#and does on some level want something like what's best for them

[morganbritton132]

Tommy has three brothers.

You may think that this would have taught him how to share, but it didn’t. It taught him that if he wanted something to grab it quick and hold it tight.

Which is to say that he does not like Carol.

He is not thrilled when Steve asks their teacher if Carol can sit with them during snack time because Steve is his best friend. He found him first and he’s not letting go of him.

Especially not to some dumb girl that plays with dolls.

“Mr. Whiskers isn’t a doll. He’s a cat.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a dumb toy,” Tommy grouses, pulling on Steve’s backpack strap so he follows him. Steve says he likes toys and Tommy concedes because he likes toys too just - “Not dumb toys. I have cool toys. I can show you.”

And Tommy does. He drags Steve onto the bus with him. None of his brothers mention it when Steve gets off at their stop.

In fact, no one mentions it at all. Especially not to their mother so it’s something of a surprise when she turns around to find a boy in her kitchen. Not one of her boys but - “Hello?”

The little boy looks away from the pot boiling on the stove and asks, “How come you don’t have a microwave?”

“Mama says that I can’t use the stove ‘cause I’m not big enough,” He continues while Maria stares dumbfounded at him. “Tommy’s not big either and you don’t got a microwave. Does he just eat cereal?”

The boy blinks at her, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” She says slowly, connecting the name to Tommy’s friend from school. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I know I’m here.”

“Anyone else?”

“Tommy knows,” He says. “He’s in his room. We’re playing nascar.”

“That sounds fun,” She says, slipping into mom mode. She crouches down so they’re eye-level and smiles, “Why don’t I call your mom and let her know that you’re having fun?”

She can see the clogs turning in his head before Sleve slumps his shoulders. His bottom lip juts out and his eyes get shiny. She’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Tommy slides into the room on his socks and Steve tells him in a sad little voice, “Your mama wants me to go home now.”

Tommy promptly bursts into tears.

He doesn’t want Steve to leave. He’ll miss him and he hasn’t even showed him his GI Joe yet.

It takes a lot of soothing words, many reassurances that she’s not kicking Steve out, and the recruitment of her husband before the situation was calmed down. It’s only then that Steve - dry-eyed now - suggests, “I can call my mama.”

This is what Maria was trying to accomplish in the first place.

She takes Steve into the living room where their landline was. He dials his phone number carefully as her, her husband David, and Tommy watch. He gives her a reassuring smile, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Mama! It’s Steve,” He says into the receiver. “I’m at Tommy’s. He’s my best friend and his mama said I can stay the night. Love you. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up the phone before Maria could ask for it and informs her, “Mama is a super busy lady. She’s goin’ to the - to the store. She says she loves you.”

The boys run off to continue playing while Maria processes what the hell just happened. She’s still processing when David picks up the phone and presses the same buttons Steve had.

He holds the phone to his ear and gets the answering machine for, “The fucking Harringtons?”

[onbearfeet]

This is something that genuinely fascinates me about certain storytellers.

If you've ever been in a real emergency situation — blood and screaming, people will die if someone doesn't do something NOW and probably some of them will die even then — then you know that a lot of people will instinctively run in to help. They'll do it whether they actually can help or not. It's hardwired into a lot of humans, especially if the people in danger are children. (No shade. Mammals are often protective of their young.)

But not everyone will do it. Some people won't be physically or psychologically able to ... but some will have the knowledge and ability, and they just won't. Do. Anything. I grew up in earthquake country, so I think of it in terms of earthquakes; when the walls start to crack, everybody runs for cover, but not everybody grabs a baby on the way.

I'm a runner-in, always have been, so I'm fascinated by the stayers-out. I'm not usually interested in judging them (I can't honestly say staying out of, say, a burning building is a bad idea), but I do want to know what's in their head where I have the voice of an ancient primate screaming at me to save the troop.

The only stayer-out I've ever gotten to study up close was my probably psychopathic sibling, and I don't consider him representative of anything much. But the presence of that trait in a storyteller — much less one who takes on Superman of all characters — is baffling. Is there some kind of lack of empathy at work? Certainly Snyder seems to pick and choose who gets to be fully human in his movies, but that's a strange trait to find in a professional storyteller. Does he see stayers-out as heroic in and of themselves, as makers of difficult choices? If so, Superman really isn't the character to explore that through, what with his literal comic-book levels of power that enable him to save almost everyone most of the time. Maybe he was trying to make the best of Superman after Christopher Nolan comprehensively claimed Batman for a solid decade, and transplanted a Batmanesque moral dilemma like "Should I save the Joker?" onto a character for whom it makes far less sense?

The best hypothesis I have so far is this: Superman is a fantasy of power and goodness. It's a story about an incredibly powerful man who uses his power for good, and whose problems mostly arise from his power, his goodness, or both. Maybe Lex Luthor opposes him out of jealousy or fear of his power; maybe his goodness forces him to take on burdens that damage him psychologically; regardless, the best Superman stories turn on that axis. Perhaps Snyder was trying to question the legitimacy of that premise, or criticize the idea of a power-and-goodness fantasy itself in the way that some really good superhero fiction engages with those sorts of abstract concepts.

But given how much of Snyder's work seems to glory in fantasies of power and cruelty (300) or power and corruption (Watchmen) or ... call it power-and-badness fantasies, I guess ... I do have to wonder why he chose that particular fantasy to aim at.

I want to study that man like a bug in a jar, and I'm not sure I'll like what I find there.

not to shit on zack snyder again but it's really funny that he tried to make a big, grand, complex moral quandary on where superman should stand when he saves people around the world and then james gunn is like "he wants to do it because he thinks it's the right thing to do". sometimes going simpler means you get to the crux of what the character is all about much more efficiently. like wow it's really that easy

[jaehaeryshater]

Robb and Theon in The Kiss of Judas

🎨 art by the talented @shripscapi

This beautiful and, in a way, breathtaking (at least in my opinion) artwork has been in my mind in concept for at least a year, and has been beautifully brought to life by Liesl. I have always felt that there was an almost biblical element to Robb Stark’s arc and his betrayal, by Roose Bolton, Walder Frey, and most pointedly, Theon Greyjoy (though the latter was done with less malice, but then again, that is not a prerequisite to betrayal). Robb Stark is a young king with good intentions, wanting the best for his people, but whether from greed, a want for revenge, or a wish for belonging, he was killed. His murder in of itself was at the hands of Roose Bolton and Walder Frey’s men, but being that those men were not particularly close to Robb nor was the king fond of them, the impact of their betrayal comes mostly from the shock and gore of it all, as well as the disregard for the revered tradition of guest right. Roose Bolton and Walder Frey have a direct hand in Robb Stark’s death, but Theon Greyjoy’s betrayal of his self-proclaimed “brother” has an indirect part in it too (it is to be noted, when I say betrayal, I do not mean to imply that Theon owes loyalty to the Starks, the family that took him from his home as a boy; I am not of the opinion he does, but Theon describes his own actions as betrayal, for personal loyalty to Robb). It is a matter of debate if Theon would have been able to return to Robb without being intercepted by his father if he had chosen to try and warn his friend that the Ironborn were preparing to launch an attack instead of allying with the North. What is not up for debate is that Theon’s capture of Winterfell weakened the North and its morale, bringing into question how they should move forward. On a more personal level, Theon’s claim of having murdered Robb’s younger brothers, Bran and Rickon, was devastating to the young king. The grief was what inadvertently led Robb to sleep with and ultimately marry Jeyne Westerling. While the Freys likely would have tried to betray Robb at some point, if Robb had followed their plan to marry a Frey girl, he would have probably lived for some time, at least to ensure a Frey/Stark heir. Theon does not have full responsibility for all these acts, but his betrayal certainly weakened Robb. Robb and Theon were close as Jesus and Judas were, despite the “kings” being warned or otherwise knowing better. Judas betraying Jesus is more impactful than if it had been another other apostle, just as, in my opinion, Theon betraying Robb is more impactful than Roose and Walder doing the same. On a more general note, while Robb did not die on a literal cross, I do not find it to be a coincidence that he died at a dinner. Robb’s story likely is purposefully inspired by biblical elements, along with being informed by various other historical figures, which I will elaborate on below.

