put a hand around you to make you still before finger fuck into you harder, his palm slick and hot where it slaps against you. Your spine arching while a broken moan, mumbling his name slip from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you. Wall clamping around his fingers, puling while your clit throbs under the ruhless pressures of his thumb. Gojo doesn’t stop, he work your through it, fucking you slowly with his fingers, his thumb easing up just enough to prolong the pleasure without overwhelming you yet, pulling it out slowly.

You barely had time to recover before he was on you again, manhandling you onto your knees. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head up.

Unbuckling his pants, his smile widen slightly, a lustful glint present in his eyes, those damn, inescapable things, a teasing glint that promises trouble.

“You know what to do, sweetheart.”  

Your lips parted, pupils blown focusing of how his cock stands thick and flushed with precum beading at the tip, your body still thrumming from your orgasm.  He smear his precum as he jerks himelf slowly, teasing his own need. Before he dragged it along your lips, another drop wells up, trembeling at the tip before slipping down on your face making him hiss. You whined softly while parting your mouth opening obediently, and he groaned at the sight. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re too good to me, baby.” Then he slid into your mouth, slow at first, letting you adjust. His fingers twisted in your hair, guiding you as he set the pace. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice rough. “A very, very, good girl for me.”

He groans when your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, teasing the sensitive ridge. His hips jerk, pushing deeper, forcing you to take more. Your throat tightens around him, a helpless gag slipping from your lips, and fuck—he feels it.

"Just like that, baby," he rasps, fingers tightening in your hair, not pulling, but holding, guiding, as if he’s barely restraining himself from fucking into your mouth properly. Tears bead at the corners of your eyes, spilling hot down your cheeks, but you don’t stop—you hollow your cheeks, suck harder, let him feel the heat of your tongue working him over, the messy drag of saliva coating his length. The slick sounds are obscene, but you kept going, swallowing around him and letting him now to use you how he wants. His breath was ragged now, hands trembling slightly as he held you there. “God, you’re so fucking perfect like this.” And just when you thought he was going to lose it and cum in your mouth, he pulled you off.

You gasp for air and before you ask him what he want, he toss you into his arms, your head fell over his shoulder while his hands gripped my ass, holding me up.

Gojo tossed you onto the bed, grabbing your lges and dragging them to the edge of the matter, forcing a sound out of you, one that only grew needied when he spread your legs apart. “You were so good for me,” he murmured, kneeling between your thighs. “I think you deserve a reward.” Gojo doesn’t give you a change again, doesn’t let you come down from the high of your last orgasm. Your body is still trembeling, still pulsing with aftershocks but he doesn’t care. If anything, the way you shudder beneath him, only seems to spur him on.

His hands are firsm as they press your thighs apart, keeping you ide open for him. Feeling his mouth on you making you gasp, hips straing by his grip. His tongue drags over your clean, tasing and teasing but when he hears the choked sound that you make, the way your fingers fist in hist hair, he groans, wrecked and low. Like he’s the one falling apart, like eating you out is wrecking him as it’s wrecking you.

Gojo burries his face deeper in your wet pussy, lips wrapping around your abused clit, pulling whimpers straight from your throat. He’s lapping at you like he can’t get enough and your body jerks, spasming, fingers dig into your flresh, holding you still

“Satoru, too mucu, please, I can’t-“

Ignoring your pleas,  dragging you back down with strong hands as your hips trying to escape.  Then two fingers push inside your, pressing up against that raw, throbbing spot and your walls flutter instantly, his fingers fucking into you and you break.

It slams though you too fast, too hard, your second orgams rips out of you before you can even brace for you. Body spaming, a tear rolling onto your cheek as you come, your thights trembeling and squeezing around his head. Gojo moans, a slow, deep sound at the way you squeeze around his finger.

But he didn’t stop. Even as you whimper from oversensitivy, he stays between your thights, his tongue slow now, softer. Cleaning you up, tasing every deep of you delicious cum, he kiss your clit and along with it, leaving soft open-mouthes kisses around your inner thights, worshipping you and when you maintain his intense gaze, you already know he’s not done with you.  His voice a low murmur of praise and filth, thumb stroking your clit playfully. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me.” You whimpered, pushing weakly at his head before his grin widen, his fingers teasing your entrance.

“Think you can handle more?”. “Satoru —Please” But your words were cut off as he threw you down futher, your body bouncing against the mattress, a sharp exhale forced from your lungs. His frame hovered over you before you could even think to move, hands pinning you beneath him before manhandling you again.

He had you on your hands and knees, his grip firm as he spread you open while his palms slid over the curve of your ass, squeezing, and smoothing teasingly—then crack. A sharp slap landed against your skin, heat blooming where his palm met flesh. You jolted, a strangled sound leaving your throat. You love it so bad that you clench again around nothing, you look back at him at there he is.

His gaze is darker, lips parted ashe breathes a little heavier, cheeks tinger with a faint flush. His eyes hold omething dangerous, something that should make other person a little afraind, but instead, it makes me wetter.

