#this song has been in my head a lot lately
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feastingonchrist · 4 hours ago
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Amen!!!! This is what God has revealed to me. He is helping me with underlying layers of shame, embarrassment, insecurity perfectionism, fear, vulnerability - which all effect the way i interact socially. It's so hard to feel like i can relax and breathe in social settings and it stresses me out terribly. He also has highlighted another layer of abandonment issues and familial wounds stemming from the way my parents have treated me growing up until adulthood (like still to this day.)
He is letting me see through a tiny kaleidoscope, little moments of freedom, joy, and hope, and that has kept me hanging on. He has given me so much peace. I see the gospel in every situation. Celebrating Advent last year by focusing on hope, peace, joy and love each week, has helped me see the heart of the gospel. What God has to offer us as His children through believing in the gospel of Jesus Christ. It's so awesome and freeing, knowing that there is nothing i can do and the more i try to force things to "solve" the problems without God in it, i make things worse. But when i focus on Him during the trials, know that He wants to free me from bondage - bondage that He has already set me free from by making the path clear - actively saying no to fear and showing up anyways, repenting from that pride i have been feeling gently convicted of, by sitting and dining with Him and making Him my only source of hope and reliability..... I have been seeing so many breakthroughs in different areas!!! Ups and downs occur as a test of faith too, but i count those all joy!!!
i now get excited to go to church. i look forward to worship service and have lots of gratitude towards Him that it's a calm and peaceful place to worship that i have been searching for for so long. i look forward to talking to the people i know there and walk in a joyous anticipation and openness to interact with people. He is working on me being more free to open up, wanting to be vulnerable by creating genuine conversation and generating meaningful relationships. for giving me the heart to want to worship more freely and even sing along to the songs i know. i even am starting a new job there, too. i LOVE my church and the fact that everyone is so kind and connected. it even feels that way during worship, and when we recite the creed & Lord's Prayer. I just feel so full of joy and freedom and an overall sense of blessedness that i never knew was available to me. All i did was take a step of faith into my church last November - literally barely even two months ago, and ever since, He has been doing so much healing in my heart and mind. He is working rapidly in my church and i can see it!!!
so yeah!!!! i have learned the importance of dining with Christ and feasting on His goodness. Sitting at His table and letting Him feed me. He is our daily bread and the living water. We eat the bread and drink the wine in remembrance of what He did for us. We walk by faith, let Him lead us, and we produce fruits of the spirit that flow from within Christ in us. we eat of that sweet fruit and share the it with others and watch God put it back onto our plates yet again. He anoints our head with oil and our cups overflow. I love Him and am so grateful for His grace and love towards us!!!!! His words brings me peace and now joy. Just seek after Him continually and keep on praying. Let God take His time to see what He can do for you! i pray someone is blessed by this, amen <3
Thank you for sharing bc this inspired me to share some testimonies in my life as of late ♥*♡∞:。.。
When you start chasing after God, You'll find that the things you need will start chasing after you.
Matthew 6:33 "But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you."
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torawro · 1 day ago
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LIKE SPECKS OF SUNLIGHT IN THE EARLY MORN. ( p. a.)
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portgas d. ace & marine!fem!reader.
cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine it as such! everyone is welcome to read <3 reader wears glasses, and is a marine stationed on an unnamed island at a base along the grand line. ‘lazy morning’ / ‘morning after’ kind of vibes so, a bit of pillow talk (?) . references to smut & making love (it already happened). contains some angst & angsty themes throughout (i.e., ace dealing with his self esteem issues, low self worth, etc..) otherwise it’s supposed to be fluffy ( the quiet, somber kind i think ) ! descriptions of kissing & borderline making out. ace is kind of lovesick and clingy but it’s subtle-ish. lots of introspection and reflection on both him and the reader’s part. kind of based on mitski's "my love, mine all mine", definitely had that song on repeat as i wrote this. romantic and deeply poetic rhetoric but y’all already know that’s just how i write lol. told from omniscient point of view (third person). proofread this as i was feeling sleepy, so please excuse any mistakes or things that don’t make sense!
word count ━━ ! 3.9k
notes ━━ ! guess who's baaaaack.....! i know it's been a while since i have published any original work and i want to apologize for that. lately it's been difficult finding the energy to write something for more than five minutes and honestly, i think i just need to rediscover what drives me so i can tap into the zone more often. i missed it though, and hope i get to write more this year <3 anyway, first fic of 2025 and it feels right to make it about second commander of the whitebeard pirates, portgas d. ace. this fic is my late birthday 'gift' to him and something of a love letter because ohhhhh i miss my pookie bear so much :(( this entire idea started as just me thinking about kissing each of his freckles because i have the personal hc that he doesn't really like them, the reason for it is inherently tied to his distaste for his father and by extension himself :/ and then it just turned into this lmao. i hope ace doesn't behave too out of character here, as this is also my first time writing for him in any context, so pls be gentle with me. REBLOBS + COMMENTARY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED.
