#“I'm taking a shit for the first time in like a year so could you shut the door for christ sake

[curtins]

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.

[annasellheim]

So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).

Anyway, the story:

I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.

"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.

We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."

Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.

I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.

Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.

The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.

I took a sip of my coffee.

"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"

He looked surprised and snorted.

"What?"

"You swore."

It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.

Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."

We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.

"Do you still make art?"

"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"

"Your last required art class. Got it."

I gave him a side eyed glance.

"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"

He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.

I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.

"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.

The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."

I gave him my business card.

"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."

We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

[strangersteddierthings]

Made With Love

It takes one bite for Eddie to suspect he's done something wrong. A second bite confirms it. He's fucked up somehow and cannot for the life of him remember what it was.

Did he miss an important date of some sort? It couldn't have been their anniversary because that's August 13th (Eddie's new favorite day of the year, for obvious reasons). He absolutely didn't miss Steve's birthday. Not with how long he and Robin had spent planning the damn thing. (Eddie is never throwing another surprise party in his life; the stress of secret keeping was too much to bear.)

... Did he miss Robin's birthday?

No. That can't be. Steve would never let him miss that.

It could be one of the Party's birthdays, but Eddie doesn't think that's a transgression that would warrant this.

This, of course, being his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"What, your peanut butter's gone bad?"

Eddie lifts his eyes from the proof of Steve's anger at him to his coworker, Charlie, sitting across the table from him in the closet that Thatcher claims is the break room. "No. It's much worse than that, I'm afraid."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Charlie deadpans.

"This sandwich wasn't made with love," Eddie whines, looking back at the sandwich with as much sorrow as he can muster. He sets the sandwich down on the baggy he had pulled it out of so that he can frown down at it without having to touch the offending creation.

"Ah shit," Charlie says, voice filled with empathy. This is why he's Eddie's favorite coworker. He gets it. Possibly because he's the only person who's tasted the difference for himself, back when Eddie'd just started at Thatcher Tires. "What'd'ya do?"

"I don't know!" Eddie wails. "Everything was fine when I left this morning, or I thought it was anyway."

"Ain't your misses pretty good at lettin' you know you done fucked up?" Charlie, like the best coworker that he is, looks surprised that Eddie doesn't know what he's done. He's right, too. Steve is the goddamn king of petty, and Eddie has never struggled to know when Steve's mad at him. The struggle usually comes from Eddie refusing to be in the wrong.

(That's not to say that Eddie is always in the wrong. He's not. Sure, a good percent of their arguments Eddie is the one at fault and he's mature enough to admit so once the argument is over, but it's not always his fault.)

Anyway, the point is, regardless of who's at fault, Steve is angry at him about something and for the first time in months Eddie doesn't know what for. They'd promised each other, after their first very big fight that almost ended in a breakup and was over a misunderstanding, that they would tell each other why they're mad or upset or feeling some type of way. So for Eddie to not know...

He thinks he might have fucked up big time.

"I know!" Eddie cries, shoving the sandwich away from him to make room to drop his forehead onto the table, then turns to smoosh his cheek against the table so he can look at Charlie. "Charlie. Charlie what do I do?"

Charlie blows out a long breath, thinking, before he gives a decisive nod and says, "you gotta beg forgiveness."

Eddie knows Charlie's right. He doesn't know what he did but he's going to beg forgiveness anyway.

Which is how he now finds himself in the small floral section of the grocery store looking over the sad, wilted bouquets after work. His arms are already full with Steve's favorite ice cream, candies, an over-priced little blue teddy bear that's holding an 'It's A Boy!' card that Eddie plans to rip off, and a blank card with a painting of sunflowers on it that he plans to wax poetry about Steve inside.

The final part of his groveling is, of course, the flowers. It's the wrong season for sunflowers, so Eddie was going to settle for roses. It's just that these roses are all sad looking. They don't really scream 'I Love You More Than Anything Else In The World, Please Forgive Me For What I've Done' though.

Let it never be said that Eddie doesn't know how to beg forgiveness.

He ends up picking the least wilted looking bouquet, one with white and yellow flowers he can't name.

The cashier is an older lady who takes quick catalogue of his items and asks, "is it your anniversary, darling? Or, oh!" She picks up the blue bear and Eddie feels his ear heating with embarrassment as she coos, "are you expecting? How exciting!"

"Err, no, not, uh, no. It's just blue is hi-her favorite color, so I was planning to just cut off the little card," Eddie stutters out the lie. Blue isn't Steve's favorite color but Eddie's used to making up many little lies when talking to strangers. Being hate-crimed is not a passion of Eddie's. "I, uh, messed up. And I don't know what I did, but I'm going to make it right."

The lady smiles at him and gives him a firm nod as she scans the items. "Smart boy. I'm sure she'll forgive you."

Eddie gives her a smile he hopes isn't as tight-lipped as it feels on his face.

Back in the safety of his van, Eddie roots around until he finds a pen and gets to writing all the things he loves about Steve in the card and all the things he hopes they'll get to have in the future. Nothing they haven't spoken about before, but it still makes Eddie a little emotional writing it all down.

