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katerina-marie · 1 year ago

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The Uncertainty of Domesticity

Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 of 3

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much, though he definitely felt so when he became a widower in the same moment he became a father. Years later, he felt it again when you came along with the same hopes and dreams for a future he never thought he would experience again.

Content: JJK universe but no canon events / strangers & neighbors to lovers / medium burn idk / female reader and referred to as such but left descriptively vague / no y/n / out of character and soft Toji / single-father Toji / SFW (for this part anyway) / Megumi-Mama/Mamaguro dies in childbirth and its mentioned once or twice / cutie pie child Megumi / fluff / slice of life / light angst from Toji's inner turmoil / discussions about having children / pregnancy and childbirth for reader in part 3 (pending) / more notes below.

WC: 6.1k

Notes: I just really wanted to see Toji "I'm doing my best at this single-dad thing" Fushiguro raise Megumi, fall in love again and get a happy ending, so here is me indulging myself. This isn't so much Toji struggling to move on from his late wife as it is him meeting you and then being scared about having a future with you taken away. But not as angsty as it sounds, very much fluff and vibes and snippets of goodness. Also, I am clearly taking liberties with JJK canon, so just go with it.

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Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much.

He wasn’t afraid of what went bump in the night, not when he was the one who hunted it once and was maybe a part of it himself in days long gone.

He wasn’t afraid when he tied himself to the woman he loved in law and name. Trepidation might have jolted Toji awake on a rare night, and the desire to keep her protected from the past of himself gave him the urge to flee on occasion. The balm of her touch and the promise of a new blessing that grew within her stayed his limbs.

Shock muffled all the sound around him as he held the new life she had given him while her’s slipped away in a rush of blood and the shouting of doctors. A nurse helped him collapse into a hospital chair and took the baby from his arms when the growing pool of dark red on the floor—something Toji had once been accustomed to—swallowed his whole field of vision until he saw nothing else. Desperation spread numbness over his body and allowed a high pitched whine to echo in his ears when the flurry of movement in the room came to a slow stop, and a white sheet was dragged over the face of a woman now gone.

Pressure threatened to cave his chest and Toji curled over his knees to gape wildly at the floor as he struggled to pull in any strangled breath that he could manage. He felt hollow, devoid of anything and one wrong move away from shattering in place. Tears burned his eyes as he clenched them shut, and it was fear that suddenly set in when grief stole any hopes for an optimistic future and left in its wake a bitter vision of unwanted loneliness.

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much, but now he would never again doubt that he was capable of feeling so.

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5.5 Years Later

Toji didn’t particularly like having to stop at the grocery store on his way home from work once he picked Megumi up from school. His normally even-keeled son had a penchant for acting up when it came to ensuring that his father put into their basket every sugar heavy, grease laden, and all around unhealthy snack upon his immediate request. Toji would spend the entire time fielding incessant demands while silently praying that he would be able to grab whatever assortment of items he needed for the next couple of days before Megumi descended into an even fouler mood than normal.

So no, Toji had no intention of going to the store after spending the day at some nondescript high school with an absurdly long name that Megumi would one day attend. His threshold for tolerating tantrums was low after hours of offering his “legal” and “non-life threatening” expertise to a bunch of teenagers with attitudes equivalent to his five year old. Specifically, there was one white-haired punk with a big mouth that somehow managed to push all of his buttons, and by the end of every work day, Toji was eager to return to the sanctuary of his home.

At least that had been his plan until Megumi opened his mouth.

“Dad?” he questioned. Toji hummed an answer, but didn’t let his focus wander from the lull of the road in front of him. “Why do all the other kids have moms but I don’t?”

Megumi’s words were spoken quietly, tentatively, but they struck Toji in the heart just as painfully as he always anticipated they would, and he suddenly wished he had taken the time to read a book or something in preparation for this day—the inevitable question. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Megumi was silent, but when Toji flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, his son’s eyes were waiting and all too perceptive.

“I…uhm.”

Toji had to swallow once, twice, a third time to try and wet his tongue and force his throat to work, and by the time he felt he had composed himself enough, Megumi was peering around the side of his car seat to watch out the window.

“Can we stop and get some snacks and ice cream instead?”

Toji was in no state to deny him, so he flicked on his blinker with a resigned sigh. “Sure, why not?”

Twenty minutes later had him remembering “why not.”

“Can we please go get that bag of chips now?” Megumi tugged on the leg of his pants for the fifth time in the last two minutes, and the edge of his voice was turning petulant. Toji was struggling to recall the list of groceries he had left on the side of the fridge, and as he scanned the wall of meat at the back of the store, he squinted in the lackluster hope that he could remember if he had scribbled “chicken” underneath “green onions.”

“I said to give me a few more minutes, Megumi. We’ll go in second.” Toji curled his fists around the handle bar of the cart and he felt it reverberate when Megumi kicked at the wheel. “Do you remember if we had chicken in the freezer?”

He looked down at his son who was already looking up at him with wide eyes, and Toji grunted as he took in the suspicious stains on his buttoned up black uniform, the one untied shoelace on his left foot, and then decided that despite Megumi’s unusual habits for a child his age, maybe assuming he would remember a random hunk of meat deep in the freezer was asking too much for a kid only halfway to six.

“Now can we go get the chips?”

Toji had to take in a deep breath and close his eyes to count to ten before feeling calm enough to answer. “Just give me a second. Please.”

It was Megumi’s turn to huff, and he took a step away to spin in slow circles as Toji looked back at the meat selection. He took a minute to mumble through what he could remember from his list and then weighed the options of having to come back to the store if there wasn’t chicken in the freezer, or buying another pack anyway but then losing space if there did happen to be some already in there. Ultimately, Toji decided to just get another package of chicken and threw it into the cart.

“Alright, Kid,” he said, angling his head to look over his shoulder at his son, “now we can—Megumi?”

Toji cut off abruptly when he realized the space his son had previously occupied was now empty. He swiftly scanned the open floor of the store for that familiar spiky black hair, but could only see a few random parents and various elderly getting their weekly groceries. Toji figured Megumi had made haste for the chip aisle, but panic still quickened his heart nonetheless, and he hurried off to find him.

“Megumi!” he whisper-shouted, trying to keep his voice low to be mindful of other patrons, but Toji was growing more nervous every time he leaned over the front of his cart to duck his head down an aisle, only to find it empty of his son. The kid had short legs and Toji’s back was only turned for a minute, but he was struggling to believe Megumi could vanish that quickly.

“Megumi!” he said a little louder. He looked up at the indicator signs hanging at the end of each aisle, and when he caught a glimpse of the one containing the chips just two away, he lengthened his steps and opened his mouth to call for him again.

“Alright, Megumi.” Toji heard a voice addressing his son before he was able to round the corner. “You promised me you would tell me what your dad looked like if I got the bag of chips for you off the top shelf. Now, let’s go find him, okay? I’m sure he’s worried about you.”

When Toji did finally swerve his cart into the aisle, he was met with the sight of you squatted down in front of Megumi as he clutched a bag of chips to his chest. He could see your side profile, acknowledged how striking it was, and took in the heels on your feet and the fine-pressed material of your business clothes, but had little other attention for you before making sure his son was alright. Megumi caught sight of him first, and when he pointed at him you followed his finger, and Toji saw your eyes widen at his approach. He paid you no mind though, grateful when you had the sense to take a step back in order to not get in between a worried father and his child, and he wrapped his arms around Megumi when he crouched down in front of him.

“What have we talked about, Megs?” Toji stressed. He released Megumi from where he had clutched him against his chest so he could look him in the eye. His tone wasn’t harsh, but it was stern in its urgency and firmness. “You don’t walk off without telling me, you hear? Don’t do that again.”

The little boy nodded, and his head drooped slightly in response to being scolded. The sight of his downturned lips plucked at Toji’s frayed nerves, and he lifted a hand to ruffle Megumi’s hair in an attempt to soften the moment.

The clicking of your heels had him noticing you again, and Toji looked up to see you leaning down to grab your basket, body already half-turned away from him, and he stood to his full height at the same time you straightened.

“Thank you,” he said, and you went still. “I’m sorry if he inconvenienced you, but I appreciate you taking the time to help him.” Toji rubbed a hand against the back of his neck when your cheeks rounded into a friendly smile.

“He was no trouble at all,” you said, and while your tone was kindly neutral, Toji didn’t doubt the genuineness of your words. “Megumi was very polite.”

His son shuffled his feet when you turned your attention on to him, and Toji caught the tint of pink that flushed the back of his neck and ears.

He chuckled and patted his shoulder gently. “Well, that’s good to hear.” He hesitated a moment, using the pause to further take in the style of your hair and the way your eyes twinkled under the harsh fluorescents of the grocery store, then held his hand out as he took a step forward. “I’m Toji.”

You met his hand halfway, shaking it twice as you gave him your name, and when the two of you separated, there wasn’t quite as much distance between you as there had been moments ago.

“I don’t think I would have had any trouble finding you,” you giggled, and though your voice was sweet and your eyes crinkled in something that maybe could’ve been flirtatious, Toji thought you looked just a bit shy in the way you rocked gently on your toes and held your basket down in front of your legs so you could bump it off your knees absentmindedly.

You didn’t present yourself forwards to him or tilt your head in a way that was meant to entice, and while Toji couldn’t ignore how pretty you were or the way you had let your eyes quickly take in his height and the breadth of his shoulders (he didn’t think it was his imagination when you lingered on the scar in the corner of his mouth) he was grateful you maintained an air of simple friendliness.

You motioned towards Megumi with a flutter of your hand. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

Toji hoped his answering grin wasn’t strained. There was no denying how similar he and Megumi looked, from the shared black hair and angled jaw to how he had been told that the two of them even scowled the same. It warmed his heart to know his son looked like him, but it also brought with it a strange sense of disappointment that he had to search so hard to find his late wife’s features since they were mostly obscured by his own. Toji wasn’t sure which way he would rather have it. Each sounded equally painful, to not notice her much at all in Megumi, or to be struck in the face with the ghost of her every time he looked at his son.

“Yeah,” Toji said, “so I’ve heard.”

When your grin faltered slightly at the corners, Toji worried that he hadn’t done as good of a job concealing the hurt in his voice. You studied him a moment longer before your eyes darted over his shoulder and then off towards another aisle as one of your legs slid backwards.

“I’ll, uh, let the two of you get going.” You smiled again at him and offered a small wave to Megumi from where he was mostly hidden behind his father’s legs. “It was nice to meet the both of you.”

Toji nodded in agreement and Megumi sent back his own tiny shake of a hand before you each turned to go your separate ways. A little twinge in his chest made him wonder if he was missing out on something, but the window of opportunity already seemed to have passed. Once you were gone, Toji looked down at his son and tapped the top of his head to get his attention.

“I’ll let you push the cart, but you have to promise to never run off again, you hear me?”

Megumi immediately whipped his head up to stare awe-struck at Toji as he awaited confirmation, and after a nod from his father, he scrambled to get in between Toji and the cart, hands up and fingers just barely curling around the handle. Toji offered some guidance, but for the most part, he let his son do the work as they finished gathering the last of their items.

All in all, the rest of the trip remained uneventful, and Toji even felt a modicum more confident in grocery store endeavors as he directed Megumi to turn towards the checkout area at the end of the last aisle. That was until, in his eagerness, Megumi yanked the cart abruptly around the corner without bothering to check if anyone was approaching and promptly rammed the opposite end into your legs when you appeared from the other side.

Toji wanted to die a little as he watched you teeter on your heels while you flailed a hand out to regain your balance, and he was too far away to be able to close the distance in enough time to stabilize you, no matter how much he wanted to. However, in an impressive feat of gracefulness, you managed to right yourself at the last moment, grasping the edge of their cart with the hand that wasn’t holding your own basket.

“Megumi,” Toji growled through his teeth, slowly enunciating every syllable of his name, and the little boy actually looked chagrined for once.

“I’m alright,” you reassured him, laughter catching the tail end of your words, and Megumi scattered between his father’s legs when you grinned down at him. “It’s nice to run into you again, Megumi.”

Toji dragged a palm down his face and embarrassment made the back of his neck feel hot. “I’m so sorry. Again.”

“Really,” you insisted, “it’s okay.” You couldn’t lie and convince yourself that you weren’t glad to run into the cute little boy with an undeniably attractive father. But, even though there wasn’t a wedding ring on Toji’s finger, it didn’t mean there wasn’t a woman waiting for them at home, and that was enough to keep your behavior completely platonic.

With the realization that the three of you stood in the middle of the walkway staring at one another, you glanced down at their cart and then off to the right where the checkout was before turning back to them and tossing your hand back in that general direction.

“Are you guys ready to checkout? There’s a lane open at the end.”

The three of you ended up in line together behind another customer who had managed to sneak in right before you got there, but it allowed for conversation to flow. You learned that Toji was an instructor at a school just outside the city and that Megumi was in his first year of kindergarten. The boy took a liking to animals, and when you asked about Toji’s hobbies while you paid for your groceries, he only shrugged, but Megumi had chosen that moment to speak up for him.

“He likes to play with cards and money.” His voice rang loud and clear in the space of the store. Your face lit up in surprise and maybe just a hint of wariness, and Toji nearly dropped the pack of chicken he’d been loading onto the register. Even the employee in front of you three sniggered until Toji cut his eyes towards him.

He’d have to be a lot more careful about what he joked with Shiu about on the phone when he thought Megumi wasn’t listening.

“He means Monopoly, like board games or something,” Toji rushed out, and he didn’t think he sounded very convincing, but you didn’t ask for clarification and he caught you stifling a laugh as you turned to grab your groceries. He used the chance of your back being to them to pin Megumi with an exasperated grimace, but the boy was too proud of himself to care.

“If you want,” Toji offered, taking note of the bags you held in both hands while you stood waiting for them at the end of the cash register, “you can put your stuff in our cart and we’ll take it out. An apology for almost running you over.” He felt a little ridiculous when you cocked your head in consideration, wondering if what he said was out of turn, but it vanished when you set your things at the front of their cart with a smile.

“I’d appreciate it.”

He followed out after you, just barely remembering to grab his receipt from the cashier who somehow had the gall to waggle his eyebrows at him, but Toji pointedly ignored the gesture.

Once outside, he lifted Megumi into the cart to keep him contained while he helped you load your groceries into your car. While the two of you made light conversation, the same nagging feeling that something was about to slip through his fingers itched at the back of his mind. However, Toji had no idea what to do about it. At least, not while Megumi sat watching the two of you, and he certainly couldn’t ask you to wait until after he got his son into his car two lanes over while under the heat of July.

In the end, nothing happened, and Toji was caught off guard by the disappointment he felt when he and Megumi finally got themselves situated in the car. It stayed with him as he drove and tried to keep up with whatever Megumi was chattering about. It plagued him with the images of your smile and what your face might have looked like if he had managed to ask for your phone number. Disappointment had Toji realizing with a shake of his head that he wanted to ask for your phone number because he had wanted to see you again, and that hadn’t happened with a woman—despite the opportunities—since meeting his late wife. It sat heavy in his gut, and he figured it would ease away on its own in however much time it took him to forget about you.