He watches, shamelessy how your pussy clench, your body betraying just how desperate you are.

One finger, slipping inside like he’s searching somethins, like he’s claiming something that belongs only to him. He fucks it in slow strokes and you watch as your orgasm coat his fingers, dripping and glisterning.

Gojo lifts his hand slightly, staring as your slick trails down his sking before his eye flick back to you.

A pause.

He comes and grabs your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat, to remind you who’s in control.

His voice is different from before, commanding even. “Suck”

You take his fingers into your mouth, hollowing obscenely your cheeks around them, tasting your own release. You moan intentionally, softly, enough to make him twitch. Your mouth swirling over his knuckles as you look at him. “You’re so fucking messy,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. He pull out from your mouth before dragging his fingers through the slickness between your legs. “My perfect little slut.”

It’s unbearable from him to stay longer, pressing his tip on your entrance, your eyes widen as you look over your shoulder, hips chasing him closer.  Gojo grips your ass, spreading it more until he thrust inside.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he start filling you, not stoping until almost all of it get. He is holding you there, buried deep inside, groaning at the way you feel, restraining himself to cum directly into your womb. “Fuck,” he rasped, voice strained. “You feel so good.”

Gojo drives into you, deep and slow but there’s a desperation in it and his grip on your ass tightes, fingers diggings in so hard it’s already bruising. Holding you in place just to drag you back onto his cock with every thrust, forcing you take it, almost take all of him.

Your mouth falls open as he bottoms out, stretching you side, he is stuffing you full in a way that knocks the air from your lung.

You missed it. You can’t deny it.

The way he fills you, owns you, forces everything else from your mind until nothing exists but his big, arching drag of his cock inside you, ripping every thought from your head, leaving only the unbereable need for more. “You love this, don’t you?” His voice was full of wicked amusement. “Getting fucked like this, taking everything I give you.” A whimper escapes, your head bobbing before you even realize you're nodding. "Y-Yes—"

You can barely breathe, barely think, hands trembling against the pillow, your body struggling to keep up.

He sees. Of course, he sees.

Strong fingers wrap tight around your wrists, yanking them behind your back. A sharp pull forces your body down, bending you deeper onto his cock. The stretch is unbearable, every nerve alight as he presses deeper, splitting you apart, ruining you. He groans at how deep he can push now before praising you. “That’s my girl.”

You whimper, or better say sob as you shake, wrecked, every sound you make bordering on broken, desperate, pathetic.

Maybe you really are crying for pleasure and pain, being too much but not enough at the same time. He’s too big, too deep, tearing uou apart just to put you back together again, forcing you body to take what he gives it, to mold your pussy to his shape.

Feeling your thirst orgasm approach, pussy squeezing him harder and making him hiss but you didn’t hear, you were ready to snapp all over again, your ass starting to bounce on his cock and meeting his thrust but suddenly, Gojo moved. A whine left your lips from his edging before he lifted you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His breath was hot against your ear as he held you in place, his pace deepening, each thrust hitting exactly where you needed it. Your head tipped back onto his shoulder, a helpless moan escaping you. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to cup your throat, tilting your chin so he could catch your lips, feeling his possessive emotions as he takes your in a brusing kiss, demaning entrance but his thurst make it messy, sloppy until your body start tensed around him. Tears forming in your eyes and a sharp cryp breaking from your lips, Gojo cups your cheek and force you to look at him as your cum start pushing him out of your pussy. Cum start leaking around his cock and your walls start throbbing violently, making both of you moan in each others mouth.

Gojo try  restrain himself, burying his face against you neck. He turned you on you back, shoving a pillow beneath your hips. His eyes watching all of you, half-lidded with lust and a breath ragged. He usually doesn’t fuck you like this, saying is not his favourite position. Bu before thinking more, one hand gripped your thigh, your legs apart while the other slipped between your lips, pressing his fingers against your tongue again, his oral fixation need to be fixed by your submissive mouth.

“Be good,” he murmured. “And suck.”

You wrap your arouns his fingers and he push deeper, gagging you with it.

“Mphm.”

His cock twitching inside you. His free hand wrapped around your throat, just enough pressure to make you shiver. “You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he rasped, voice almost gentle beneath the raw hunger. His thrusts became slower, deeper, dragging pleasure out of you with every stroke. His fingers slipped from your mouth, cupping your face while his thumb brushing along your cheek. His blue eyes, wild and blown out with arousal, flickered with something else, a little bit softer.

He comes down to kiss you, but not like before. His lips parting just enough to drag against yours, to let you feel the soft, wet heat of his mouth before he seals them shut again. His tongue flicks out, teasing, just a filthy swipe along your lower lip before ehe sucks it between his teeth, biting down hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of it, his tongue slipping inside, pressing against yours. His lips are slick now, moving against yours in a open-mouthed rhythm, tongues rolling together in a messy and wet way while pushing deeper and slower inside your pussy. When he pulls back, just barely, his tongue flicks out again, dragging along your bottom lip in a low, slow stroke before he sucks it back into his mouth, swallowing your moans and whimpers like it belongs to him.

