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katerina-marie · 7 months 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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mookymilksims · 4 months ago

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ULTIMATE REALISTIC Sims 3 Roleplay Guide | Transform Your Slice of Life Gameplay! | Part 1

youtube

What is up my little MooMoo's, welcome back to my channel! If you are new, thanks for dropping by.

So I promised you all a slice-of-life roleplay guide, and here it is! This might be the single most important guide for my ultra-realism roleplaying series in The Sims 3. Traditional roleplaying in this game is a bit tricky, so you’ve got to get creative. With mods, you can maximize your roleplaying efforts with little to no labor.

And whenever you look up how to roleplay in the sims 3, you'll find yourself quickly being redirected to challenges, except when you come across my input.

I have so much planned to show and teach you all in this guide. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, but I promise to make it simple and effortless. This guide is easy enough for beginners who’ve never roleplayed before, yet packed with fresh ideas and twists for veteran roleplayers.

I want you to think of roleplaying as a Sims 3 challenge, but not as strict or difficult. Everything I show you in this video are just suggestions, meant to inspire you and ignite your creativity. I want to excite you into playing this game differently and unlock the true potential of The Sims 3.

Unfortunately because there is so much ground to cover I am going to have to break this guide up into several parts.

There are in total 10 sections of this guide I want to be able to teach you, in today's guide we are going to be focusing on section 1: Basic Roleplaying: and things you need to understand about the game.

So, let's break down exactly what we're going to cover today:

Basic Roleplaying - Things you need to understand about the game.

Curating Your Sim's World - Setting the stage before you play them.

Personality Templates - Creating Sims you care about.

Style and Taste Bud Palettes - Refining your character's personality.

Hobbies and Routines - Enhancing your Sim's day-to-day lifestyle.

Vacations and Traveling - Adding excitement and variety.

Socializing Roleplay - Making your Sims’ interactions meaningful.

Mods for Day-to-Day Gameplay - Essential mods for realism.

Challenges and How to Transform Them - Keeping things interesting.

Storylines and Easy Ways to Put Them Together - Creating compelling narratives.

I care about your time, so we’re going to steamroll through all of these sections and videos together! Let’s dive right in and get started!

Basic Roleplaying

Remember when I said earlier that you need to have the right perspective to roleplay in this game? Most of you have been roleplaying to some extent even if you think you haven't.

Challenges are basically stricter roleplaying incentives. They give you a set of rules to follow in-game, where doing the opposite wouldn't make sense.

And this is the crux of roleplaying, essentially. It's about understanding the person you are playing as and what they would realistically do. It’s not just about completing goals, but about making choices that reflect your Sim’s personality, desires, and circumstances.

So, what exactly is roleplaying? At its core, roleplaying is acting out the life of a character you create. You’re not just controlling them like a puppet; you’re thinking and making decisions as if you are that character. It’s about stepping into their shoes and seeing the world through their eyes.

For example, if your Sim is an artist, you might decide that they spend their mornings painting in the park, meeting other creative Sims, and visiting art galleries for inspiration. On the other hand, if your Sim is a fitness enthusiast, they might start their day with a jog, followed by a healthy meal, and then head to the gym.

Roleplaying is about adding layers to your Sim's story. It's not just about what they do, but why they do it. Every decision should reflect their personality and circumstances. If your Sim is shy, they might struggle with social interactions, but if they’re outgoing, they’ll thrive at parties and gatherings.

This perspective transforms the game from a series of tasks into a rich, immersive experience. You're not just playing The Sims; you're living a story. And the best part? It’s your story, crafted by your imagination and choices.

What actions do you find yourself doing more than anything else in the game? What action is it that you focus on the most?

Skills. Jobs. School. And motive maintenance. These are the actions you find yourself doing the most in your gameplay instead of creating memories and developing your story.

What if I told you that skills, jobs, high school, and elementary school are actually not as important in the game as you think? There is nothing in the game that requires you to master a skill. So why are you maxing out their skills?

You don't always have to become the leader of the free world, especially if it's not even a lifetime wish for your Sim. The only thing you need to pass school is to not have a consistent F. Your children and teens were going to graduate regardless.

There are hundreds of mods dedicated to rebalancing The Sims 3 motive decay that would allow you more time in your day playing as your Sim instead of just feeding them.

When you change the way you think The Sims 3 was meant to be played, you begin to see just how much fun you could really be having in this game. I'm only saying this as the kid who stressed out about getting a B in-game, not getting that promotion by the end of the day, and freaking out every time my Sim's hunger bar got halfway full.

We should be having fun, relaxed, and enjoying our Sims' actual lives. Once you remove this stress from the equation, you're left with a bunch of freed-up open time in your Sims' day. And now, you have to fill it with creative roleplaying scenarios.

But don't worry, I've already got you covered on that in sections 5-10.

LifeSpans

If you already watched my lifespan and relativity guide, then you already saw me extensively go over this entire system. I realized very quickly how important a Sim's lifespan was to my roleplay. If the lifespan is too short, I don't have enough time in-game to care about my Sims, develop their stories, and complete pivotal moments in their character development. I used to turn their aging off, but in doing so, I missed out on the natural progressions of not just my active household but also everyone else.

A well-balanced lifespan is crucial for meaningful roleplay because it allows you to:

Build Deep Connections: With a longer lifespan, you have the time to truly get to know your Sims, form deep bonds, and invest in their personal stories. You'll witness them grow, change, and evolve over time, making their journeys feel more significant.

Develop Complex Storylines: Longer lifespans give you the freedom to create intricate story arcs. You can explore your Sims' lives in great detail, from their childhood dreams to their golden years, ensuring that no pivotal moment is rushed.

Experience Generational Play: Watching multiple generations of Sims grow up, interact, and leave their marks on the family legacy is one of the most rewarding aspects of the game. It brings a sense of continuity and history to your Sims' world.

Allow for Realistic Progression: A longer lifespan lets your Sims achieve their goals at a more natural pace. So that if the roleplay allows it, they can climb the career ladder, master skills, and pursue hobbies without the pressure of an imminent aging up.

Thank goodness I learned how to curate a mods list and create my own mods that addressed all of these issues. And thank goodness I shared it with all of you, so you don't have to do anything but install them and jump into the game.

Remember, a well-thought-out lifespan not only enhances your roleplaying experience but also enriches the entire game world, making every Sim's life story more impactful and memorable.