At least, that’s what Toji had thought until he realized that the car that just turned in front of his onto his street was newly familiar and currently parking in front of a house across the road and two doors down from his. He quickly did the same and stepped out of his car with bated breath. You emerged out of yours a second later, and this time he raised his hand in greeting.

“You live here,” he called as you crossed the street and came to a stop at the edge of his small driveway. If Toji hadn’t been so stupefied by the turn of events, maybe something a little more eloquent would have come out of his mouth.

“For about a week now,” you told him, glancing back at his door as if you were waiting for something. Toji realized that he’d been so busy with work the last couple days that he hadn’t really paid any attention to the comings and goings of any of his neighbors, because surely he wouldn’t have missed you otherwise. “The house was left by a distant family member, but I didn’t have any use for it until my job transferred me here last month.”

“Oh, well, this is ours,” he said, gesturing backwards to his own home. “It’s just me and Megumi.” Toji saw your eyes flash with what he thought was interest, and maybe you confirmed it when you took a couple steps closer to lean against the tail end of his car.

“I guessed that was the case when you got out. You don’t seem like the type to follow home a woman you just met.” You arched one of your eyebrows playfully. “At least not with your son in the car.”

That got a chuckle out of him, and Toji shrugged nonchalantly. “Not anymore, no.”

Tentative excitement skittered over his spine when a laugh popped out of your mouth unbidden, and even though you tried to hide it with your hand and turned your head towards your house to shake it in amused disbelief, Toji still spied the way you peeked at him from the corner of your eye.

“Well,” you said, a little breathless, “I’m going home to make dinner. Have a good evening, neighbor.” The fingers of your right hand wiggled in his direction as you spun around to walk back to your house, and Toji fought to clear the grin he felt stretching the scarred skin of his lip as he opened the car door and ducked inside to grab Megumi.

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Over the next month or so, most of Toji’s interactions with you remained frustratingly surface level. You’d holler a greeting to him on the mornings you saw him carrying a struggling Megumi to the car, already ten minutes late and praying his son had a pair of matching shoes on. He could do nothing but shout back as you got into your own car to leave for work. Other times, he’d wave at you as he drove to the store while you stood out watering the few pots of flowers sitting by your door. Once, when you had arrived home from work a little later in the day than normal, you had walked over to say ‘hello’ when you saw him and Megumi outside tossing a baseball. You hadn’t bothered going inside to change out of your slacks and blouse, and Toji had been thoroughly impressed when you ended up being able to chase a ball around with them while still in your heels.

Ultimately, Toji hadn’t quite decided if you’d react reciprocatively to him or not if he just showed up with a knock on your door to ask you out or get your phone number or any other romantic-adjacent task that he would surely end up making a fool out of himself with should he do it. In an effort to ensure he didn’t irreparably damage a perfectly good neighborly relationship, he refrained from doing anything more than exchanging smiles and conversation when the two of you came into contact with each other. Toji was determined to wait for a bit more interest on your end before he committed to doing anything.

Alas, in the late morning of a Friday that just so happened to be a government holiday, meaning there wasn’t a job for the two of you to go to, Toji caught sight of you staring up at some wooden decoration that sat at the top pitch of your house’s entryway. He and Megumi had just stepped outside to play. There was a bucket of dark stain sitting next to your foot, and you had a paint brush in hand to go with the shorts and ratty t-shirt you had on.

Never one to miss an obvious opportunity, Toji grabbed Megumi by the hand and walked him down the street to your house. Once he was close enough, he called out to grab your attention.

“Need help with that?”

You spun around abruptly, clearly caught unaware by him (Toji suspected that had more to do with something on his part than yours), but you smiled bashfully nonetheless as you glanced at him and then back to the spot above your door. “I didn’t think so originally, but it seems a lot higher up now that I actually look at it.”

When you glanced back at him, your eyes were beseeching and your lip was snagged between your teeth, and Toji knew in that second you could’ve gotten away with asking him anything you wanted to.

He smirked and gave you a nod of his head to confirm his assistance. After a quick discussion about where your ladder was—only to find out you didn’t have one—and a trip back to his house so Toji could grab the one there, he was up and brushing the stain to the wood as you and Megumi observed from below.

“I really do appreciate it,” you told him, eyeing the way a muscle in his arm flexed with every stroke of the brush. “I think I would’ve had trouble reaching it, even after I would have had to go buy a ladder to do it.”

His chuckle drifted down to you and the depth of it was exceedingly pleasant to your ears. Movement from behind you forced your gaze from Toji, and you looked back to check on Megumi as he wandered off to peer curiously at your potted flowers. When you decided the little boy was probably harmless to the defenseless flowers, you turned back to Toji and nearly choked on your tongue at the picture he made.

He was up on the tips of his toes with his arm extended in order to reach the top section of wood he needed to, and the movement lifted up the hem of his black t-shirt. You couldn’t help but take in the pale strip of skin now exposed, nor could you ignore the sharp angles of Toji’s hips and the trail of black hair that ran down under his belly button and disappeared into his pants. As your study took you upwards, you noticed how sweat made the fabric cling to every dip of muscle in his chest, and for the first time in your life, you came to the realization that sometimes more clothing could be just as sensuous as the lack thereof.

Belatedly, you became aware of how hard you were staring (ogling) him, and you wrenched your focus off his torso to somewhere safer, this time his face. However, to your absolute mortification, Toji already had his eyes on you, and based on the way the green of them gleamed in mischievousness, you knew he had caught you. With your skin suddenly flashing both hot and cold, you sputtered an excuse about getting Megumi a drink before fleeing for the sanctuary of your kitchen, but not before you snatched the little boy’s wrist on the way in to drag him with you. You ignored the way you heard Toji cackling from all the way from inside.

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At the beginning of autumn, about three months after moving into your new home, the weather had begun to cool down enough that you could open your windows in the afternoon. You sang to yourself as you fixed a snack in your kitchen, and the neighborhood had been quiet enough that nothing had yet disturbed your relaxing Saturday.

That remained true until a light knock at your front door echoed in your kitchen. You set down the fruit you were cutting in favor of grabbing a towel to wipe your hands on and then hurried to the front door. You paused briefly at the mirror in your hallway to ensure you looked presentable in case a certain dad with the clearest green eyes you had ever seen happened to be on the other side. When you did answer the door, it was indeed a Fushiguro, but one of a much smaller stature than his father.

You weren’t necessarily a stranger to them anymore. Since moving in, when you or them happened to be outside at the same time, you usually ended up chatting or playing ball or something equally mundane when your schedules allowed for it. Toji had spent an afternoon repairing a gaping hole in your fence a couple weeks after staining the wood above your door—you very intentionally made sure to keep your eyes neck-level and above that time around—and you had knocked on their door one Sunday to deliver a plate of homemade cookies after you had watched Megumi sprain his ankle playing outside the day prior.

So no, it wasn’t quite out of the realm of possibility for a little boy with hair that seemed to defy gravity to appear at your door, but you couldn’t say you had been expecting it to happen either, especially not without his father in tow.

“Hi, Megumi,” you greeted, looking down at him as he scuffed his feet shyly against your welcome mat. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, not saying anything for a moment before blurting out, “do you have any snacks?”

The question caught you off guard, and you leaned forward out your door to check and see that Toji’s car was still in the driveway. “I certainly do, but is your dad not home?” You obviously weren’t a parent yourself yet, but even you knew that five and half years old was still too young for a child to be left home alone.

“He is,” Megumi said flatly, and his nose scrunched in disdain. “But he fell asleep on the couch and I’m hungry.”

You muffled a snort of surprise against your palm and stepped aside to let the little boy in. “I’m happy to share a snack with you, Megumi, but we need to let your dad know where you are.” You considered what to do for a moment as you led him to your kitchen.

“Do you know his phone number? I’ll call and let him know you’re here.”

Megumi only shook his head.

“Okay, well…why don’t you sit at the table and eat a couple pieces of fruit, but then I’m taking you back home.”

He seemed content with your answer and quickly made his way to the table to scramble into a chair as you brought a plate of fruit to him. You were about to ask him how his day had been when you heard a door slam through your window, followed by Toji bellowing Megumi’s name.

The two of you shared a startled look, both of you now anticipating a possible scolding, and you spun around to dash out your front door. When you made it a couple steps outside, Toji was looking down the sidewalk in your opposite direction.

“Toji!” you called. He whipped his head in your direction and your heart broke at the franticness of his features. “He’s here! He’s okay!”

His shoulders fell in relief, and as he started to cross the street with those long strides of his, it occurred to you that Toji wasn’t wearing anything other than a pair of grey sweats on his lower half. He was all toned muscle and smooth skin, and between his towering height and the grim set of his mouth, you weren’t sure if you were more intimidated by him or attracted to him, though perhaps those went hand in hand at times like this.

As he strode up your driveway, a small squeak left your mouth and you stumbled back a step to try and maintain the distance Toji was eating up. “I’m sorry, he got here only five minutes ago and I was going to come get—,”

You were cut off when he lowered himself down to encircle your shoulders with his arms and brought you into his chest for a hug that seemed like it was more for his benefit than yours. You could see just a sliver of what was behind him from over the top of his shoulder and when your hands landed on his back, you were shocked at the heat that radiated off of him. He smelled faintly of some generic shampoo, but it managed to be thrilling nonetheless, and you noted how firm he felt in every point of contact between your bodies. When Toji pulled away—entirely too soon in your opinion—his face was full of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said, and sincerity coated every word. If the suddenness of his body against yours hadn’t spiked your heart rate, then the emotion in his voice and the way his eyes stayed locked on yours certainly did.

“Oh, no,” you insisted, waving your hands between the two of you, “there’s nothing to thank me for! I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner and made you worry. I was going to call you, but Megumi didn’t know your phone number and I don’t have it—,”

Toji’s head jerked back slightly. You flushed hot and hoped you hadn’t sounded disappointed at the fact.

“Anyways, Megumi just wanted a snack and said you had fallen asleep on the couch, so I guess he decided to come over here.” You were out of breath by the time you finished your rushed explanation, and the only thing that brought you any relief was the fact that Toji’s cheeks blushed the faintest shade of pink as he pinched at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he said sheepishly. “I worked late last night and must’ve drifted off while the kid was watching cartoons.”

His words brought your attention to his face and it was then that you noticed the way the skin under his eyes bruised purple just the slightest, and Toji did indeed look like he needed a nap.

“It’s no trouble for Megumi to hang out here if you need a break. I’m happy to help,” you offered, dipping your chin and smiling at him.

The circumstances regarding Megumi’s mother hadn’t been told to you yet, and because you didn’t feel the need to pry, you hadn’t asked about it. However, it didn’t take knowing all the details for you to surmise that Toji had been doing the single-father business for most—if not all—of Megumi’s life thus far.

Astonishment made Toji’s eyebrows jump, but he agreed to the idea after another second and then reached deep into his pocket to fish for something.

“Here,” he said, holding his phone out to you once he pulled it free from the fabric of his pants. “I meant to do this a while ago.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you took Toji’s phone from his hand and typed your number into it. When you were finished, you made a call to your own phone, and when your ringtone flowed from the kitchen out the window, Toji’s mouth turned upwards in satisfaction.

Megumi appeared a moment later to just barely peek his head around your door. Apprehension made his movements slow, and when he caught Toji’s eye, his father’s face darkened.

“Come ‘ere,” Toji grumbled, waving his hand at his son to beckon him forward. Megumi shuffled out begrudgingly, and you yearned to give the boy a hug, but you figured it wasn’t your place to intervene. Twice now Megumi had snuck out from his father’s (not so) watchful eye, and you had a feeling Toji was about to ensure it didn’t happen again.

Toji swooped Megumi up into his arm to carry him against his side like a football, and after wishing you their goodbyes, they made their way back across the street. A feeling of joy left by the two of them followed you back into your house, and you made sure to add to your shopping list the brand of chips Megumi had requested your help reaching the first time you had met him.

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

A/N: Luckily, 90% of this entire story is already written out, so I plan to have it all posted by the end of the week.

If you read this pile of self-indulgence, thank you very much <3

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader

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millermouth · 9 months ago

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The Promise of Us: Chapter 13

You

You have to admit, it’s surprising how quiet your mind is in this moment. Watching the boys you love stand in the center of the arena, about to fight to the death, you think your mind would race, but there’s only numbness. The snarls of the walker beside you fill your ears, its putrid breath thick in your nose. You can’t tear your eyes away from Daryl. I’m so sorry I got us into this mess.

His gaze finds yours, but his expression is unreadable as he turns back to face Merle.

“Y’all know me,” Merle yells, holding up his hand, a deep frown etched across his face. The crowd roars in response. “I’m gonna do whatever I gotta do to prove—”

Merle’s fist sinks into Daryl’s gut, and Daryl doubles over, collapsing to the ground. Your scream rips through the noise, but your arms are held tight behind you, restraining you in place. You struggle uselessly as Merle presses on.

“That my loyalty,” he kicks Daryl while he’s down, “is to this town!”

The walkers circle closer, their decaying hands reaching toward the brothers as they continue to fight. Punch after punch, Merle ends up on top of Daryl, their hands locked around each other’s throats. You can’t bear to watch—but you can’t look away, either. Every fiber of your being screams out that this isn’t right. They aren’t supposed to be fighting each other like this.

Then, just when it seems like Merle has the upper hand, something shifts. Your heart hammers as Merle yanks Daryl to his feet, and suddenly, they stand back to back, facing the advancing walkers. Your eyes go wide as you realize the change. Daryl’s hands are raised, ready to strike, while Merle leans forward, slicing clean through a walker’s head at the temple. Daryl’s fists crash into another walker’s skull, blood splattering as his knuckles meet bone. The hand gripping your hair tightens painfully, yanking your head back as the Governor watches, a twisted satisfaction on his face. He shoves your face closer to the walker, whether out of cruelty or carelessness, and your heart races wildly in your chest. You grit your teeth, muscles straining as the walker’s rotten breath brushes your skin, its decayed fingers just inches from your face. Your pulse pounds so hard you can barely hear over it.

Gunshots suddenly ring out, shattering the air and sending shockwaves through the arena. The walkers drop one by one, including the one that was about to tear into you. The Governor’s grip on your hair slips, and you collapse forward, barely catching yourself on trembling hands as smoke bombs explode all around you. Your eyes burn from the acrid smoke, your vision blurring, but the panic clawing at your throat won’t let you think clearly.

“Daryl!” you scream, your voice cracking with fear as it tears from your throat, echoing through the chaos. Your chest tightens with desperation, the need to find him more urgent than the breath in your lungs.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Daryl’s rough voice cuts through the haze, and suddenly he’s there, gripping your arms. The solid touch of him feels like an anchor in the storm as he pulls you upright. “Let’s go!”

Your hands shake violently as he releases you, and the world spins in a wild blur. Somewhere nearby, a body hits the ground with a sickening thud. The smoke is so thick it feels like it's choking the life out of you, but then Daryl is back, his silhouette materializing out of the fog, a new crossbow in hand. “Let’s go!” he shouts again, his voice full of urgency. You can see it in his eyes—he's fighting to hold it together, for you.