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IT WAS NOT THE LIGHT chirping of small birds that awoke you, nor was it the ringing of your biological clock telling you that the dawn was near. Instead it was a familiar tugging sensation within the pit of your stomach— the need to relieve yourself— that caused your eyes to peel themselves back slowly and with struggle, slumber from the previous night hasn’t been completely washed away yet.
It took your brain several more moments to dust off enough of its sleepy exhaustion before you attempted to sit up from your comfortable position in bed, but were immediately met with some light resistance.
The resistance in question was a long, muscled arm thrown around your soft torso, blackened ink of a tattoo staining the skin on its bicep. It was still too dark and you were still too tired to make out the sharp angles of the marking, but you knew what they were; your eyes have gazed upon it more times than you could count, and it has made a home in your memory.
That’s when your ears registered the rhythmic and almost nasal snores that flowed from the mouth of the man who held you so securely against his chest, and you almost smiled at how completely at ease and relaxed he seemed. 
At times like this, when things were still or you had a moment to yourself, you still could not wrap your head around the fact that you had gotten yourself involved with Portgas D. Ace— willingly at that. 
The first time was a fluke at best. That’s the excuse you were going to go with. You didn’t realize he was a pirate— an infamous pirate with hundreds of millions of Beri to his name— until your clothes were already halfway off and you were feverishly grinding down onto his lap like some touch-starved whore who’s been aching to feel something. That ‘fluke’ was one spurred on by alcohol, a particularly rough week at sea, and a sizable lapse in judgment, but you hadn’t felt that…… alive in a long time. But now, two years have passed since you have been seeing Ace in secret like this, and you have long since given up blaming it on a fragile emotional constitution further weakened by alcohol. You knew good and well what you were doing, and you could no longer deny the way your heart was constantly set aflutter whenever you spent any amount of time with him.
You did try your hardest to not let yourself enjoy how … domestic it all seemed: waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep entangled with each other at night, having him hide out at your cozy apartment for days at a time, cooking him meals when you were relieved of your duties for the day. You wouldn’t— shouldn’t let yourself enjoy such content thoughts too much, because you also knew it could all be over in the blink of an eye. The world could be cruel that way if it wanted to.
But still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be grateful for these moments. From what you could tell, Ace seemed to enjoy this arrangement as much as you did. And for now, that was enough.
Lightly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you carefully lifted his arm from around you, moving slow so you wouldn’t wake him up. Once you’ve successfully loosened his hold, you sat upright, a muted ache shooting through your lower body as you shifted around to stand. The ache mostly resided in between your legs, and a flood of memories from just hours ago rushed over you at once, causing a tingling warmth to bloom underneath your skin. Ace had poured so much into you, it never failed to leave you equal parts stunned and breathless when you witnessed his passion overflow from the brim of his being. His hands, calloused palms that always ran hot, had been everywhere— your body could still feel the heat of where they had laid, caressed, groped, smacked, and squeezed. And you involuntarily jolted as you recalled where his fingers and lips had been, how it felt to be pressed so closely against him as he simultaneously took you apart. 
After another moment of being lost in your own reverie, you pulled yourself out of it and filed those memories away in a separate corner of your mind, so that you may more fully indulge in them later. As you carefully removed the blankets and climbed over the sleeping pirate, one bare foot had hardly hit the cool wooden floor before a hand wrapped itself around your wrist. 
A quiet grumbling noise vibrated from behind Ace’s lips, his eyes remained closed as he spoke, indicative that he was barely awake. “Wh…where y’goin’....?” His words were slurred and thick with sleep, his deep voice reaching the depths of your being to spark something to life in the pit of your belly. But you promptly ignored it for now. 
“To the bathroom, I gotta pee.”
He replied with another mumbling sort of noise, presumably one of acknowledgment or begrudging acquiescence— you couldn’t be sure. “M’kay, just . . . hurry back t’bed, will ya? M’cold.” 