Once he's done writing, he pulls his pocket knife out and cuts off the 'It's A Boy' card from the bear, crumpling it up and tossing it in the back of the van to be forgotten. He shoves the sunflower card in it's place. His card is a bit wider than the previous one here so it stays in place, albeit precariously. He'll be careful handing it over to Steve.

He knows that Steve is at home already. Steve's always home first because he's off work at four compared to Eddie getting off work around five.

Well. Closer to five-thirty today with his stop at the grocery store. He really hopes that whatever has Steve mad at him isn't time related. Being late home without calling might earn him no favors if it's a time-based blunder.

Steve is in the kitchen, back to the door since he's facing the stove, as Eddie expected he might be. Which means that Eddie doesn't get to lay out all his Items of Forgiveness across the counter like he had hoped but that's okay. If the love of his life has chosen to forgive him, he knows Steve will be just as overjoyed to rifling through a bag of goodies as he would to pick them off the counter.

"Hi sweetheart," Eddie says, words oozing with adoration and sweetness.

"Hi baby," Steve's tone matches Eddie's, like an instinct to match Eddie's energy has written itself into Steve's DNA. And it might have. Eddie knows the reverse is true.

Steve turns from the stove, then, and his face lights up with delight and surprise. "What's all this?"

"Your favorite things, because I love you," Eddie says, raising his arms a bit. The grocery bag is looped over his wrist with flowers in one hand and the bear in the other.

Steve looks positively smitten.

Eddie is nailing this apology that isn't an apology. And let it be known; he cannot say he's sorry. It'll ruin everything. Because Steve, his wonderful, beautiful, kind and loving Stevie, will cock one perfect little caterpillar eyebrow and ask if Eddie knows what he's apologizing for, and Eddie will have to say he doesn't know and that isn't something he's willing to do. Especially not when it's looking like whatever Steve was mad about has completely slipped Steve's mind, too.

"I got your favorite ice cream, too, so we might want to get that into the freezer," Eddie says, passing the bear and card to Steve and shimmying around him to get to the freezer.

He lays the flowers on the counter and sets to emptying the bag. Ice cream in the freezer and goodies on the counter, while Steve reads the card silently behind him.

He knows he's successfully made up for whatever it was he had done, because Steve crowds him against the fridge shortly after setting the card down and turning the stove burner off, kissing him breathless.

Eddie even gets desert before dinner, with Steve all but dragging him to their bedroom.

-

The reddit post that inspired this -

[quill-of-thoth]

The Saga of Great Uncle Asshole And The Priest From Hell

It's thanksgiving (in the US) so have a family gathering disaster that is old enough to be funny. Almost a decade ago, after a life of stirring up drama everywhere she went, my grandmother died. She was an unhappy woman who tried to be better to her grandkids than she was to her kids, and didn't always succeed, and she's the reason that when I smell cinnamon tic tacs they're accompanied by the reek of an illusory cigarette. This is not a sad post. This is a post about the fact that her funeral was a fucking disaster and it was ultimately about 50% her fault. See, my whole family was at one point or another catholic. Grandma really enjoyed going to church in her last years because it got her out of the nursing home, and priests have to listen when you tell them about the husband you divorced and the children who think they know better than you. Grandma did not consider the fact that the local priest she'd latched onto like a talkative moray eel in a cloud of nicotine smoke was an unmitigated bigot. She left instructions that she wanted her funeral to be at that specific catholic church and for that priest to do the sermon. It didn't occur to her that the person who would be organizing her funeral would be her gay daughter and her daughter's wife.

Shit started getting real about when the doors opened to recieve mourners. Over the course of ten minutes, my aunt summoned:

her elder sister, a paralegal

my father, who has never seen a conflict he would not cheerfully walk away from

Their younger brother, in order to swear at the priest

My mother, who hadn't had a good opportunity to fight a priest since we left our own church and was game to do it again.

This left me, the eldest grandchild, in charge of the receiving line, despite the fact that I knew approximately no one there. My brother and cousins were woodenly shaking hands and then whispering "who's that?" "I don't know." My aunt's husband was escorting the elderly and infirm up the stairs one at a time. My uncle's wife was also around but she knew even fewer people and was mostly listening at the door of the ongoing argument.

So when my brother and Boy cousin went to see if we could pry someone who knew who was related to us out of the argument and I was busy trying to convince an octegenarian that she did NOT need to figure out which of her cousins had married one of grandma's siblings before sitting down, Girl Cousin was alone at the door.

Great Uncle Asshole arrived in a storm of curses and a faux-coonskin cap. He blew past Girl Cousin, thumped his cane up the steps, and seized my hand. It was like shaking hands with an extremely strong mummy. "You look just like your mother! It's the hair, what a bird's nest. Where's your daddy? And the rest of Helen's brood."

I muttered something about them finalizing details with the priest.