With the iconography in my commission, my intention was for the piece to contain symbols that could pass as something you could find either in a Bible from times past or a Westerosi history book. Liesl’s art is beautiful and too polished, given modern methods, to pass for something found in a medieval manuscript, but it does look like it could be a descendent of such a thing. Medieval art is too archaic for my liking so I had purposefully set out with this compromise in mind, and Liesl’s art style was the closest to my vision. The weirwood is specific to Westeros and the in-world religion of Robb, but the halo is more biblical in nature. My intention was not to portray Robb as perfect or pure-intentioned, certainly not as selfless as the Christian depiction of Jesus. The iconography is meant to be more saintly in nature. Saint is not synonymous with perfect, anyone who knows an extensive amount about saints knows that there are saints canonized that weren’t particularly good people in their lifetime. My particular inspiration was Edward the Martyr, king of England (before William’s conquest). Edward died at the age of 16 under guest right. He was killed by a group of guards, his own people, on his stepmother’s estate. His death, too, was described as Christ-like. Here is a quote from a recount of his death:

“Those magnates had agreed among themselves a wicked plot: they were possessed of so damnable an intention and so murky and diabolical a blindness, that they did not fear to lay hands on God's anointed. Armed men surrounded him on all sides… The venerable king had with him very few soldiers, since he did not suspect anyone, trusting "in the Lord and in the might of His power” — it was just as the Jews once surrounded our Lord… They were seized by a single madness, an equal insanity ... The soldiers laid hold of him: one on his right-hand side drew him towards him, as if he wished to give him a kiss; another grabbed his left side firmly and gave him the death blow.”

Who does that sound like???

I love the idea of Robb as a figure similar to Edward the Martyr. He is a boy-king, and not particularly religious or impressive in feats (though Robb, having bested Tywin thus far in the story, is significantly ahead of Edward in terms of his military). Their death is tragic and they are exceptional, not for being great men, but for being innocent children thrust into a role and then martyred. Thus their stories turn to legends and they are seen as holy or saint-like in nature. Though Robb worshipped the Old Gods, due to his maternal family’s legacy and beliefs, it is not all that far fetched he could have a cult dedicated to him or be revered by the Faith of the Seven later on in Westerosi history.

Concerning other symbolism, I will acknowledge that Robb’s youth is exaggerated here to drive home the point of him being little more than an innocent child. He has not grown his beard yet and he is dwarfed by his furs. His clothes are meant to intimidate, make him look regal and intimidating. But really, it makes him look like a kid. Theon is portrayed as an adult, five years Robb’s senior. He is not meant to be malicious and his love for Robb is not false. He still betrays him all the same, that’s the tragedy of it. Robb knows he is king, knows he should keep a distance from Theon, many have told him. But yet he is informal here, having removed his glove so Theon can hold him. Robb is not relaxed, but that is not due to a lack of affection or some sort of stiffness around Theon, but rather to create an effect of a dead boy walking, rigor-mortis. Theon’s clothes aren’t meant to have any symbolism about him. I looked at all sorts of biblical art and depictions of the Kiss of Judas to decide what colors I wanted Theon to wear. I saw a lot of reds and whites, but I didn’t like that for Theon. I saw gold as well, but we didn’t want to default to House colors as that is overdone. The result was giving Theon the most luxurious clothes possible. Black was an expensive color and velvet an expensive fabric. His garb is more expensive and showy than the King’s himself. That is because Theon is exceptionally vain and Robb is not. Theon has all sorts of jewelry and even has pearls on his boots. Who does that???? It’s so gaudy and impractical, I love it for Theon. The pearls will eventually fall off and he will have wasted a fortune, but Theon does not think about practicality like that. He is a guarded person decorating himself with bits and baubles to give himself some sort of purpose or comfort that is not there. He subconsciously wishes to trick people into thinking he is secure and has value, when he feels no sense of belonging anywhere. No wonder his father bullied him.

My endless thanks and gratitude to Liesl @shripscapi. I love your work and appreciate you. Everyone should follow her account and check out more of her art because it is beautiful. She is a joy to work with and very thorough and dedicated. She has been very flexible and patient with me in the months making this and my past commissions. I have had nothing but wonderful experiences with her, she is one of my favorite and most respected artists in this community. And thank you for anyone who has stuck here and read this, I obviously a passion for this sort of stuff. I love to ramble and this is my hyper-fixation so I’m very excited about this.

[acmeangel]

I’ve had this in my drafts for about 5 months because I’ve been too afraid of stirring the pot if my takes are hot, but I also really just enjoy character analysis so… this is my opinion!

Levi would not be a rough, mean dom in bed, and he wouldn’t have a high sex drive.

(CW: sex, prostitution, trafficking, all the Levi childhood things)

To start, if we look at his childhood, his mother was a prostitute in the Underground. And he was the direct product of this. While it was never specified exactly how Kuchel died — just that she was sick — I'd wager that it was almost definitely from an untreated STD; and even if not, it was precisely her dire circumstances that would've prevented her from receiving adequate treatment for any other illness. This lifestyle killed his mother, and we can see how deeply her death impacted Levi through even the smallest behaviors in his adult life; in the way he treats life as valuable, how he looks out for the young teenagers who end up on his squad, even in the way he holds his teacups. Kuchel loved him, and she was a kind person, but it didn’t matter—the world was too cruel of a place.

In Bad Boy, we see young Levi being threatened with the prospect of being sold into the same life as his mother — one of the men says, "We should make him do the same job as his mother. He might have inherited her talents." That's not something he'd easily forget, and, unfortunately, would likely be an experience that shaped his perception of self-worth, what sex is, and how the world works. This is not to say anyone is defined or shaped by their traumas, but our childhoods are very often where many of all our behaviors lead back to.

I'd imagine that if this is the life he grew up with, it would make his viewpoint on sex that it's something harmful, cruel, and unforgiving; it's a transactional means to an end, something taken with brutality, not an act of care, love, and intimacy.

There likely wasn’t anything in his life in the Underground to shown him otherwise, and he was there for all of his key, formative years. Even aside from his own personal experiences, we know that prostitution and trafficking ran rampant in the Underground—Mikasa and her mother were intended to be sold into it.

His abandonment by Kenny (who he almost definitely thought was his father at the time), only would've compounded his negative views regarding self-worth and the dysfunction/unreliability of relationships that are supposed to be caring, comforting, and nurturing. It took him decades to find out who Kenny really was or why he was abandoned—that's plenty of time for these emotional scars to cement themselves deep within him, even if subconsciously.

He'd then go on to lose basically anyone he'd ever dared to care about from that point forward—from Furlan and Isabel to the original Levi Squad to almost the entire Scout Regiment to Erwin to Hange to Sasha and Eren. Because of all of that emotional turmoil and the loss of all of his relationships that had mattered to him (despite his best efforts to keep them), I don't think emotional or physical intimacy would come easily to him or be something that he'd go out of his way to find, because why risk it? Why take the chances of getting attached to someone if your life is full of loss?

For that reason, I don't think he'd seek out sex just for the pure physical release. I think that for sex to even interest him at all, there'd have to first be a level of emotional connection and trust. With the right person, I'd reckon that over time, he'd develop a desire/need for it—it feels good physically, he'd see that it does foster intimacy, it would likely soothe some of his emotional wounds, and he'd want to please his partner. It’s also not to say he’d be overly gentle or timid or meek; but there’s a difference between passion and being rough with someone to the point of harm.

I just don’t envision him being particularly rough or dominating about it. He's not a violent or aggressive person at heart—only by necessity and circumstance. Honestly, I think, to some degree, he likely struggles internally with the super-human physical strength and fighting skills he's inherited. In my mind, it's not a far stretch to think that Levi has viewed himself as more of a tool/weapon/killer than a person, and I don't see him wanting to bring that into sex (or a relationship at all for that matter).

Levi didn’t choose to be an Ackerman/fighter — it was a perfect storm of his bloodline, Kenny’s influence, and the survival instinct necessary to live in the Underground that turned him into one. But that doesn’t mean that it’s his true nature. (Yes, he can at times reach a breaking point and lash out because he’s human, and almost no one constantly acts in line with their true nature and morality when put into dangerous, pressurized situations.)

I feel that Levi would want to avoid being violent or aggressive in an intimate setting, toward someone he deeply cares for, at all costs. Underneath his stoic exterior, crudeness, and the hardened mask he's often had to wear, he's shown to be a deeply caring, protective, and empathetic person.

Not to mention, I could genuinely see him being wary of his own sheer strength and not wanting to hurt his partner in any way or potentially scare them off, which would lead to yet another loss/abandonment.

Again, none of this is to say that a person’s trauma has to define them or shape their actions, feelings, and behaviors; but Levi is a deeply empathetic person, and I don’t see him easily shaking off seeing his mother’s tragic life, being abandoned, the loss he’s experienced, and the violence he has committed. Sure, it’s possible that after he gets into a relationship, or feels truly comfortable enough with someone, he’d be more open to different types of sex and not be as wary, but he’s just not a violent person in my eyes.

But mostly… I think, after a life of fighting and violence and aggression, he’d be eager to leave that behind when he can.

He’s not a violent dog, he doesn’t know why he bites.

This is not to discount anyone’s versions of Levi that they write/enjoy in fics/smut, I don’t really care what other people do and this isn’t about that. I’d never tell anyone what to do in regards to that. At the end of the day, we are really all just having fun here and living out our little fantasies as our our collective favorite character (I mean, I mostly write fluff pieces, so it's really not all that serious…). This just happens to be my take on Levi, it doesn’t have to be anyone else’s by any means, and I think character analysis is interesting! Pls don’t come for me, I won’t come for you!