You found amusement in the inherent irony of his claim that he was ‘cold’  when he always ran a little warmer than most— not to mention his devil fruit powers— but also in the fact that despite his urging you to take care of your business swiftly, he hasn't released his hold on your wrist yet. In fact, he tugged you a little closer to him, as if he was trying to pull you back into bed. 
A small smile began to curl at the corners of your lips as you moved to manually pry his fingers from your arm so you can make your way out of the bedroom and down the hall.
For the next several minutes, Ace was left alone. 
He stirred in his partially-awake state as he made himself comfortable again in bed, but one eye managed to pry itself open by a few millimeters. It was unfortunate he was roused from his deep  sleep, but he was sure he’d doze off again soon enough. 
From what he could see, the room was still dark for the most part, his surroundings washed in a rich, navy blue color, a telltale sign that the sun would rise within the next hour or so. Aside from the faint rustling coming from the bathroom, the air was occupied by a serene silence, meaning his innermost thoughts became that much more perceptible to his mind’s ear. 
Sometimes, a part of Ace felt like fate had shined upon him— just a little, just this once— when his mind mulled over his…unique relationship with you, and all the events that led up to this exact moment. He too understood the implications of seeing you like this, but he couldn’t find it within himself to let go and move on. There was just…something about you, something special. 
Even now, he still couldn’t quite understand why you were taking such a big risk and basically throwing your life away by getting comfortable with a pirate like him. The both of you came from two different worlds, the morals embedded within those worlds constantly pitted you against each other. 
But you willingly ignored them, and so did he. 
Perhaps that was the ‘special’ quality about you and this relationship that he still struggled to articulate, how pure and genuine it all felt— how you were. Either way, he was grateful that he wasn’t the only one being a little selfish. And every now and again, Ace might silently thank the universe for allowing him this one thing, even though he hasn’t, and probably never will do anything, to deserve it. 
The increasing volume of footsteps pulled Ace from his thoughts, and soon enough you reappeared in the doorway, making your way back to bed– back home in Ace’s arms.
Your lips parted in a yawn, putting your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, before carefully climbing over the taller man to reclaim your spot next to him. Ace wasted no time encasing you against him once more, one arm laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting under your neck, acting somewhat as a pillow of sorts.
“...took too long,” the pirate muttered under his breath, the low, vibrating sound of his voice so close to your ear did nothing for your fiercely pulsating heart. It was the only organ in your entire body that seemed to be fully awake right now.
“I wasn’t even gone for that long, ya big baby. Prob’ly less than five minutes.” A soft sigh punctuated your reply, snuggling more into the toned front of Ace’s chest and abdomen as he adjusted the thick blankets over both of your bodies. The covers, as well as the gentle warmth radiating from his exposed skin, provided a steady stream of heat that battled against the crisp morning air, both sensations nearly enough to lull you back to sleep. You enthusiastically pushed aside the fact that you had to get up again in two and a half hours for your shift to patrol around the city.
“Shuddup, let’s go to sleep.” Ace grumbled, pulling you even closer to him so that very little space existed between both of you, and nearly nuzzling his face in the bonnet you wore on your head. A soundless chuckle rumbled within your chest, finding his sleepy and almost pouty tone both amusing and adorable.
However, despite his own request, and the fact that his own eyes were barely open, Ace was finding it difficult to once more quiet his thoughts enough to drift back to sleep. They were still a bit too loud and knocked against his skull too much. 
Such thoughts only seemed to intensify when both of his eyes managed to peel themselves open this time in order to observe your form next to him. From what he could see based on where he laid, Ace silently took note of how tranquil your expression was as your breathing began to even out, how long your eyelashes actually were without your glasses obscuring them, and the small birthmark on your cheek that he developed a habit of kissing. His dark eyes roamed across every inch of your face, and he relished in the soft flesh of your stomach underneath his fingertips, giving it a feather-light squeeze every now and again.
You were here with him— in this bed, hardly wearing anything at all, and practically clinging to the arm wrapped around your abdomen— bound together with a kiss on that fateful night two years ago. You wanted to be here, he knew that. So why was it he still had to wrestle with the phantoms of doubt in the darker sectors of his mind? Why did they haunt him so, and prevent him from just plainly accepting this for what it is? Accept that it was okay to indulge, okay to claim this one thing as his and his alone? He didn’t even claim his own father, but this— you? Oh, how he wanted to be greedy, he yearned for it. But something in him, some dark, caustic, unforgiving thing, made him feel like he shouldn’t.