Your mind barely registers what’s happening when Merle suddenly grabs your wrists, his rough hands sawing through the ropes binding you. The rope snaps free, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to move, your wrists throbbing from the pressure. But Merle doesn't give you a second to breathe—he yanks you forward with a force that nearly knocks you off your feet. The smoke swirls violently around you, thick and suffocating, but through the chaos, a familiar silhouette emerges—Rick. His figure cuts through the haze like a lifeline, his arm waving frantically for you to follow. Without thinking, your legs move, running on instinct, though your body feels like it’s been drained of all energy. Your lungs burn with each breath, the air thick with dust and smoke, and all you can hear is the pounding of your footsteps and the panicked rush of your heartbeat.

With Daryl on one side, Merle on the other, the three of you sprint toward Rick, the nightmarish chaos of the arena fading behind you—but the terror still clenched in your chest like a vice, tightening with every desperate step you take to escape the madness at your back.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

You reach the outskirts of Woodbury, lungs burning, chest heaving, every step feeling heavier as you push forward. The walls loom behind you, the distant shouts and chaos of the arena fading, but you know you’re far from safe.

“They’re all at the arena, this way!” Merle shouts, his voice cutting through the night air.

“You’re not goin’ anywhere with us,” Rick growls, his voice sharp and furious, glaring at Merle with open distrust.

“You really wanna do this now?” Merle snaps back, his tone just as fiery. The tension between them flares, threatening to slow everything down when you can’t afford it.

Maggie moves to your side, her breath coming fast, a gun in her hand as she looks you up and down. You’re panting hard, hands on your knees. She pulls a knife from her pocket and hands it to you without a word.

You nod, giving her a small, breathless “thanks,” gripping the blade tightly in your hand. It’s small, but it’s better than nothing.

Merle clanks around nearby, scanning the rows of cars lined up against the metal fencing, trying to find a way out. His grunts of frustration grow louder as he pushes at the panels in the fence, the tension of time slipping away gnawing at everyone.

“C’mon!” Daryl calls out from the other side, his voice strained as he motions for everyone to move through the opening in the fence where Merle was able to push through, and your heart skips at the sight of freedom so close—but it’s not over yet.

Just as you rush out of the opening, walkers are on you, drawn by the commotion. Their guttural snarls fill the air, and you react on instinct, lunging forward and driving your knife into the nearest one’s skull. It goes down, but another is right behind it, stumbling closer.

“We ain’t got time for this!” Merle shouts, grabbing your arm and yanking you forward, his grip rough but steady. You barely keep your balance as he pulls you past the walker’s grasp, the knife still clenched tight in your hand, dripping with blood. Your legs burn, your breath ragged, but you push forward, the adrenaline driving you as the sounds of walkers fade into the distance. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the group slows, the immediate danger behind you.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

Morning light now guides your path back to the road, where the car waits. You spot a woman and Glenn turn at the sound of Rick’s voice as he calls to them. Relief floods you at the sight of Glenn, though his face is swollen and crusted with blood.

As you approach, the tension rises.

“We got a problem here,” Rick says, stepping forward with his hand raised in a gesture of peace. The woman instantly draws her sword, the blade gleaming as it catches the light, and you tense, your hand instinctively going to the knife Maggie gave you. “I need you to back up,” Rick demands, his tone controlled but firm.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Glenn’s voice cracks with fury as he pulls a gun, eyes wild with anger. Daryl grabs your arm, yanking you back as chaos erupts around you. Merle lingers behind, a shadow of trouble while the woman’s panic rises.

“He tried to kill me!” the woman screams, her sword trembling as it points at Rick. Your heart races, and your grip tightens on the knife, unsure of who this woman is, but ready to defend the Dixons—ready to defend Daryl.

“He helped us get out of that place!” you shout, voice shaking with a mix of fear and frustration.

“Yeah, after he beat the shit out of Daryl,” Rick growls, his eyes narrowing as they cut toward Merle.

“We both took our licks, man,” Merle says, as if it were nothing, his voice casual, almost bored. You grind your teeth, the irritation boiling in your chest. Jackass.

“Jackass,” Glenn spits, his gun still aimed at Daryl. Before Merle can get a word in, Rick’s voice thunders over the chaos, shouting in Merle’s face to shut up. The noise of it all feels like it’s closing in on you—voices overlapping, anger erupting, everyone on edge except for you and Merle, who stands beside you, irritatingly calm.

“Get that thing outta my face!” Daryl snarls, swiping at Glenn’s gun. There’s more chaos as everyone is shouting all at once except you and Merle.

Merle chuckles. “Man, looks like you’ve gone native, brother.”

Daryl’s face twists with anger. “No more than you hangin’ with that psycho back there! And what the hell happened to her?” He jerks his head in your direction, his frustration spilling over as he gestures at you.

Merle shrugs like it’s nothing, like the sick game the Governor played didn’t nearly break you. “We just had a little conversation, right, baby?” His voice is flippant, his tone grating against your last nerve. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, irritation clawing at you, but you nod reluctantly, trying to keep the situation from exploding any further.

“Not his fault,” you mutter, though the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. Merle’s smugness is the last thing you need right now, but you know any escalation could make this worse.

Daryl glares at you, disbelief mixed with frustration, but his focus shifts back to Merle, his jaw clenched tight with anger. Merle doesn’t help matters when he speaks again. “That man’s been with your girlfriend, Andrea,” he says, licking his lips with a knowing smirk, his eyes sliding toward the woman across the group.

Your patience snaps. You slap him on his face, the sound cracking through the tense air. “Shut up, Merle. This isn’t the time.”

For a moment, everything stops. The group falls silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Glenn’s eyes widen, the shock evident on his face. “Andrea’s in Woodbury?”

“Right next to the Governor,” Daryl growls, his voice rough with anger and frustration.

The woman steps forward again, her sword raised threateningly, but Rick moves in front of her, blocking her advance. “I told you to drop that!” His voice drops, more controlled now, but still firm. “You know Andrea?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, searching for answers. She glares at him, stubborn, but eventually nods.

“Oh yeah,” Merle chimes in, his voice grating on your already frayed nerves. “Cuddled up all winter in the woods, Andrea was so sick she was ‘bout to keel over and die. My Nubian Queen here had two pet walkers. Kind of ironic now that I think about it,”

Your fists clench at his words, and for a second, you feel the surge of anger rising, ready to swing at him again. But Daryl steps in, cutting off your chance. “Shut up, bro!” Daryl snaps, his patience clearly worn thin.

Merle’s expression remains irritatingly smug as he explains how they found Andrea sick, nearly dead. The casual tone in his voice, like he was recounting a stroll in the park, only fuels your frustration.

“Is that why she’s with him?” Maggie asks, her voice sharp with suspicion, cutting through the tension.

“Yeah,” Merle says with a shrug, not bothering to hide his indifference. He turns to Rick, smirking. “So, Sheriff, what now? You’re surrounded by liars, thugs and cowards.”

Rick’s face darkens, his jaw clenching. “Shut up,” he growls, his voice tight with barely contained anger.

But Merle just laughs, the sound harsh and mocking. “Pathetic! All these guns and no bullets,” he sneers, throwing fuel on the fire, knowing exactly how to provoke everyone.

You feel your control slipping, your frustration bubbling over, and before you can even stop yourself, you snap in unison with Daryl. “Merle, shut up!”

The tension skyrockets, the chaos teetering on the edge of breaking, but Merle keeps pushing, his voice cutting through the group like a knife. Just when you think you might snap, Rick moves swiftly. He slams the butt of his gun into the back of Merle’s head with a dull thud. Merle drops to the ground, silence falling over the group like a heavy blanket. For a moment, no one moves, the weight of the tension hanging in the air, the stillness deafening after the relentless noise. You exhale, your body trembling slightly from the pent-up anger and stress.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

“It won’t work,” Rick says, his voice quiet, measured. The silence of the road seems to make his words heavier, hanging in the still morning air.

“It’s gotta,” Daryl shoots back, his eyes hard but laced with the same exhaustion that clings to all of you. The tension sits between them like the mist rising from the cold ground.

“It’ll stir things up,” Rick presses, but Daryl shakes his head.

“The Governor’s probably on the way to the prison right now. Merle knows how he thinks, we could use the muscle.” His voice has that grit, that determination that never wavers when it comes to his brother.

“I’m not having him at the prison,” Maggie cuts in sharply. She’s standing a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly, as if holding herself together. Her eyes flick to you for a moment before locking back on Rick.

“Do you really want him sleeping in the same cell block as Carol and Beth?” Glenn adds, his voice tight with anger as he steps closer, his eyes burning with all the unspoken things weighing him down.

You grimace, “He ain’t a rapist.”

“Well, his buddy is,” Glenn spits out, quick and sharp.

“They ain’t buddies no more, not after last night,” Daryl counters, his tone defensive, but you can tell he’s holding back the anger that’s simmering under the surface.

“There’s no way Merle’s gonna live there without putting everyone at each other’s throats,” Rick says, his patience wearing thin, his voice growing more impatient.

You feel the conversation unraveling around you. The quiet road, the looming woods, the distant sounds of birds—it all feels too peaceful compared to the storm swirling inside your chest. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to block it all out for just a moment, to tune out the voices arguing back and forth over Merle and what to do next.

You knew Merle was abrasive, an asshole on the best of days. But after what happened last night, after he turned on the Governor, you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him out here alone. You and Daryl had finally found him, something he’d been talking about for over the past year. Not with the Governor’s men hunting you, possibly already on their way, you needed to stick together. The uncertainty presses down on you, mixing with the overwhelming grief of knowing what’s coming next.

“Merle’s blood,” you hear Daryl say, his voice carrying through the fog of your thoughts.

“No, Merle is your blood,” Glenn argues, his voice cracking. “My blood, my family, is standing right here and waiting for us back at the prison.”

You lower your hands from your eyes, and your gaze shifts to Daryl. You see it in his eyes—he’s made up his mind. He’s not leaving his brother. You swallow hard, feeling that sinking realization. Where Daryl goes, you go. The weight of what’s coming presses on your chest like a boulder.

“You’re part of that family,” Rick says softly, looking between you and Daryl. “He’s not.”

“Fine,” Daryl grumbles, glancing at Rick before looking down. “We’ll fend for ourselves.”

“That’s not what I was saying,” Glenn says gently, reaching out with his hand in a gesture of reassurance. But Daryl doesn’t let him finish.

“No him, no me,” Daryl says, finality in his voice.

“And no me,” you add quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Daryl’s eyes glance at you, relief flashing across them before he moves forward. Maggie’s head snaps toward you, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Y/N, no,” she pleads, stepping forward. “You don’t have to do that.”

You look at Daryl, feeling the silent connection between you, and then back at Maggie. “It was always us three before this,” Daryl says, and you nod, knowing that it’s true.

The road feels cold under your feet, and the woods that surround you seem like a silent witness to the decision you’re about to make. Rick’s eyes are full of grief, the same grief that’s been sitting like a weight in your gut since this argument started. He knows it, too.

“What do you want us to tell Carol?” Glenn asks, his voice strained, not wanting to accept what’s happening.

Daryl hesitates for just a second, his jaw clenching before he answers. “She’ll understand.”

The silence that follows is thick, broken only by the occasional shuffle of feet or the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. Daryl looks at you again, reaching for that unspoken bond between the two of you. You look down, nodding, your heart heavy, knowing there’s no going back now.

“Say bye to Hershel for us,” you whisper, turning to Maggie. The sorrow in her eyes mirrors your own, but there’s no room for argument left.

“Guys!” Glenn shouts, his voice desperate, as if he can still pull you back from the edge. Maggie is saying something, trying to reason with you, but you’ve already made your choice.

Rick jogs up, stopping both you and Daryl. “Hey—hey,” he whispers, his voice low, pleading. “There’s gotta be another way.”

You meet Rick’s gaze, the regret weighing down on you like lead. “I’m sorry, Rick. Don’t ask us to leave him.” You turn away, starting toward the car. Daryl follows without a word, the heaviness in his step matching your own.

Rick is right behind you, still trying to reason. “We started something last night, you realize that, don’t you?” he says to Daryl as he pops the trunk.

But Daryl doesn’t break stride. He looks back at Rick and simply says, “No him, no me. No her.” He pulls his backpack from the car and adds quietly, “That’s all I can say.”

You gather your things from the car in silence, the finality of it hitting you like a wave. The woods feel too quiet now, like they’re closing in, as if even the trees are witnesses to the breaking point of this family.

“Take care of yourself,” you say softly when Daryl quiets, stuffing his pack.

Rick’s voice is tight with emotion as he pleads again. “Y/N, there has to be—”

“No, Rick,” you interrupt, your voice firm, turning to him though your heart is breaking. “There’s not. I’m sorry. Merle is my brother too.” Your eyes are full of sadness, of grief. It feels like a breakup, only worse. “Take care of little Ass-Kicker for us,” you whisper, turning away.

“And Carl,” Daryl adds, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “He’s one tough kid.”

With that, Daryl’s hand finds the small of your back, grounding you in this decision, and the two of you start toward the woods, where Merle waits by one of the trees. The road behind you is quiet now, but you feel the weight of every step as you leave behind the people you’ve fought so hard to survive with.

#the promise of us #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd

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tribow · 5 months ago

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So I watched Natsume Yuujinchou

or "Natsume's Book of Friends" for the English title.

I was pleasantly surprised by this one. It's a real nice slice of life anime. I'm writing this as of watching season 1 and I'm absolutely going to continue watching this one.

Anyway what's it about? Youkai! Easy way to hook me in immediately. If you involve youkai (or similar folklore creatures) in a story I'm immediately interested. Even so, despite my strong bias on the subject matter, I promise it's done very well.

The titular character, Natsume, is a highschooler born with the ability to see and interact with youkai. Growing up while being able to see supernatural phenomena while everyone else can't was rough for him. (If you don't know what youkai are, think of Natsume's situation like being able to see ghosts.) His parent's weren't even sure how to deal with him and sent him off to their relatives instead of raising the child themselves.

Natsume's character is defined by his isolation, but also by the few people he has met that has shown him real kindness. His current family earnestly cares about him, but he hides the fact that he can see youkai from them, as he does with everyone. He has learned that doing so will lead to isolation, but ironically hiding what he can see isolates him from other people as well.

However, Natsume's ability isn't unique to himself. His grandmother could also see youkai, and she's infamous for creating the "Book of Friends." This book contains the names of tons of youkai, and with that book, you can essentially control any youkai whose name is written in it. For a long time Natsume would have to deal with some youkai targeting him, and this was why. Having now learned that he has his grandmother's book, Natsume resolves to return the names of youkai.

Why?

Well watch the show. I could sit here and summarize it, but that doesn't make for a good review. The story....or at least season one of the story....focuses on that theme: isolation. It's not just Natsume, but many of the youkai he encounters that deal with it in their own ways. As a result, each episode ends on a pretty bittersweet note.