"Well, they'll come see me soon enough. Bet you don't know who I am!" I didn't know who anyone was. Everyone older than me was having a verbal cage match with a member of the clergy or escorting some other old fogey to their seats, everyone younger than me had even fewer clues, and my only hope was to wrap this conversation as fast as possible. "Nope!" I said, "I haven't seen most of the people here in years." If I had ever seen them in the first place. He was going to be mad, but I figured if I had to be the bouncer I could probably take an eighty-something year old guy who breathed like the surgeon general's personal warning to smokers. I could at least shut the door on him.

"Of course you wouldn't! Your gran wouldn't have told you. I'm your great uncle Roger, and I'm here to bury the hatchet, by which I mean your grandma! She and I swore over our father's casket we'd never be under the same roof again while we both lived, and by god I kept my oath!" People were starting to stare, and it was at this moment that a thirty-something man in a suit sprinted up the stairs, and my uncle's wife, with a look of dawning horror, called her husband. "Roger's here." The middle aged folks descended immediately. Here is a snapshot of the ensuing conversation: "Roger, why don't we find you a seat?" - my mother in her best teacher voice "Glad to see you're doing well enough to make it" - My father, in his best 'good god I want to be anywhere else' voice. "Take me to the coffin! I want to see her with my own two eyes!" - Great Uncle Asshole, "And hang up my **** hat! Killed it myself!" "I'm so sorry, I didn't know he could walk that fast" - strange suit man "If you are QUITE finished, I am starting the ceremony in ten minutes" - the priest

As my father and his brother towed a grinning and cursing old man to the furthest reaches of the family section, my mother and my oldest aunt caught all the cousins up on the argument with the priest. My youngest aunt was still crying while her wife stared fixedly at the stained glass panes and periodically handed over tissues. The upshot of it all was that my aunt and her wife would be allowed to attend the funeral (on pain of the whole family literally walking out on the priest) but would not be allowed to take communion, because the priest didn't believe in their marriage. My aunt's wife had neglected to point out that, being Jewish, she wasn't going to take communion anyway. "That's fucked" said boy cousin, and the four of us immediately resolved in whispers to refuse communion as well. The priest opened his sermon with pointed remarks about the older generation's devotion and respect for the church. He continued on through psalms and all that until he got to the blessing of the eucharist and asked the family up to receive communion. My father, who hadn't taken communion since I could remember, stayed seated. My mother stayed seated. My aunts and uncles stayed seated. The cousins stayed seated. About a third of the church didn't move. "Well father, I'll have mine! These young folks think hey have all the time in the world to get right with the lord, but you and I know better!" The priest, who had been visibly hoping god would smite us, turned a wincing glare on my great uncle and the series of distant relatives and nursing home neighbors who were now shuffling up. The service dragged on. We were lined up to say goodbye to everyone, while the suit man (who would turn out to be my second cousin) bodily hauled great uncle asshole and his coonskin cap down the stairs. "I should have known my sister wouldn't manage to raise any good Catholics! Horrible woman." he said loudly as he was stuffed into a car driven by suit man's apparent twin. The priest approached as we were finally ready to leave, to ask why we were so stubborn that we deprived ourselves of communion. After all, unlike my youngest aunt, we weren't obvious sinners! "Oh, I'm Lutheran" - My eldest aunt. "I'm an atheist" - My uncle "I don't think you're qualified to bless anything." - My mother, who learned her religion primarily from a horde of socialist-leaning nuns.

With that, we left the wreck of my grandmother's funeral behind. "Helen," said my mother, very deliberately, when we were safely in the car, "would have HATED that." My dad started laughing. "Are you kidding? She would have loved that! It would have been all she complained about for years!"

[batboyblog]

Hi! I was wondering if you're planning to continue the "Stuff the Biden Admin is Doing" series through early January? I'm seeing a lot of hopelessness and (obv) tons of focus on the new cabinet picks, their plan for the first 100 days, etc. And I'm hoping that we can take some time to focus on what (if anything) the admin is using these last few weeks to try and accomplish. Ty for all you do!

honestly I don't know.

when I started it there was just overwhelming zeitgeist that Biden didn't do anything as President, that he was so old he was basically dead, that his brains were soft bananas and endlessly "he promised to get rid of Student loan debt and that just never happened! so why believe anything he says!" all of which was horse shit. So I felt like rather than just bitch about it, I'd do what I could in a very small way to be counter programing to that. But the election was always a part of it? I was always making them with the implied case that Joe Biden deserved re-election which I firmly believe he earned by any objective marker, and after he decided he couldn't overcome the propaganda wave about his age and health, that his Vice-President surely deserved election based on what their administration had managed.