But didn’t he deserve something nice too? Something that wasn’t, or could no longer be tainted by the wicked and unloving world they were born into?
Ace knew that you cared for him— quite a lot, more than you should. There was a four letter word he might have used to label the way in which you cared about him, and he about you, but he dare not say it. He dared not say it in fear that the universe would snatch it away the moment it left his lips, and reveal that it was only playing a heartless joke on him.
“Hey. Are you… okay? Okay with this, I mean.” The words left his lips without putting a real thought behind them, for his mind was preoccupied with trying to keep itself afloat above the sea of negative ones that tried to carry him off to a place he did not want to visit.
Your left eye opened, then your right, as if opening them would help you better process his sudden question. Your brows furrowed next, digging deeper into your forehead in order to figure out the hidden meaning behind his words— or if there was one to begin with. “I…this position is fine, and I’m comfortable. Unless you want to be closer to the window?” You replied with your own question, uncertainty of what he was asking about thick in your tone. And judging by the way his arm tightened around you by a fraction and the nearly inaudible sigh that left his lips, it became clear that’s not what he was truly asking.
“No, I meant…are you okay with us?” Ace’s already husky voice quieted even more, nearly tapering off into a whisper. But he was pressed close enough to you that you were still able to hear him loud and clear. Something about the way he phrased his question rang a silent alarm in your head, indicating that the forthcoming conversation was going to take a more solemn turn.
With that in mind you shifted in his arms, turning around so that you were now facing Ace directly, still so close that the tips of your noses nearly touched each other. His hold on you readjusted as a result, the tattooed arm once more staking its claim on your waist and effectively trapping you against his front. His sable tresses fell unceremoniously across his face, a few strands nearly covering one of his eyes. Your fingers didn’t miss the opportunity to brush them away. 
“Yes.” Your reply was simple, and you thought it important to make that clear first because something, an emotion you were unable to categorize, flickered in his still-hooded eyes. And something about it worried you. “I am more than okay with us. There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now.” The fingers lingering on his skin suddenly became your entire palm, as you were now cupping the side of his face.
Ace burned even warmer here compared to the rest of his body, and you found physical comfort in the sensation. His skin seemed to ignite under your touch despite his sleepiness, and the dark-haired pirate was internally grateful that it was still quite dark in your room, so you were unable to see the light flush that was beginning to form underneath his freckled cheeks. 
“Why are you asking?” Your inquiry was as tender as your touch, and it made his chest ache. 
It took Ace several seconds to search for his next words and arrange them in a sentence, for your straightforward reply admittedly caught him off-guard. Now he was unsure if there was a need to continue at all.
But the specters of doubt were ever persistent.
“I just…” The words faded away on his tongue before he could say them and instead, your response rang loud in his head. 
‘There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now’.
Did you mean that? Have you always felt that way? Did you just happen to say that because he asked a question, because somehow you knew that’s what something in his soul wanted to hear?
And then, Ace found his words again. “You can do better, you know.” His voice turned more gruff, rough around the edges, as if he had to forcefully tug those words from the back of his throat. As if it hurt to say that. “You could, if you wanted. You’re gorgeous. Intelligent, resourceful. You have a respectable career, and you can cook damn good.”
You released a soft chuckle at that last part, finding it comical how he always found a way to talk about how good your food was. But whatever uptick on your lips faded as soon as it came once Ace parted his lips to speak again.
“You don’t have to spend your time, money, or energy on someone like me. You didn’t have to spread those pretty legs of yours for me, either. Didn’t have to let me stay here whenever I come to town. You didn’t even have to let me sleep in this bed so close to you.”
He paused, the muscles laying against and wrapped around you tensed briefly, his eyelashes met the apples of his cheeks when he allowed his eyes to close for a moment. When he opened them again, he found it harder to look at you— if he did, he might crumble away. “You could do better than a pirate like me, who has nothing going for himself except for instability, anger and…and hate. So, why?”
The next words reverberated in the air without Ace even having to say them. Why choose me? Why risk all of that for me?
Similarly, something throbbed uncomfortably within your chest as you listened to him speak, even after he finished and silence descended upon the both of you. 
You could only wonder where this line of questioning originated from. It was uncharacteristic of Ace to voice thoughts of this nature, even more so when there was no prior word or action to lure them forward. You continued to observe him in the quiet, not even realizing that you had been softly caressing his cheek all this while until your hand came to a halt.