He mutter against your lips, your eyes searching him for anything, anything to explain why he want to break you like this.

"Say it."

Then he grabs your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him.

His eyes aren’t like before. They’re softer now, but still demanding—pleading, almost, like he’s begging you to understand, to give him what he needs.

And you think you do know. You can feel it in the way he fucks you, in the way his body shudders against yours, in the way his grip tightens like he’s holding himself back. Like he needs to hear it. Like he needs to own it.

The realization sets your stomach on fire, makes your exhausted walls flutter around him, but there’s something else, too—your heart pounding harder, because for you, this isn’t just fucking anymore.

His fingers tighten around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to catch your attention, just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes flicker, almost vulnerable for a second—but what leaves his lips is anything but soft.

"Say it, or I’ll fuck it out of you."

You gasp, tilting your head into the pillow harder as his cock throbs inside you, thick and heavy, pulsing like he’s barely holding himself together.

"Come on, sweetheart. Give me what I want."

You nod, desperate—too sensitive, too fucking full, your mind slipping between pleasure and delirium. Your voice is ruined when you finally give in.

"I’m yours, Satoru. Only yours. Your good girl. Your dirty little slu—" The words tumble out between gasps, your body clenching, trembling, drowning in him. "Please—please. Fuck. Come in me. Fill me up, baby, I need it, I need it—"

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

His breath shatters, his body stiffens, and then he groans—a deep, wrecked, broken sound as he buries his face in your neck, breath hot and ragged against your ear. Fingers dig into your skin, grip unrelenting, holding you in place as he pounds into you one last time, brutal, deep, filling you completely.

The first pulse of his release is sharp, hot, spreading inside you as he jerks his hips forward again, grinding himself impossibly deeper, fucking his cum into you like he wants to make sure you take every drop. His lips find yours, messy and desperate, tongue sliding into your mouth as if he needs to taste you while he falls apart.

His cock twitches inside you, spilling thick ropes of cum, so much it’s leaking out around him, dripping onto the sheets, making a mess of both of you—but he doesn’t stop. His hips stutter, pushing it deeper, like he wants to ruin you with it, like he wants you to feel him inside you for hours.

You whimper, already too sensitive, but you love it—you love how full you feel, how warm, how his cum is still seeping from you as he stays inside, letting his weight press you into the mattress.

And then he groans again, soft this time, his lips brushing against your jaw before he breathes out, shaky, ruined, still pulsing inside you.

While he’s still inside you, his lips move slowly against your skin—pressing soft, lingering kisses along your neck.

"Mine," he murmurs between kisses, his voice low, hushed, almost reverent. He drags his lips lower, across your shoulder, warm breath fanning over your skin before he kisses you again. "Mine." Another kiss, this time just below your ear, his tongue flicking out slightly before he nips at your skin. "Mine." His voice is softer now, but no less certain, each word sinking deeper, branding you in a way his body already has.

You almost cry.

I’m fucked.

One of his hands cupping on your cheek, his thumb barely grazing your skin in slow, absentminded strokes. The other? Loosely curled around your hip, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. Your mind was still hazy, body aching in the best ways, but something about the way he was holding you—gentle, unhurried, like he was memorizing the feel of you—made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal. And you really needed that. But now you feel your heart pound too hard, an anxious make your neck feel tighten. For a while, neither of you said anything. The only sound was your breathing, slowly evening out, the faint hum of the city outside your window. Then—his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin slightly. “Still alive down there?” His voice was low, a little hoarse, but the teasing lilt was there—light, familiar, Gojo. You huffed, too exhausted to roll your eyes properly. “Barely.” He grinned, pleased with himself, and you felt his fingers squeeze your hip. “Can’t have that. What kind of man would I be if I broke you?” “You tried,” you muttered, voice dry. He laughed—a real, soft laugh, something that vibrated against your skin as he pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, but you like it when I do.” You didn’t answer, but your fingers curled against his back slightly, your body instinctively leaning into his warmth. And Gojo noticed. His lips quirked, but instead of throwing another cocky remark your way, he just sighed, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him. You blinked, surprised when he settled you against his chest again, one of his arms looping around your waist, keeping you close. Normally, this was the part where he’d make some stupid remark, maybe slap your ass before getting up like none of it mattered. Gojo Satoru wasn’t the type to linger too much. But he wasn’t letting go. “…Are you still cuddling me?” you asked, skeptical. His fingers traced small, lazy circles against your lower back. “Hah? No. I’m trapping you.” You scoffed. “Trapping me?” “Mhm.” He grinned against your hair. “You can’t move. You belong to me now.” You rolled your eyes, but the weight of his arms around you, the solid warmth of him, made your chest ache  again.