Isolation comes in many forms; loss, rejection, protection, selfishness, resentment, and much more. People, and in this case, youkai experience it in many ways, but instead of wallowing in its own despair, this anime focuses heavily dealing with it positively.

I appreciate this anime's willingness to show very sad situations and the characters involved are pretty mature about it. I can imagine this anime helping actual people deal with their own struggles with isolation.

Now, that's not this anime's only theme. It would be fairly shallow if that's all it had to say. You got some action, comedy, and drama here or there. There's some nice character development going on as well. I really like how the show is written overall.

I wouldn't say its at a "masterpiece" quality since there are definitely some jumps in logic that happens sometimes. It definitely makes some poor excuses to set up certain scenes, but I can't complain too much. These issues only show up for a few episodes.

Speaking of the episodes, they're all self-contained. There's a linear narrative of course, but every episodes concludes itself and does not inform what happens in the next episode. This made it strangely hard to binge for me since there isn't a hook to keep you watching. I loved the show, but each episodes ends on such a satisfying note I want to do something else and come back to it later. Weird.

Anyway, Brain's Base was animating this one! Y'know these guys really take on a wide variety of stuff huh? Natsume is an interesting one since it's both very laid back and has some action. I wouldn't say Brain's Base went particularly crazy here, but you can see the effort put into a lot of shots. The animation looks good, but it's humble. Nothin real fancy going on, but the visual direction does a great job at conveying this story.

I have a feeling this is one of the shows Brain's Base is proud of, and it's successful too! This anime goes on for several more seasons and I'm pretty excited to keep going with it.

What's real crazy is that I've never heard anyone talk about this anime before. This is good! Real good! I highly recommend this to anybody, even if you have never seen anime before. It's rare that I get to say that because there's usually some caveat to an anime that makes it hard to recommend to anybody, but there's nothing to worry about here! It's good, great even.

Maybe it just couldn't reach a large western audience. It is dealing with youkai after all. That's a shame, but hey, it doesn't mean you can't watch it now! Give it a try!

#natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #anime #review #i know there's fans I just havent run into them I guess #it's in that cult classic zone #im probably gonna be real slow with getting to season 2 but I'll definitely get to it!#also as a touhou fan I want to see Natsume interact wuth touhou characters so bad #how have I not run into doujin with that premise?#i have a lot of positive words here. Im really hoping season 2 doesnt fumble whats established here #gosh i wanted to ramble more about the characters but I focused on Natsume

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feroshgirlsims · 6 months ago

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The Save File Chronicles Catch-Up Post #1

Happy 2025! After a long winter nap, I’ve finally got some chapters ready that will start coming out next week. But since it’s been a while and I’ve got some new followers, I figured it was a good time for a summary post. If you want to dive into the story with the next chapter, this is your guide.

Before you embark—

The Save File Chronicles is a “slice of life with a side of bloodshed” story. By that, I mean you should be prepared for occult shit and everyday life drama, along with plenty of violence, bloodshed, and mayhem. Also, sex. This is a paranormal romance about deeply unhinged, morally gray characters who get happy endings.

In other words, mature themes for 18+ with a plot that is wacky, cozy, and sometimes dark.

It’s totally okay if this is not your vibe, and you want to nope out now! I’m not offended. But if this sounds like your thing, read on.

The Premise

Our story begins with an excerpt from The Afterlife for Gods and Monsters. In it, Time and her wife, The Universe, welcome a new set of gods and monsters to the great beyond. It’s called The Space Between Universes because there are multiple worlds, each an alternate version of each other—as if someone had multiple save files with the same set of characters…

The space between universes isn’t anything so dreamy as the old myths portend. There’s no feeling of weightlessness or enchanting choral music, and certainly, no gossamer hands gently guiding you toward a welcoming light.

The important thing to know here is that everything dies, including worlds. Each time one does, the Divine Creators shunt off its gods, monsters, and other powerful supernaturals to a special version of the Hereafter while they decide their fate. There is always a new world to be reborn into, but there are no promises about who—

—Or what you’ll be.

This time, the Divine Creators welcomed four beings: Alice Martin (the God of Death), Miko Ojo (Fate Itself), William Redding (King of the Vampires), and Vladislaus Straud (Fear Itself) are all processed and sent to a new universe with no memories of their former powers.

But it is not a world without magic ‌or mystery, and the call to follow the otherworldly is strong.

The Characters

The Save File Chronicles is a massive story with tons of characters, but the first arc revolves around this group:

Alice Martin is trying hard not to let her ganja habit impede her classes. After surviving an abusive relationship, she finally feels ready to date again and joins Cupid’s Corner. She immediately connects with a deeply odd law school student named Vladislaus Straud.

Meanwhile, her best friend and roommate, Miko Ojo, is struggling with the pressure of being a TA, and an intrusive voice that just won’t leave her alone. Mortifyingly, she gets a UTI while hearing her fellow TAs gossip about her in the bathroom.

Across campus, dying from boredom on a library tour, William Redding uses his boyfriend as an excuse to skip out from under the watchful eye of his socialite mother and politician father. His actual plans, however, involve planning a hookup with a man who isn’t his boyfriend and meeting up with his best friend, Vladislaus Straud.

Vlad is new to Cupid’s Corner, too. A self-professed curmudgeon who finds sims and social situations completely overwhelming, he is also trying to put himself out there again after a nasty breakup.

Actually, Jacob’s exact words were that Vlad lacked a conscience and a heart. The first part was accurate, but the second part? The second part filled Vlad with an unending desire to flay open his chest and see if it was true.

Vlad connects with Alice and so the lives of these four “random” sims become entwined.

Later, a mysterious fae named Akira Kibo enrolls in classes on an assignment from La Cosa Simstra, a supernatural organized crime family headed up by The Devil Himself, Jacques Villareal. Akira is all the things you’ve heard about the fae: beautiful, cruel, enigmatic—

—And a raging asshole who becomes obsessed with Alice and Vlad.

The Plot

We meet our lovely characters as they are making their way through graduate school at Britechester University. Alice is desperate to avoid failing out of school by pulling off a photography project about a secret society on campus. She drags Miko to observe one of their secret meet-ups, and things get…weird as shit.

The members of the secret society take notice of their two stalkers and give chase.

Alice and Miko escape, but not before a nearby werewolf observes the whole situation and reports back to Jacques.

Jacques is curious about why the secret society would chase these two sims, but not kill them. He orders Akira to enroll in college and monitor Miko and Alice, hoping to discover some secrets he can use to destroy spellcaster society, which he blames for the death of his wife.

Alice vows not to give up on uncovering the secrets of the weird cult on campus, but she has to balance her ambition with her dating life. She agrees to meet with Vlad, who is completely stressed out about the whole thing.

“I told you. I have a date, and after a series of messages in which she defended her gloriously wrong Tea & Treachery opinions and rebuked my use of the word ‘precipitous’ at least three times, I have decided that she is, in fact, perfect. So I…I don’t want her to be disappointed by me.”

While Alice and Miko were running from dastardly cloaked figures, he was easing his boredom by causing chaos at Lairs and Llamas. During the game, he purposefully picks a fight with William’s boyfriend, Christopher. After being chastised and helping his sister bury the body of an intruder, he spends the week stressing over what to wear.

Eventually, the date happens, and Vlad and Alice discover that while they are both complete weirdos, they are weirdos in a way that works for both of them.

“If you had any supernatural power, what would it be?” “Paralyzing sims with fear and the ability to become a sentient mist so I could leave any conversation.” He taps a finger to his lip, “And enough strength to crush someone’s bones.” “Messy,” Alice giggles. “What are you gonna do with all that bone dust?”

They decide to keep dating and depart the record store they were hanging out in with no idea that the sim Alice thought was stalking them was the ghost of a dead student who had been missing for months.

They also didn’t notice Akira carefully stalking them and using his glamour to hide his tracks. Akira confronts the ghost of the dead student, hoping to get details about what Vlad and Alice discussed. It goes poorly because, as previously mentioned, Akira is an asshole.

He leaves and takes a call from his sister, Titania (yes, that Titania), and is subsequently struck by supernatural lightning because, as everyone knows—

Miko and William, meanwhile, are dealing with their own drama. William’s boyfriend breaks up with him after the fight with Vlad (partially because of the fight, partially because of the booty calls with sims that aren’t him).

The size of William’s ego makes this difficult to process.

Miko is cracking under the pressure, as well. After nearly passing out from her UTI, her fellow TA, Emmett Pollock, helps her recover.

The voice in her head becomes slightly more supportive after that, encouraging her to spend more time with Emmett, stay the hell away from Vlad, and informs her she is not a sim.

It's the perfect time for a run-in with Akira who doesn’t look or act like any sim Miko ever met.

Coincidentally, Emmett shows up again, and Akira disappears. Grateful for the intervention, and feeling a little crush, she goes for coffee with Emmett and accepts his help to get a job at an Apothecary Shop in Glimmerbrook.

The run-in with Miko freaks Akira out too, or at least makes him frustrated. A fae’s glamour is impenetrable, and he can’t figure out how she saw through it.

It doesn’t help that he had the strangest dream about two women calling themselves Time and the Universe. He made some sort of deal with them to be reborn into this world, but the details are hazy and make little sense.

The next morning, Akira finds Alice poking around in his backyard. After confronting her over her dangerous method of getting photos of a poisonous plant, he agrees to spend the afternoon with her on campus.

He can’t deny the way he feels drawn to her, possessive even, and so even though it breaks every rule he has in place to protect himself, he makes a promise to her.

It’s a promise to watch a dumb-ass reality tv show, but still, he’s desperate to see her again.

After fighting a pack of goblins and running down a sim in the Devil’s debt, he pops over to Henford-on-Bagley to observe his other obsession: Vlad.

Maybe familiarity is what draws him to Vladislaus. Akira finds him beautiful in a way that’s very different from Alice. She’s all sunshine and fire with curls he wants to wrap around his fingers and lips he wants to bite. But Vladislaus is like the fae—compelling but dangerous. Even with a black eye, he’s so unnaturally pretty that his features seem to be arranged wrong.

Akira is sure that he is using his glamour, but unbeknownst to him, Vlad sees right through it.

Seeing a supernatural creature sends Vlad into a spiral.

Getting Vlad out of his obsessive tailspin is a strange process. His father and grandfather hunt him in the woods with actual weapons.

They tell him he needs a boss to keep him from burning the world to the ground.

And Vlad’s attitude toward injuries is odd, too:

Once, someone broke the shank of a screwdriver off in his arm. He could have just let it disappear, but his parents were insistent, so like everything else that he does because it's “what sims do,” he sliced open his bicep and dug it out.

He returns to campus after his breakdown and immediately seeks Alice and offers to help her with research about the secret society. When she makes a joke about being his boss, Vlad decides that she should definitely be in charge.

The delight etched across Alice’s face at the idea of being in charge of him is enough to send Vlad into the stratosphere. It also spawns a fantasy that makes his pulse race. Something inside him unwinds and stretches. It wraps fingers around his rib cage and peers out past his heart, pleased and bound. “Yes, I do very well with specific instructions. Feel free to demand whatever you want.”

And now you’re caught up!

Obviously, this isn’t every single detail, but it should let you jump in when Chapter 9 comes out later this week. We’ll be picking up right where things left off in the room with Vlad getting his…uh…boss.

If you’re interested in reading everything in order, you can start here.

If you want to read about Jacques Villareal and La Cosa Simstra’s feud with the spellcasters as a standalone, you can read it here.

And last but not least, I release side stories about households outside of my current set of main characters. If they become relevant to the plot, I link them, but otherwise, they are just a glimpse into the world outside of these lunatics I write about.

Although if you read them, you’ll end up with insights that our main characters don’t have. You can check them out here.

#ts4 #simblr #The Save File Chronicles #Season 1 #catch up chronicles #i think writing this took all my brain cells #but i hope it helps

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abdlgirl25 · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter One

I was crazy—I had to be. There was no other explanation for sitting in my car at the edge of the property, staring at the imposing Victorian estate as if it might swallow me whole. The manor was breathtaking, its grandeur demanding attention even from my sleep-deprived, caffeine-fueled haze. It looked more like a home for royalty than an institution. The massive three-story structure was built from cold gray stone that seemed both unyielding and timeless, the kind of place that bore witness to countless untold stories. It should have felt ominous, yet there was something oddly inviting about it, as though it held secrets it was ready to share with those brave enough to enter.

Wrought-iron windowpanes, blackened with age, framed each window, reflecting the faint morning light in fractured patterns. A spire jutted into the sky, its sharp silhouette slicing through the wispy clouds above. The vaulted roofline and sweeping arches were softened by cascades of wisteria that wrapped around the stone walkway, their purple blooms swaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of a greenhouse with rose-tinted glass and a garden teeming with every imaginable shade of color. The sight was dreamlike, almost surreal—the kind of beauty that felt too perfect to be real.

I clutched the steering wheel, my fingers trembling. The address was smudged but still legible on the inside of my wrist, written hastily in black ink. I’d had no other way to remember it, and now, here I was, drawn by a mix of desperation and an inexplicable feeling that this place was meant for me. There was no sign at the gate, no confirmation that I was in the right place beyond the faint whisper of intuition. Yet something about this estate—its quiet elegance, its carefully manicured grounds—called to me in a way I couldn’t ignore.

For a moment, I let myself drift, replaying the series of events that had led me to this crossroad. Work had consumed my life for years, and I had prided myself on being someone who thrived under pressure. Long hours at the law firm, juggling impossible deadlines, and navigating office politics had become my normal. But lately, that normal was breaking me. I hadn’t slept through the night in months, my dreams—when they came—haunted by an endless litany of tasks left undone. Even my reflection in the mirror had become unrecognizable, dark circles etched beneath my eyes no concealer could hide.

“Seriously, girl, you look like shit,” Melanie’s voice echoed in my mind, her bluntness softened by concern. It had been one of those moments at work where time felt like quicksand. I’d been hovering over the copy machine, willing it to work faster. Callen needed the addendums printed five minutes ago, and the machine seemed to know it, spitting out pages at a glacial pace.

“I know,” I had muttered, not even glancing up. “I’m trying.”

Melanie leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “What’s going on, Emery? We haven’t seen you in weeks.” She wasn’t talking about work. No, she meant outside of it—the pub nights, the late-night phone calls, the part of me that had once lived a life beyond the firm.

I had smiled, a tight, strained thing that barely reached my lips. “I’m good,” I lied. “Just busy, you know how it is.”

She’d grabbed my wrist then, stopping me mid-motion. “Ever think that maybe what you need is to slow down?”

Her words lingered long after I’d rushed away, papers in hand, my promise to catch up another time ringing hollow even to my ears. I had no time. Every hour of my day was consumed by work, and every ounce of energy was spent trying to keep my head above water. But that’s the thing about drowning: the more you struggle, the faster you sink.

Walking into Callen’s office, he snapped. “Did you use the copier on the fifteenth floor? For heaven’s sake.” He snatched the papers from my hands and returned to his desk, lost in the contents.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around and started to walk out when he said, “I’m going to need you to find me something I can use on the corporate case by morning.”