I hope I did convince at least some people to vote for Harris in the end.

any ways, for me posting more as the Biden administration ends would be deeply depressing, dealing with what we're losing and comparing what every week will look like for the next 4 years. Also at this late date, new rules are subject to a review period where the President can freeze and reverse them pretty easily so a lot of anything the Biden team passes can and will be stopped and returned because Trump will become President during the review period. Likewise any Executive Orders Biden's signed during his Presidency can be ripped up on day one of the Trump Presidency

So anything the Biden team gets done before January is very fragile at best and thats sad and depressing

any ways, I think if I'm feeling up to it in January I'll maybe try to write up some kind of overview of the full 4 years of the Biden Presidency and how great it was. And Sadly I suspect I'll get more and more active in covering the trash of the second Trump Presidency

sadly for all of us, I don't think there will be much good news in the years ahead, but I think we have to learn to live with that? um authoritarianism relies not so much on enthusiastic mass support so much as mass apathy, the majority going "ugh there's nothing we can do, why bother paying attention" or "it makes me too sad/upset to watch the news" I see a lot of people pushing vaguely self helpy "take care of yourself" type posts about gardening or whatever as activism and I fear people pulling away from the uncomfortable, from politics and giving up on the idea that change is possible. Someone talked about how middle class liberals in Europe, in Germany in particular after the Revolutions of 1830 and 1848 failed almost totally and the authoritarian conservatives won, these liberals withdrew from political life and became very focused on art, music, domestic life because they gave up and you have in the 1850s-80s a period where conservative elites in Germany have basically all their own way and it had longer term echos. I fear that a lot.

[postcardsfromheapside]

No. I wasn't missing the point of most criticism. Literally, I saw post after post of people saying they wished the characters could be mean to each other. Some posts were more specific, like "I don't like Taash," (and I'm sure you can imagine what THAT'S about) and some were more ambigious but cited DA2 and how everyone was bitchy toward each other.

I honestly don't care where you work and what you do, because hopefully most of us after the age of 30 have experienced an adult job where we have to be reasonable with our coworkers, even if we strongly disagree, or outright dislike them. I had the suspicion that most people who think that there is "no conflict," or "low conflict" or "bad writing" in this game haven't experienced this kind of setting in any capacity. What I'm now hearing is that you might have, but you didn't absorb any of the dialogue, or switch out your party to listen to banter, which is an essential function for picking up information in any DA game.

I walked around Arlathan with Lucanis and Harding, and they have a whole ongoing conversation in which she threatens him with one of her special arrows. And he agrees that if Spite should take him over, she should do something about it. Harding isn't frightened, because Harding isn't a pushover, but she's not taking any shit either. Did you walk around with just the two of them right after recruiting Lucanis? Did you frequently visit the rest of the companions so that you could see just how much Lucanis and Davrin *didn't* get along? Neve mentions what sounded like a knock-down drag out fight.

**Just because this isn't explicitly mentioned to you doesn't make it bad writing - it means you haven't had the time we had with Inquisition to play the game over and over and switch out your party so you can see everyone's interactions with each other. You will actually have to play the game multiple times and switch your party out a fair amount in order to see these interactions. Or wait for people to post them to tumblr. You can complain about how unfair this is, or remember that Inquisition has 10 years on this game, and it's been out for just shy of a month.**

Why in the absolute fuck would Davrin manufacture conflict between himself and someone he could easily conjecture isn't pro-slavery based on the fact that within five minutes he could find out she's from Dock Town, she's a private investigator working with the Shadow Dragons, and LITERALLY WHEN YOU GET ONTO THE DOCK WITH HIM, her first priority as she's running back to Minrathous is to say "if the dragon wrecks havoc, the Venatori will take over." Davrin isn't an idiot, he could pretty well surmise that she's not "pro slavery" with only the barest of interactions and Rook saying "yeah Neve's cool."

Why would Neve yell at you? Why is it bad writing for the writers to give Neve a personality you don't agree with, because you're uncomfortable with how she reacts? Neve's an adult who is used to working on her own and people not showing up for her - she says this MULTIPLE TIMES - it's actually a large arc of bonding with her, as a friend and a lover. She's not going to scream at you, she's so far past the point of being loud about disappointment, she's on the other side, for one, and for another, she does in fact understand that the entire North of Thedas is on fire and blighting Treviso is pretty fucking bad when it has no major defenses. Rook doesn't endlessly apologize. She came back after a short pause and while I didn't have her healing abilities after that, it didn't take long for me to boost my bond with her back up and feel like we were friends again.

This honestly feels like you're having a personal reaction that you need to examine, and it's not something to do with the writing, since the game mechanics and the dialogue don't actually bear out what you're putting down here.

All of the companions who have conflict initially have to figure out how to trust each other and it sometimes takes most of the game for them to do that. If you didn't spend the time listening to their banter as they work their way through it, that's not Bioware's problem. That's you. And...I don't want to have repeated conversations where I go into Emmrich's (my romance) room and "vent"? I didn't do that with Cullen. I didn't do that with Anders. Why would it suddenly be a thing here? But if you listen in to people's conversations, they do express dismay and doubt and fear about the various quests they've been on. Again, it feels like you didn't spend the time eavesdropping or taking people out and listening to banter.