Questionnaires

Questionnaires are a great way to delve into the mind of your character, understand them inside and out, and effectively roleplay them in-game.

Think of this section as breathing life into your Sims' lungs. I personally find this portion to be fun while also gaining incredible insight into how my Sims think, act, and feel in-game.

This practice gives me so much confidence when roleplaying them. Without it, I find myself improvising without as much confidence, making certain interactions more awkward for me. I have to rewrite the interaction in my head, out of the game, to rectify it, when I could've just used this practice and character breakdown beforehand.

Why Use Questionnaires?

Character Depth: Questionnaires help you create multifaceted characters with rich backstories, motivations, and unique personalities. This depth makes your Sims feel more real and relatable.

Consistency in Roleplay: By understanding your Sims' traits, goals, and quirks, you can ensure consistent behavior and decision-making throughout their lives. This consistency enhances the realism and immersion of your gameplay.

Enhanced Storytelling: Detailed character profiles allow you to craft more compelling and believable stories. You'll have a clear sense of your Sims' desires and conflicts, making their journeys more engaging.

Improved Interaction: With a solid understanding of your Sims, you'll navigate social interactions more naturally. Knowing their preferences and relationships helps you respond authentically in various scenarios.

Reduced Improvisation Stress: Having a well-thought-out character profile minimizes the need for on-the-spot improvisation. You'll feel more prepared and confident, leading to smoother and more enjoyable gameplay.

How to Use the Questionnaires

Now, you don't always have to answer every question. You should aim to answer just enough questions in just enough categories to confidently roleplay your character in improv gameplay scenarios. Use the link below to the character question generator and begin breaking down your character. This practice not only enhances your roleplaying experience but also brings your Sims to life in ways you never imagined.

Remember, only answer enough questions where you get to know your sim inside and out. To enhance this further, consider their fashion style, and mini backstories behind their favorite food and color. Write this down somewhere where you keep a back up of your save file, so you can always reference it in the future if you get stuck on what they would do in a roleplay scenarios.

Link to Character Question Generator!

Conclusion

So here is where I feel is a good time to end the video, since I've given all of you a lot to think about. Let's quickly recap what we've covered so far:

Basic Roleplaying: We explored how to shift your perspective on gameplay, understanding that roleplaying involves making choices that align with your Sims' personalities and realistic behaviors.

LifeSpans: We discussed the importance of adjusting your Sims' lifespans to allow for more meaningful story development and character progression. I shared my mods and settings to make this process seamless.

Questionnaires: We delved into the practice of using questionnaires to breathe life into your Sims. This helps you understand your characters deeply, ensuring consistent and engaging roleplay.

Make sure to subscribe and hit that notification bell to become a part of the Milky Way Squad on your way out, so that you can be notified and come back for Part 2!

Thank you for watching and see you in the next video!

#sims3 #ts3 #the sims 3 #sims 3 roleplay ideas #sims 3 roleplay #sims 3 roleplay guide #sims 3 guide #sims 3 tutorials #tutorial #tutorials #resources #Youtube

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daryltwdixon · 3 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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drarrily-we-row-along · 11 months ago

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Hey friends. I always promised that I would write a disclaimer if I ever wrote something sad. So here is that disclaimer: this is sad. Harry is also experiencing some internalized “ace-phobia”, if you will. Just really struggling to believe that being ace is ever enough in a relationship with someone who is not. Yes, the author is hardcore projecting on the poor character.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, and it sounded sincere, even Harry could hear the ring of truth to it over the splintering sound of his heart. “I just,” Draco swallowed, looked down at the glass in his hands, “I think living alone would be what’s better for me right now.”

Harry nodded, shoving down the emotions, pushing back the hurt, the yearning, as he forced a smile, “no. For sure,” he said, keeping his voice light, pushing every ounce of happy-for-you-undertone that he could. “Yeah. You have to do what’s best for you,” he agreed, and he meant it, even though it hurt the way that it hurt when you sliced open your foot on a piece of glass; sudden and sharp, terribly painful in its unexpectedness.

“It’s not you,” Draco said, reaching across the table and squeezing Harry’s hand, giving him a smile and Harry wondered what the other man could see on his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to live with you,” he said.

He nodded, “right. I get it.”

“And you can come over all the time, we can have a movie night whenever we want since I won’t have Pansy and Blaise to worry about.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. Smiling, smiling, smiling. Please Godric, let it be enough that Draco can’t see past it. “Yeah. That sounds great,” he agreed.

“Dinner once a week,” he promised, “and we can cook together!”

He nodded, plastering the smile even harder to his face, “I’d love that,” he said. Not as much as he would have loved doing the shopping together, and cooking together in their shared space but… best not to think about it.

“I love you too much to live with you,” Draco said, like that made any sense at all.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing down the tears threatening to spill, heart throbbing in his throat. “I love you too,” he said. Not too much, he thought, more than his body could hold sometimes but not so much that he couldn’t live with the other man.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said again.

And Harry wanted to make up a lie, wanted to tell Draco he had another appointment or something, but Draco was his best friend. More than that, Harry had thought. They’d started planning a life together; he’d told Draco everything, given him his entire heart. Draco had said that he wanted Harry forever too. Harry’s worked so hard to actually believe him. But that was probably just the mixed signals that Harry sent, confusing everyone that he loved because he couldn’t love them in the way that they wanted. “Don’t be. I still have Ron and Hermione.”

“You could try living alone too,” Draco offered, and Harry knew it was because of the conversations they’d had, about how hard it could be living with people who were in love. About how alone Harry felt even when he was in the same room as them sometimes.

He knew Draco was trying to offer a good solution, “nah,” he said, aiming for casual and hoping that he hadn’t missed the mark by as much as it felt like he had. “I don’t do well on my own. It’s okay. I’m okay,” he assured.

“Okay,” Draco said, giving him a little smile. “I toured an apartment today.”

“Oh,” he said, “tell me about it!” And he let himself get lost in Draco’s joy, lost in how excited he was for his own adventure.

“And it just feels right, you know?” Draco asked when he finished describing his viewing.