Why? Why were you with Ace, entangled in every sense of the word and jeopardizing the life you’ve built for yourself for his sake? The answer seemed so simple, but not as much now that you had to consciously think about it; you somehow struggled to put it into words. 
Ace was like the rays of sunlight that peeked through heavy drapes in the early morning— much like they would soon be in a few hours— or like the flickering flames of a small fire that offered you solace on an unkind wintery night. He was warm and intense, but mellow and tender at the same time, in his own way. He offered you comfort when you needed it, stirred up something in you when you wanted it, brightened your life when you didn’t even realize how dull and monochrome it was. Ace was…
“Allow me to offer a question of my own. Why are you taking an equally significant, if not greater risk, just to curl up in my bed with me? Why come back so often to this town, risking capture, if only to hold me close, eat the food I make, and to make love to me?”
Your inquiries seemed to tug you forward, motivating you to scoot a little closer to Ace so that there was hardly even an iota of space existing in between your faces. His breath hitched quietly in his chest at that, more so when you leaned forward and simply placed your lips on his cheek, right on top of the dozens of prominent and faded freckles that resided there. Something about the gesture felt intentional— like you did not kiss his face, but the light specks on top of it. And thinking about it like that made his taut chest twinge again in a manner he could not describe right now.
Your breaths against his flesh were soft and leveled, and successfully fanned the flames of an even pinker flush to blossom across his visage.
He struggled to give you a coherent answer to your questions because his inner thoughts seemed to reset every time your plush lips came in contact with his face— all gentle like he would break if you applied too much pressure. He never associated that word with himself before, nor had anyone else in his entire life.
So why did he do it? Why did he do any of it? Why was he so attached to you, to your existence, your presence, and everything that reminded him of you? 
Ace knew the answer. 
He fears he’s known it for some time now.
But would it be right— would it be okay to label it with the word that was sitting on his tongue? Did he truly have the capacity to bear the weight of it? Would this blissful reality he found himself nestled in start to unravel the moment he said it? Would the universe truly let him have this one thing to himself, forever?
A feathery, open-mouthed kiss from you onto his nose cut off his thoughts, but confirmed his answer. 
A bleary sort of smile, edges softened by his affection for you, tugged the corners of Ace’s mouth upwards. The hand that encased your waist traveled further downwards to take the meat of your thigh in its grasp, and toss it over his own hips. He had slung your leg over himself in an attempt to hold your bodies inexplicably closer, the feeling of his fingers gliding lazily across your exposed skin caused your pulse to quicken.
“I understand. Thank you.” 
Within another second or two, his mouth eventually met with yours. His lips and yours seamlessly molded together, like they were two carved parts of the same whole. It was a slow, saccharine thing, ultimately leading your fingertips to slide back and thread themselves through his dark locks, and the calloused, hot palm on your thigh to grip the area ever tighter— as if you’d evaporate if he didn’t do so.
Ace loved you— was in love with you. His heart thrummed against his chest when he tossed that fact around in his head, gradually accepting it to be true as he steadily deepened the kiss.
He murmured those three words into your mouth after languidly coaxing it open with his tongue so the wet muscle could slither inside and make a home there. It was barely intelligible, but somehow you knew what he’d said. Such a declaration was only reserved for you, so of course you recognized it. Ace didn’t even want the words to linger in the air, lest the universe heard what he had said. He still thanked it though, grateful to whatever deities thrusted you into his path that night so that he could have this moment with you, and build similar ones like this hereafter.
You reciprocated it, quietly sighing the words back into him and he eagerly swallowed them up, giving your thigh an affectionate squeeze in response.
Briefly, you pulled back, but only by a millimeter— not wanting the cold air of the early morning to catch you yet— and your palm ended up on Ace’s jaw. The pad of your thumb brushed over the sheet of freckles with no particular pattern or rhythm, and you absently thought about how they might be your favorite feature on his entire body. As if to emphasize this point, you pressed a lingering kiss onto its surface again, and for a moment, Ace thought he might shut down. He simply could not comprehend the loving nature behind such a simple act, or why it affected him so; all he could do was offer a small, fond grin.
Time still marched forward, but it graciously allowed the pair of lovers to bask in each other for a little while longer. The sky’s hue would slowly shift from a deep navy blue to a slightly brighter one, causing the dimness of the room to inch back into its corners for the day. The sunlight would soon come.