Maybe he felt it too, because his teasing softened just a bit. “Seriously though,” he murmured, quieter this time. “You good?” Your throat tightened again, caught off guard by the genuine concern beneath his usual amusement. You didn’t trust yourself to answer right away. Gojo waited, patient in a way he usually wasn’t. And that? That scared you more than anything. “…Yeah,” you said eventually, your voice softer, a slight tremble in it.

He hummed, the sound vibrating against you, like he wasn’t fully convinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, his grip on you tightened slightly, like he was reassuring himself you were still there. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You should move. You should say something. But the way his fingers moved slowly along your skin, the way his breathing evened out against you, the way he wasn’t in a rush to leave— It left a question lingering at the edges of your mind. Was this just this time? Or was something changing? Gojo Satoru was reckless. Untouchable. Someone who never belonged to anyone but himself. And yet, how he fucked you before—No, like he made love with you? And the way he stayed, the way he held you close instead of pulling away—felt like something that wasn’t supposed to happen. Something that wasn’t supposed to feel this good. Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, and his breath hitched, making him second guess what happened insie him but as he usually ignores and go with the flow, he turned his head instinctively, pressing an absentminded kiss to your temple, something easy, natural, like he hadn’t even thought about it. Your heart skipped. You didn’t know what this meant. But as you feel how warm and comforting is in his arms, you try for the first time to ignore it, like him. And maybe, for now, that was okay.

[peatbogbody]

in this house we love and support yeosang!

first off, huge plug for catchingteez on youtube's excellent vocal analyses of yeosang. a lot of what i have to say about him musically is borrowed from their observations.

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oh, the plight of lower voice parts in an ensemble. as a choir alto, i am well-accustomed to the experience of being relegated to singing backup/harmony like 80% of the time. i ALSO understand that the lower voice parts are soooo important for giving the choir its full, rich sound and if we WEREN'T there you'd fucking know, and we are special and amazing and god's bravest soldiers and our parts are the hardest and our tits are huge and--anyways. (what's the definition of an alto? -a soprano who can sightread ok i'll shut up). and ALSO, when lower parts DO get given the melody (approximately once every 47 business days) it's a fucking huge moment. it'll blow your tits clean off. and everyone clapped.

all this to say, not that it's necessarily right that yeo has been stuck in the backup parts of so much of ateez's repertoire (though if you are not personally involved in the production side of any group, you probably don't have enough information to know why lines are distributed the way they are and i think people should exercise caution before crying mistreatment. maybe some people just wanna dance.), but just because he hasn't always had the most prominent parts doesn't mean he's superfluous or treated that way.

i have been trying to save the in-depth vocal analyses for another post(s) but since part of yeo's core mythos among fans has been "guy who doesn't get lines" i want to do a little bit more here than i have elsewhere.

the tricky thing about idols debuting at 18 (or younger 😱) is that singing voices are usually not completely done changing by that time. voices continue to develop and settle into their true ranges into and sometimes beyond someone's early twenties. in the early days i think yeo's voice was not only untrained but also just had not settled to the point where he would be able to produce the best sound in that part of his range, and also ateez's discography just didn't really have many parts down there either. in general, his voice is quite soft and his intonation pretty dark, so when singing lower notes his voice just did not really have the power to cut through a lot of their heavier backing tracks or stand up against other vocalists with punchier voices. he ended up just getting a few lines in an awkward placement for him and when he does sing lower notes, it's often to double another singer down the octave or fill out group vocals--often to great effect! hear him doubling seonghwa in mist, and in the say my name prechorus. that said he was also always a really important part of atz's sound in all tracks, just not in the flashiest way.

also now that i've learned more about the way the writing team has members audition for who gets what part, i have other guesses as to what was going on, namely just that it may have been an issue of confidence in addition to/because of the other factors.

now part of the reason why the whole The World era is so fucking GOATed in my esteem is that is around when they finally truly started to lean on their bass section! there were some boom boom title tracks that dipped into that before but mostly just to add to the effect of being Loud. but from imo deja vu onward, i feel like the production really started to play with the deeper voices and especially yeosang's, on their own and in contrast with the higher/brighter/lighter vocals for some really cool kinda chiaroscuro effects. this both narratively serves the darker moods of the World era albums and also musically propels the group into a more sophisticated sound that is sooo satisfying.

and it paid off big time for yeo. his "five star michelin moment" (as described by catchingteez) in the halazia prechorus, fucking DUNE,

pls listen to the dune chorus while looking at this picture. you won't regret it.

you can tell yeosang really started to come into his own around that time--as did almost everyone else to an extent, but yeo's case is particularly striking and heartwarming--and he's only continued to do more and more cool stuff musically as we've entered the golden hour era. i'm super looking forward to doing more vocal and musical analysis so i can really dig into these topics more. this also happened with other members to less dramatic degrees, but this is a post about ys so shhhh. he's just really in his element right now and i'm living for it.

let's talk about DANCING now. yeosang is just mesmerizing to watch perform. whenever he is centered i find myself so compelled to watch, just can't look away, and he often steals the show even from the background tbh. so many of my absolute favorite dance moves among ateez's repertoire involve yeosang in some way (immediately coming to mind include the smn prechoruses, his center part in deja vu, halazia ofc, everything about cyberpunk, the way he kills the bouncy limbo move, the shuffle from iomt, etc). and his choreo always matches his vocals (when he has them 🥲) extremely well? next time you watch ateez perform anything, PLEASE pay attention to yeosang, wherever on stage he may be!