“I’m really glad,” he said, genuinely because he loved Draco. Loved him with his entire heart and wanted what was good for him. But he couldn’t say he understood. He couldn’t. Because all Harry wanted was to be able to come home to Draco at the end of the day. All Harry wanted was someone to sit on the sofa with and eat dinner with. He wanted to be able to take care of Draco, to love him on his hard days and to listen to his stories. Harry wanted a place to come home to where he could just shut off the facade, could just be Harry.

But they didn’t want the same things. That was clearer now than it had ever been. Someday, Draco was going to get married. Someday, he’d fall in love with someone else, someone who could love him the same way, someone whose body wasn’t broken, someone who’d want to have sex with him. Someday, he’d meet someone who could be enough, who would have the capacity to accept the love that Draco felt like was too much for Harry.

And Harry wouldn’t deny him that. He wouldn’t stand in the way. It didn’t matter that Harry loved Draco with everything that he had, with all that he was, in every way that he was capable of loving another human. It wasn’t enough.

It hadn’t ever been before Draco. It had been foolish to believe that could have changed.

How could he have hoped that it might be now? How could he have let himself dream that he might ever be enough for the best person he knew?

He loved Draco more than anything, so he did the only thing that he knew how to do.

He loved him with every beat of his bruised and bloodied heart. Harry set aside his own needs, his own wants, his own desires and loved Draco in the way that he needed and not in the way that Harry wanted. Harry set aside his hopes, and dreams, the plans they’d made together and begged his heart to be happy for the other man.

Be good, he begged himself. Be kind.

Love was sacrifice. How could he have let himself forget?

#drarry #sad #ace harry potter #like seriously. this is v sad. the author is v sad. please don’t read this if you’re looking for a pick me up #just processing the hurt #trying to learn how to love more than I desire to be loved #yes. we are actively dumping our trauma on this poor baby #sad sad sad

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tennessoui · 10 months ago

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hi kit! long time no see lol jk I spend so much time on your blog and ko-fi its not even funny (in a nice non-stalkerish way I promise) I subscribed to your kofi and was wondering if you planned on continuing any of those AUs or were they meant to be sorta one shots? because I *literally* cannot stop thinking about healer anakin going about this day with that brightest blue silk blindfold?? oh all the potential for pining and hurt/comfort and ALL THE ANGST here?? ooof pls I need more - 🦊

hiii kit it's 🦊 again I am back because I just had an epiphany about the healer anakin AU I am obsessed with currently. so is the blindfold like a hijab where your close family (so other healer peers in private I suppose?) and your significant other is able to see you with the blindfold off? I started thinking that keeping it on 24/7 is probably not ideal and there has to be some time that it comes off, and who gets to see you then.. I am south asian so I kinda dig this tbh! 😊 (2/2)

hello hello this is such an interesting ask!! for the first part, i'm really not sure - i think there are fics on ko-fi that i would love to expand and write more for (the healer anakin au being one of them) but at the same time, i think while i am running the ko-fi fic thing, then those stories need to exist only on there - or i need to talk to everyone who supports me monthly on there and see if they would be ok with me posting those stories somewhere else (like on ao3 or tumblr) and expanding on them more. as of right now, they're really just one shots that act a bit like slices of life in the au - just enough information that the characterizations are apparent and just enough setting and premise that it feels like a story but overall stand alone

but yes i too am sorta obsessed with the idea of healer skywalker showing up to healer functions with a bright blue silk bandana over his eyes while everyone else has the standard issue gray or white cloth. of course they wouldn't know, but just imagine like. mace windu attends to give a debrief of the next few battle plans and anakin is just...sticking out like a sore thumb lol

as for the second part, in my mind i'm sort of waving the logistics of keeping the blindfold on for long stretches of time because im leaning more into the fantasy side of star wars tbh - i think it's more angsty as a concept if healers sort of...give their eyes away forever/until they retire and never open them. they change the bandages and shower without them on, but the force is supposed to act as their eyes for menial daily tasks like telling apart shampoo from conditioner and cooking (and they just get used to it)

like that feels so much more angsty because obi-wan will never ever get to see anakin's eyes again and he has to just. make his peace with that which he's obviously struggling to do in the ficlet on ko-fi. he has to figure out how to love anakin as he is, with his vows, or he won't get him at all and obi-wan wrestling with that is a key part of the ficlet. im not sure how strongly that angst would hit if they could reach a certain point of closeness and then he could get anakin the way he had him when they were in the creche, sight and all you know? he needs to accept who anakin is to really have a chance at loving him without getting some other version of him back

but that being said i also do dig the idea of the blindfolds being taken off in the company of one's family or loved ones and am open to it--it explains a lot of logistical questions for sure lol

i just also really like the angst and acceptance that comes from the idea that obi-wan must become ok with never seeing anakin's eyes again....only for anakin, who loves him so much, to break his vows because obi-wan is dying and needs him or obi-wan is dying and asks to see his eyes one last time (only for obi-wan to categorically survive)

#asks #jedi healer anakin au #healer anakin au #? cant remember which tag ive used for tumblr posts about this #anyway now im torn haha!!#but you know i love some angst ....#obikin

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inkyquince · 1 year ago

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The Other Miguel (Part 1/2)

characters. Miguel O'Hara (Spiderverse)

content warning. nothing much in this chapter, the next chapter is the nasty one (hint, baby trapping, noncon). Reader has the ability to get pregnant, but its gender neutral, either way, it's implied that spider radiation gave you a hyperfertile hole (so either fpreg or mpreg is able to take place). There's more... Talking about twilight-new-moon type depression, some angst, verbal altercations. There's some puppy love and a light hearted sex scene in here too. That, and the hint of darker intentions. Also you read this and you get to know how much of a nerd inky is about spiderman, there's characters and lore dropped that is very much comic book based.

words. 6k.

Joining the Spider Society was the greatest privilege you had ever been given in your life. You didn’t think they’d ever really accept you, being as new as you were to the position as the friendly neighbourhood spider. Especially when it came with the scrutiny of being the… “Second” one. The next one. The protege. The one mentored for far too short before he died. When Peter died. Freak accident. You were there. You held him as he died.

And that’s when you met him. Among the collapsed building, the strange villain that glitched and spasmed and seemed to throb through the thin strings of reality, still gearing up to attack you. Something seemed to slice through the air next to you, a gash appearing, swirling and malevolent. At least at the time. Then he walked through. Gait predatory and sure, towering over you, where you were sitting in the dust and rubble, with a body in your arms that struggled to draw breath.