[liquidcrystalsky]

i saw someone say they never actually played a splatoon game and only watched two story modes. it felt a bit weird to me but i think there is something to think about.

most of all the story/lore/worldbuilding in-game is text and images and are basically identical if you read them on a wiki

The chat logs and sunken scrolls and alterna/dev logs, have nothing to do with whats going on. The gameplay, the things you do, don't inform what information you're given at all.

You unlock things either just with normal progression or as random collectables. In splatoon 1 and 2 the sunken scrolls corresponded to each level, but they didn't take advantage of that at all. Most sunken scrolls just were about whatever. They made it per area in splatoon 3. So it's even more detached from the gameplay.

The Dev Diaries and Acht's letters, are all unlocked in exactly the same way. Every single one, other than having to change what weapon you use, it's the same.

Shit, most of the god damn world-building, ISN'T EVEN IN THE GAME! It's on the websites, in artbooks, interviews (both in-universe and developers), soundtrack releases, whatever.

Other than the first two story modes, there are like Actual things which happen in the games which can't be summarized in a sentence (most of the story about Octo Canyon was in the "Squid Sister Stories." Not Even In The Game).

Octo Expansion has an amazing final sequence, which, is mostly cutscenes and you can just sorta watch on youtube. You don't need to know what happens in Girl Power station or any of the levels at all.

RotM had a Lot Of Shit Happen but... actually i think it did it the best for experiencing the story Through The Game (not by much). Though It sucks that the story has absolutely nothing to do with the gameplay and they often straight up contradict or just doesn't make sense. Oh yeah the whole fucking thing crashed and killed everyone. Don't ask why everything's in completely pristine condition.

Side Order sort of just cleared up all of the story points within the first 10 minutes of the game, right after the tutorial Marina just explains Everything and then that's just what happens for the rest of the game. There's no twist or any evolving story that isn't in the Dev Diaries which don't affect the Actual Game.

The thing i'd say you miss out the most on is small character moments, but there's also plenty of compilations and people pointing them out too. There's definitely a lot of things you'd miss, a lot of spectacle, and some emotions, but idk i feel like it's not too much in the grand scheme of things.

Splatoon has amazing world building, but kind of bad storytelling (i guess nintendo in general, i can see it a bit in botw/totk as well) and it kinda gives room for people to actually be genuine fans of the series, story and world, without even touching a game at all.

As much as I don't want to buy a switch 2 and all that, i really hope Raiders does this storytelling well.

I also have nothing against watching like longplays of the game or just like full game walkthrough or whatever. I call myself fans of games which i've only watched and not played. I'm saying you can totally be a fan with a really large amount of knowlege of splatoon without even doing that.

I have had this comparison of RotM to Outer Wilds in my head a lot and i'm gonna walk my dog then i'll write it out

[thepoliticalvulcan]

I agree with this on the level of harm reduction. It is every voter’s responsibility to be informed and to prudently weigh the consequences of this or that side winning.

On that level when you have absolute ghouls who could come back to power like Pompeo and Huckabee with a nightmare eschatology focused around goading Israel into fulfilling a doomsday prophecy to bring Jesus back, the potential for greater suffering is huge.

And yet this particular form of consequentialism ignores other frameworks and ways of understanding voter behavior and motives. Not to mention it absolves the parties themselves of any responsibility of being in dialogue with their voters.

If the answer to that challenge is that the Democratic Party was in dialogue with its voters and due to the composition of the coalition, what we saw out of the administration, the Biden - Harris campaign, the Harris - Walz campaign, and the convention is their version of threading a needle, okay fine. One I don’t buy it and two even if that was the best they could do to keep the coalition together, I think we need to talk about how blocs function.

Right now the Democratic Party is freaking out over its issues with young men, especially young men without college degrees.

Why is it freaking out? Because they believe that category helped throw the election to Trump via their unwillingness to vote or their willingness to vote for Trump.

Now the party is spending tens of millions to study how to approach young men while many pundits and electeds experiment with changes in affect and policy.

We can debate what it is young men want, whether it’s actually good, and if Democrats trying to pivot to flatter them will be effective or an absolute disaster that alienates more voters than it brings into the tent. But if young men wanted to send a message with their vote (or non-vote) a signal has been received loud and clear and the Democrats are desperately trying to decode that signal and find an actionable message within the noise.

Anti-war motivated voters were not merely ignored, even moderate, patriotic Palestinian American success stories were denied any sort of visible role at the DNC for fear they would do or say something off script.

So by November they had a choice and it was an absolute nightmare of a trolley problem.

Vote Democrat, stay inside the tent, hope to have some small amount of influence but also risk the very real probability that Democratic elites could safely ignore this element of the coalition in perpetuity and threaten them with ostracism and culpability for whatever the prayer warriors inside the JD Vance wing of the GOP wound up doing should they win.

Or don’t.

Vote third party, vote Republican, don’t vote and gamble that the GOP won’t win or that if it did win the notoriously vain Trump would seize upon this influx of new voters, revel in their imagined praise, and temper his love affair with Netanyahu and the “Greater Israel” crowd.

And if it all went to hell anyway then they might be able to tell themselves that they taught Dems their votes cannot be taken for granted if electoral politics survived to 2028. In the long run, MAYBE a chastened Democratic Party would be more amenable to the anti-war crowd, resulting in a grim trade of more lives lost and devastated now for more lives spared in the future.

Such feverish speculation and wishcasting is why I’m increasingly skeptical of trying to project more than a single electoral cycle into the future. Especially since my estimation is that this is the worst of all worlds for “Greater Israel” opponents in the US: not only does the GOP not even remotely care about Muslims, is actively trying to deport the most vocal, and seems content to assist in depopulating Gaza: the Democrats also don’t give a damn because their new love affair is with alienated young men.

But on an emotional level, I get it. The choices were awful, and the so called “good guys” were behaving at peak levels of paternalism and disingenuousness. So why not take a big swing and hope for the best?

I mean, the very predictable reality we are now living in is why, but I also don’t see where anti-war voters had a lot of options besides accept they were being sidelined or demonstrate that they were prepared to use the nuclear option and withhold their votes: the last and final thing any bloc can do in democracy if their inter-election canvassing and persuasion efforts fall short of persuading major stakeholders.

I don’t have it in me to be mad at them for rolling the dice.

I've said it before and I'll say it again.

Palestine is to the alt left as abortion is to the alt right. All other policy is irrelevant as long as you support the important cause.

This is just not how politics should be working. If you want a functioning system, you cannot reduce your entire voting behaviour to a single issue. It's so easy to do, but that's not how the world works and as we have seen time and time again, it causes absolute carnage if the result of a vote becomes determined by a single issue whcih causes people to ignore the actual aims in a party' manifesto

[tawked]

I think ultimately my beef with Chris Claremont is that he will discuss bigotry at length but seems not to understand how many forms of bigotry are manufactured on a societal level.

Take "God Loves Man Kills," which is kind of the thesis work for the concept of "X-Men as minorities" under Claremont imo. I think it's fine to point at fiends like Pat Robinson and so on as a vector for increasing bigoted beliefs in society, sure. That's very accurate.

I uh, have never met a bigoted Christian who functions in precisely the same way as William Stryker, and bud believe me I have met bigoted Christians, but fine. As a broad "fuck this kind of dude" thing I think it works and starts conversations for a lot of young boys reading these comics at the time, mission accomplished.

My issue is, the same text presents the cops as ranging from indifferent and "just doing their job" to heroic because one of them shoots Pat Robinson. There's a rejection of the concept that the cops are themselves agents of bigotry in society, or even susceptible to bigotry. All of the cops we see talk shit about Pat Robinson. Why? I believe it's because Claremont genuinely believes in liberal societal myths that if all is functioning smoothly, then we are in fact equal. In Claremont's X-Men, racism is an aberration from the norm brought out by individual bad actors and their stupid sheeple followers. It's like how you see liberals attempt to understand the Daily Wire or Tucker Carlson or whatever by insisting it's just grifters and nameless faceless stupes who don't exist in the way you or I do, and sans Tucker would perhaps not be racist. They understand racists as amorphous masses, and not people created by complex systemic and cultural realities that can be addressed, is my point.

And that's just not my worldview man. So reading a text about racism that fully embraces this concept of racism feels naive and, if I'm being really honest, a little embarrassing.

I think that it's also impossible to really ignore that this text does contain an ambiguously brown rape gang. The only character with a voice uses Spanish phrases, and his mate is wearing a Sikh dastar (it was also a time when "Sikh" and "Muslim" were, hilariously, not distinct in the minds of most white Brits and Americans lol). These characters attempt to rape Kitty Pryde, and are then all killed by the child-murdering anti-mutant extremist who wants to kill Kitty Pryde. What is going on here, and what is Chris Claremont unintentionally - or perhaps intentionally - saying about the actual nature of bigotry? That sure, some people in society are A Problem, but it's not these nice mutants who all live in a mansion under the watchful eye of a benevolent white billionaire? That racists feel justified because hey, they're not sending their best, they're not sending people like you and me, they're sending rapists?