I have no idea what you're talking about with flirting. I flirted with every companion at first even though I knew I was running for Emmrich, and all of them responded according to their personality. I romanced Cullen in Inquisition, and he was pretty quiet initially, until you get to Skyhold, and similarly, most of the companions here retain a certain reticence until the game progresses. But if you're looking for people who get flustered - Lace and Bellara absolutely do! And Emmrich isn't flustered, but he's taken aback a few times before he collects himself and flirts back - though whether you'd actually recognize it for flirting, I'm starting to wonder. The fact that you can't tell with Neve is actually making me tilt my head at the screen, and I say this as a self-confessed disaster who is very very bad at knowing someone is interested. Even I can tell what's going on in DA romances.

This is probably a lost cause, but I urge you to either spend time playing the game again, or watch someone else who really loves DA (and is Veilguard positive) play so that you can watch without being in the thick of it, and hopefully experience more dialogue and different choices.

No, I'm not done yet, I'm house sitting and she left me snacks and soda and not even god could keep me from venting my spleen at this point.

"I wish the companions were meaner to each other in this game, like in DA2."

While I think there's a larger argument to be made discussing the similarities between DA2 and Veilguard, I need everyone to get so close to me right now about a glaring difference:

DA2 involved a ragtag group of assholes with their own agendas coalescing around Hawke's personality or exchange of favors. There was no larger "goal," except maybe Varric's expedition - everything else is encountered as circumstance. You wend your way through your companions' stories while a city winds ever tighter into itself, a spring about to literally explode.

There's zero reason for these people to be nice to each other. They have no point in being around each other except Hawke. They can bitch at each other all they like.

Rook becomes Varric's second in command (I've seen one post say it's about 6 months before the events of the game) with an explicit purpose: find and stop Solas. Harding and Neve are recruited as experts in their respective fields for this particular goal. When it all goes to shit, Neve recruits another expert, Lucanis, to deal with the fallout, and Harding finds Davrin, *also* an expert in his field (monster hunting). When Rook has to make a particularly consequence heavy decision, two more are added to the crew: Emmrich (Fade expert) and Taash (dragon expert). All of these people are extremely competent, and know from the jump that they have one particular goal in mind.

They join ready to work together on Day 1 because if they don't, there's simply no other alternative. It's lights out. Even when they mistrust each other, the direness of the situation is not lost on them. Infighting serves no purpose. That's why the struggle is directed inward: clean up your own house, so we can move as a single unit.

Honestly the fact that what people took away from this game was "I wish my friends were meaner to each other" and not "wow, I wish we all worked together to keep evil dictators from taking over" is fucking mindblowing when I sit back and reread this.

[limeade-l3sbian]

Im sure you have noticed many radfems talk of how men will use their spouse/partner as basically a second mother, having her do all the chores, the emotional labour, the organisation, etc. And I agree with this take.

But can we talk about how a lot of women, especially trad adjacent ones, also see their male partner as almost a parental figure. The amount of times i’ve seen women use different versions of “I just want a man that can think for me” is too many to count at this point. And it’s common. It’s seen in so much romance media, where the man takes control of everything, all the big decisions. It’s become a whole trope in heterosexual romance books and stories, of a rich man with control issues who sweeps some woman off her feet and makes it so she basically just disappears in his embrace.

This is gonna sound super harsh, but please know it isn’t meant as a critique of them as much as something i’ve noticed. I really do believe a lot of women who crave old school gender roles are very lazy, “useless”(to themselves) people who don’t want to amount to anything in life. The idea of struggle and hardship, heck, even just working TOWARDS something, it scares them so much they would rather be shapeless blobs controlled by someone else. That’s why they fetishize that traditional life style for women. Obviously WE know the women of that time and current time too in those types of homes aren’t just sitting around all day doing nothing, but I really do think a lot of women use it as an escapism fantasy from life.

The way a lot of them describe their sexual fantasies is similar, it’s always what is done to them, like they aren’t actually active participants, like they don’t actually have to make any choices.

I think the reason a lot of men crave a parental figure partner vs the reason a lot of women crave one is very different but they seem to be extremely common nonetheless. And with women I also know it’s a very complex issue of both society telling us our worth, the fact that women nowadays even as the more educated demographic STILL do more housework and emotional labour in relationships, capitalism being horrifyingly exhausting to live under, I could go on. But the point is, I think certain women crave a life of no consequences so that whole “i’m just a girl” and “he thinks for me, he makes the choices” mentality thats unfortunately had a huge uptick in popularity in recent years, I do think it’s women craving a parental figure as a partner. Not to say it’s anything linked to incest, i’m not trying to make freudian connections here, but I think the role of a parent is to take responsibility for the child and they crave that floating consequence free existence of a child.

I dunno, is what I’m saying completely deranged? Let me know.

Anon, I'm gonna try to be respectful and hold your hand when I say this... YOU'RE RIGHT! Thought I was gonna get condescending on your ass, huh? 😎🤪

Firstly, don't undercut your words with "I dunno." You made a completely logical point and casually explained yourself so eloquently I wouldn't be surprised if English wasn't your first language.