“We’ll handle it from here.”

And he did. Miguel liked to handle things his own way. He handled the villain easier than your Peter had. He handled the situation. He handled you. His broad, clawed hand encompassed your entire wrist as he pulled you up onto your feet. Telling you that he’ll contact you later, and congratulating you on the new position. You had a feeling he was being sarcastic.

He left then. You were left behind with a lingering promise that you weren’t alone. You were also left with the body of your mentor. You begged and begged him to hold on, Just a few more minutes. But he couldn’t. Not for you. Fuck, not for the ambulance, not for his fucking girlfriend, what’s-her-face, Betty, and not for the entire fucking city who needed him more than they needed you.

“It was a shock.” Betty had sniffed at the podium, his casket in front of her. “I knew he was private about things but-”

But. But. But. Peter Parker was Spiderman. He had been Spiderman. He was alive. He had been alive. Betty had confided in you that she had begun to think Peter just didn’t like her. Which was dumb. She was like his first proper girlfriend and she was worried that he didn’t like her. She was mulled over breaking up with him and now she was crying because she didn’t know that all that time away, he was fighting for the city. Fucking Betty. Even Jamieson was gruff as he spoke about Peter.

You didn’t get to say anything about him. You didn’t get to walk there and cry for him, like Betty did. Like MJ did. You didn’t get to take a breather and grip the podium, like his Aunt May. You didn’t get to get choked up and stare ahead, like Jonah. Even Eddie Brock was allowed a few soft words, his eyes looking wet and wide.

You didn’t get to walk up there and talk about how Peter found you. He helped you. He compared the spider bite he got with yours. You didn’t get to smile and share stories about how he made you watch the Matrix first before talking about the leap of faith you had to take. When he teased you for your suit design, before squawking like a bird when you found his notebooks of his own first designs.

No. You got to sit at the back, as the little friend Peter made at some sort of function or whatever. Photography, or some sort of hobby class. No one asked. You were just there one day. His little friend. Not the person he saved and spent weekends, nights, lunchtimes with. So, you stood by everyone else as they buried him. You left the third bouquet of flowers on the grave, you were the twelfth person to offer condolences to Aunt May. You were the last to leave. Long after Betty and May, you were still there, sitting at the back, on the bench. Eventually, he came to join you.

Miguel sat down, towering over you even seated.

“It had to be like this.” He eventually said, something heavy in his voice, as if he had any idea.

“Go fuck yourself.” You dragged your sleeve over your face. Not that it did anything. The tear tracks would need to be scrubbed away by bleach. They would have to be dug out of your skin with nails and knives and claws.

He tensed up, as if struggling to not snap at you. Probably doesn’t get a lot of back talk that wasn’t light hearted teasing.

“... I’m sorry.” He tried again.

You wanted to punch him. If he had come earlier, then Peter might still be alive. Then he’d still be here. Taking pictures of himself as you snorted at his elaborate set ups. Ducking Betty’s questions. Going to Aunt May’s every Sunday. Teaching you. Being with you.

Your silence seemed to agitate him. Good.

“I wanted to… Extend an offer to join our group.”

You repeated the earlier request for him to go fuck himself and stood. Rubbed at the tear stains tattooed onto your face at this point and you walked off. He watched you go.

A week later, you were in his dark ass office, being shown around at the different villains and Spider people. You even got another look at the villain that took your Peter from you. Shocker. Fucker. Hell, you knew your own universe’s Herman. Nice guy.

So life went on.

You help out when you can. You saw Miguel. You went home. You cried. You mourned on and on. The hurt never felt like it lifted. You miss your Peter every day. There were others around, other Peter’s, but they weren’t yours. Even when some recognized you as that “sweet kid”, or something like it, in his voice, in Peter’s voice, it did nothing but make tears prick at your eyes. It was fucking unfair. So many Peter’s and none of them yours.

Life went on, and you watched it go. The flowers bloomed without him, the days changed without him, and someone sat next to you in photography class… Without him.

Worst of all, it was him. Your Miguel. No, not yours, but your world’s. Younger. Not as beefy. Leaner. There were no lines curving along his eye, and he was looking at you. Spider Miguel looked at you darkly, as if you were two steps away from pissing him off and he was warning you not to. There was always something glimmering.

Your Miguel’s eyes crinkled as he shot you a smile. Asked if you had a pen he could use. Uttered a soft thank you as you handed one over.

It was nice. Seeing him like this. As if it let you in on a secret, on someone he might have been once upon a time. A light hearted guy that was kinda… Whiny. Instead of becoming tense, with his teeth gritting when you teased him, he’d scrunch his nose and he’d fucking whine at you. He’d say he wasn’t, but the way his tone would shift higher when he wheedled you to knock it off. It was kinda cute. Made you want to ask Lyla if the other Miguel had ever been like that. If he ever had to whine at another Spiderperson for pointing at him or something.

“What’s that smile for?” Your Miguel caught your attention as he idly filled up your kettle.

“Hm?”

“That smile. I feel like you’re making fun of me in your head.” He eyed the jar of coffee you bought especially for him.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m making fun of your pretentious ass coffee.”

“Not pretentious.” Miguel eyes you darkly, but there’s something light in them. Of course, there was also that whine tilting at the end of the sentence. Cute.

“So pretentious.”

“Is not.”

You smiled at him.

“There you go. Making fun of me in your head again.” He muttered.

You kinda wanted to fuck him. You’d wonder if he’d whine as much in bed as he did staring at your cabinet, with your ensemble of hot drink sachets and bags.

You shook your head, the back of your neck feeling hot. Don’t be gross, you chided yourself, this was Miguel. A Miguel. You knew two. Sleeping with one will make you look at the other all weird. What if your Miguel fucked really badly and then you’d quietly think about how the other Miguel is a two pump chump through every damn meeting. Worse, if he fucked really good. How were you supposed to concentrate if you knew your gut that he could make you cum three times in a night.

Glancing up, you caught your Miguel looking at you over the rim of his coffee cup, dark eyes glinting. His lips quirked when you noticed him. As if he knew what you were thinking. Which, of course, he didn’t, at least not all of what you were thinking. No, that would blow his entire fucking brain up.

His bottom lip cushioned the rim of his cup as he took another sip. His eyes glimmered. Yeah. He at least knew you were thinking about fucking him. At least half as much as he was thinking about fucking you.