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anyways the mood he brings to ateez is just soo ooey and gooey and rich and delicious. like the fudge swirl in a pint of ben and jerry's

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finally, any discussion of kang yeosang cannot go without a mention of how he is subtly the funniest member of ateez. there is one (1) other member who is a serious contender for the title but the others try but simply can't compete. it's the quiet ones as they say. his comedic timing is unparalleled and he has this deadpan way of delivering lines that is SO FUCKING FUNNY (skip to around 1:00 in that video to see a great example). i love when he narrates vlogs. you can tell he's really smart even though he plays up being a space case. member who gets teased a lot? no. the other members are fortunate to be permitted to tease him. anyways he's such an entertaining addition to side content. i also think he is maybe the member i would best get along with irl. overall he seems pretty quiet and low-drama (i keep hearing stuff abt relationship drama but idk man i think the dude's just vibing)

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i don't think i need to mention how gorgeous he is? but i do need to note that he's absolutely fucking ripped. if you didn't know he's BUILT: he's built. and also a deadshot archer apparently?

top btm left

anyways. he is such a lovely part the team and i am always and forever rooting for him sooo hard.

in summary: ilysm (i love yeosang so much)

next up: the one, the only, choi san!

[mrjocrafter]

he [...] committed genocide.

This is true.

he was also assassinated because [...] committed genocide.

This is not. Titus Labienus, Caesar's #2 in Gaul, switched sides and joined the Pompeiians to fight against Caesar. Decimus Brutus, another Gallic Wars commander, was one of the ringleaders of the assassination plot.

Cato the Younger did at one point attempt to get Caesar's command removed on account of atrocities against the Gauls, but (1) he was basically laughed down for this, no one took it seriously and (2) the atrocities in question were things like arresting diplomats, not the broad mass killing of civilians which all of the parties mentioned believed to be a normal and routine part of the warfare of the era. Which it was, fucked up as it is.

like he wrote an entire book trying to convince the senate not to kill him because Genocide Is Good, Actually.

If you're referring to the Gallic Wars commentaries, that's not really why he published it. His motivation in writing all that down was, like, to be remembered as a great military genius on the level of Alexander the Great. The senate could not have cared less.

The concept of genocide did not exist until the late 1930s and early 1940s, and the concept was based on two events: The Armenian Genocide of 1915-1917 and the Holocaust/Shoah (which hadn't yet concluded when the word was coined). I agree that events that fit the definition should retrospectively be classified as genocide, as I also believe words like "left" and "right" can also be applied to this era, but at the time no one would have thought "genocide" a salient concept. To all sides involved, it was just warfare.

like he slaughtered an entire civilization and we now have barely any record of them because they never wrote anything down.

Well, one, he didn't slaughter the entirety of the Gallic people. The Plutarch/Appian estimates are 1m killed and another 1m captured/enslaved. That would be only about 1/6th of the population of the region killed or deported. But basically every modern historian thinks the numbers Plutarch gives you are a crock of shit, and that even Caesar does this nasty trick where he inflates the size of the enemy army by ~1.5x by including non-combatants.

The most reasonable estimates I can find are around 50,000-100,000 Gallic combatants killed and 10,000-45,000 civilians killed with another 30,000-50,000 sold into slavery. Still genocide, to be clear, but not the mass demographic destruction that Plutarch describes or occurred during modern warfare.

For another, there are many contemporaneous groups that we have absolutely no documentation of from their own perspective. The Gauls of the negative first century are a rare exception precisely because the Gallic Wars were written about so much, with the largest primary source being Caesar himself.

i feel like this is going to give people a Completely wrong idea because a lot of people already think that caesar is actually just a great guy who was wrongfully murdered for being too woke or whatever.

The general perception of Caesar is as a tyrannical dictator. Which is definitely true to an extent, but it's also exaggerated by contemporary sources (Cicero </3) and subsequent mythologizing by early Enlightenment thinkers who thought of the conservative pro-Republican-institutions but also pro-aristocracy Pompeiians and Caesar's Assassins as brave rebels against monarchical autocratic tyrants. A bit of propaganda that Brutus and Cicero attempted to use to reverse public opinion against the extremely popular Caesarians and later the Second Triumvirate. It didn't work at the time, but it did for our modern democracy-valuing political environment.

I make no claims of Caesar's moral virtue, more to the non-virtue of the Assassins, Pompeiians, and Optimates/Conservatives (whatever they're called at any given time). It's also indisputable that Caesar passed legislation multiple times with the goals of land redistribution to the poor, increased spending on and eligibility for government welfare, and opposition to provincial corruption. My interpretation of why he was killed is that he was killed because he was a threat to the class interests of the aristocracy, which was true. The Optimates had no trouble getting behind murder tyrants such as Sulla, who was indisputably way worse than Caesar. Any claims of anti-authoritarianism by the Assassins are, to me, mere propaganda.