I don't know.

The thing is, in my opinion, Claremont seems unaware or uninterested in many flavours of history. He is, obviously, very aware of and responds often to Nazi antisemitism, using Nazism as some a kind of warning as to where society might be headed if we're not careful with the slurs. Fine.

He also has a range of Native American characters lol. Oop! The thing is, Native American history consistently debunks the entire concept of normative peace and tolerance vs. individual bad actors and mass hysteria. In fact, the concept of tribalism, that is the idea that people innately react with hate and hostility to folks what look and live different, is consistently used to deny the extreme intentional nature of colonialist genocides.

Frustratingly, Claremont doesn't engage with Native American or colonialist history beyond this football teams concept. In fact, Claremont solves this issue by just... not talking about it much at all.

Now, perhaps something is eventually said with Dani Moonstar or someone, sure, but I simply did not read enough to reach that point. Which is a problem, because I read 16/18 volumes of the Masterworks Uncanny re-issues (meeting Mickey Twoyoungmen and my favourite, Forge), and 4/8 of the New Mutants. So, regardless of whether Claremont chooses to get around to it sooner or later, it's certainly not frontloaded like the presence of the characters is.

Frankly, at one point, Claremont puts pro-colonialist words in Dani Moonstar's mouth, as if she simply would not have a more complex inner world or reaction to seeing colonialist violence.

Claremont will have his Indigenous characters yell "hoka hey" in direct reference not to Chief Crazy Horse, but to cowboy movies about Chief Crazy Horse. He will not sit with the concept of colonialism as a manufacturer of racism in a way that distinguishes that racism from, say, a Klansman lighting a cross. Dani just hates white people, 'cause teams. They play for the Bulls and she's a Celtic.

To demonstrate what I mean by not giving equal weight to history:

In her introduction, Dani Moonstar is told she's going to be relocated to live with Charles Xavier, a white billionaire. She screams no, fuck that, white people are "the enemy" and I'm not going to live with one.

Claremont does not couch this in a discussion of how for generations the United States has weaponized child protective services and similar state entities against Cheyenne and other Indigenous people. Relocating Native American children into residential schools and white households is not a neutral subject, or something one can explore with a "two football teams" idea of racism. There's history of this as a tool of colonialist violence and Dani, often politically aware of colonialist violence (see: her grandpa's death) is not written to articulate this sentiment in a way the reader can access.

Thus, Dani's resistance to being forced to live in a rich white man's home is couched in some kind of strange "racist black guy" concept. She never deconstructs this further, and is characterized as a bit paranoid and traumatized, sure, but not correct.

A more informed audience may fill in that blank if they want to. Will an ignorant reader be able to do the same?

Racism has complex roots.

When black historians discuss redlining as "going all the way back to the plantation," that's what they're getting at. White supremacist cultural practices exist in layers of beliefs built upon colonialist attitudes that began on day one and persist, mutating through generations to fit new realities and circumstances, but never deconstructing the core.

When Columbus met the Taino, the Arawak and the Carib people, and he infantilised (and enslaved) the Taino, but used the Arawak as a scapegoat to claim a "caniba" nature of the Carib people. He was not responding honestly to observation, and this was not a "egad! brown skin? verily these fiends play for Detroit Pistons and I, the noble Denver Nuggets!" situation.

This bitch wanted fuckin money and was enacting older, Crusades-era concepts of Christian dominionism (see how history cycles work?) So, he was marketing this new uncolonized land to his investors as having slaves, and dangerous locals who he characterized as so savage they could not be Christianized and thus had to be killed, justifying further investment of resources.

It wasn't

ah! different people! my urge to kill... EXPLODING!! NNNGHGN

Listen, I like the X-Men fans that I've met. It's one of the nicest fandoms on tumblr and the people in it are broadly cool, educated and hot with excellent pecs.

However, and I do mean this with love, I bet not a single fuckin fan from when Claremont's books were on the shelves found it odd that Storm XMen, a Kenyan living in Kenya in the 1970s, was somehow untouched by colonialism or decolonialist concepts, during Kenya's decolonisation era.

The region was forcibly Christianized by the British starting in the 1890s, or debatably earlier if we count missionary efforts, and yet Storm XMen lives in this weird little untouched pristine village where they worship her as a goddess.

The 1970s audience probably just accepted this because 1. she controls the weather, so obviously right, and 2. they're like dumb black African villagers or something so they probably worship all kinds of shit.

An opportunity for education was, in my honest opinion, wasted.

And it fucks me into a coma leaving my asshole wet and gaping because I see older fans insisting that it's just "of its time." man! man!!

the time of Black Panthers, feminists, queer and disabled liberation marches, all of these anti-bigotry activist causes out in the street causing a ruckus!!

Roy Thomas' ASS, I mean Roy Thomas' All Star Squadron, contained a clumsy but somewhat informed expression of the systemic causes of American anti-Japanese racism during WWII. It was bad, yes, but at least Thomas was able to explore the concept that most white Americans didn't even know where Japan was beforehand.

Bro! He explores how American culture created arbitrary and fucked distinctions of "good Japanese" vs. "bad Japanese" based primarily on immigration status and other mechanisms weaponized against this marginalized demographic. He was out there dropping terms like issei and nisei, which sure yes whatever that's diet shit for historians, but I have simply never seen other American media care enough to acknowledge how white supremacy genuinely did create complex wedges in Japanese-American society in the 1940s.

There's even a moment early in the run where a white bloke articulates that China and Japan are like even forces and thus removes the Sino-Japanese War from its colonialist character lol. Although I believe this is unintentional on Thomas' part, veeery funny and apt considering the overall vibe and the era Thomas is discussing. That kind of thing coupled with anti-Asian racism is why the west never intervened before the creation of Manchukuo.

It's bad! It's ahistorical and frustrating! It contains a "Heroic Jap" narrative meant to debunk the concept of absolutist racism!

But it demonstrates an adjacent of-era comic series that is able to engage with racism as a systemic and manufactured concept at a level that Claremont can't or won't or whatever.

And another thing, Claremont's use of schizophrenia -

[taranchula]

venture movie was good. definitely felt like a bit of a ransom note but it got across what it needed to get across and did so with a level of panache. leaned a bit too heavy into it's ol' reliables (fake-out anticlimaxes, olive garden unlimited backstory, granular banter) but landed most of its hits and even if it didn't im gonna watch it 15 more times regardless

[seilon]

for real though why the fuck would the shooter have 10K in cash on him? like what would that have to do with anything. to my knowledge he wasn’t caught on camera robbing the ceo or something + the gun was (allegedly) a ghost gun potentially 3D printed ie; bought/put together in parts, not something that’d require a single large sum of money. cash to up and flee the country? then why was he (allegedly) at a mcdonalds in the same part of the US in the aftermath. why wouldn’t he be fucking Gone. what does the 10K have to do with anything. the nypd is just betting on the public being like oh 10K in cash??? that’s damning because Large Amount Of Money Suspicious. don’t think about it too hard tho. this case has practically just started and it’s already so stupid

[lord-squiggletits]

"Rodimus is a better Prime because it didn't hurt for him to bond with the Matrix while for Optimus it did" headcanon/theory my beloathed.

One day I'm literally gonna snap and make a whole post addressing why what's wrong bc I'm tired of the inaccuracy and tired of ppl not understanding the Point TM of IDW and its version of the Matrix/Primacy and even more tired of people putting down Optimus in favor of Rodimus by essentially arguing that being unworthy means you deserve to be punished/put in pain bc you just weren't good enough to hold the Symbol of Ultimate Authority

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...

[inquirenorth]

.

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: Love, Trust, and the Weight of Protection

part 1

Danny knows what it's like to be hunted.

It’s been his reality for as long as he can remember—forever glancing over his shoulder, never truly at ease. Between vengeful ghosts, government agents, and countless other dangers, his survival has depended solely on his instincts, his powers, and the fickleness of luck. He has his friends—two best friends and a sister who would drop everything to stand by him, who he knows would always have his back. But the weight of that reliance feels heavy, a burden he can't quite shake.

Trusting others, truly leaning on them, has always felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford. He wants to feel safe, to let someone else take some of the weight, but the thought of putting them in danger because of him? That’s a risk he can't bring himself to take.

Then he meets Tim Drake.

At first, Tim’s protectiveness doesn’t faze him. It’s Gotham. You don’t date a Wayne-adjacent vigilante and expect anything less than a little paranoia. Danny’s been through worse. A tracker on his phone? Standard. Tim pulling files on his professors? Honestly, kind of funny.

But then, Danny finds out how deep it goes.

He stumbles upon a folder on Tim’s desk—his name printed neatly on the tab. Inside? Background checks on his classmates, neighbors and friends. Surveillance reports. A detailed map of his daily routine. Heart rate data. Sleeping patterns. Eating habits. There’s even a file on Phantom.