Well, according to the buzzing coming from your back pocket, that would have to wait.

“Alright. I’ve got to get this. Pour your pretentious coffee into a to-go cup and get out.” You shot him a grin and his dark eyes turned brighter.

“Oh fuck you.”

He wished. Then you wished. God, you wished you stayed behind for a fuck as the other Miguel ground you into the dirt beneath his heel. Not literally, but Christ, that man could wear down a boulder into a pebble.

Other Miguel always seemed to take particular issue with you. Fuck, maybe his idea of getting you to join this damn team finally bit him in the ass. His ambivalence at first might have been ground into flat out dislike, except he did more or less talk to everyone the same way. He just seemed especially short with you at times.

You did have sympathy for the guy. Overworked, probably underpaid, but then again, that would be him shooting himself in the foot. He ran the entire thing, didn’t he? Underpaid himself… Did you even get paid with this job? How much did you make an hour-

“Are you even listening to me?” Hot breath washed over your ear as Miguel leaned down to growl to you.

You froze up a bit, real… Well, not deer, but a shitting rat in the driveway as the car reverses… In the tail lights. Yeah, shitting rat in the tail lights. Less dignified than a deer.

“Yeah. Sure. Sorry. Yeah.” You tilted your head at him, given he wouldn’t be able see the placating grin you shot him.

“Then what did I just say?” He folded his arms and cocked his hip to the side.

“Something something, don’t fuck up again or I’ll kick your ass?”

Miguel took a moment to stare at you with that inscrutable mask but apparently you were more or less on the mark. You already knew what he was going to say the moment you fumbled your attack and instead went tumbling ass over heels to the side. Miguel was forced to divert from his path to grab you at the last moment. Hell, his entire hand could just grab your waist and actually keep a hold of you. Fling you like a ragdoll into the air after a beat of a second, with him towering over you, chest heaving as he stares down at you. Just a second, he was close, and protecting you, and holding you firm, like the first time he did when you met him. Then he threw you. He knew you would easily swing to safety, but still.

Your hip tingled where his broad, clawed hand had held you tight. Like a brand seared into your skin. You cocked your hip a bit, as if trying to throw off the feeling of his hand, and his angular spider mask eyes seemed to follow the movement. Or he could be looking at the mess around you. Rubble and collapsed building, with the dimension breaking villain, a Goblin maybe, tied up to the side.

“Could have been hurt.” Miguel muttered, sounding gruff.

“You mean someone else could have been hurt. A civilian could have been squashed into an innocent-life-pancake.”

“No.” He snapped, his broad shoulders tensing up further. You could see the fine line of his muscles through the suit. “You.”

The word hung in the air, just like the day you two first met, and the dust hung in the air, suspended in time. You bloodied, Peter wheezing at your feet, and Miguel watching. The moment broke a second later, but the memory was imprinted in your mind. You could taste that moment in the air, now.

“You.” Miguel repeated.

You understood. One Spiderman died on his watch, and he was going to make sure he didn’t have his protege’s death on his conscience too. It was already littered with graves. Tightly packed graveyards had the tendency to flood when it rained. You doubted he would enjoy the bones drifting down his stream of thought while he was busy.

“... He…” You tried, feeling the words get caught up in your throat, as if cobwebs tied your vocal chords together. “It wasn’t your fault he-”

“I know.” Miguel snapped at you, suddenly back in your face, fanged teeth bared like an animal. “I didn’t fail Peter.”

His emphasis on the “I” gave you pause. As if he was not the person in the equation to blame.

“... You think I-”

“I don’t think. I don’t think anything of you.” He folded his arms. The words tumbled from his lips, as if he couldn’t wait to get them out, but his eyes blinked as if he was bewildered.

A part of you hoped he misspoke, that he just meant he didn’t think you were to blame for the situation, but his immediate response, that he didn’t…. Well. It wasn’t like you two were friends. Mentor and student, even if you had started to crave that with him. That leadership that your Peter gave you. No, it was stupid of you to look for the friendship you had with your Miguel, with the other one. The other one that let your Peter die.

“... Great. Thanks.” You turned away and dusted the dirt off your suit, shoulders hunched.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He huffed, shifting his weight as he cocked his hip so the side again. “I’m not to blame for him dying. He was injured when I got there. You, however-”

“Yeah. Me. I let him die. I hear you.” You hated that your voice sounded brittle. Tight, like you were about to cry.

“You-”

“I know!” You finally snapped, your throat getting tighter. “Fucking hell, I get it.”

Miguel’s shoulders tensed. You kicked a piece of rubble and fiddled with your watch.

“Let’s just ditch this conversation while we can.” You eventually mumbled.

“Don’t you dare walk off while I’m talking to you.” Miguel snarled, the rest of his body tensing up.

You ignored him, as the blinding orange and red lights of the portal slashed through the air next to you, opening up the way back to your own dimension. He took another step towards you, his hand reaching up to slip a thumb underneath his mask. You couldn’t argue with him, not with your Miguel’s face looking at you, tired and aged.

“Pretty disrespectful.” Goblin agreed, somewhat muffled.

You started, having completely forgotten your surroundings, and the Green Goblin tied up, snug and tight off to the side. Miguel was just as startled and ripped his hand away from his own mask. With his attention back on the villain, he turned away from you and you slipped away. Back home.

Empty apartment. No Peter. Just you. You and your phone buzzing with a message, a simple request to come over. Not so alone maybe.

“-you.”

“Huh?”

“... C’mon, don’t make me repeat it.” Your Miguel scowled at you. You’d think he was pissed, if not for the darkening blush dusting his cheekbones. You felt kinda bad, having zoned out while he was talking, the other Miguel’s vast back tense in your mind’s eye. Your Miguel cleared his throat a bit, and shifted on the sofa seat next to you, this time turning to look at you head on.

There was a beat of silence. He sighed.

“Mierda.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I like you. There. Get to bare my soul twice now.”

You blinked.

“Like friends?”

“I’m going to leave.” Miguel grumbled, the tips of his ears a deep red at this point. He started to get up but you grabbed the sleeve of his grey jacket.

“Miguel, wait…” You tried to calm your suddenly racing thoughts, flitting between how much you wanted to tell Miguel that you felt the same, and about the ethics of the situation, that this was an alternate universe version of a man that was your boss and didn’t seem to like you.