“Jensen Holdings? That’s scheduled to be in court at ten tomorrow morning.”

He looked at me as if I were spouting useless information.

“I know,” he said, sitting down at his desk. “That’s why I need you here tonight.”

“Callen, that’s nearly impossible. That’s thousands of documents.”

He looked at me briefly, waved his hand, and dismissed me.

“Shut the door on your way out.”

That was the start of it all—the fracture before the break. After pulling an all-nighter, drowning myself in an insane amount of coffee and vending machine food, I had delivered my findings to him by nine—just enough time for him to make it to the courthouse.

“Where the fuck were you?” Callen slammed the door shut. “I could have used this two hours ago.”

“I don’t understand.” My voice was level; I refused to let him frighten me.

“Judge Milweed moved the case to eight this morning. You should have had this to me by seven.” Before I could speak, he interrupted me. “I’m not sure you’re cut out for this, Miss Watson. You’re always behind in the work, never at your desk when I need you, and—are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?” He huffed. “We do have a dress code policy here. I will have to report this all to HR, but until then, you’re on administrative leave.”

The memory made my chest tighten, shame and anger twisting into a knot I couldn’t untangle. That night, I’d found myself at the pub, nursing a drink and trying to convince myself that everything would be fine. It was Melanie who had found me there, who had slid into the seat beside me and handed me a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it. “You need a break,” she’d said simply. “This place… it helped me when I thought I couldn’t go on. Just trust me.”

I hadn’t asked questions. I’d written the address on my wrist, more out of politeness than intention. Yet here I was, staring up at the estate, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

With a deep breath, I started the car and drove through the iron gates, their intricate design curling like ivy. Parking at the base of the stone steps, I killed the engine and reached for my coffee cup, only to find it empty. Of course. Sighing, I grabbed my purse, the thud of my heels against the pavement echoing in the still morning air.

The doors were open, a soft breeze carrying the scent of lavender and vanilla. As I climbed the steps, I noticed a small metal plaque beside the entrance: Hensley’s Sanitarium & Rehabilitation Center. Below it, in elegant script, was a name: Dr. Mathias Hensley. The only indication I was in the right place.

Stepping through the threshold, I was greeted by an older woman at the front desk. She smiled warmly at me, beckoning me forward. It was a strange thing for me to see another welcoming face. The firm was filled with grouchy, straight-lipped assholes who only cared about themselves, so I was pleasantly surprised by the change.

“What can I do for you, dear?”

“Well…” I wasn’t sure how to ask. “I’d like to check in, but first, I was hoping you could tell me a little more about what you do here.” I couldn’t find much on the internet, and virtually no information about this place other than Melanie’s glowing recommendation. I was not entirely sure if this was more like a spa retreat or a medical institution; I already had mental reservations.

“You know what,” I started, “this was silly—never mind.”

“Nonsense, dear,” she stood up. “Checking in is simple. Look over these forms, hun, and when you’re ready, bring them back up, and we’ll get you that rest and recovery you so desperately need.”

She handed me a clipboard and a pen anchored to the board. “You poor thing. Just sit right there,” she pointed to a soft chair in the sitting room to her right, “and I’ll just let the doctor know you’re here.”

I ventured into the sitting room and sat in one of the large leather chairs. In front of me was an enormous bay window with a muted light. The early sun was filtered by thin white lace curtains and bordered by large navy-blue floor to ceiling drapes. Behind me was a massive bookcase spanning the entire length of the wall with an array of old and new books ranging from all topics. I wasn’t sure what I expected, old medical journals maybe, but there didn’t seem to be any. Instead, there were all sorts of topics: politics, gardening, nutritional cookbooks, leadership, and even a few architecture books mixed in.

In the center of the bookshelf was a doorway leading off to another part of the house but without craning my neck, it was impossible to snoop.

Glancing at the first form, it was a standard aches and aliments checklist asking about known conditions, sleep habits, eating habits, and sexual health. I felt a dread as I began answering the questions truthfully, afraid that I might be judged on how poor I’d taken care of myself. The next two focused simply on stress, anxiety, and depression that rated severity by questions. My pen hovered over the possible responses—part of me didn’t want to admit I was stressed or needed help, but I circled them anyway.

My heartbeat sped up and I felt the growing tightness in my chest.

“Here you go, dear. A little something to freshen you up.” She handed me a glass of water. I took a sip, thankful to get a break from the forms. I detected something fruity and flavorful.

“This is delicious,” I mused, “what is it infused with?”

“Cucumbers, strawberries, and mint.” She beamed a happy smile toward me. “Grown in our own garden. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, thank you.”

“Do you have any questions on the paperwork so far?”

“Umm…” I was a little embarrassed. “I’m still working on them actually.”

“Take your time, dear. The doctor will see you when you’re finished.”

I finished the assessment and moved to the last page. Years of paralegal work had taught me to read through everything before signing but the consent form was very lengthy. I filled in my name consenting to voluntary admission to Hensley’s Sanitarium & Rehabilitation Center and entered today’s date. Under the consent and authorization section, I read the paragraph which mentioned that I would be under the inpatient care of the licensed physician, Dr. Mathias Hensley for a one-week period where care is to be reevaluated by the provider at the end of seven calendar days. The patient has the right to leave after the initial period is complete unless the doctor extends the care an additional seven days for failure to complete treatments.

By signing, I was authorizing Dr. Hensley to provide treatment that included medication to be administered orally, intravenously, or rectally—to be determined by the medical care professional.

Cringing on the last part, I willed myself to keep reading when a scream broke my concentration. I looked up, hearing a commotion coming from upstairs. There was a pounding of footsteps and then a loud bang as a door slammed shut.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I wasn’t crazy—just exhausted and in need of some rest.

Shaking my head, I looked back at the form; I came here for a reason. Picking up where I left off, the next paragraph explained that some unusual or unorthodox methods may be used if deemed necessary and that the safety and wellbeing of the patient would never be jeopardized. I underlined that section making a mental note to ask the secretary to elaborate on unorthodox. I kept reading… authorization to use restraints, cryotherapy, hydrotherapy, intense psychotherapies, and other means necessary. There was that vague writing again.

I took a sip of the water with a shaky hand.

My pulse started to race uncontrollably. My palms were sticky with sweat. I was finding it difficult to focus on the form when another scream echoed through the house.

Nope, that was it.

I decided right then and there that I would make do without this. I’d figure it out on my own.

Just then two orderlies clad in white uniforms and black tennis shoes rushed past me and up the stairs.

I didn’t belong in a nuthouse. As quickly as I could, I gathered up the papers and shoved them back on the clipboard, dropping my purse in the process. Eager to get out of there, I swooped down, grabbed the scattered contents on the floor, and went to stand but the room spun. Fumbling back, I knocked the glass of water off the table. It struck the ground with a clank and shattered into a few dozen pieces.

Oh no. I didn’t mean to, but my heart kept pounding, faster and faster. All I could hear was the sound of drums beating in my ears. My body grew unusually warm.

The secretary rushed toward me, beckoning me to take a seat behind me but I didn’t want to. I wanted to leave. I tried grabbing my purse again, but I began to hyperventilate; my vision blurred, and I stumbled on weak legs.

“Just breathe. It’s okay. Deep breath in,” she coaxed.

I could barely make out her words and she ushered me into the chair with more force than I thought the small frail woman was capable of.

I didn’t understand what was happening to me. I couldn’t catch my breath, as if those wrought iron gates outside were locking me in. Everything felt tingly and my hands grew numb. The pounding in my ears grew louder and louder until they too were faint. The room around me was growing dark, my vision blurring even more until all I saw was nothing.

Chapter TWO

I woke with a killer headache, my skull throbbing as though a drumbeat had taken up residence in my brain. I tried to sit up, only to feel a steady, warm hand on my shoulder gently pressing me back down.

“Easy. Try not to move yet,” a calm, firm voice instructed, the kind of voice that made you instinctively listen.

Blinking, I willed my vision to clear. Slowly, the world came into focus, and I found myself staring into a pair of piercing blue eyes—the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. They were bright and clear, contrasting with the man’s strong, angular features. His auburn hair was perfectly tousled, managing to look both artfully messy and deliberately neat. He had a sharp jawline and was clean-shaven, giving him an air of professional precision. His crisp, white doctor’s coat hung neatly over a light blue button-down shirt and khaki slacks. He looked young, too young to be the lead physician of this place—thirty-two at most, making him only a handful of years older than me.

“Where am I? Who are you?” My voice was hoarse as I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The room I was in was unlike any medical office I’d seen. It had the feel of a study or a personal library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls on either side of the solid oak double doors. The farthest wall was dominated by three massive windows, their thin curtains drawn just enough to let in muted light. Beneath them was a large wooden desk, its surface tidy except for a leather journal, a small stack of papers, and a few books. Curiously, there was no computer in sight, adding to the room’s old-world charm.

As I surveyed the room, the man walked to the windows and drew the curtains fully back. Sunlight spilled into the space, illuminating the rich tones of the wood and the muted patterns of the upholstered chairs. The sudden brightness sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, and I winced, closing my eyes against the intrusion.

“I’m Dr. Hensley, and you’re in my office,” he explained, his voice calm and even. “Mrs. Knolty alerted me when you fainted. I brought you in here for privacy and observation.”

I glanced down at myself, doing a quick assessment. Other than the pounding headache, I felt fine… until I noticed the intravenous line taped to my left arm.

“It’s just saline,” Dr. Hensley said, anticipating my question. “You were severely dehydrated.”

My instinct was to reach over and pull it out, but he crossed the room in a few long strides and caught my wrist before I could. His touch was firm yet surprisingly gentle, his hand warm against my skin.

“Leave it. You need the fluids,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. His gaze flicked to my wrist, and he noticed the faint ink marks there. “Do you always write on yourself?” The question, tinged with mild reproach, made me feel small, as though he were scolding a child.

Pulling my hand free, I muttered defensively, “It’s an old habit.” But I didn’t want to lose sight of my original intent. “I’m actually feeling better now. Sorry to take up your time; I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re not a very good liar, Miss Watson,” he replied smoothly. Before I could protest further, I swung my feet around to the side of the table, only for the room to tilt violently. I grabbed the edges of the table to steady myself, my breath hitching.

Without a word, Dr. Hensley moved to my side. He gently placed his hands on my ankles and maneuvered my legs back onto the table. His touch was clinical yet soothing, and the simple act felt oddly grounding.

“The light sensitivity, nausea, headache, and dizziness are all symptoms of the panic attack you experienced earlier,” he explained. “It will take some time to dissipate. Until then, you’re in no condition to drive. Releasing you now would be a disservice to you, my profession, and this community.”

“Discharge me? But I didn’t sign the forms,” I protested weakly.

“I’m well aware,” he said, leaning casually against the edge of his desk. He picked up the clipboard containing the paperwork I’d partially filled out earlier. “Have you ever experienced a panic attack before?” he asked, pen in hand, poised to make notes in the margins.

I shook my head, still too disoriented to find my voice. His gaze softened as he studied me, and I felt a flicker of vulnerability under the weight of his piercing eyes. There was something undeniably authoritative about him, but not in a way that felt overbearing. It was as though he commanded respect effortlessly.

“Panic attacks can happen unexpectedly, often when we feel overwhelmed or out of control,” he said, his voice gentler now. “It’s a primal fight-or-flight response.”

Recalling my college psychology class, I added quietly, “I’m familiar with the concept.”

“Then you understand why your attempt to rush out of the lobby triggered hyperventilation. The shallow breaths caused a lack of oxygen to your brain, leading to your loss of consciousness,” he explained. “Considering the stress and anxiety reflected in your assessments, it’s not surprising.”

“I’m stressed, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I said, a defensive edge creeping into my tone.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I disagree. When stress and anxiety go untreated for long periods, the body begins to react in unpredictable ways. My job is to help you identify those triggers and reconnect your mind and body. I use a range of intense, but safe methodologies designed to reduce stress and restore balance.”

“Intense?” I repeated, arching a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he said, a faint smile curving his lips. “Every treatment plan is tailored to the individual. For some, it involves cellular detox, nutrient-rich diets, thermal therapies, or even psychological exercises. For others, it might include techniques that stimulate the body’s natural healing processes, such as orgasms to release endorphins and promote relaxation.”

“Orgasms?” I repeated, startled by his candor.

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “Orgasms have proven benefits, including stress relief and improved sleep. Some methods might feel uncomfortable or unconventional, but they are never harmful.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “And I can leave when I want?”

“Your stay here is voluntary for now. As soon as you’re fit to drive, you’re free to go. But I encourage you to give this a chance. Admitting you need help is the hardest part. You’ve already taken that step, and it’s a courageous one.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply nodded again.

“If you choose to stay, the initial period is seven days,” he continued. “Leaving prematurely can disrupt treatments and have adverse effects. The full week allows us to make meaningful progress toward your recovery.”

“That sounds fine, but… I’m not sure this place is for me,” I admitted hesitantly.

“You’ve made it this far, Miss Watson. What’s holding you back now?”

I avoided his gaze, my uncertainty growing. The truth was, I didn’t have an answer.

“Ah,” he mused, his tone thoughtful, “I think I understand now. You heard one of the residents earlier. I’m sure your mind is coming up with a thousand and one scenarios about why she was screaming, all of them casting this place in a poor light, I assume, given your reaction. I will say, the screams you heard earlier were not of pain or resistance, but of pleasure. No one was being hurt, I can assure you.”

Pleasure? The word hit me like a jolt. My cheeks flushed as the implications unfolded in my mind, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of my surroundings. I wanted to question him, to demand clarification, but his calm and confident demeanor left little room for doubt. My thoughts strayed to his earlier mention of orgasms. Replaying the sounds in my mind, I supposed… they could have been the result of an orgasm. The realization made my pulse quicken, though whether from embarrassment or curiosity, I couldn’t say.

Dr. Hensley seemed unfazed by my internal turmoil, his expression remaining steady. “I hope this has soothed some of your concerns,” he continued. “As I mentioned, your admittance is voluntary. If you choose to stay, if you want to be healthier, to be stress-free, and to find balance, then sign on the bottom line.” He placed the clipboard beside me on the table, the pen balanced neatly on top as if to emphasize the simplicity of the decision.

“If you still wish to leave,” he added, his voice softening, “I only ask that you wait until the bag of fluids is completed and you no longer exhibit symptoms that might impair your driving.”

The steady throb in my head persisted, but his explanations had dispelled many of the fears that had gripped me earlier. I realized how much my imagination, fed by years of horror movies and skewed perceptions, had distorted the idea of a sanitarium. Instead of a cold, foreboding institution, this place felt… different. It was elegant, warm, and oddly reassuring. Dr. Hensley himself embodied that contrast, his presence both authoritative and approachable.

One week felt like a long time, though. A small voice in my head whispered doubts, reminding me of the administrative leave forced upon me after Callen’s cutting remarks. I’d planned to spend those two weeks hiding at home, nursing my wounded pride and pretending I wasn’t unraveling. Melanie had disrupted that plan when she suggested this place. Still, this couldn’t be much different from isolating myself at home, right? If anything, it might be better.