Your Ides of March reminder that Gaius Julius Caesar was (1) elected by the people, (2) highly popular with the people during both of his stints as consul, and (3) was killed because a group of aristocrats didn't like that he redistributed land to poor citizens and expanded welfare, and believed he would undertake more such reforms.

[false-anomaly]

"Oh don't change the gender of Benedict's love interest! Sophie should be a girl!!!" Just because you are Annoying I hope Shonda makes him a man and I hope they get suuuuuper lovey dovey and gay with ZERO side plots. I hope Benedict gets a husband. I hope his queerness changes the entire narrative and they have to rewrite the start of Hyacinth's (?) love story because of it. Fuck you.

[boxeom]

Adding more incoherent thoughts directly from my notes because I've been thinking about Caleb's name for WEEKS and wondering why it sounded so damn familiar in the context of the Bible and I finally fucking figured it out.

- Chinese name means "sunshine in summer"/daylight + summer

- Mahiru means broad daylight

- Caleb means wholehearted, brave. In the Bible he was one of the three sons of Hezron of the tribe of Judah. He is also called Chelubai in the Hebrew Bible. Chelubai in a literal sense means trapper/basket weaver but in the Hebrew Bible it translates to "my basket"/"my cage" (I literally fucking gasped)

- My memory is a bit hazy on the details so I looked into rereading some synopses to jog my memory; Caleb was one of the many freed Israelites from Egypt that followed Moses. One of his biggest traits aside from how strong and skilled in battle he was is that he had undying faith in God. He was one of the twelve men from the Twelve tribes chosen by Moses to scout Canaan after he received a prophecy from God that it would be a place of safety for all of them (Caleb was from the tribe of Judah). When they proceeded to scout Canaan for forty days, they found that it was occupied by descendants of Anak (the giants in the Bible).

When they came back to Moses and told everyone what they saw, everyone was like "oh shit we're all gonna die, there's no way we can beat them". They were so scared that ten of the twelve spies warned Moses that they shouldn't proceed to Canaan. And Caleb (and Joshua, the other spy), the badass he was, calmed everyone down and was like "we should go, we can definitely do it" because he believed the promise that God gave to the Israelites so much that he had no doubt they would be successful. Everyone IMMEDIATELY turned on Caleb and Joshua and were going to stone them to death (y'know, murder) and God was ready to smite every single slave that doubted them until Moses intervened like "okay okay wait wait let's not start killing people yet, My Lord" (in biblical terms, this is known as interceding, the act of someone (usually a prophet) taking on the burdens and sins of someone else before God in exchange for their forgiveness).

God chilled out slightly (mercy given by God after sinning against Him directly in terms of biblical context usually translates to being allowed to live and nothing else- God will let you rot otherwise), so He told the Israelites that they will wander the world until the entire generation of the doubters were dead except for Caleb and Joshua and declared that all land the two saw during their recon would he theirs. Thus, the 40 years of wandering commenced (plus the five or six extra years of the War of Canaan). By the time Canaan was won, Caleb was 85 but this mf was still an absolute until and had been one of the strongest fighters in the war.

Caleb is seen as a beacon of having faith and patience for God's plan in the Bible. Pretty badass guy all around, fitting for the indomitable aspect of Caleb's character. In the context of lads, I don't think there's any literal parallels going on, just neat references. And there is an interaction you can have with him where Caleb posts about having done one of those "old age" filters with mc and if you reply with something like "you looked handsome" he'll say "I hope you'll say that again in a couple of decades :3", which could either just be a cute thing or a little nod to Caleb (Bible) being good looking even as an 85 year old. I guess you could probably make the point that in the eyes of lads, mc could be Caleb's version of God, but I won't speculate until we get his fallen angel myth (I say, sweating profusely and praying to Infold that that's the direction they're taking him).

Insane Character Analysis/Rant About Caleb/Mahiru/Xia Yizhou

Okay so MAJOR SPOILERS for Caleb's storyline/Myth/Cards, cw. incest/pseudocest, cw. religious themes.

As much as I love Caleb's eng va, I do have to say that the moments where he's being y'know- insane- don't hit as well as they do in the JP/CN versions. Since the english localization is bending over backwards to remove the pseudocest that is straight up a key part to mc/Caleb's entire relationship, there are a lot of moments that don't really make much sense in terms of tension when you go with the whole "childhood friend" context. I've listened to both the JP and ENG versions of cards I've found the most significant for mc and Caleb and the differences are insane to say the least.

The amount of times "nii-chan/san/gege/big brother" is removed from the english captions is honestly hilarious to me. As long as you don't understand some basic Japanese or Chinese, it might go right over your head. But even as someone who isn't fluent in Japanese, I have a good enough grasp on the language to know that there is a VERY different story being told- so much so that it's gotten to a point where I consider Caleb, Xia Yizhou, and Mahiru three entirely different characters from each other because of how vastly different their writing is by each localization.