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( # ) @icy-spicy @triangularz @pookieace @ichore @valentineluvu
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loverboysturn · 6 hours ago
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˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!chris tells some of the football team all about his little secret
wanted to post this before i start working on the blurb where they finally meet because it will just make everything all make more sense :) also how exciting that the next thing i post for this au will be them meeting!!!!!
my asks are always open for this au! you can find all writings for it here and everything else for it here!
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chris was stood by his locker in the changing rooms.
the heavy bass of the music blaring through the speakers, as usual. the beat of the song playing was pounding throughout the room. the rest of the team scattered across the room, all getting ready for practice, talking and laughing, all discussing the upcoming weekend.
this weekend was the annual fancy dress fundraiser and it was a big deal, especially to the team. it was the one night of the year where everyone came together for one massive party as the whole school was usually in attendance, from the jocks to the quiet kids, all packed into one place, it was hosted by the football team to raise money for new equipment, gear and all the things they needed to get through the season. this year, especially, everyone was hyped, and the pressure to raise more money than they had last year was on. chris had been playing well recently, and he knew that just like last year, he expected to be the center of attention all night, but this year was different.
the party had been on his mind a lot but not in the same way as it was for the guys, this year it wasn’t just about getting black out drunk with his friends and raising the funds for football, it was the night he was finally going to meet you in person, the girl he’d been talking to for months, the girl who despite everything, made him feel like he was more than just the football captain, your conversations had turned into something he wasn’t sure how to explain, a connection that now felt so much more intense to him than anything else he had ever experienced, in his world full of constant pressure, you were his little bit of sanity and all he wanted now was to put a face to the words that he had become so attached to.
he’s snapped out of his thoughts of you when he hears matt across from him calling his name, “yo chris, you good?” he says, looking over at him, “you’re so zoned out.”
chris shakes his head, trying to shake off the thoughts that had started to creep up on him. “yeah fine, just fuckin’ tired man.” he mutters, grabbing his helmet off the bench and adjusting his pads.
“what you thinkin’ about? can see something is on your mind.” matt asks, not convinced.
“nah, i’m alright, just thinking about the weekend, still don’t know what i’m dressing up as.” chris mutters, his mind drifting back to the party and the secret he was keeping.
nate, who was stood next to them overhears and sits himself down next to chris, “bro what do you mean? i heard little miss cheerleader is telling everyone that you’re going together” he chuckles, “there’s no way she has left getting your outfits this late.”
“actually..” chris says, feeling ready to confess to his brother and best friend, “i’m not going with her.”
nate's mouth falls open in disbelief and his eyes widen as if they are about to fall out of his head with the shock of chris’s confession, "what the fuck are you talking about?" he laughs, "does she know that? she was bragging in biology this morning about how you’re going matching again”
chris leans back against the bench he was sat on, crossing his arms, shooting nate a look, “yeah, well, it’s all a little more complicated now and we aren’t together anymore, we haven’t been for months.”
“wait…” matt’s tone quickly changing to one of realization, and he raises an eyebrow. “you’ve met somebody else, haven’t you? you’ve been acting weird, being all fuckin’ mysterious and shit for months, all your late nights and always being on your phone is all making sense.” he says, before adding, “i knew it, i fuckin’ knew it. nick owes me fifty dollars”
chris glances between matt and nate, unsure of how much to reveal. he had never shared anything about you with anyone else, just because he wanted to keep you all to himself, “she’s someone i met online over the summer break,” chris says, keeping it vague, but he knows no matter how vague he keeps things, it wouldn’t stop them from asking questions, especially nate who was the biggest gossip chris knew.
nate looks more confused than anything now, leaning in, voice dropping to a whisper, “what do you mean online? you’ve never met her?” he asks.
“no nate, online as in i don’t actually know who she is” chris shrugs before quietly adding, “i met her on that fuckin’ anonymous student forum app during summer break, she doesn’t know who i am”
“oh my god, man” nate smacks his knees and stands up, “this is wild” he says, but before he can say anything else, chris quickly grabs the bottom of his shirt pulling him back to be sat back down.