For a moment, Danny froze.

This should terrify him—it used to. Being watched, tracked for his every move, reminded him too much of those who hunted him, who’d wanted to tear him apart and dissect him like a lab rat. His first instinct was always to run.

But at that moment? He felt... safe. The notes in the margins weren’t cold or clinical like the ones his parents would have written. No, instead, they were worried. Make sure he’s eating enough. Possible threat? Keep an eye on this one. Look for ectoplasmic spikes—could mean trouble.

This wasn’t someone trying to control him. This was someone trying to protect him.

Tim’s not like the people who hunted him in Amity Park. There’s no malice in what he does. No intent to control or hurt. It’s all fear. Love, even. Danny can see it in Tim’s eyes when he stammers through an explanation, bracing himself for anger or rejection.

He’s scared Danny will leave.

And that’s what gets Danny.

No one has ever cared for him like this, no one willing to go through such lengths just to ensure his safety. Yeah, it’s intense, maybe unhealthy, even by the standards of a world that isn’t known for its normalcy. Danny knows Sam, Tucker, and Jazz would do the same—they’ve all put their lives on the line for him before, and he loves them for it. But Tim is different.

Tim is strong enough to face the dangers of Danny’s world and carry the weight of his burdens without hesitation. It’s something Danny could never ask his friends to do—not because they wouldn’t, but because they have their own lives, their own paths. They would drop everything for him, just as Tim would, but Tim does it with the resolve of a vigilante, already living a life where protecting others is his duty. This is someone who understands the risks, who’s already made those sacrifices, and still chooses to say, “I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

So, he smiles. He kisses Tim’s cheek. And he asks, “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

The way Tim’s eyes light up? Yeah, Danny thinks. This is love.

-----------------

The batfamily doesn’t get it.

They corner Danny one day, all serious expressions and careful words.

“Danny, we’re worried,” Dick starts, voice soft. “About Tim?” Danny tilts his head. “About both of you,” Steph says. “This… surveillance thing. It’s not normal.”

Danny shrugs. “Neither am I.”

They might understand—on some level. They’d lived through their own kind of danger, faced their own threats. But for Danny, it was different. They didn’t grow up being hunted, didn’t spend years hiding from people who wanted to tear them apart just for existing. For him, trusting the wrong person wasn’t just a risk; it was a matter of life and death.

Tim’s methods might be extreme, but Danny sees the intent behind them. It’s not control. It’s care. Tim watches his back because he knows what it’s like to lose people. Danny lets him because he knows what it’s like to be alone.

“Tim’s the first person who’s made me feel safe,” Danny tells them, voice steady. “You see obsession. I see someone who cares enough to watch my back.”

They don’t know what to say to that.

-----------------

Their relationship isn’t conventional. But in a city like Gotham, love isn’t always soft and simple. Sometimes, it’s vigilance. Sometimes, it’s knowing someone’s tracking your heartbeat because they’d die if it ever stopped.

Tim watches over Danny. Danny watches over Tim. It’s not about control—it’s about trust. About knowing that, no matter what, someone’s got your back.

The bats worry. They whisper about boundaries, red flags and healthy relationships.

Danny doesn’t listen. He knows what he’s got.

In a world where ghosts and vigilantes collide, where danger lurks in every shadow, Danny’s finally found someone who won’t let him face it alone.

And that? That’s everything.

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

25 Laws of power for women

Conceal your goals especially the ones that are appealing. Losing weight, reinventing yourself, marrying wealthy. Instead talk about your altruistic goals - to help children, invest in education, this will chase insecure people with vile intentions.

Do not give anyone your source of power: Was is a book that changed your life? a mentor? a movie? Never give up your secret to success. If forced to do say allude to God, the universe, the a random phenomenon

Use the patriarchy to your favor; we live in a world that is, only associate with men who have power, use that power for good.

Never appear too perfect but be selectively vulnerable when needed. Only share something that you will be comfortable saying. You might say “I forget my keys all the time,” “I don’t know how to perfectly park a car “. But never disclose something you are not comfortable with just because you are afraid of being perfect.

Maintain distance in relationships. Friends are the best and you need them. But if you feel that they are becoming too dependent, see them at your own will. But also the reverse could be the case. Your friend may keep a distance, and that is the way of life. You have got to move on from it.

Develop your own style that makes you unique, beautiful, and elegant. Avoid trying to fit in the crowd of people who claim to care less about their style yet have too many opinions about other women’s style

Avoid male friends at all cost, you will have male colleagues, male bosses, male acquaintances, business partners. Keep it that way. You do not want a Truman Capote divulging your secrets to the world. Do not keep a man who does not fit your standard.

You do not have to win at every game. Pick and choose what is best for you and leave room for others. And step down if you have attained that level of success, do not let the society do it for you.

Trust people but remember that we are all humans. So trust with discretion!

Confuse people with kindness; people are not always comfortable with beautiful and intelligent women. That power is too intimidating so confuse them by being genuinely generous, curious, kind, and passionate.

Keep your strong opinions to yourself.. if you support a movement, a way of life, do so silently.

We all have dirty laundry, wash them privately, don’t expose yourself. Remain silent when people try to attack you or shame you. Whatever is not confirmed is not true. You are the only one who knows all the truth about you.

Don’t attract pity or praise: People who pity you do not help you, in fact they might think that you are weak and could mock you at their annual gossipping meeting. And if you are doing things for the sake of praise you are wasting your time.

Choose yourself all the time; never put any one’s feelings above yours.

Trust your own intuition if you feel someone is being malicious towards you, giving you back handed compliments then you should let them go

Never speak bad of another woman. Do not lazy around gossipping. Keep your hands clean and your conscience clear.

Avoid women with low self esteem they will bring you down. For some reason they do not like seeing other women who are doing better than them

Be careful who you seek validation from. Not everyone needs to be pleased. If they are in no way capable of contributing to your life in the ways you prefer, then don’t ask them for their opinions or please them.

Do not compete with other women, if you do you are only putting them on a pedestal. You are making the the standard by which you measure your progress. If you do compete, begin digging your grave.

Do not give unsolicited advice, do not share the inner workings of your mind, If your mouth is very charitable you better start journaling.

Be well-rounded and interesting. It attracts people. It also keeps you busy because you are continually improving and learning. An idle mind is an easily subdued one.

Avoid women who want to live vicariously through you; they want to know who you know, shop where you shop, befriend who you befriend, wear what you wear.

Pay attention to the source of your discomfort; get rid of them. You tell them your dreams and they remind you of all your hindrances. They ask why are you dressed so fancy as though fancy isn’t subjective. They undermine you interests and goals. They will also be quick to bring you down because they are afraid of your potential.

Do not fear power or please power. When we see powerful people we try to hard to befriend them, to be close to them but you need to be comfortable without them. Don’t push yourself in the name of friendship, do not try too hard to be in their inner circle. Your independence of mind is the most important. Instead become a powerful woman, aloof to the presence of power but aware of its importance. Be an ingenious and intelligent and use your creativity to uplift yourself. When you do so it will be hard to ignore you. Even the powerful will become an ally.

Enjoy moments of solitude. Use that time to develop yourself, improve your body, learn new skills, create with your mind, read widely, become more elegant, then launch yourself.

Remember the most powerful women are the most intelligent. Inspired by Robert Greene's 48 Laws of Power. Use at your discretion.

[slttygeto]

“will you still have a crush?”

pairing: husband! suguru x wife! reader.

genre: fluff.

note: smth very short thats been sitting in my drafts for a while and i decided to work on since my insomnia kicked in. enjoy.

suguru can feel you staring at him, which he finds quite hilarious.

you on the other hand? you were fuming. or at least trying to.

because you know the argument you just had with suguru wasn’t really an argument, and that you were probably being dramatic and absolutely—no, certainly needed to hear suguru laugh again —he laughed so hard that he had tears in his eyes and you could feel your face heating up.

god, he was so fucking attractive.

so the question was—do you have a crush on me?

suguru had responded with—we have been married for four years. which was obviously the wrong answer and your husband should’ve known that.

“okay so you hate me.”

“baby, I married you.”

“what if someone dared you to?” to which suguru grimaced at.

“I’m not 15.”

“oh but you wish you were.”

stepping closer to you, making sure that he can still see the pancakes from his spot just in case they burn, suguru bends down to your level. “what does that mean baby?”

you try your best to unaffected by the close proximity, this was your husband for fuck’s sake. but even years later, the brown of his eyes makes you feel weak in the knees.

“you’d be the age where you hadn’t met me yet.” you add with a roll to your eyes, crossing your arms over your puffed out chest.

it catches suguru off guard, but he is clearly enjoying the little show you were putting on. because a few moments later, he is resting his forehead on your shoulder and his entire body trembles.

“what— are you laughing?!”

your husband cradles your face in his hands, pulling away from your shoulder to kiss your lips while you jokingly push him away.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry that was just so—“

“don’t talk to me! you don’t even take me seriously anymore!”