Caleb and mc's obvious symbolism is the biblical story of Adam and Eve and the Forbidden Fruit- a story of man's first sin being temptation and receiving enlightenment at the cost of falling from God's Grace. The apple is well known in literature to represent the Forbidden Fruit. It's a theme that commonly alludes to sexual liberation, forbidden knowledge, lustful temptation (not just in a sexual sense), and a physical representation of sin. I have some thoughts that the chip also plays a part in being a more literal version of the Forbidden Fruit, since it lowers previous hesitations and exacerbates more obsessive, possessive, and impulsive qualities of mc AND Caleb as well as their sexual wants for each other.

Now, to me, having the imagery of the Forbidden Fruit in the trope of childhood friends makes little to no sense. There is no taboo to shy away from, no reason for mc and Caleb to feel as clearly conflicted as they do when they start toeing at certain lines- if anything, I feel as though it would be something to be encouraged. But when you take the time to look at and listen to the JP/CN versions, well...it becomes MUCH more obvious why the apple is there in the first place.

Acknowledging the fact that mc and Caleb do and have always seen one another as siblings and developed a codependent bond founded in trauma ties every missing thing that the english localization just can't piece back together while trying to do a "boy next door" theme for Caleb (I mean they literally grew up in the same house, had bedrooms across the hall from each other, saw the other grow up in the closest way anyone possibly could- there's nothing "boy next door" about that).

Below are just a few examples that I've collected that I think both show how the childhood friend angle just doesn't work with Caleb and how much his and mc's relationship is reliant on something forbidden, something that they both know is wrong between them but keep managing to indulge in no matter how hard they try not to;

Now there are DOZENS of more moments like this littered throughout Caleb's entire story and what we have between him and MC so far. And in particular the second row does NOT have mc say "childhood friend" in the JP version (can you guess what she refers to him as instead?). These "dangerous thoughts", the "cushion that stays between", the fear of rejection that Caleb possesses is so much more than just something between two people who grew up together in the context of childhood friends.

The first and last screenshots in particular are some of my favorites (taken from Intertwined Gold and Exclusive Aftertaste). For Exclusive Aftertaste, it's not only a cute moment of mc silently confirming Caleb's suspicions that she was waiting for him but, on a deeper level, acknowledging that she will always love him no matter what happens between them. And at an even DEEPER level, it's mc knowingly partaking in Caleb's favorite forbidden fruit- his favorite sin. They BOTH took a bite from it. And though we never get to SEE what happens, we HEAR the bite they take in unison. It's safe to assume what happens. And then they proceed to never talk about it again.

Meanwhile, in Intertwined Gold, mc is literally expressing that she wishes they'd met differently so that they could be together without having to lie to themselves about what's happening. Like COME ONNNN. Why would a childhood friend EVER need to say this?

In my opinion, getting rid of this intended layer of Caleb and mc's relationship doesn't do his character justice at all. Caleb/Mahiru/Xia Yizhou is an incredibly well written and complex character- he's deeply flawed, traumatized, and in desperate need of connection in any form he can get from the one person in the world he's ever loved with all his soul. It mellows out the moments of desperation, manipulation, and intensity he has during his darker moments that just don't convey the tragedy and bittersweetness of mc/Caleb.

There are a billion more things to say here but it is seven in the morning rn and I've been up writing this in one sitting since six. I will definitely add more when I'm not running on fumes and the crack that is Caleb's character. 🙏🏽

[mayomkun]

Finally done with teen wolf rewatch. Phew

[bitegore]

ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.

[pouletaulait]

The results are in. Thank you to everyone who left their vote and a special thank you to the people who left a comment! 🤗

almost 40% is quite a considerable number of people who really dislike him 😉 I now understand better why...

I agree that the way he was talking about Yashiro behind his back to Doumeki was pretty mean although I'm not sure how serious he was about everything he said, especially when it comes to how he feels about Yashiro and their friendship (I could be wrong though). He certainly has his flaws and he's not the most likable guy. However, I can't really hold it against him that he doesn't understand Yashiro; even Doumeki who's a lot more perceptive than Kage has a hard time trying to understand him. Also, whilst I can understand the criticism of his apparent indifference to the abuse that Yashiro told him about, I can't help but think that he was probably completely out of his depth. He was 16 or 17, I think, and a socially awkward teenager. Quite possibly there was no one he could talk to or that he felt comfortable to talk to about what Yashiro had told him. I agree that he should've tried to help Yashiro or maybe at least tried to talk to him about it but at the same time I can't fault him for not getting involved. Further, I can't fault him for not reciprocating Yashiro's feelings or telling him that he was alone. Although that may have made Yashiro's self-hatred worse, Kage is a teenager with his own problems it seems (to me it seems like he may have some issues with reading people and possibly with emotional intimacy) he's not some sort of therapist or the likes.