Secondly! I have seen this too! This weird, "take care of me" emphasis from both sides of the camp. Is it laziness? I wouldn't cast that aside for a second. But I think it's also this strange reaction to the present world. At least in the U.S., the economy is shit and people kind of already know that shit is just going to be hard, no matter what. And as humans, we have a weird tendency to swing the pendulum completely to the left or the right. So our reaction to very real, economic hardship that requires frequent "grinding" is to desire a complete release of the wheel, and to have someone else handle the hard stuff.

For some reason, according to social media, you either need to be grindset girl boss or a trad trophy wife which is...yeah. But I don't doubt your point being more of a reason for this. It's bizarre, and you're not crazy.

[teoft]

It's like Tumblr has become almost a diary for me, thanks to no character limit and a read more button. This atmosphere of acceptance and understanding helps a lot too.

I'll get back to posting actual art, juggling with Twitter and Bluesky along with commissions is taking up a lot of my time.

Anyway, thoughts about art community and being social

For the longest time I've had this feeling of being an outsider in this vague community of artists that see as colleagues of sorts. Like I meet all the "criteria" of being in the group, and yet don't really feel like I'm part of it. Well, it seems I am right in some way, and the reason is that they interact with each other, while I sit here drawing alone.

Unfortunately I've always been prone to isolate myself from others. I grew up feeling like I should be ashamed of loving to draw, since it was always fanart monsters, creatures and cool guys instead of "proper art" like animals and portraits. Before social media, I only drew for myself and never showed anything to anybody. I hid my art from my family, from the world, so that I wouldn't be judged. I think it is one of the biggest reasons why I have trouble interacting with people in the context of art (tbh I'm shit at being social anyway but that's a whole another problem).

Even when I had a scanner and means to post my art online, I never did, due to the whole "if you put something online it'll be there forever" mindset. My first actual account anywhere online must've been Facebook in 2010ish, where I only had a few friends. It was the perfect place for me to finally post anything online, and so I did: I used to post pretty much everything I drew on there. Slowly gaining courage, I eventually made my original Tumblr account, then Deviantart, Twitter, etc.

Still, all I did was throw my art out there in hopes of somebody liking it. I didn't really know how to interact with the people who commented on my posts, so instead I mostly just... made more art. I did have some friend groups here and there, but either they ended up falling apart or my social battery drained in such a way that I slowly drifted away. I had gotten used to just being by myself and relying only on myself in the online art world.

During my design studies, I started putting more thought and work on promoting myself, so that it could be one career path for me to take. My mindset was that I'll work hard and become "big", even if it meant that one post gained me just one follower. In 2020 I ended up going viral with a meme and suddenly getting tens of thousands of followers. It was great and a welcome boost of morale, but unfortunately 2020 was otherwise one of the worst years in my life.

Throughout the years people have come and gone, so the only constant for me has been myself, and my drive to develop my skills. Thus it's been too easy for me to just isolate myself. In a way it has been my strength with regards to art, but sometimes I wish I knew how to make lasting connections. I think/know I might be autistic to some degree, which adds to the difficulty of being social. Though, to be honest, I don't know if I'd gotten this far without my autistic hyperfixations.

I guess the thing I need to do now to fix this problem of loneliness and isolation is to just... slowly try and be more social. To reply to comments and talk to people. All of which is easier said than done. Still, just gotta take that first step and then keep going.

Despite lacking the kind of community I yearn for, it seems I've made a name for myself, enough so that people seem to take pride in knowing me. Or at least that's the impression I've gotten a few times. But still, I am happy that I've had a positive effect on people. After all, my two main motivators in art are that I like doing it, and I like when people enjoy my art.

[shhrrroooommmmmyyyyyy]

S1: The Birb's Feelings

(pt 1.5 for episode 7 and 2 for season 2 idk when cause shit's crazy rn)

Stolas is one of the most morally controversial characters in the show. With the show revolving around Blitz's relationships, it's natural that the show gives us the most information about him because he is arguably Blitz's most complicated relationship at the moment (I'm not going to include Barbie bc we've literally only seen her for like 5 minutes in one episode which isn't enough information). I wanted to do a quick overview of how I perceive Stolas's feelings throughout the duration of the show in sort of a timeline format

~Episodes 1, 2, 5~

So, at first, it's obvious Stolas doesn't really think of Blitz too romantically and mostly sexually. Ok, completely sexually. However, there's a reason why that people often overlook sometimes. Stella openly said in the season 2 premiere that the only time him and her had sex was to have Octavia. Man's literally been deprived of anything enjoyably sexual his whole life. So when he finally does have sex that's enjoyable for the first time, he naturally wants more of it

As we all know, Stolas isn't the most self aware king (or should I say prince) out there (which is okay; he's still growing and developing as a character). The way he treats Blitz in these first few episodes sort of gives off sex toy vibes. Obviously, this is where Blitz gets that mindset from, that all he is is just a toy for Stolas