“I do! I just didn’t expect that kind of response.” he tries to reason with you, but to no avail.

and so now you were on the couch pouting, and he was sitting on the other side of the couch with a plate of pancakes.

“are you sure you don’t want some pancakes?”

“I wish I put poison in them.” you mutter under your breath, and suguru still thinks you’re the funniest person alive.

“a murderer announcing how they’re going to kill their target?” he teases, leaning closer to you while you pretend to stare anywhere but at his face.

“yeah and I would make sure no one finds your body.”

“how would you do that, baby?” you raise an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors your action, bringing his face closer to you. “I am kind of a big guy. wouldn’t that be a hassle to you?”

screw him for knowing how to make you fold.

“…I would have anger fueled strength.”

he gasps dramatically. “anger fueled?”

you nod. “because you hate me.”

“because I said I married you.”

“which was basically ignoring the question ‘do you have a crush on me?’ so yeah.”

“interesting.”

“to someone who’s full of disdain and hatred, yes it would be very interesting.”

the longer suguru stared at you, the more he effortlessly towered over you on the couch, the harder it was to keep the act going. his brown eyes stare deeply into your soul as he sets the plate down, turning to face you.

it’s silent at first, just his eyes staring at you and your face slowly warming up under his intense gaze.

“…what?” you finally break the silence, blinking repeatedly.

“four years down the road, and you still blink so much when you’re nervous.”

a habit no one noticed, not even your own mother. your eyes get watery when you’re nervous, they’re truly the mirror to your soul—

of course suguru would know that better than anyone else.

you sit there, lips parted in awe at his words and your face feeling like a furnace. if there was any person in the world who could make you feel like a teenager falling in love for the first time, it would be suguru.

“..sounds like you have a crush on me or something.” you mumble under your breath, trying your best not to crack under his gaze and he laughs, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“maybe, who knows?”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[hainge]

While mama is away...

bllk!dads summary:You’re off on a well-deserved vacation, and it’s Dad’s turn to take care of the morning school/daycare chaos (but not for everyone). But don’t worry, they are trying.

characters: Michael Kaiser, Itoshi Rin, Itoshi Sae, Nagi Seishiro, Shidou Ryusei, Chigiri Hyoma and Isagi Yoichi

Michael Kaiser and Felix (5)

"Your hair looks like a mop with regrets."

Kaiser wakes to the rhythmic sound of tiny fists slapping wood, not his face, thankfully, but his bedroom door. Each knock is punctuated with a little voice that sounds way too calm for this level of passive aggression.

"You forgot to prep my uniform like you promised."

Kaiser groans, dragging a pillow over his face. "That can’t be right. I swear I laid it out." His voice is hoarse. His brain is not yet connected to his limbs.

"You didn’t. Mama always does it the night before. Organized people do that. You are not one of them."

He peeks out from the pillow. Felix is standing there in blue footie pajamas, arms crossed like a tiny HR rep preparing to file a complaint. His hair is somehow perfectly brushed, probably brushed it himself. Probably judged Kaiser in the mirror while doing it.

Kaiser stumbles up and scans the room. There’s no sign of a uniform. Just a mountain of track pants, training jerseys, and a rogue shin guard sitting on a chair like a depressed accessory.

"Okay, okay. We’ll find it. Let me just—"

Felix sighs with the kind of disappointment that ages a man ten years. "This is why I schedule things. Mama says time is a tool, and you're just swinging it around like a sword in the dark."

"You're a kid" Kaiser squints at him.

"And yet, I'm thriving."

Breakfast is chaos, wrapped in good intentions and sealed with failure.

Kaiser, in boxers and one sock, confidently pours chocolate chip cookie cereal into a bowl like it’s a gift to mankind.

"No," Felix says immediately, deadpan.

Kaiser blinks. "What do you mean no?"

"I want the star cereal. With the astronaut bear on the box."

"We don’t have astronaut cereal. I checked."

Felix picks up his dinosaur cup, takes a long, judgmental sip of water, and sets it down like he's a seasoned divorce attorney about to deliver a verdict.

"Then you failed twice."

"Okay, I’m improvising!" Kaiser declares, dramatically. "That’s called flexibility. Champions adapt."

"You made me a bowl of disappointment"

The kid turns on his heel and stomps toward the living room.

"Play Paw Patrol."

Kaiser sighs and flips it on. The theme song blasts while he toasts bread and slices a banana, trying to channel his inner domestic god. Felix sulks under a blanket on the couch, his face barely visible, eyes fixed on Sky like she’s the only creature who gets him.

"Are you mad at Papa?" Kaiser asks, creeping over with the toast like a peace offering.

"disappointed."

Kaiser recoils. "That’s worse!"

In the car, the silence is palpable until Felix decides to reopen the case file.

"Your hair looks weird."

Kaiser glances in the rearview. "It’s bedhead. I didn’t get to do anything to it."

"You look like a mop with regrets."

Kaiser nearly swerves into a dramatic spiral. "You’re still young and vulnerable. You’re supposed to love me unconditionally."

Felix shrugs. "Love doesn’t mean enabling."

Kaiser stares at him for a moment too long at a red light. "Are you sure you’re five?"

"I’m advanced."

He squints. "You don’t have, like, dwarfism or something? Because your tongue is ancient."

Felix tilts his head, unbothered. "Maybe you just need to grow up."

Kaiser exhales. "This is why your mama needs to come home."

Itoshi Rin and Masako (7)

“You’re brushing my spine. My hair is higher than that.”

Rin Itoshi was not ready.

And he’s been in World Cup finals. He’s played in front of millions of people. He’s stared down some of the best strikers in the world. But none of that prepared him for the soft pink battlefield that is Masako’s bedroom at 7 a.m.

He’s standing there, clutching a hairbrush like it personally offended him, staring down his tiny opponent: a seven-year-old in a unicorn nightgown, legs swinging calmly over the edge of her bed, smiling like she’s about to give him performance feedback.

"Morning, Papa," Masako says sweetly, eyes shining with innocence and a hint of dread.

"Hey, baby. Let’s get you dressed, yeah?"

"Okay. Mama usually does it while I tell her about my dreams, and then we do affirmations. But you can do it your way."

Rin pauses. "Affirmations?"

"You know. ‘I am brave, I am strong, I am smart, I am kind.’" She tilts her head. "Mama says it rewires my neurons."

Rin has no idea what that means. He awkwardly clears his throat. "You are… all of those. Very… neuron-y."

Masako beams. "Good try."

He opens the dresser drawer and grabs a blue dress with little daisies on it.

"That’s the Tuesday dress," she says without even looking.

Rin blinks. "It’s… Friday?"

She points. "Mama folds them in day-order. See the little tags?"

There are labels. Actual tiny labeled dividers — "MONDAY," "TUESDAY," "WEDNESDAY" — staring up at him like proof he’s unfit for this mission.

He stares into the drawer like it betrayed him. "I feel lied to by fabric."

Masako pats his arm gently. "It’s okay. I’ll help you. You’re learning."

He finally gets her into the Friday dress after a mild struggle involving backward tights and a missing sock (it was on her hand, pretending to be a puppet named Alice).

Now: the hair.

He lifts the brush, cautiously. Masako gives him a look.

"That’s not the detangle brush."

"It’s a brush," Rin replies flatly.

"The detangle one is the purple one with the soft bristles. And Mama uses the pink spray first. It’s in the cabinet behind the scary face cream."

"My shaving cream?"

"Yes. It’s foamy. I don’t trust it."

He sighs, finds the spray, and squirts half of it into his own eye. Masako blinks politely and hands him a towel like this is routine.

He starts brushing, gently.

"Papa," she says after a few strokes. "You’re brushing my spine. My hair is higher than that."

"I’ve played against international strikers," Rin mutters.

"And now you're brushing the wrong bones."

By some miracle, he gets one (1) braid done. It is crooked. It is struggling. It looks like it just came back from a very windy jog. Masako looks at herself in the mirror, then turns to him with a soft smile.

"You tried. I’ll tell Mama you tried."

"That bad, huh?"

"No. It’s a fashionable tornado. Very abstract. Very… movement."

"You’re so much like your mom, it’s terrifying."

"She said that too."

"Do you do this every morning?" he asks, exhausted, watching her munch on heart-shaped cereal pieces.

"Yup." She chews thoughtfully. "But Mama makes it feel less like a crisis."

"Cool. Cool cool cool."

When he ties her shoelaces and gets them both into the car, both dressed, fed, semi-composed, he lets out a breath like he just finished a 90-minute match in overtime.

From the backseat: "You did good, Papa."

He smiles, warmed.

"Except for my braid. I feel like I can hear it."

"Thanks for your support."

"You’re welcome. You tried really hard. But maybe… don’t quit your day job."

Rin glances in the mirror, mock-offended. "Why are you like this?"

Masako shrugs.