I can even think of some redeeming things about him 😉: He did befriend Yashiro in highschool when everybody else seems to have kept their distance from him (of course you could argue that he did so for selfish reasons: in the beginning it was more like he used him when he kept touching his wounds) but he also never abandoned Yashiro, despite Yashiro's "difficult" behaviour; I think it’s worth remembering that based on what we see in the oneshot about their teenage years, Yashiro wasn’t easy to be around. He could be quite difficult to deal with, yet Kageyama didn’t distance himself from him, even after Yashiro acted up in front of the class by kissing his classmate and grabbing his balls. Kage didn't turn his back on him and frankly I could imagine that many people would've done so in that situation.

Kage also showed concern for Yashiro when he found out that Yashiro had joined the Yakuza, despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken in a couple of years. Even when Yashiro told him to just forget about him, Kage didn’t cut ties with him and despite the fact that he doesn’t want to play the Yakuza doctor he always ends up helping Yashiro out, whenever one of his underlings or he himself needs treatment.

It's true that Kage isn't the best of friends to Yashiro and maybe he doesn't even see himself as Yashiro's "friend" like @thelonelysoulhome pointed out but despite that he is sympathetic to Yashiro. Yashiro may not like the fact that Kage pities him and I understand why but at the same time it shows that Kage cares about Yashiro, certainly not to the extent that Yashiro would've wanted him to but enough to feel sorry for him and stay his "friend".

After re-reading the oneshot I kept thinking about this:

I'm not sure what Yashiro means by this but could it be that he says that Kageyama wasn't exactly normal because Kage was the first person that he had met who actually showed sympathy for him and acknowledged his good side ("you're not a bad guy), when everybody else in his life felt completely indifferent about him?

Anyways, while I think that a lot of the criticism about Kage is justified, I also think that at the end of the day he's simply a flawed individual, in some ways more flawed than others, but he never had any ill intentions and he stayed in contact with Yashiro without any ulterior motives from what I can tell.

Kageyama...

I'm curious, how do you guys feel about Kageyama? Some people seem to really dislike him which I'm a bit confused by... I mean he's dense and he's not about to win a best-friend-award in the near future but what's so awful about him? So, I'm curious to see how others in the fandom feel about him? And if you dislike him, maybe leave a comment about why exactly, I'm really curious to know 😅

p.s. the double entendre of "he sucks" only occured to me after I wrote it down 😂 I guess we'd have to ask Kuga about how well he actually sucks 🙈

[backseatloversz]

Trying to watch panic at the disco behind the scenes but so fucking much of it is zack hall and aside from the fact he is legitimately terrible on his own and also just comes across as really annoying he reminds me of the dad of this one childhood friend of mine who i inexplicably hated and was terrified of for like my entire childhood and i dont know why but i am still uncomfortable around him. so. Thats really awesome& cool

[thetimelordbatgirl]

With all the mystery around who Ruby is and who her mom is, I really, really hope it isn't actually the Trickster like others have been saying, because while yes it would be nice to see something from SJA appear in current DW, it also would just feel weird at this point as the Trickster was such a Sarah Jane villain that it just feels wrong to give him to the Doctor as an enemy just because Sarah Jane is gone.

[fandomsandfeminism]

Sometimes I think about how and why some people had such a *bad* reaction to the end of Steven Universe, specifically in regards to the Diamonds living.

Even though they no longer are causing harm to others and are able to actually undo some of their previous harm by living, some folks reacted as though this ending was somehow morally suspect. Morally bankrupt, even.

And I think it might be because so many of us were raised on a very specific kind of kids media trope:

They all fall to their deaths.

Disney loves chucking their bad guys off cliffs. And it makes sense- in a moral framework where villains *must* be punished (regardless of whether their death will actually prevent further harm or not), but killing of any kind is morally bad for the hero, the narrative must find a way to kill the villain without the protagonists doing a murder.

It's a moral assumption that a person can *deserve* to die, that it is cosmically just for them to die, that them dying is evidence that the story itself is morally good and correct. Scar *deserves* to die, but it would be bad for Simba to kill him. So....cliff. (edit: yes, cliff then hyenas. But cliff first. Lol.)

Steven Universe, whatever else it's faults, took a step back and said "but if killing people is bad, then people dying is bad", and instead of dropping White Diamond off a cliff, asked "what would actual *restorative*, not punitive, justice look like? What would actual reparations mean here? If the goal is to heal, not just to punish, how do we handle those who have done harm?" And then did that.

Which I think is interesting, and that there was pushback against it is interesting.

It also reminds me of the folks who get very weird about Aang not killing Ozai at the end of Avatar. And like, Ozai still gets chucked in prison, so it doesn't even push back on our cultural ideas of punitive justice *that much.* and still, I've seen people get real mad that the child monk who is the last survivor of a genocide that wiped out his entire pacifist culture didn't do a murder.

[buckleydiazii]

.

[nanamiskentos]

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.