But after seeing what Stolas' true personality is now, I highly doubt Stolas knew exactly how he was treating Blitz during this time. Again, self awareness issues. Natural part of his character that, after watching Viv's writing since the Hazbin pilot first released (yeah og right here), I'm positive will be developed on later in the show. So hold your horses people, we're just now 2 episodes away from only being halfway through with the show. Give it time, it'll happen

Anyways, Stolas isn't a bad person (I'll fight anyone over this take, dont play). But he does the wrong things with the right intentions. He treated Blitz the way he did in these first few episodes because Blitz was the first person he's ever enjoyed having sex with. It's a big deal to him as it sort of "awakened" him. I think he was so happy about the sex after around 35 years of nothing, he didn't fully realize how he was treating Blitz in the process

*Not an excuse, but simply a possible explanation for his actions*

~Episode 6~

My favorite episode. Stolas shows up when I.M.P.'s sort of cornered by the agents and scares them shitless with his scawy big birb form. First he makes sure Blitz is okay, then he scolds him for getting caught. Almost like a mother who's mad but cares for their well-being (crying in ghostfuckers)

This may seem small to you guys, but for me this was when Stolas became my favorite character. Not only did this moment show he's more than just the cringy comedic horny relief, it also showed that he cared. Why would he ask if Blitz is okay if he didn't care about him? That has nothing to do with the book. If it got in possession of humans he could literally just kill them in like a second and take it back. Tbh (dont come after me pls) but before this episode I didn't like my first impression of Stolas. Despite the many takes calling the cringiness of his lines in the first few episodes "iconic", I hated it. It was just too much

And in this scene it's not just that he's asking in general, it's how gentle he's being with Blitz. Holding his face and speaking a bit softer with a caring expression on his face. I love it so much (aggghghhghghgahhaagh). I know his attitude changes after a few seconds, but still it was a nice moment that reshaped my perspective on his character for basically the rest of the show

*Like I said before I'l give episode 7 it's own post cause i'm too tired and there's so much to talk abt in that episode*

[wosowffc]

RELATIVES

Part 3

A week in and me and Leah haven spoke once, the team noticed, the staff noticed, the manager noticed even the canteen noticed. I don't plan on talking to her, I don't know what to say "oh sorry for running away when I needed help" or " sorry thought I should take a 4 year trip" like no, so what do you say.

My relationship with people in the squad have gotten stronger after some bonding games and chilling at eachothers house. I was finding it a bit hard to stay calm and not be my energetic electrocuted self but, i try to find ways. Alessia had been great at that point if you went out side at lunch or after training she would join to give me company as i let energy out.

I had your first game in two days and i feel like i could be a posible substitute as your training and small matches have been unreal.

I got up this morning and Im on time for once -I've never been good at time keeping- i sat on the sofa and read the note pad in which I write down things I need to do the next day, so, I get some done and out of the way before .I get home and put the dishwasher on and clean up some dishes along with putting away washing, I put on the washer as I get dressed before leaving for the colony.

We have some recovery today and tactics which I already know means I'll have try try sit still. Ariving I pull up to Steph and Leah. Leah doesn't look at me as Steph calls me to follow them in so I do. Walking along with Steph I keep glancing at Leah I'm pritty sure she's doing it too when I'm not looking which is getting on my nerves.

We walk inside and almost as soon as we enter the room me and Leah are called by Renee to go to her office for a "chat" I like Renee but I don't think this is a good chat. You enter the office you first then Renee and lastly Leah you don't look at eachother as renee sits down.

"Is everything ok between you two?" Her first question and you already want to leave.

"I think we just havnt got properly got a chance to bond yet" leha answers nearly immediately, I look down at my feet my legs are rocking side to side.

"Alright well I want you two to partner today, I would like you to do an hour gym hour Recovary then go out for lunch together" Is. She. Serious. I'm not doing that I'm not end of.

"Yeah seems ok with me" LEAH shut up stop talking my god I don't want to do this, that's all I can say to myself in my head.

We leave the room in silence I try to go towards where Katie and vic was but leahs voice cuts through first words she has said directly to me.

"Come on bean." My nickname. Bean. She would call me that when we were younger..i....I can't do this.

"Leah...I- I umm" shit come on is find words iz, find words

Leah guides me to the gym she girls all take their looks as you walk together but you get on with what you planned to do putting head phones on taking the opportunity to not talk.

Now we're almost done in here so what now, we're ment to go talk about feeling. I'm not good at talking feelings. I get up bringing my water and phone and leave the room as Leah isn't looking going to the changing room.

"We need to talk iz" Leah. NO LEAVE ME ALONE.

[squarebracketsmileyface]

in your universe, did Brian take Tim’s virginity? in my head he did, something about Brian being so sweet and gentle with Tim with Brian kissing Tim all over his body makes my brain go brrrrr

Oh definitely he did. I'm currently stuck between two places for when I want it to have happened, honestly.