What the fuck would you do? If you found out that other Miguel had found a different universe’s you and started going out with them? How would you feel? Not that your feelings could ever match Miguel’s, you could barely even understand HIM most of the time.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment, fingers curling into his soft sleeve. Miguel watched you, getting a bit antsy. You were too lost in your own thoughts to notice the simmering look that entered his eyes, and he started to lean into you. It was like you blinked and suddenly he was face to face with you, his nose gently bumping against yours as his dark eyes looked into yours. You don’t even know what he saw in your expression that gave him the courage. A matching look of barely controlled heat? A somewhat doe eyed blink up at him? Or your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as his hand dragged along the back of the sofa, just so his finger tips could skim yours?

It didn’t matter. Whatever he saw gave him courage, and barely a second could pass before he leaned in fully, his hand coming up to cup your chin. His fingers were smooth, warm against your skin, gently dragging his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

It was nice. It was good. It was an innocent kiss, his lips warm and soft against yours. You could feel his breath tickle your cheek as he angled for a deeper kiss. So sweet. It made you remember back to kisses with high school boyfriends, chaste and eager. You sighed into it softly and Miguel leaned in further, a hand slipping to graze his fingers over your knee.

After a few more blissful seconds you both parted, Miguel’s ears a dark red, but now there was a triumphant glint in his eye as he looked over you, like a hunter casting his eye over his freshly snagged prey. And you? You made your choice.

“Hey, Miguel?”

“Yeah?”

“I might just like you too.”

Miguel’s shaky exhale of breath came so fast it almost sounded like a moan. His fingers against your face lost their soft grip, instead cupping your jaw with intent as he leaned back in.

This kiss was not as sweet and innocent as the first one. His tongue immediately slipped between your lips, just to drag greedily over your front teeth. The fingers skimming your knee stopped their idly skating, and instead began to firmly squeeze your upper thigh. You were foolish to believe that your Miguel wasn’t as suffocating in his presence as the other Miguel. The way he greedily pushed against you, his hand abandoning your face to press against the sofa back behind you, chest to chest… He encompassed you. As his teeth teased your bottom lip, biting into it gently and tugging, you could finally see how he could become the man you knew, the Spiderman with the fangs of a beast, and the clawed hands of a predator. It was always lurking, in the way he appraised you, and in the way he was currently tugging at your shirt, a poacher skinning the elusive creature he had spent months stalking from the brush.

The lines between your Miguel, the soft eyed, gentle man you had met in a class, and the other one, the one with a beast crawling underneath the suit of a hero and the skin of a man, were blurring. Your Miguel was just a few steps away from becoming just like the version that saved your life.

If your Miguel noticed how hazy you were getting, he said nothing, but the curve of his smile said it all. His ministrations were going straight to your head, as his lips kissed from yours, down your throat, to focus on making marks against your skin.

His lithe hands dragged over your freshly bared skin, thumb lightly ghosting over your nipple before pressing down on it and rolling the sensitive tissue between two of his fingers. He was skilled, his hands experienced, and his tongue devilish as it tasted the skin that he pinched between his teeth. You didn’t even notice that you were practically malleable in his grasp, your own fingers simply gripping his jacket, head tilted back as your breath came too quickly. You didn’t care, you needed this. You needed to just lay back and let him have his way. Every day you forced yourself to move, to work, to think, and your Miguel seemed more than okay with taking charge over you.

You didn’t object when he pushed you down on the couch, towering over you as he roughly tugged his own jacket and shirt off, to be thrown and forgotten on the floor.

“You’ve got a really pretty pair.” Miguel said, almost conversational, as he dragged a hand over your chest, thumb flicking your nipple before dropping a kiss to your sternum.

“Well, so do you.” You lightly teased back, reaching out to smack his own pair of tits, but he grabbed your wrist, instead pressing your fingers against his mouth, dark eyes trained on yours over them.

With one hand dragging over your stomach slowly, as if he was stroking over a pet’s belly, he parted his lips to taste your fingers against his tongue, dragging the hot muscle over the length of your digits. His teeth gently grazed the tips. He was also greedily undoing the buttons to your trousers, able to yank the garment down, trapping your thighs together, with just one hand.

He pressed another open mouthed kiss to your fingers before dropping your hand in favour of restoring his full attention to your trousers. To be fair, you could return the favour. The fucking monster already tenting in his trousers was a sight to behold. There was a small dark patch at the tip. Your stomach flipped when you realised it was precum. This man was desperate to fuck you. He hid it too well, the way he had hungered, but his body was unable to lie in this moment. The way he shifted, the way his lips were slightly parted, the way his tongue dragged over his bottom teeth as he finally got your trousers off and tossed them to the side. Miguel didn’t even seem aware of the rush of breath that escaped him at the sight of your underwear, using one big hand to palm at your crotch greedily, yet almost clumsily.

He moved to peel down your undergarments, but you slipped your leg up from between his thighs and firmly pressed your foot against his chest.

“Not so fast.” You teased, but the way his dark eyes shot up to yours, flashing with something fiery, made your throat dry.

Just like the other Miguel. Didn’t like being interrupted in his mission. Almost made you smile.

“Your trousers shouldn’t be on right now.” You swallowed and finally continued, shooting him a shaky grin.

Miguel’s eyes softened again and he snorted, rolling his eyes. He dragged his palms over your hip bones again before straightening up and beginning to undo his belt.

“Such a little pervert.” He murmured, a lopsided grin tilting at his lips.

“Hey, just trying to level the playing field.” You quipped back, but you couldn't deny that your eyes were hungering for the sight of your Miguel, completely bare, just for you.

He deigned to ignore you as he finally wrestled his belt off and glanced around for a bare piece of floor, not yet littered with clothes. He stuck his tongue out a bit as he tossed the offending garment, and managed for it to snag onto the front door handle for only a second before dropping down.

“Missed.” You smirked.

“Didn’t. The door handle fumbled the catch.” Miguel eyed the item before continuing to unbutton his trousers.

“Still counts as a miss I think.”

“It fucking does not.”

“Does t-” Your teasing died on your tongue as he yanked his trousers down to his thighs.

Of course the man didn’t wear underwear. Obviously threw the entire idea of boxers out the window when he made up his mind that today was the day he was going to confess to you. His foresight was better than the other Miguel’s damn hindsight.