Itoshi Sae, Kimiko(6) and Haruki (4)

“Papa: useless.”

Sae wakes up to the sound of war.

Not actual war, just the six-year-old kind.

"GET UP! WE’RE GONNA BE LATE AND I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING IF I HAVE TO PACK MY OWN LUNCH—"

The voice echoes through the apartment with the fury of a kindergarten general. Sae blinks at the ceiling, sighs, and reaches blindly for the mug already on his nightstand. Cold coffee. He knew this would happen.

A door slams. Feet stomp. A high-pitched rant about someone putting the purple lid on the pink cup.

Welcome to morning with Kimiko.

He shuffles into the kitchen where his daughter, dressed in blue pajamas and righteous purpose, is furiously spreading jam onto toast. She’s standing on a stool, her hair already brushed and braided, a sparkly headband angled with extreme precision.

Her little brother Haruki is laid out face-first on the couch like he passed out mid-protest, blanket over his head, legs kicking idly in the air.

Sae sips his coffee. "Is he breathing?"

Kimiko glances over her shoulder. "Barely. He won’t eat the eggs, and I did the smiley face ketchup thing. Just like Mama. I even gave the eggs eyebrows."

Sae leans on the counter. "You’re terrifying."

Haruki lifts his head an inch. His hair is flattened on one side like a soggy croissant. "I want bread."

Kimiko slaps a hand to her forehead like this is the fourth trial she’s endured today. Sae tosses a slice of bread in Haruki’s direction. It lands on his back. He grunts in approval and flops back down like a tranquilized cat.

Kimiko chugs her milk like it’s a stress reliever. "Hair: brushed. Water bottle: filled. Math homework: complete. Papa: useless."

Sae raises an eyebrow. "At least one of us is thriving."

"I did your and Mama’s job today."

"Should I pay you?"

"Yes. A LOL surprise."

Sae thinks about it, nods slowly. "Only if you stop yelling at Haruki."

"Deal."

Ten minutes later, Kimiko is doing a last-minute inspection of her backpack like a TSA agent. Haruki is under the table, still eating his bread one crumb at a time.

Sae walks over and crouches down. "You gonna make it, champ?"

Haruki gives him a slow, sleepy thumbs up. "Papa’s cool."

"Wow. That’s the highest rating I’ve ever gotten from you."

Kimiko calls from the hallway. "He only compliments people once a week."

On the way out the door, Sae looks down at his son, bed-headed, shoeless, still munching.

"You and me are the same, huh?"

Kimiko turns back around, arms crossed. "you’re both boring."

Sae shrugs.

Kimiko lets out a long, exhausted sigh like she’s raising both of them. "I hope Mama never finds out how bad this was."

"Too late," Sae says, unlocking his phone and pointing at the camera. "I recorded everything. Gonna show her you braided your own hair."

Kimiko gasps. "That’s illegal!"

Haruki looks up. "Tell mama I brushed my teeth."

"You didn’t." she yelled.

Sae sighed. "I thought about it." he smiles faintly as they head out, Kimiko already bossing her brother down the hallway.

Sometimes being a dad felt like being on a team where the coach was six, the star player was asleep under the coffee table, and he was just there to drive the van.

But hey. They were dressed, fed (kind of), and on time. That’s a win.

Nagi Seishiro and Shizuku (4)

“You said that three times already.”

Nagi wakes up to a presence.

Not noise. Not shaking. Just…vibes.

He opens one eye and sees Shizuku standing silently at his bedside, holding her bunny and staring like a tiny, polite ghost. Her hair is a waterfall down her back, too smooth to be legal at this hour.

“…You okay?” he mumbles.

She nods once. Then whispers, “It’s wake-up time now.”

Nagi grunts. “Five more minutes.”

“You already said that three times,” she says, barely audible, like she’s unsure if she’s allowed to correct him.

He flops back down dramatically. “Tragic.”

But she climbs into bed beside him and waits like a quiet judge. Two minutes later, she gently pokes his face.

“...mommy said we can’t be late.”

He groans into the pillow.

In the kitchen, he burns the toast again. Shizuku just blinks at it. She picks up a slice, takes one polite bite, and slowly sets it down like it offended her ancestors.

“I like it less when it’s… smoky,” she says, after a pause.

“Same,” Nagi mutters, already Googling “how to not burn toast.”

The apple slices go untouched. He side-eyes her. “You asked for apples.”

She nods shyly. Then whispers, “I meant the crunchy green ones. Not the sad red ones.”

“Noted. I’ll fire the fruit guy.”

But the real boss fight? Her hair.

Nagi stares into the mirror. Shizuku sits on the bathroom counter in her unicorn pajamas, legs swinging. Her long hair spills behind her like it’s mocking him. The brush is already stuck and it’s been ten seconds.

“Okay,” he says. “This is fine. We’ve trained for this.”

They have not trained for this.

He tries to gather it all into one neat ponytail. It slips through his fingers like magic. Her bangs fall into her face again. He brushes them aside. They fall again. He lets out a single defeated sigh.

“You okay, Papa?” she asks quietly.

“Not really.”

She watches as he tries again. The elastic flies off his fingers and hits the mirror. They both freeze.

Shizuku slowly offers him a second hair tie from her lap like she’s handing over a weapon in a movie.

He attempts a braid. It ends up looking like a sad pretzel.

After thirty exhausting minutes, he gives up.

“…Let’s go wild today.”

She nods. Then whispers, “Like a lion?”

He blinks. “Uhh...yes. A little lion"

They head to the front door. Shizuku, bundled up in her puffy coat, stands quietly while Nagi struggles to zip it all the way. The zipper catches twice. He mutters something about the universe being against him.

“Almost got it,” he says.

Shizuku stares at him. Then carefully holds out one mittened hand and says, “You have to push it up first.”

Nagi blinks. Tries it. It works immediately.

“…When did you learn that?”

She shrugs. “Mama does it.”

Of course.

He grabs her tiny backpack. She reaches up for it like a sleepy executive going to an important meeting. Just as he’s opening the door, she suddenly stops.

“Wait,” she says, frowning. “You forgot your kiss.”

Nagi freezes mid-step. “My what?”

She reaches up, stands on tiptoe, and plants a tiny kiss on his cheek.

“For luck,” she whispers.

He melts.

But as he buckles her into the car seat, she turns serious again.

“Papa?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re still wearing your bunny slippers.”

He looks down. Loafers: missing. Bunny slippers: present.

He groans.

She just nods, calm and composed.

“I won’t tell Mama,” she says quietly.

Nagi stares at her, utterly amused.

Shidou Ryusei and Shoko (6)

“That’s called fashion, babe.”

Shidou kicks open his daughter’s bedroom door like he’s breaking into a villain’s lair.

“RISE AND SHINE, BABY GREMLIN!”

There’s a silence. Then the blanket rustles. A pillow sails through the air like a missile.

“YOU RISE, LOSER!” comes the response, shrill and feral.

She hurls herself off the bed in a flying tackle. Shidou catches her midair and spins her.

“AHHH—MY BONES! I’M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS!”

“YOU’RE 28, ACT YOUR AGE!”

“NEVER!”

Their mornings are less "routine" and more "WWE meets glitter daycare." And today is no exception.

The kitchen smells like chaos.

Shidou is flipping neon pink pancakes with a spatula in one hand and mixing syrup with food coloring in the other.

“We feast like royalty today!” he declares, sliding a plate onto the table with the flourish of a man who’s proud of his crimes.

“Royalty who eats sugar for breakfast and cries at the dentist,” Shoko mutters, unimpressed but already loading up on whipped cream.

“This is called culinary art, thank you very much.”

“You put candy eyes on everything.”

“Because everything should have a soul.”

She snorts, kicking her feet under the table. Her purple unicorn onesie is still half-zipped, and her hair looks like she fought a wind god. Which means—

“Hair time,” Shidou announces ominously.

In the bathroom, she climbs onto the counter while he gets to work. And this is where Shidou actually shines.

You wouldn’t know it by the rest of his lifestyle, but when it comes to his daughter’s hair? He’s a machine.

He sections, detangles, and smooths with laser focus. He could probably braid blindfolded. The final style includes two delicate braids, glitter strands, two color-matching bows, and, at her request, a tiny butterfly clip "for intimidation purposes."

She stares at herself in the mirror with satisfaction.

“I look like a fairy who could commit war crimes,” she says, hands on hips.

Shidou nods. “Exactly the vibe.”

She leans in closer, turning her head from side to side. “It’s giving… magical girl"

“Ten outta ten.”

Speaking of lunch, that’s a whole other thing.

Shidou’s idea of a balanced meal is… questionable. Today, her bento includes: three mini meatball sliders, heart-shaped cucumber slices, rainbow gummy worms, and a juice pouch labeled “Liquid Victory” in marker.

She peeks into the box.

“You forgot the sparkle jelly.”

He gasps. “Oh my god. I’m a disgrace.”