He made it sound so simple. Just sign and let him help me. As though fixing everything could be as straightforward as putting my name on a piece of paper. But the weight of that pen, resting so innocuously on the clipboard, felt immense. I hesitated, my mind racing with second thoughts.

Dr. Hensley’s gaze didn’t waver. His blue eyes seemed to pierce through my defenses, as if he could see the doubts tumbling through my mind. “It won’t be an easy journey,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring, “but it will be worth the reward.”

I swallowed hard. Those words carried a weight that settled deep in my chest. This wasn’t just about recovery or relaxation—it was about facing everything I’d been avoiding, confronting the cracks I’d tried so desperately to ignore. The path ahead wasn’t clear, but something in his tone made me believe it might be worth it.

With trembling hands, I reached for the pen. The smooth barrel felt cool against my fingers as I stared at the blank line awaiting my signature. My chest tightened with the gravity of the choice before me, but I knew I couldn’t let myself overthink it. Before I could second-guess myself, I scrawled my name across the page and added my initials where required.

The moment the pen left the paper, a strange sense of finality washed over me. I had done it. Whatever came next, there was no turning back now.

Chapter THREE

Dr. Hensley took the forms from me, his sharp blue eyes scanning them with meticulous focus before setting them neatly on his desk. “The next step is to get you changed while I evaluate your assessments and then proceed with a physical exam. Normally, this is done in our intake room, but I don’t want you moving just yet—not in your condition. I’m going to grab a nurse and get you a gown.”

He didn’t waste any time. There was an efficiency to his movements, but no urgency that felt rushed or chaotic. Everything he did exuded calm control. He disappeared through the double doors and returned a few minutes later with a light pink gown, a pair of soft, non-slip socks, and a warm blanket folded over his arm. His footsteps were steady as he approached, the quiet confidence in his demeanor making the sterile environment feel a little less intimidating. Before coming closer, he pressed a button on the wall near the doors. A small red light blinked to life above the doorway.

“That should ensure some privacy,” he said, his tone reassuring. Pulling a screen divider across the space between his desk and the table where I lay, he set the items on a chair beside me. “Let’s try sitting up first. If you feel dizzy or faint, let me know.”

He extended his hand, and I took it, welcoming the warmth of his touch. My hands were icy from the cool saline drip, and his steady grip grounded me. As if anticipating my discomfort, he reached over to the now-empty IV bag, clamped the line, and gently detached it from the port in my arm before capping the end.

“As much as I’d prefer starting another bag, that can wait a little while longer,” he said, his voice softening as he studied my reaction.

I managed to sit up without the room spinning, though the relentless pounding in my head made me wince. “I really am okay,” I tried to assure him, but the raised eyebrow he shot me said otherwise. His expression carried an air of quiet authority that reminded me I wasn’t as convincing as I hoped.

Dr. Hensley helped me down from the table, his firm grip steadying me as my feet touched the cold floor. Only when he was sure I could stand on my own did he let go, the sudden absence of his warmth making me acutely aware of how depleted I felt.

“Do you always see patients in your office?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the lingering ache in my limbs.

“Only the ones who need careful observation,” he replied with a faint smile. “Your treatments won’t always be in here, but given the events of this morning, I think this is best. It gives me a chance to keep an eye on you.”

That smile—subtle and fleeting—somehow made me feel safer. It wasn’t the clinical precision of his actions or the wealth of knowledge he clearly possessed that put me at ease. It was that small, human gesture, as though he understood just how fragile I felt without me needing to say a word.

Pulling me from my thoughts, he instructed, “Take your time getting changed. You can place your clothes in here,” he gestured to a wire basket beside the table, “Jewelry too,” he added. “Don’t rush, and if you need help, I’m just on the other side of this curtain.”

I waited until I heard the creak of his chair as he sat down at his desk before I began. My fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans, my body feeling weaker than I expected. As I shimmied out of them, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room. My reflection startled me. The curves I used to have were gone, replaced by sharp angles and protruding bones. My collarbone seemed more prominent than ever, and the hollowness around my hips made me feel strangely exposed. Maybe that was why I had chosen the oversized hoodie this morning—to hide the frailty I hadn’t wanted to face.

Pulling the sweatshirt over my head proved more difficult than I anticipated. I moved cautiously, mindful of the IV port, but even the simple act left me breathless. I sat back down in just my t-shirt and panties, trying to gather my strength.

“Are you doing alright?” Dr. Hensley’s voice cut through the silence. A drawer shut, and I heard his footsteps approaching.

“Yes, just taking a break for a moment,” I admitted, my voice quieter than I intended.

He stepped around the curtain, his eyes meeting mine instantly. He didn’t glance away, didn’t scan my body, but somehow he seemed to take in everything he needed to know. Bending down, he picked up my jeans from the floor and folded them neatly before reaching for my hoodie.

“You don’t have to—” I started, but he silenced me with a firm hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me back into the chair.

“Sit,” he said firmly. “It’s no bother at all.”

He folded the hoodie with the same precision and placed it in the basket beside my jeans. His gaze returned to me, this time softer, but still expectant. “What did you have for breakfast?”

I hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. His raised brow told me he already knew. “The venti coffee in your car is not an appropriate substitute,” he said, his tone carrying just enough reprimand to make me squirm. “While you’re here, you will be eating a minimum of four to five nutritional meals a day. No exceptions.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “How did you…”

“When you fainted, I asked one of the orderlies to check your car for medications. All he found was the coffee cup.”

I hadn’t realized until then that my purse was missing. My gaze darted around the room, searching for it, but Dr. Hensley gently grasped my chin, tilting my head so I had no choice but to look at him.

“Mrs. Knolty brought me your purse and cell phone. Everything is accounted for. Now, take a deep breath.”

I obeyed, inhaling slowly and exhaling just as he had instructed. His hand moved to my elbow, guiding me to my feet with a steadiness I couldn’t muster on my own. He unfolded the gown with one hand, his movements fluid and practiced.

“I’m steady,” I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction. “I can do it.”

He didn’t respond, his calm authority leaving no room for argument. He turned me gently so I faced away from him, maintaining contact as he unhooked my bra with practiced ease. The cool air against my skin made me shiver, but his professionalism kept the moment from feeling invasive.

Guiding my arms into the sleeves, he fastened the ties at the back, his fingertips brushing against my shoulders as he moved my hair to the side.

When I turned around, he had already folded the rest of my clothes and placed them neatly in the basket. “Panties too,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

I hesitated, but the look in his eyes left no room for protest. Leaning down, I shimmied out of them, using his arm for balance. Handing them to him, I felt a strange mix of vulnerability and relief when he simply nodded and placed them in the basket without comment.

“Now, back on the table, Miss Watson,” he instructed, stepping behind the curtain briefly before returning with his stethoscope and a thick cream-colored folder.

“I’ll be writing down notes and stats during the exam,” he explained as he set the folder down. “Not everything I write signifies something is wrong; these are just observations for my review later. There’s no need to worry.”

I nodded, my attention briefly drawn to the file. My assessment and consent form had already been hole-punched and neatly added to it. Before I could read too much, I felt the squeeze of a blood pressure cuff around my arm. Dr. Hensley adjusted it with precision, gently placing my arm down to ensure an accurate reading before clipping an oxygen sensor onto my finger.

“You left the section of current prescriptions blank,” Dr. Hensley stated, his tone as calm and measured as ever. “Are you taking anything… vitamins or dietary supplements?”

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt. “I used to take vitamins regularly, but it’s been a few months. With this new work schedule, I’m hardly ever home, let alone remember to take them.”

“Ah, I see. And, no birth control?”

The blood pressure monitor beeped, breaking the momentary silence. He jotted down the numbers, removing the cuff from my arm and slipping the oxygen sensor off my finger.

“No, nothing,” I replied, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

He studied me with a hint of curiosity before asking, “Is that a personal choice, or due to medical or religious affiliation?”

I wasn’t about to admit that it had been nearly three years since I’d had sex and hadn’t seen a reason for birth control. Instead, I answered simply, “Personal.”

He didn’t press further, his expression neutral as he observed me. Reaching for my wrist, he placed two fingers against my vein, his eyes on his wristwatch as he silently calculated my heart rate. The simplicity of the action struck me—no machines, just an old-fashioned method that somehow felt more intimate.

“Are you feeling anxious?” he asked, releasing my wrist and sitting back slightly.

I shook my head. “Like I said, I feel fine.”

Dr. Hensley leaned forward, unbuttoning the top few snaps of the gown. He retrieved his stethoscope and placed the cold metal against my chest, making me flinch slightly.

“Sorry,” he murmured. When he finished listening to my heart, he looked up and explained, “Your heart rate is fast. Your body has acclimated to high stress, high anxiety, and now believes this is the new normal. It’s not a lifestyle we encourage, but our intention is to get you back to a healthier baseline by the end of your stay.”

He moved the stethoscope to my back, instructing me to take deep breaths. Afterward, he checked my ears, nose, throat, and pupil response. When he flashed the small penlight into my eyes, I instinctively turned my head away, the brightness making me wince.

He jotted a note in the margins of my file, his pen moving swiftly across the paper. I craned my neck, trying to see what he was writing, but was interrupted when he tapped my knees with a small rubber hammer, testing my reflexes.

“Reflexes are normal,” he said with a small nod. “I’d like to grab a quick height and weight if you feel steady enough.”

I nodded, and he held out a hand to help me off the table. My feet touched the cold floor, and I steadied myself, his hand never leaving mine as we walked across the room. His attentiveness felt protective rather than patronizing, a detail I couldn’t ignore.

He motioned for me to stand tall against the wall, my heels pressed against the baseboard. After noting my height, he gestured for me to step onto the scale. The number staring back at me was disheartening. I’d lost sixteen pounds, likely from skipping meals and overworking myself. My throat tightened with embarrassment, and I avoided looking at him as I stepped away.

Walking back to the table, I felt his presence close behind. My shame swirled in the air between us, but when I finally glanced at him, his expression was gentle, devoid of judgment.

“Go ahead and lie down,” he instructed. He guided my legs onto the table, swiveling me into position with the same care as before. His hands were firm but gentle as he palpated my stomach, pressing carefully across my abdomen.

“Let me know if any of this is tender or painful,” he said. His hands hovered over certain areas, and I winced when he pressed lower. He paused, writing another note in the margins before continuing.

“Tell me about your diet habits,” he prompted.

I sighed, feeling exposed in more ways than one. “I’ve not been the greatest,” I admitted. “I don’t always remember to eat, and when I do, healthier options take more time than I can afford.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that,” he said, his tone compassionate. “There’s no judgment here. I only wish you’d come sooner. You have a few blockages in your intestines that will be uncomfortable to remove, to say the least.”

My frown deepened as he continued. “As I mentioned earlier, you will eat a minimum of four nutritional meals a day. Processed sugars, simple carbs, and caffeine will be eliminated from your diet. We take a fast and hard approach—ripping off the Band-Aid, so to speak.”

“No caffeine? That’s barbaric,” I muttered, a shiver of dread running through me. “I can’t just cut cold turkey. I can’t function without my morning coffee.”

“You can,” he countered, his voice firm yet reassuring. “I promise you, but you won’t be alone. I’ll be here to help every step of the way. It will be difficult, but your body will thank you later. Caffeine is a drug—legal and normalized, but a drug nonetheless. It exacerbates anxiety and panic attacks, which I hope you understand.”

I slumped against the table, pouting slightly as his words sank in. Seven days. I could survive that long, right? But doubt crept in, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I’d signed away my ability to make decisions. My cell phone was gone, the one lifeline I’d relied on for months stripped from me. For the first time, I felt trapped.

A knock at the door interrupted my spiraling thoughts. A nurse entered carrying a small metal tray, the top covered with a cloth. She set it down on a stand near the table as Dr. Hensley pulled stirrups out from beneath the table and positioned them at my feet.

“Thank you, Mary,” he said warmly, his smile genuine. A pang of longing flickered through me. I wanted him to smile at me like that, but all I’d received so far were fleeting grins and professional detachment.

“Anything else, doctor?” Mary asked, her tone brisk.

Dr. Hensley lifted the cloth, inspecting the tray’s contents. “No, this will do. If you could see to Miss Watson’s room, I’d appreciate it. We won’t be much longer here.”

The nurse nodded and exited, and my eyes followed her until the door clicked shut. The sound of latex snapping against Dr. Hensley’s wrist drew my attention back to him. He had donned gloves, his expression focused as he prepared for the next part of the exam.

“Slide down for me a little,” he instructed. I complied, feeling the edge of the table against my thighs. “That’s perfect.”

He placed my legs in the stirrups and fastened straps around my ankles and thighs. “This is just a precaution,” he said, his tone soothing as he draped the blanket over me, creating a tent-like barrier.

The scent of disinfectant filled the air as he wiped a cool solution over my sensitive skin. I flinched at the temperature, instinctively trying to pull away, but the straps held me in place. “I’m just going to let that dry for a moment,” he explained, removing his gloves.

“When is the last time you had a breast exam?” he asked, his eyes steady on mine.

I shook my head, unable to recall. Watching me closely, he moved closer. “May I?” he asked, his hand hovering near the gown.

I nodded, appreciating the gesture despite knowing he didn’t technically need my consent. His hand slipped under the gown, his touch methodical as he examined my left breast. His movements were professional, but as his thumb grazed my nipple, my breath hitched. Our eyes met, and a flicker of awareness passed between us.

“Are you always this sensitive?” he asked softly.

His touch lingered around my areola, grazing the edge of my nipple on purpose. I closed my eyes while he continued to search for lumps when all of a sudden, he pinched my nipple hard, and my eyes shot open.

“I asked you a question,” he toyed, “are you normally so sensitive?”

I stumbled to find the right words. “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I haven’t been touched in a long time.”

“I see.” He noted that on my chart and continued to repeat the pattern with my right breast—massaging, lifting, and then tugging on my nipple. My hips raised a little off the table. Something deep within me had awaken and out of nowhere, I was craving to be satisfied on a deeper level.

Opening my eyes when his touch disappeared, I watched him return to my spread legs, his eyes on me when he grabbed a stool. “I know these things can be uncomfortable, but I’ll try to be as gentle as I can.” He pulled on a new pair of gloves and sat between my legs, rolling the cart closer to him. I heard the clank of something metal but couldn’t see anything.

“Take a deep breath in and let it go.”

Out of nowhere I felt something cold and foreign entering my tight bum on the exhale but by the time I clenched, it was too late. It was already inside me.

“Just relax, I’m just getting your temperature.”

I tried to sit up on my elbows. “You couldn’t have used that thermometer?” I pointed to the one next to the blood pressure machine.

He smiled. “I find this method to be more accurate, and it does wonders to keep my patients guessing—reminds them of who is in charge.” A cheeky grin formed on his lips, and I realized, that behind the stoic professionalism was a sadist.

“I don’t need a reminder.” I confessed. “You’re not the one with their legs spread wide.”