Under the thingy a bit for length and a bit for the fact that it's talking about sex and alcohol a fair bit

Because on the one hand, I could make it when they get together properly in uni. Tim got overwhelmed at a party and Brian found him holing up somewhere absolutely not coping at all, probably just because he lost track of his friends and kinda freaked out a bit, and yeah they were both fairly drunk, but Tim needed comfort and Brian gave him that. And then once Tim had calmed down one thing led to another and it ended with them sleeping together at that party. Brian's definitely had sex before at least a couple times in this version of it, he's still awkward, especially since Tim's his best friend and has been for a couple years at this point, he doesn't want to ruin that.

Then both of them are like "well shit" the next morning after they stumbled home together and woke up hung over (Brian more than Tim, Tim's used to being drunk at that point and knows how to deal with it—though he does try not to drink, chain smokes instead most of the time—Brian not so much, Tim has to look after him a bit cos he's being a bit of a baby, but he doesn't mind that, counts it as returning the favour of Brian looking after him the night before) and they remember what happened. But they sit down and they talk, because Brian's a psychology student and Tim's had a decade of therapy (albeit not the best therapy, but still therapy), and they kinda figure things out and go, "you know what? I like you, you like me, how about we date? No one needs to know, that way there's absolutely no pressure from anyone, and we just see how this works out?"

Because I think that'd be absolutely adorable.

Or

I want it to have been something kinda stupid when they were still pretty new friends, as in, both probably still 16, maybe Brian had just turned 17, something like that. Once again, it was a drunk thing, at least on Tim's side of it. That's the one thing that's constant in my mind is Tim lost his virginity while drunk, because my version of him was pretty much at least slightly tipsy all the time throughout his time in highschool. He had a friend who was old enough to buy alcohol who had absolutely no moral issues buying alcohol for him even after realising Tim was becoming pretty reliant on it. Tim was struggling so bad with even just existing after getting out of the hospital to have at least a couple years of normal highschool before college, that he kinda needed the alcohol to help him cope/function.

It would probably have been a much worse decision if it was that second one, or like, Tim made the decision at a worse time mentally. Like, it wouldn't go badly for either of them, wouldn't fuck up their friendship or anything for more than a bit of awkwardness that went away after like a few weeks, but in this version of how it goes, it happens because Tim's in a pretty bad downward spiral that he doesn't know how to handle. Probably with Tim very drunk because something or other had happened, or had been happening for the past week that he absolutely didn't know how to handle. So he turned to two things he knows help, alcohol (drinking all day, probably skipping school for it so he wouldn't get caught) and getting comfort from Brian. But this is a pretty damn bad spiral, so Brian's usual amount of comfort wasn't really enough.

He'd have found himself going back to Brian's place after school, spending the whole evening there slowly getting more and more drunk, with Brian at first joining him because whoo alcohol! Something they're not meant to have! But he doesn't drink as much as Tim and after a while starts gently attempting to be like "heyyyyy, maybe you should drink some water instead, you just seem to be getting more upset? Let's go make something for dinner and watch a movie or something, yeah?" And eventually that works, they eat and they watch a movie and Tim sobers up a little before they go to bed, but he's still struggling a lot (probably hallucinations is how I'm thinking, hallucinations and rapid switching, thought they wouldn't know that second part, probably just assumed it was part of the being drunk) and he ends up crawling into bed with Brian instead of taking the air mattress on the floor like he usually does when he stays over.

They end up kissing and don't get round to talking about anything before they're very awkwardly wiggling out of their clothes and figuring out how having sex actually works. Then the next morning rolls around and they're not as awkward as they expected to be, they don't regret it exactly, but they're also a bit like "😬 oh we did that... Well, uh... As long as we're still friends?" And it kinda ends there, they both definitely still have crushes on each other but for whatever reason neither of them act on that again. Until uni comes along, then you get that same party (the one Jay and Alex also "get together" at for the first time properly) and they sleep together again for the first time in like a year or so, and this time they actually talk about it and have that same whole "I like you, you like me, how about we date?" exchange as above.

...could technically have both if I wanted, just make Tim forget about the time in highschool so he thinks the time in uni is the first lol

[deadbeandrop]

i always feel like there's such an underappreciated aspect of lumpus being the one to have feelings for slinkman (over the years) which is that there's something so Hilarious about him wanting to dump his head in a vat of acid because he's thinking stupid mushy shit, or Worse, about this Thing again

who also does not pick up on this at all and just thinks he's being weird again

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[svtskneecaps]

friends and fiends if this truly spells the Over for the qsmp i may let the brainworms that have been festering in me for MONTHS--A YEAR, EVEN--win.

i may summarize the goddamn fucking lore.

[naivety]

have to go pick up a washing machine tomorrow a coworker snagged for $75 [!] and lug it all the way upstairs [....] to hook up before somehow draining the old one [...] because it broke mid-cycle washing sheets not once but twice thrown up on by cat [...] and we can't even get it to drain [....] 🙏 and hopefully finish putting together a 2 weeks late little birthday gift box for my sibling because i literally forgot until the night before and wanted to die. and get my axle looked at cause it might be bent. day off ❤️

[jikimo-world]

Prussia is the kind of guy who would rain hellfire down on the world to find his brother and then Germany was just in the bathroom