It was unfair how fucking perfect his cock was. Precum slipping down, riding along the veins down to his swollen balls. The head of his cock dark, almost painful looking. It twitched a bit as your knee brushed past the tip, bobbing a bit as Miguel gave up on trying to get his trousers fully off without moving from his knelt position on the sofa. Resigning himself to his own trapped thighs, he playfully swatted your foot away from his chest and went back to peeling down your underwear.

Despite not being pressed against his skin anymore, you could still feel his breath hitch in his chest.

“Pretty.” He dragged his hand against your inner thigh and gave it a squeeze. “Real pretty.”

His thumb greedily stroked along the hot skin, enjoying how you squirmed and sighed as you drifted over the sensitive flesh before arriving at your hole. Just dragging his finger over it had you squirming. But his intense attention on you, vulnerable and open to him, had a thought squirm into your head and burrow down.

“Hey, Miguel?” You caught his attention again, his soft eyes meeting yours. “... Do you have a condom?”

Some Spiders became infertile from the radiation poisoning. Others got hyperfertile. One guy laid eggs. You really didn’t want to find out in which category you fell into, not right now.

His thick eyebrows rose a bit, before twitching.

“Yeah, sure.” He fussed with his trapped trousers, pulling his wallet out and digging around just to toss a length of wrapped condoms down onto your stomach.

“Wow.” You snorted softly.

“What?”

“You were THAT sure you were going to get lucky after confessing your crush?” You grinned at him, idly picking them up and dangling them.

“Oh, shut up. I always have them in there.” Miguel rolled his eyes and used the moment to finally kick his trousers all the way off before getting back into position and swiping them from you.

“You ALWAYS have them with you?” You teasingly pressed your foot against his broad chest again, idly dragging it down to his stomach before counting each individually wrapped condom. “What, you walk around, hoping to get to fuck nine times?”

Miguel neatly grabbed your ankle, pulling you down more to rest it on his shoulder, dragging his fingers along your shin. Nefarious glint in his eyes.

“Why are you asking? Jealous?”

The accusation had you flushing, your cheeks heating up immediately as he sneered in triumph, pressing a kiss to your ankle.

“Shut up.” You grumbled and Miguel gave a husky laugh in response.

He considered the matter settled, using his teeth to rip open the foil to one of the condoms. With a low breath, he rolled the material down, over his cock, to the base before tossing the foil, letting it flutter down, onto your shirt. Miguel tossed the rest to the side, in easy reach for when there was inevitably a round two, and shot you another teasing smirk.

“Happy?”

“On Cloud 9. Not even God could strike me down now.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and grabbed your other ankle to place it on his shoulder, pressing down a bit as if to make sure you won’t shift it away.

“Perfect. Now, let me prep you before God waltzes in through the front door and punishes you for safe sex.” You managed a snort before he grabbed your waist and dragged you against him properly, so your ankles were shifted down his back and your knees rested on his shoulders.

With you closer, Miguel got to wind his arms around your middle and hoisted your entire body up, so your back was no longer touching the sofa, and you could feel his hot breath rushing over your sensitive hole. You couldn’t even take a moment to swear, when his tongue was on you.

The feeling of his hot, wet muscle dragging over you shocked your system. It had been so long since you slept with someone, meaningful relationship or one night stand, it didn’t matter. You had been wrapped up in your own personal cloud of sadness, you couldn’t even think of sex. So long without a warm body next to you, and now Miguel’s scorching one was hunched over you, his tongue lapping hungrily over your hole before pressing the tip inside, just enough to make you gasp and arch your back.

“A-Ah, fuck!” You hissed out between your teeth, arching your back as he lapped at your hole, dipping the tip in every now and then.

“Relax.” He murmured against you, one of his hands pressing on your stomach, manoeuvring you properly, making sure you couldn’t even dream of wriggling away from him. “Relax for me. Can’t fuck you if you won’t fucking relax.”

Miguel’s tongue was brutal. Tasting you, wriggling deeper inside of you, one hand on your stomach, squeezing the flesh with the other one groping at your chest. Using his nail to press down on a nipple before using the pad of his thumb to ease the sting of his pinch. He kept swapping his hands, always needing one hand on your chest and the other on your stomach. Lavishing them with attention and relishing the feeling of soft flesh at his mercy. But there was only so much a hot blooded man like him could take, with his cock straining and precum smearing against your back.

Giving your glistening hole one last kiss, he slowly lowered you so your back was flat against the couch again. Miguel took a moment to drink you in fully, a fine sheen of sweat cascading down your body, your hole spread and ready, and most delectably, the blissed out look on your face.

Cute. As if you had no idea what was coming, what he was dying to do to you. Like this was the highest level of pleasure he was going to bring you to tonight. Miguel leaned down to press a kiss to your stomach before shifting his weight. The cute gasp you made when he nudged his wrapped cockhead against your hole nearly killed him.

Leaning down, his broad hand slipped around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a soft kiss, turned sharp with his teeth hungrily biting down on your bottom lip, tasting your tongue, your flesh. With your tongue trapped between his teeth, he slowly pressed his cockhead in, pressing close to swallow down any whines you made. The push inside was slow and methodical, drinking in the feeling of your tight, warm hole around his throbbing cock. He had spent too much time thinking about this moment, so much time with his hand cupping his balls, and his tongue trapped between his teeth as he scrolled through your pictures. It was biting him in the ass now, the feeling of his balls aching so badly that he felt like he was about to burst. Miguel refused to fucking cum when he just bottomed out inside of you, like some virgin.

He stayed inside of you, nibbling and sucking at your lips gently, both desperately buying enough time not to fucking cum at the first thrust, but also drinking in the feeling of getting to taste you like this. Everything he had dreamed of, and more.

“I think…” You murmured after a moment, Miguel’s kisses trailing down your jaw. “I think we might have to use all nine of those condoms.”

You felt him snicker against your skin and he slowly pulled out, waiting just a moment before slamming back inside of you, deep enough for you to arch your back.

“Feeling that ambitious?” He murmured, before dragging his tongue up, over your pulse point. “Might regret that. Gonna be the fucking sorest in the world after all that.”

“So cocky.”

“I aim to hit the expectations I set for you.”