He smiled, “Miss Emery, I’ve known you all of two hours now and I can tell you with all honesty, your biggest issue is going to be letting go of your control. You’re going to have to learn to let someone else take care of you, because quite frankly, you don’t seem capable.” He removed the thermometer and jotted down the temperature. “One-hundred and two. I suspected as much.”

Now I was annoyed. “I didn’t come here to be chastised.”

“No, you came here to let me help you feel better.” His voice was stern. “Alright, the next step is a urine sample.”

Again, I tried to pull on the restraints, but forgot that I couldn’t move my legs.

“Not so fast, he rested a hand on my thigh. “You won’t need to move. I’m going to use a catheter to avoid contaminating the sample. Just lay back and try to focus on your breathing.”

My cheeks turned bright red. “Is that really necessary?”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Yes, Miss Watson, it is. I’ll be quick, I promise, and with the amount of fluids you’ve had already, I know you have to go.”

I did. Badly, but I hadn’t found the right moment to ask to go to the restroom. I was pulled out of my thoughts when his fingers spread my labia and something cold swiped across the distance from my clit to my rose bud. And then again with another swipe. It wasn’t stingy like the alcohol swabs, but it has the same antiseptic smell. I winkled my nose.

“Just try to relax and don’t hold it in. When the urge hits, just let go. I promise you’re not going to make a mess.”

I tried to but there was a burning sensation and then a pinch. My hips rose off the table, stopped by the straps.

“You’re almost there, nearly done now.” He encouraged.

There was another sharp pinch. “Ow.” And then I lost control as if I was wetting myself but I couldn’t stop it.

“It’s a perfectly normal sensation,” Dr. Hensley said, “I’m inflating the balloon now to keep it in place, but you did good.” A few seconds went by. “Even with the fluids, your urine is still darker than I’d like. We’ll start another bag to help rehydrate you after I’m finished with your exam.”

I felt his gloved finger enter my sex and then another as he checked the wall of my vagina in a circular motion, spreading the cold lube.

Just then I felt something cold and hard at the entrance of my sex. “Deep breath and breathe out.” He was slow and gentle like he said he would be and other than the cold metal, there was no discomfort.

The speculum clicked once and then again, spreading me open. “You’re doing great, nearly finished here.” I wanted nothing more than to sink into the emptiness of my mind at the moment. I felt the familiar pinch of the swab on my cervix but it was nothing to the burning sensation of the catheter. A second later, the speculum retracked and he gently removed it.

Breathing normally, I relaxed until I felt a gloved finger enter my bum uninvited.

“Relax. I’m only checking to make sure there are no tears in the tissue. And besides, I think you’ve deserved a treat.” With one finger in my ass, he slipped two more into my vagina, instantly finding my g-spot.

Everything came alive, a whirlwind of sensations burst through to the forefront of my mind as his touch created a circular pattern and sparking a rhythm of intoxicating motions from within. I forgot every embarrassing moment leading up to this, poof—gone.

Closing my eyes, I focused on only the sensation. It was building. And then, his thumb rolled over my clitoris, and I practically melted. My hips raised off the table, and the muscles in my stomach clenched.

His slow, steady repetitious motions were throttling every nerve ending in my body—the fuel to the fire—igniting a flame from within. A moan escaped my lips as he pressed against my g-spot and clit at the same time, and I came loudly.

My body rocked with the flood of endorphins and chemicals. My breathing was labored and instead of the chill I had earlier, my entire body was washed over in a wave of warmth.

When my hips returned to the table, and my body relaxed, he gently pulled his hands free, removed the catheter, and cleaned me with a warm washcloth. In any other moment I probably would have been embarrassed he was cleaning me up after such a powerful orgasm, but I didn’t have an ounce of care in the world.

With a soft touch, he unfastened the buckles on the leather straps and lowered my legs back to the table. I was so high from the orgasm that I hadn’t even noticed he was beside me until I felt him touching my arm. With my curiosity piqued, I watched as he withdrew four vials of blood A second later, he was reattaching another bag of fluids to the port in my arm.

I felt a flood of warmth, not unlike the aftermath of the orgasm, but this time my body felt heavy. I looked over as he pulled a small syringe out of the IV.

“It’s a mild sedative; a little something to help quiet your mind. Get some rest, little one.”

Like, follow, and comment for more or if you're impatient like me, read the entire novel on Kindle Unlimited for free now. This is book 1 of 3 focusing on medical fetish/ abdl elements.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DQR29GBF

#ab/dl diaper #ab/dl #diaper regression #medication #diaper domination #age regression #embarrassing #humiliation kink #age regression caregiver #fictional caregiver #fiction #novel #novel writing

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lemontasiafanfiction · 5 months ago

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Chapter Ten

Bruised

The night was colder than usual, the sharp bite of winter cutting through Peter’s patched-up suit as he swung low over Queens. His ribs ached from where a car thief had gotten a lucky hit with a crowbar earlier, and the sting of the gash on his forearm—courtesy of an overturned dumpster—itched with every swing. He’d promised himself he was done for the night. He needed sleep, maybe a quick snack to replace the energy he’d burned through, and a chance to go over the chemistry homework he hadn’t even touched yet.

But then, as always, something happened.

He’d been heading home, planning to sneak through his window without waking May, when the faint sound of a struggle caught his attention. It was muffled but distinct—quick shouts, the scrape of feet on pavement, the unmistakable metallic clatter of a trash can being overturned. His body moved before his mind had a chance to argue, his arm snapping out to shoot a webline that redirected his trajectory.

The alley below was shrouded in shadows, the dim light from a flickering streetlamp barely reaching the corners. A man in a hoodie was pinned against the wall by two others—big, broad, and clearly not the average mugger. They moved with precision, their grips on the man’s arms too deliberate, their movements too efficient. Something about the way they carried themselves set Peter’s nerves on edge.

He perched on the fire escape above, scanning the scene as his spider-sense prickled faintly. The man in the hoodie was panicked, struggling to break free, his voice hoarse as he begged them to let him go. But the two assailants ignored him, their faces shadowed by the brims of their hats. One of them pulled a syringe from his pocket, its gleaming needle catching the faint light, and Peter’s stomach turned.

No time to think. No time to plan.

Peter dropped down, landing with a sharp thud that echoed off the brick walls. The two men froze, their heads snapping toward him, and the guy in the hoodie sagged against the wall, his wide eyes darting between Peter and his attackers.

“Alright, fellas,” Peter said, his voice deep and gravelly as he tried to channel the confidence he didn’t feel. “Why don’t we call it a night? Let him go, and I won’t stick you to this alley like flypaper.”

The men didn’t respond. Instead, the one holding the syringe stepped forward, his movements eerily calm. Peter’s spider-sense flared to life, sharp and insistent, and he barely had time to dodge as the guy lunged at him. The syringe passed inches from his side, the needle glinting as it sliced through the air.

“Okay, not cool,” Peter muttered, twisting mid-dodge to fire a webline at the syringe. The webbing hit its mark, yanking the needle out of the man’s hand and sticking it to the wall behind him.

The guy didn’t flinch. He just looked at Peter with cold, calculating eyes, his jaw tightening as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a baton. Peter’s stomach sank as the other man followed suit, drawing a similar weapon from his belt. These weren’t ordinary thugs. Bugged Out - Chapter 10 - Lemontasia - Spider-Man - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

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zimshan · 7 months ago

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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas has always been my favorite secular Christmas song. One of the first CD mixes I ever made (as opposed to tape mixes recorded from the radio) was a mix centered on several different interpretations. Napster et al allowed me to search my favorite Christmas song and listen to several variations from several decades. I took a liking to older versions, preferring the classic 40s big band sound. But the original was and still is the star for me.

As a kid, I found it interesting the song was from a WW2 era film. But it took another decade before I saw the film and the context it was sung in. So the idea of acknowledging a gloomy Christmas with the hope of a better one next year? Well, I attributed to the time of its creation and release. Emblematic of Americans at home and abroad Christmas 1944, a full 4 years into the war.

It held a bold promise:

Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

That in fact ended up being true for many families the next year, as the war ended in 1945.

The focal point was the bridge:

Someday soon we all will be together if the fates allow until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow

It appealed to me so much more than the normal bright and cheery Christmas. It felt more real to me somehow. More grounded. It’s hope filled but the hope emanates from known struggle. I assumed that resonated with audiences at a time when families were continents apart fighting a world war.

In the 50s, Frank Sinatra thought this was too gloomy and had the second line changed to fit the 50s plastic cheer:

Hang a shining star among the highest bough

It’s a symbol of everything the 50s did to 40s music and film for me. Makes no sense? Who cares! Just smile, doll. Yuck.

When Ella Fitzgerald sang the song even into the 60s she sang it the original way. Of course she did.

When I finally saw the film Meet Me in St. Louis years later, I remember feeling rather disappointed. The context of the film did not fit the song for me really. A few rich girls crying about moving away from home because their father got a job in the city. Certainly not the WW2 levels of problems.

I’ve come around to the film after seeing it several times. It’s mostly a marker of escapism of turn of the century slice of life in technicolor during WW2. It almost feels outrageous for the time. And yet the Christmas sequence is one that brings the narrative back to earth, like the context of the time punching through and leaving its mark on the film. Margaret O’Brien’s tears as a symbol of grief and loss in childhood and carry the film as much as Judy Garland’s voice. Would I have tried rewatching it so much if not for the song? Probably not.

Tonight TCM aired an old Word of Mouth segment with one of the song’s composers, Hugh Martin. He tells the story of the song’s conception. I found a copy on youtube:

youtube

Long story short, turns out his original idea was even gloomier! It started as just a fragment and he credits several people along the way for why he returned to it. But Judy Garland plays a big role here. When he played it for her, she said she loved the melody but the lyrics were just too mean to sing to a younger sister (played by Margaret O’Brien), the context of the moment the song is sung in the film. He brushes it off with a “sorry Judy maybe next time” until a colleague corners him into taking her criticism seriously. (Yes, a man had to tell him to listen to a woman, even when that woman was Judy Garland.)

He adjusts the song and the resulting balance is not just the focal song of the film but one of the biggest Christmas songs of all time.

I love this story because it shows the affect of others around a songwriter that help shape the final song. We are so quick to attribute roles in film and music to the credits. This person was the songwriter, this person was the singer, this person did the score. Yet creative collaboration means they all have an effect on each other. No one is working in a vacuum.

In this case, the songwriter’s original idea probably would have gone nowhere. But by having several people around him that saw the value in part of it, he continued to work on it. Judy’s feedback alone was not enough. But with a colleague backing her up, he was able to adjust the gloom to a level that happened to be the right balance to meet the moment not just in the film but of the time audiences were listening to it. Today most people recognize the song on its own. Most don’t know the film it originated from. It took on a life of its own. But it’s the result of that creative collaboration the film provided.

#meet me in st louis #have yourself a merry little christmas #judy garland #old hollywood #1940s film #tcm #the world of film and music and publishing does tell you #the one lone genius is often often a lie #Youtube #hugh martin #holiday #music #my txt

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helix-enterprises117 · 1 year ago

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Halo Reloaded: Испуганный

In the low hum of the barracks' common room, Vaz Beloi was nursing a glass of vodka that had seen more refills than he cared to count. The room, lit by the flickering lights that struggled against the ever-present gloom of military life, provided a backdrop more fitting for confessions than celebrations. Across from him, a fellow ODST, Jenkins, was pretending to be more interested in his drink than the conversation, a tactful witness to Vaz's unraveling.

"You know," Vaz started, his Russian accent thickening with each sip of the alcohol, "I love her. God knows, I do. But man, there's this part of me that's just... pissing its pants, you know?" He chuckled, but it was hollow, the sound of a man trying to make light of his own dread.

Jenkins, a burly man with a scar running down the side of his face like a misplaced seam, raised an eyebrow. "Naomi, right? Your Spartan?" he ventured, already knowing the answer.

"Da, Naomi. She's not just any Spartan. She's a damn one-woman army," Vaz sighed, swirling the vodka in his glass as if it held the answers. "I've seen her in action, man. It's like watching death dance. And at night, when she's lying next to me, all I can think about is how those hands, the very ones I hold, have snuffed out so many lives."

Jenkins nodded, silent. What was there to say? Everyone knew the legends of the Spartans, but hearing it from someone who shared a bed with one was different, more real.

"It's like being in love with a hurricane, you know? She's beautiful, powerful, but damn if there isn't a part of you that's terrified of being swept away," Vaz continued, the words spilling out with an honesty born of desperation.

Unbeknownst to both men, Naomi had entered the common area, intending to surprise Vaz. But instead of a warm greeting, she was met with his fears laid bare. She paused in the doorway, a silent specter, as Vaz's words struck her like physical blows. The tears came then, unbidden, a testament to the raw pain that sliced through her heart.

Back at the table, Vaz was oblivious to the storm he had unwittingly unleashed. It wasn't until he turned, seeking another bottle, that he caught a glimpse of Naomi's retreating form. Panic, sharp and sudden, cut through the haze of alcohol. "Naomi!" he called, but she was already gone, her departure as silent as her arrival.

He found her later, in the small, Spartan (in more ways than one) room they shared. Naomi was sitting on the edge of their bed, her posture defeated, her body racked with sobs. The sight of such vulnerability in someone so powerful struck Vaz to his core.

"Naomi, I... Shit, I didn't mean for you to hear that," he stammered, the words clumsy in his mouth.

"You're right, though," she managed between sobs, her voice raw. "I am a monster."

"Hey, no. Look at me, Nomi," Vaz urged, sitting beside her and tilting her chin up so their eyes met. "I was being an ass, okay? Drunk and stupid. You're not just some... some war machine to me. You're this incredible, terrifying force, sure. But you're also the woman who laughs at my shitty jokes, who gets teary-eyed over old movies. I screwed up, malishka. I'm sorry."

Naomi's gaze held his, searching, vulnerable. "Do you really mean that?" she asked, her voice a whisper of hope and hurt.

"Yeah, I do. God, Naomi, I'm scared because I love you so damn much. Not because of what you can do to others, but because of what losing you would do to me," Vaz confessed, his heart laid bare in the dim light of their room.

They embraced then, a tangle of arms and whispered promises, as the fears and doubts receded into the background. It was a moment of raw honesty, of two people grappling with the complexities of love in a world that was anything but simple. For Vaz and Naomi, it wasn't just about weathering the storm; it was about finding the courage to dance in the rain.

@makowrites, @ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask, @empresskadia.

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #halo headcanon #halo au #halo reloaded #ultimate universe #Ultimate halo #vaz x naomi #vasily beloi #vaz/naomi 010 #naomi 010

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beenbaanbuun · 3 years ago

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Match Made in Heaven - Kim Taehyung

Word Count: 3.5k

Genre: fluff

Warnings: chubby!reader, internalised fatphobia, regular old fatphobia, Taehyung is a flirt, Taehyung is a thirsty mf, cursing (if i’ve missed anything, lmk)

‘Opposites attract’ was a lie, it had to be. Since moving from America to Korea, you’d been on blind date after blind date and nothing. Not even the slightest spark.