“listen, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about her, okay? i don’t want any of the team finding out until i have told ‘little miss cheerleader’ that i can’t go with her to the party” chris says, sternly. “i don’t want anything to fuck this up and i don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“i think it’s kinda hot actually, all the mystery of it all is sexy” nate laughs, “don’t you agree?” he looks over at matt who is quiet, just looking at chris with an almost concerned expression.
matt stands up, grabbing his helmet knowing the conversation was coming to an end, for now, as they needed to get on the field for practice, “as long as you know what you’re doing,” he says, his eyes locking with chris’s. “it’s cool that you’ve met someone new but just be careful with it. shit like this could get complicated real quick, especially if you’re finally meeting face to face.”
chris meets his brothers gaze, feeling the weight of his concern. “i’ve got a good feeling about this and i promise you i know what i’m doing, i wouldn’t be this far in with her if i didn’t.”
matt nods, giving chris a light pat on the back as they make their way towards the tunnel to the field.
“i knew you’d been less grumpy recently,” nate smirks, “it’s all that phone sex you’re having” and before chris can say anything back to that, nate is running down the tunnel and away from him.
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gardenwalrus · 1 day ago
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Norman Jopling interview with Paul McCartney, 'How The Beatles spend an evening', Record Mirror (week ending 15 May 1965) [The Beatles saw Bob Dylan perform on 9 May]
It was a typical quiet evening at London's Savoy Hotel. Quiet that is until the Beatles turned up to see Bob Dylan. They all trouped down to the restaurant and ordered Porridge and Pea Sandwiches.
They got them. Then one of the boys spotted Owls Legs on the menu. They ordered them as a joke. It didn't take too long before the Owls Legs were actually served, piping hot, to the group.
"But we wouldn't have known if they hadn't been Owls Legs" said Paul.
An evening out for the Beatles is something of a rarity nowadays. The boys are leading almost entirely self-contained lives and the latest development of theirs to entertain themselves are film projectors.
"We've all bought 16mm film projectors with sound and everything," explained Paul. "And we hire loads of films - it's surprising but you can get some of the really latest top films. For instance I've got "Topkapi" and "Tom Jones". And we hire some of Elvis's films too … I like them in the same way that I like "Double Your Money."
JOHN'S HOUSE - LIKE A CINEMA
"The projectors cost a lot of money, about two hundred quid I think. But they're worthwhile to us at least, because we don't get a chance to get out and see these films. John is the really keen one. He has it all organised, showing two films a night now. It's just like a cinema round his place. We all sit there eyes glued to the screen. And he doesn't start showing them until late, well, after television has finished and none of us get to bed until fantastically late hours.
"We all sit bleary-eyed in front of the screen making signs with our hands on the screen - little animals and all that ...
"So far we haven't got a copy of "Hard Day's Night". Not that it bothers me. I didn't like the film anyway. Seriously, I mean that. The original novelty or seeing yourself on screen wears off. You know, like home movies of yourself at the seaside. The good thing is that at least you can come out with anecdotes every ten seconds about what happened behind the scenes."
Paul talked about the Beatles next film, "Help".
"l like this one better. It has been great filming it. But all the residents of the Bahamas hated us. Really. They're so rich there and they were so rude to us that we just didn't care. We all rented Triumph Spitfires and drove them around the island. They didn't like that either.
"But there are some good scenes from the film. There are shots of us in a disused quarry, using it as a race track. We found it when we were waiting for the technicians. We were screeching around it like mad. Well, they filmed it slyly and put it in the film. Just like that.
"There are no speeded up shots, like in "A Hard Day's Night", but there arc some other visual gimmicks. Like standing on a rock In the middle or the ocean playing our instruments. And the next shot with us up to our necks in water, still playing. And one of Ringo, lying on his stomach on the beach swimming in the sand.'"
PAUL DIDN'T LIKE "TICKET"
Then Paul started to sing the Beatles next disc "Help" to us, taking the part of all the voices, and even the backing. He maintains it's much better than "Ticket To Ride".
"Can't say I liked 'Ticket' much," he stated. "But this new one is - in my opinion - good. I hope I don't sound big-headed. But I like it - it's certainly the fastest record we've made and it's very different. It's a bit like the middle eight in "It Won't Be Long" …
"I think that John and I are writing different sort of songs to what we were a couple of years back. I can't say whether they're better or worse but they're certainly different. And that is O.K. by us because we wouldn't want to stand still, to stagnate musically."
Somehow I can't imagine the Beatles ever doing that...
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vampysquid · 8 months ago
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youtube
you won't find it by yourself
you're gonna need some help
and you won't fail with me around
come on, let's go
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tibby · 1 year ago
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Which wolf wins? I guess it really depends, just gotta wait and see.