He literally runs to the fridge, grabs a cup of blue sparkle jelly, and slides it in with a bow like he's handing over a rare gem.

They high-five.

Shoko zips up her jacket while Shidou is still trying to put on sneakers with mismatched socks. The morning sun hits her like a spotlight, her glittery hair practically glowing, lunchbox swinging, war-ready energy at max level.

“Alright, tiny menace,” Shidou says, tossing her backpack over her shoulder. “Go wreak some controlled havoc, yeah?”

She grins.

They do a complicated secret handshake that ends in jazz hands.

Then she squints up at him.

“…uhh"

“Yeah?”

She steps forward and gently tugs the hem of his hoodie. “Your pants are inside out again.”

He looks down. Pauses.

“Intentional,” he says confidently. “That’s called fashion, babe.”

She exhales the way a mother does when her child disappoints her.

“You’re welcome.”

They march to the car like a superhero duo. As they approach the school gate, the teacher sees them and visibly braces herself.

Shoko waves sweetly. Shidou throws finger guns.

Chigiri Hyoma, Mayu and Himari (twins, 6)

“Let’s go, bitch!” The morning had started with harmony.

Chigiri was plating up breakfast like he was filming for a cooking channel, tiny waffles with chocolate syrup swirled into art, strawberries fanned out on the side, and little heart-shaped forks placed neatly on matching plates.

“Breakfast is ready” he called out as the twins marched into the kitchen in matching fuzzy slippers.

Mayu slid into her seat with a soft “thank you, Papa,” immediately picking up a strawberry with delicate fingers. Himari, however, stared at her plate like it had personally insulted her.

“Papa,” she said, squinting. “This syrup is… attacking.”

Chigiri turned from the sink. “Attacking?”

“It’s too much. My waffle is drowning. It looks like chocolate soup.”

“It’s the same amount as always,” Chigiri said, tilting his head. “Maybe the syrup bottle was just feeling generous today.”

Himari poked her waffle with the fork like it might explode. “It’s gross.”

Mayu, ever the diplomat, offered sweetly, “I can trade with you if you want. Mine doesn’t have as much—”

“I DON’T WANT YOURS” Himari snapped, eyes wide and brows scrunched. “Why do you always talk when I’m mad? It makes it worse!”

Mayu blinked. Her lip quivered slightly, but she said nothing. Just put down her fork, slipped off her chair, and walked quietly out of the kitchen.

Chigiri froze, one hand holding the juice jug. “Himari…”

She was still glaring at her plate, mumbling, “I didn’t mean it"

Chigiri sighed. “That was pretty harsh. You okay if I go check on her?”

Himari shrugged, then grabbed her waffle with both hands and took an angry bite. “Fine.”

He found Mayu sitting cross-legged on her bed, hugging her stuffed dolphin, blinking very fast.

Chigiri sat beside her, gently brushing her bangs back.

“She didn’t mean it,” he said softly.

Mayu nodded. “I know.”

“But it still hurt,” he added.

Mayu’s chin wobbled. “A little.”

He kissed the top of her head. “That’s okay. You don’t always have to be the nice one, you know. You're allowed to feel things too.”

“I didn’t want her to be more mad,” Mayu whispered. “So I didn’t cry.”

Chigiri smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You’re strong, Mayu. But you don’t have to carry everything alone.”

Back in the kitchen, Himari had eaten her entire waffle and was now staring down the empty plate like it was to blame. She looked up guiltily when they returned.

Mayu gave her a tiny smile.

“I saved you a strawberry,” Himari muttered, sliding it across the table without looking up.

“…Thanks,” Mayu replied, quietly taking her seat again.

Chigiri clapped his hands. “Okay, drama queens. Time to get gorgeous.”

Ten minutes later, Chigiri had perfectly braided Mayu's hair and gave Himari her usual high pigtails. “There, perfect,” he said, fluffing them both up.

Mayu beamed at her reflection. “Thanks, Papa!”

Himari gave a little nod. “can you make them bouncier next time?”

“Of course,” Chigiri said with a sigh.

With their outfits on, Chigiri gave a final once-over. “Clothes: 10/10. Hair: flawless. Now, let’s avoid a glitter explosion before school, yeah?”

Himari huffed. “Fine. No glitter.”

They walked out, looking like a Pinterest-perfect family. Chigiri handed them their lunchboxes and led them to the car.

Ready for the day?” Chigiri asked with a smile.

“Ready!” Mayu said calmly.

“Let’s go, bitch!” Himari cheered.

Chigiri froze, eyes wide, his mouth slightly agape. “Excuse me?”

Himari looked at him with a judgemental look. “What? I’m just hyped for the day!”

Chigiri blinked, still processing the words. “Where... where did you hear that?”

Himari shrugged, unfazed. “From that film we watched this weekend. You fell asleep halfway through, but I watched the rest.”

Chigiri’s face went a shade paler, his mind racing. “What exactly were they saying?”

“Uh, I don’t know... some stuff,” Himari said nonchalantly. “It was funny.”

Chigiri closed his eyes for a brief second, imagining the chaos. He could already picture your reaction if you find out Himari picked up that word. A small shiver ran down his spine.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, mentally preparing for the inevitable fallout. “Just...fantastic.”

Isagi Yoichi and Isamu (7)

“I don’t get school,” Isagi had made a to-do list the night before. He was determined to make this morning perfect.

To-Do:

Wake up by 6:30

Eggs & toast

Soccer uniform ready

Water bottle filled

Motivation speech (brief)

He wakes up at 6:42. Panic hits like a red card.

His son, Isamu, is sprawled out in bed like he’s auditioning for a starfish role in an ocean documentary.

"Isamu, buddy, time to get up," Isagi says, shaking him gently. "Big day ahead!"

"Ugh," Isamu groans, barely opening an eye. "I want to drop out."

"You’re seven."

"Exactly," Isamu says, rolling over and curling into a blanket burrito.

Isagi’s internal monologue screams as he rushes to the kitchen. Breakfast needs to be perfect. The eggs are half-scrambled, and the toast? Slightly burned. He slides it onto a plate like it's the Mona Lisa of breakfast, though it looks more like abstract art.

"Breakfast, Isamu. You’ll need energy for school!" Isagi says, trying to sound motivational.

Isamu eyes the toast like it’s a science experiment. "What is this...? It’s... not pizza."

"Eat it, or no soccer later," Isagi threatens.

Isamu rolls his eyes dramatically and takes a bite. "You’re so dramatic. I still don’t care about school."

"School is important!" Isagi insists, getting flustered. "You need education to—"

"I’m gonna play soccer," Isamu interrupts, chewing with all the intensity of a man who’s just been told he has a free pizza pass. "Who needs school when you’ve got soccer?"

Isagi ignores the comment and rushes to get his son’s clothes. He’s sure he left them right there on the chair. He checks the chair. Nothing. He checks the floor. Nothing. He checks under the bed, under the table, in the laundry basket.

"Where the heck are they?" Isagi mutters, sweating now. "I swear I put them here."

"Maybe the ghosts took them," Isamu offers nonchalantly from the kitchen, barely glancing up from his toast.

Isagi freezes. "Ghosts? Why would—"

Before he can finish, Isamu shrugs, "I don’t know. Could be."

After a few more frantic minutes of searching (and Isamu offering absolutely no help), Isagi finally finds the soccer uniform under the couch.

"Found it!" Isagi declares, holding it up triumphantly like a knight retrieving a sword.

"About time," Isamu says, unbothered, chewing slowly as if he were watching paint dry.

They race to get out the door. Isagi grabs the water bottle, zips the bag, and notices Isamu’s shoes are mismatched. He doesn’t have time to fix it.

"Teeth brushed?" Isagi asks as he grabs his keys.

"Close enough," Isamu replies with a yawn.

“I love you” Isagi says, feeling a mix of exhaustion and love.

"I love soccer," Isamu replies, not even looking up from his phone game.

Once dressed and vaguely clean, Isamu plops into the car seat like it personally offended him. Isagi starts the engine, already five minutes behind schedule.

The car is quiet until Isamu sighs like he’s been carrying emotional weight since birth.

“I don’t get school,” he mutters.

Isagi glances at him. “What do you mean?”

“I sit in a chair for hours while the teacher tells me triangles are important. For what? Triangles have never scored a goal in their lives.”

Isagi stifles a laugh. “Triangles are used in passing formations.”

“Not emotional triangles. That’s different.”

He stares out the window dramatically. “And you know what else? People lie. Yesterday, this kid told me we were best friends. Then he passed the ball to someone else.”

Isagi hums sympathetically. “Harsh.”

“I’m starting to think school is just a government distraction from my true potential.”

“Which is…?”

“Becoming the best striker”

There’s a pause. Then Isamu adds, “Also, I don’t trust teachers who wear shoes indoors. That's villain behavior.”

Isagi parks in front of the school with a slow breath. “Okay. Big day. Deep breaths.”

Isamu opens the door and mutters, “Time to enter the battlefield.”

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