You moved to Korea because it was so much different from the small town in Oregon that you’d spent your whole life bumbling around. Everything in the small country seemed like heaven compared to the overly-patriotic hell you’d grown up in. You seemed to have brought a little slice of America with you, though, always being too ‘Western’ for most of the men you’d been on dates with.

You know what ‘too western’ meant almost immediately after the first guy dumped you. Looking around you all you saw were intelligent women with perfect hair, perfect faces and perfect bodies. Now, you may have been blessed with intelligence, but your hair was always messy, your nose was a little wonky from when you’d broken it as a child, and you were nowhere near the weight that the beauty standard required you to be.

‘Fat’ one of the men had even gone as far to call you once you’d ordered your meal at the restaurant you were both eating at. You were a little confused about why he stayed for the rest of the meal when he clearly wasn’t attracted to you, but at least he paid for it. Safe to say you never spoke to him again, not that you did with any of the other dates.

You had to admit, you were a little confused when your roommate had decided that she wanted to send you on yet another blind date, clearly ignoring the little outburst you had after the last one went wrong. Either that or she just didn't understand the words ‘never again’. You knew your accent was a little hard to understand sometimes, but you didn’t doubt for a second that she understood you.

“This one will go well, I promise,” She dragged you by the hand towards the cafe the date was supposed to be at. Despite your protests, she’d manage to get you dressed, made up and out of the door with plenty of time to spare. So much time, in fact, that you knew you’d be waiting for at least half an hour before the supposed ‘man of your dreams’ showed up. “Besides, Y/N, opposites attract.”

Those two words made your blood boil.

“You said that the last 20 times, Hajoon,” you struggled to keep up with the excited woman in front of you as she guided you through the streets towards wherever you were heading, “I think its time we gave up on the whole ‘opposites attract’ thing, don't you?” She shook her head, letting a giggle out.

“I think we just have to find the right opposite.”

The cafe was almost empty when you arrived… almost. In one of the booths at the back sat a man with black curly hair. You couldn't see his face, but by the way the barista was staring at him, you could tell he was pretty.

You couldn't take your eyes off of him either. You could only see him from the back, but everything about him entranced you. His broad shoulders were tensed up, his muscles visibly rippling under his striped shirt. In his left hand was a mug, the tendons in the back of his hand shifting as he fiddled with the handle. The sight of his slender fingers made your mouth water, so you decided to focus on something else instead. As much as you didn't want to go on this date, it felt rude to be preoccupied with another man.

“Shit, he’s early too!” Hajoon jumped in excitement. Your eyebrows furrowed, only being able to see the one man in the room. You wondered if he was your date, but just as quickly as that thought came to you, you threw it away. If he was your date, then you may as well call it a wasted evening already. There’s no way someone as pretty as him could want someone like you.

“Where?” You asked her, wanting to see your date before they saw you.

“In that booth over there,” Oh no. Please, God, no. Anyone but him, “The one in the stripy top.”

Fuck.

“No,” You shook your head, trying to pull your body away from hers. You were going to go home, take your stupid dress off and lie in bed with him on your mind and your hand between your legs. “There’s no way I’m going on a date with him.”

“Oh, grow up,” She rolled her eyes into the back of her skull, groaning out in frustration when you refused to go into the cafe. “What’s wrong with this one?”

You’d warned her before about beautiful men. They didn't respect you, any of them. Either they were unbelievably rude, telling you all about this marvellous diet that they’d researched that they thought would help you, or they wanted to fulfil some weird fantasy they had involving fat girls. Either way, you had neither the time nor the energy to deal with it. Pretty men were a no-go.

“Look at him,” You spoke a little too loudly, grabbing the attention of the man sitting at the table. You hadn’t realised it, but he was now staring at you, a little smile on his face as he watched you argue with Hajoon, his childhood friend. “He’s fucking gorgeous. You know what I’ve told you about pretty men.” That made his smile even wider. Someone as radiant as you thought he was pretty? It must be true then, he thought.

In all honesty, he’d only come on the date to satiate Hajoon’s constant questions about when he’d finally find a girlfriend. The answer was usually ‘when one comes along’ but she wouldn't take that as an answer. ‘What if one never comes along?’ was her usual reply, ‘I can get you a date if you want one’ usually following. Normally he said no, but it had reached a point where even that didn't work anymore and he was backed into a corner.

Obviously, he’d heard all about you, as well as some of the tales from your many blind dates. Hajoon was very proud of her influence on your dating life, finally being able to play matchmaker like she always wanted. Taehyung, on the other hand, felt a little sorry for you. The shit that you’d had to put up with over the past year was unbelievable and he honestly couldn't believe that people could be so rude to someone else, purely based on the fact that they maybe didn't fit the beauty standard. It didn't take long for Taehyung to decide that if he was going to go on a date with anyone, it would be you.

You had to have at least one good date, right?

“Okay, but I know this one personally,” Hajoon whined, practically begging you to give her friend a chance. You still weren't sure, though. She’d claimed to know most of the men personally, and yet it usually turned out that they were just some randomer that she’d met at a bar. “I trust him with you. Please.”

Her puppy dog eyes always worked with you, which is why you let out a sigh when she began to look up at you through her lashes, convincing you without words. You definitely made the wrong choice of roommate.

“On one condition,” You couldn't believe you were agreeing to this… “You never send me on another blind date.” You could see the conflict behind her eyes. On one hand, she really wanted you to go on this date. On the other hand, she absolutely loved to meddle…

“Fine,” She blurted out, trying to ignore the sound of her own heart shattering. “No more matchmaker.” You smiled at her gratefully, giving her one last hug before entering the warm cafe that your mystery man was in.

When you stepped foot into the warm building, you let out a sigh of relief. As pretty as the dress you were in was, it offered no warmth whatsoever. The puffy lilac tulle was nothing more than a way to distract people from looking at the person wearing it too hard. It was nothing more than a way to make you look prettier than you felt.

You felt your goosebumps melt away, but they came back with the first step you took toward the man at the table. Nerves bubbled up inside you, making you feel a little sick. He was everything you wanted, and you were undoubtedly everything he didn't want. As usual, you couldn't quite figure out what Hajoon was thinking when she chose this man, but for some reason, you had a lot of blind trust in the woman.

“Hi,” Your voice cracked as you called out to the man, breaking him out of the trance he seemed to be in. He glanced over to you, a slight blush rising to his cheeks as he caught your eyes. You watched as his pupils dilated, his eyes filling with glee. “You must be my date for the evening…”

“Hey,” He muttered out, tripping over himself as he stood to shake your hand. “You must be Y/N. I’m Taehyung. You’re…”

He stopped talking, letting his eyes scan over your body for a moment or two before he continued. Through the window, he hadn’t truly managed to take in how breathtaking you actually were, every curve and dimple of your body adding up to how angelic you looked, especially in that dress that was making him think less than holy thoughts about you. Despite how much he wanted to take a peek, he refused to let his eyes linger for too long. He’d heard about all the freaks that only wanted you for one reason, and he was not about to become one of them.

“You’re amazing.” A small grin rose to his face as the words left his mouth. Amazing didn't quite describe how he felt about you, but it was pretty darn close.

“Amazing?” You furrowed your eyes at him, never having been described as ‘amazing’ before.

“Yeah,” With your hand still in his, he lifted it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss against your skin. “You’re amazing. Beautiful too.”

You were a little taken aback, not knowing what to say or do in this situation. Amazing was one thing but beautiful? You were certain that he couldn’t truly mean that. Not when he looked like he’d been carved by the Gods. He looked like an old statue that you’d find in a museum. People would go just to fawn over him, wishing that men still looked like that.

“You’d be in the minority with that opinion.” You chucked out, trying to make light of the situation. It only made him shoot you a confused look. He knew you didn’t think much about yourself, but he never thought it’d be this bad.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” He smiled, finally taking a seat again. You hadn’t realised the two of you were still standing, too busy staring at him. Embarrassed, you followed in his footsteps, letting yourself fall onto the seat. “I don't know how anyone could look at you and see anything less than an angel.”

“Hopefully not a bible accurate angel,” At that he let out a loud laugh, his nose scrunching up as he tilted his head back. “Those guys are kind of scary.”

“I don’t know,” He managed to get out between laughs, still smiling brightly at you. “I think they're kind of hot.”

Not it was your turn to laugh at his joke. It was only a few minutes into the date, but you could already tell that Hajoon had done good this time. If this was to be your last blind date (which you really hoped it would be) at least you were having fun.

Once the laughter died down, he spoke again.

“I think you’re hotter than any angel though.” What?

You were a little taken aback by his sudden confession, just like you were with everything else he’d said about you. Amazing, beautiful, angelic, hot? None of those words should’ve come out of his mouth to describe you, and yet there he was, right in front of you, saying those words. There was no humour in his eyes, no laugh on the tip of his tongue. Everything he said was genuine, and you couldn't quite believe it.

“Why do you say that?” Now it was his turn to be confused. How could you not see it? How could you not look at yourself in a mirror and realise how perfect you were. Everything from your head down to your toes was perfect and Taehyung decided right then and there that on that night, he’d make you realise your true worth.

“Because I have eyes and a brain,” He took a sip out of his coffee cup, letting his eyes peer over the top of it so he could watch your reaction. You had a solemn look on your face, your eyes cast down, your bottom lip tucked in between your teeth. “Anyone who says otherwise clearly doesn’t.”

“By your logic, I’m blind and dumb.”

“And I’m going to make sure that by the end of the night you have 20:20 vision and a brain that competes with Einstein’s,” He shot a wink at you, making you blush. He really did think you were pretty. “Come on, let's get this date underway.”

Taehyung held out his hand, standing once more from the table. You weren't sure what was going on, but for some reason you trusted him. There was just something about him that made you want to know more. You wanted to be with him, to spend time with him. He was special.

Just for one night, you decided to switch off your brain and let Taehyung take control of it. You’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to feel beautiful. Maybe he could be the one to help you do that. You grinned, placing your hand into his. It was like looking into a mirror, your date’s face lighting up once you gave him your wordless permission to take you elsewhere.

The walk to where ever it was you were going was certainly cold. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t hide your shivers, your body shaking every so often. Being the gentleman that he was, Taehyung offered you his jacket, to which you declined his offer, letting him know that you were fine. He gave you an unconvinced glare but didn't say anything else about it.

The shivering didn’t stop though, and Taehyung only grew more and more concerned. Your dress was thin, not to mention short. As much as he loved the dress, he couldn't help but internally scold you for not wearing more.

“Wear my jacket,” He stopped dead in the street, shrugging his coat off and holding it out to you. You shook your head, denying his request again, only to get a low growl in return. “Put the jacket on, or I’ll put it on for you.” That was hot, and also tempting. There was a part of you that wanted him to ‘put it on for you’, but maybe that would've been too forward of you to ask him to do that.

“You know,” You grabbed the jacket from him, shaking off the tingling that had erupted all over your body, “I was okay without the jacket.” He sighed.

“You’re stubborn,” So was he, you almost shot back, but you stopped yourself. Your abrasiveness was also something that others considered to be ’too American’ about you. You refused to let that be your downfall this time, not when you were actually enjoying your night. “It's cute though.” The smirk on his face was a little annoying.

“Are you always so flirty?”

“Only with women I’m attracted to,” You choked on your own spit making him chuckle to himself. “You okay, angel?”

“Shut up,” You took a moment to catch your breath, breathing heavily over and over until finally, you were getting enough air into your lungs. “You look the sort to find a lot of women attractive.” He shrugged before setting off walking again.

“Not really,” He turned to watch you as you jogged a few paces to catch up with him. You looked so sweet standing there, cheeks red as the cold air whipped across your face. The moonlight hit your face perfectly, highlighting the cupid’s bow on your cushioned lips. If he’d known you for a little more than half an hour, he’d probably kiss you. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you off, so he decided against it. “None as much as you.”

He looked just as perfect as you did. There was a permanent grin on his face as he walked, showing you just how much he was enjoying the date. His floppy hair sat over his eyes, curls shifting gently as the wind blew his hair softly. His gorgeous honey skin seemed to twinkle in the gentle glow of twilight. The night sky, as beautiful as it was, had nothing on the man next to you. You felt like you must've done something pretty special in your past life for this man to think so highly of you.

“Why are you staring at me?” Shit, he noticed.

“I’m not.”

“Don’t lie, pretty,” The nickname made your chest flutter with glee. “I know what it feels like to be stared at.”

“You’re pretty,” You’re voice was barely above a whisper as the words spilt from your mouth. You hadn’t meant to say it, but you couldn’t stop yourself, the words coming out before you’d even fully realised you were speaking. “I mean… shit.” Cute.

“I guess I am aren’t I,” He jokingly bragged, “It helps with my job if I’m pretty.”

His job? You hadn’t even noticed that you hadn’t learned any basic information about each other. You didn't know his age, his job, his favourite colour. The two of you had been too busy enjoying each other’s company.

“Where do you work?”

“I’m an idol,” He said it so nonchalantly, but the confession stunned you into silence. An idol? You were on a date with an idol, and said idol thought you were pretty. The idol was giving you the best date of your life. “You’ve gone awfully quiet.” Of course you had, how could you not?

“How come you didn't tell me you were an idol?”

“I didn't think it was important,” He hummed, “Besides, I was too focussed on you.” His excuse was cheesy, but you thought it was cute.

“On me?” You wanted him to compliment you again. You craved it.

“You’re pretty too, you know,” There it was. Your whole body lit up when he said it. “And I’m really enjoying spending time with you.”

You had to agree with him. Spending time with Taehyung felt freeing like you didn’t have any burdens weighing you down. Not to mention the fact that he made you feel wanted. He made you feel attractive, just like he promised he would. At that moment, nothing could knock you down; you were the prettiest person alive.

“I’m enjoying being with you too.” He chuckled at your response. Not a cruel, mocking chuckle, but a soft one. One that let him know that he thought you were sweet.

He couldn't take it anymore, though. The desire to kiss you, to hold you, to be close to you; they were all too strong. Over the course of an extremely short date, he’d fallen well and truly head over heels for you. You were beautiful, funny, intelligent, and most of all, you liked him for him.

He glanced over to you, looking so infuriatingly hot stood there in your little dress, his coat handing loosely from your shoulders. It covered your dress, your soft thighs peeking out from underneath it. As much as he’d tried to restrain himself, he didn't think he could anymore. He needed you to be his in every way possible.

“You’re American, right?” He asked, taking the both of you off-topic. You nodded, a little confused as to why he was asking. That's when a smirk rose to his face. It was a different type of smirk, a dark one. It was charged with something that you couldn't quite place your finger on.

“How about we lean into your culture,” He grabbed your hand, pulling your body tightly into his. His voice was lower than before, rumbling through his chest as he spoke. You shivered once more, this time it was him that caused it, shooting threads of lust through your body. “And take this back to my place?” Silently, you agreed, nodding your head in desperation. You wanted nothing more than to be with him at that moment.

It turns out that Hajoon wasn't such a bad matchmaker after all.

#bts #bangtan #bts oneshots #bts oneshot #bts scenarios #bts requests #bts fluff #kim taehyung #taehyung #v #taehyung fluff

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abdlgirl25 · 5 months ago

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