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nexus-nebulae · 3 months ago
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every day i wish that Rats SMP was a cartoon bc it would make the greatest show ever i think
#I've been watching Arietty and the Rescuers a lot lately;;;;;;;;;;;#i just think it would make the cutest fucking cartoon with the funniest plotlines#it would be so perfect#with the ensemble cast you can swap out characters as much as you need/want to#the different animals breaking into the house later in the series would make a fucking BANGER season 2#(like can you fucking imagine. season 2 pilot. theres a BADGER IN THE HOUSE NOW?)#they've even got a halloween special AND christmas special episode it's PERFECT#the whole first season could cover the rats getting used to the house and getting settled in#maybe the season 1 finale is the mum and others coming home#I would absolutely fucking want Owen to be played by David Tennant bc his tenth doctor voice gives me rat owen vibes#rats smp cartoon would be so so so good#cannot fucking WAIT for Rats In Paris#i have a whole scene in my head of like. that episode where Jimmy gets locked in a room all night and is miserable abt it 😭#where he's trapped in the room with the son and the boy is just chasing him around the room for hours#set to the song A Haunted House! from the totoro soundtrack#trying to catch jimmy in a little bug net#there's also this whole wild chase scene in my head with one of the cats chasing Owen Martyn and Scott and the janitor gets involved as well#set to Cat Chase from the Suzume soundtrack#i actually have a whole spotify playlist titled Rats SMP But As A Wholesome Kids Cartoon it has so many ghibli movie songs#(willing to share if anyone is curious i love sharing playlists)#i fucking LOVE imagining Hey Let's Go from the totoro opening credits as a Mitchiri-Neko style marching rats credits sequence#with each verse more characters join the march until all the animal guests and humans are there too#Do the Impossible from Chicory would make such a fucking cute anime style opening showing little clips of all the chaos of the house#i love this idea so goddamn much i fucking wish i could animate ;-;#i would infodump about this idea for hours if i had infinite tag space but alas. maximum of 30
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dreams-in-daylight · 5 months ago
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I’m headed straight for the floor
The alcohol’s served its tour
And it’s headed straight for my skin
Leaving me daft
And dim
I’ve got this shake in my legs
Shaking the thoughts from my head
And who put these waves in the door?
I crack and out
I pour
I’m Mister Loverman
And I miss my lover, man
I’m Mister Loverman
Oh, and I miss my lover
The ways in which she talked to me
Have me wishing I were gone
The ways that you’d say my name
Have me running on and on
Oh, I’m cramping up
I’m cramping up
But you’re cracking up
You’re cracking up
I’m Mister Loverman
And I miss my lover, man
I’m Mister Loverman
Oh, and I miss my lover
I’m shattered now
I’m spilling out
Upon this linoleum ground
I’m reeling in my brain again
Before it can get back to you
Oh, what am I
S’posed to do
Without you?
I’m Mister Loverman
And I miss my lover, man
I’m Mister Loverman
Oh, and I miss my lover
I’m Mister Loverman
And I miss my lover, man
I’m Mister Loverman
And I miss my lover
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eggmeralda · 2 months ago
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what sort of music first comes to mind when someone says pop + how old are you?
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ghoulicides · 3 months ago
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two headed mother pulled you from the black
and she can send you back.
@mothercain
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caruliaa · 1 year ago
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tis the damm season is very au where paul and emma did actually know each other when they wehre in highschool but emma still left hatchetfield to me. tht cant exist within the actual timeline divergance bc it diverges in 2005 but who give a shit its my silly little au in my head
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rosicheeks · 1 year ago
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F- favorite song?
M- middle name?
S- song last listened to
Y- your last hug?
F - Favorite song (at this very moment)
M - Dona 🫶
S -
Y - my friends 🤗
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scare-ard--sleigh · 2 years ago
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kingofcomedy · 2 months ago
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been listening to a lot of merrily we roll along lately and just wanted to say, “our time” feels very dnp coded
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a9saga · 2 months ago
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youtube
young k - not gonna love // best song off the ep for me
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norikuna · 2 months ago
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MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!
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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
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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.
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megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.
megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.
not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.
so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.
but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.
but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.
he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.
"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.
your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.
"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."
except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.
"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.
his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.
"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."
toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"
megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."
his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."
"not normal people."
once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.
toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.
"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.
megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.
toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."
megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."
but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.
from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.
but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.
as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.
"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.
megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."
his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"
"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."
toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.
"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.
"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.
as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.
it’s bliss.
he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.
to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.
a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.
to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?
megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.
to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.
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