The second sorest person in the world, well, in a world, was second Miguel. Worse, it was an emotional soreness. His body ached from the fight and chest ached from the one that followed just a few minutes after, between you and him. It shouldn’t. He had worse spats just talking with Lyla. But ever since he… He witnessed your Peter’s death, watching you try to get back from it, just… Everything. He’s had… Not exactly a soft spot, for you. More like… Sore spot. Yeah, that worked. Every time he saw you, it twinged. There was an ache, thrumming underneath his suit, bruising his skin. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it, right there, between his ribs, as he breathed in. It hurt every time he inhaled around you. It hurt worse when he wasn’t around you.

And now, today’s fuck up? It itched. It burned, and no amount of distracted rubbing against his covered chest with his palm eased the feeling. It plagued him. So much so that a few hours into the night, he had enough. Kicked his sheets off and hunting for his boxers to slip on. He should be sleeping, but Miguel couldn’t stop thinking about the words you two shared that day. It was the middle of the night over in your dimension, he could slip over, take your annoyed berating at his entrance in the middle of the night, apologise… Then leave again. Some part of him wondered if you’d ask him to stay, to share a cup of something warm at your table, to properly talk, get everything out. It’d be nice. He wasn’t that close to anyone, and maybe… Maybe it would be something of a balm for his sore spot. Something to alleviate the pain and maybe one day it wouldn’t twinge with regret anymore.

A rare smile flickered on his lips as he pulled on his jacket. Yeah, no downsides. Except… If you had someone over? His fingers stopped skimming over his watch at the thought. No, you wouldn’t… Would you? Nah. You didn’t seem too interested in connecting to other people in that way, which Miguel could relate to. With a shake of his head, he vanquished those pesky thoughts. No, he was just trying to look for a reason not to go to you.

He wasn’t a coward… Though, perhaps, he should knock on your front door, instead of appearing in your living room. Just in case. What could go wrong?

#nsft #quincewrites #atsv #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #second part should be up later #but first finish this comm hopefilly

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zimshan · 25 days 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 · 10 months 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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wontgoup · 2 years ago

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Pussy feeds families not stones.

I have come to truly adhere to this advice, as a statement of fact and of respect for women. Racism, being confronted by it even amongst Asians. That wanna be white because they are poor. He was Nigerian, a bar staffer had sliced the small of my back with a laminated piece of the menu. He quickly gave it a rub and bought me a white rose. Then some candies from the old lady that just kept trying to sell her stock to drunken, selfish, entitled and rude tourists.

Cities that thrive from tourism as a party city but actually, formed part of the compromise to stay its own place. No falang that lives here is Thai. They may marry in, speak the language, have children, but they are and their kids, are still, falangs. To actual Thai people.

Just as much as blacks, to them, are seen as the same sort of poor people, not like an english man or some white falang, same same, poor. When education lacks, because so much is untaxed, pricing models chop and change depending on the location. An old city, one of the oldest in the world, still lacking clear regulations on food and business standards to keep the water standards, clean. A place that provides insurance to all its citizens to ensure affordable access to public health but a rather wide retail sector that only caters to a small cohort that can afford it. The english speaking cohort, the youth, addicted to screens, the easily manipulated, populist, ultra religious-Christian group, that hold most of the wealth and make the blacks come across as something to ignore rather than beg for.

You end up in a doozy whenever you pretend like you arent curious about how other people manage to survive in a world that is disproportionately unfair. You step into their world, spend intimate time with them, then you also depart before any promises are made. Meet some of their friends by chance, not because they were ordered to. He was like any other struggling exchange student, just with a rather squeaky mattress and unwashed plates sitting in corners of his room. With toothbrushes sitting on top of cisterns and sink taps.

He was lovely. Just as much as he was blaccckkkk. A structured, responsible, educated black guy. There were clear boundaries in his life. He did not eat where he shit. He knew how to look after himself. Pay for things, share, find work. To learn to put clear walls that section people up is always key to realising even in that tiny corner you occupy, nothing can come in, nothing can go out, without you saying so. The transcience of other peoples preferences after other peoples data was hacked during covid, using only 2 systems to control the world. Apple and microsoft.

But in this tiny corner, we do not use bathroom sinks as kitchen sinks, constantly. We do not cook and clean where we also do our banking and printing. Businesses may close, but welfare probably is far more sustainable too and equates to about the same, upskilling workforces, encouraging more international students, from other parts of the world that need to be educated, relatively reasonably. Regulating airbnbs, keeping transport and entrepreneurs accessible, while ensuring the cash flow stays strong and the drugs stay prescribed rather than simply another dumping ground for the us and netherlands, to zonk out entire young people and ruin a future burgeoning workforce.

We see into the lives of other people, to understand that people lie and will kill to protect their unreasonable status', using populist leaders and poor policing of their own hopes for themselves but more so, Siam. A wonderful nation state, always free.

Instagram.com/rubyroseopal

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average-guy-reviews · 2 years ago

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Love Again (2023)

"Mira Ray, who is struggling to cope with the death of her fiancé, unintentionally sends a sequence of romantic messages to his old cell phone number, which has been reassigned to Rob Burns' new work phone. As a journalist, Rob is drawn to the candidness in Mira's beautifully written texts. When he is tasked with writing a feature about the famous singer Celine Dion, he seeks her assistance in finding a way to meet Mira in real life and ultimately win her affection"

It was obvious from the trailers, and all the posters, etc. what this film was going to be. And, after watching, it was everything I expected it to be.

Romantic dramas tend to have a formula they follow, and this was no different. Two people who have never met each other find themselves intertwined through a twist of fate. They start seeing each other and then, after a slice of adversity, they separate. Eventually, after soul searching and promises, they wind up together. If you've ever seen a by the numbers romantic drama you'll know exactly what I mean and how this film went.

That's not to say that this is a bad film, or even that the genre itself is no good. It simply means that it's a story with an outcome you know, and a predictability level off the scales. It just doesn't do anything to make itself stand out from the thousands of its brothers and sisters that have come before it. Except for one thing....

If you've seen the trailers you'll know that Mira, played Priyanka Chopra, is sending messages to her deceased boyfriend as a way to still connect him. Rob Burns, played Sam Heughan, is the guy who now has the number she is sending these messages to. He starts to believe he has feelings for her the more he reads, up to the point he wants to find her and meet her. This is, for me, where the main issue I have with this film begins. The way he decides to meet her is to stalk her favourite opera every night until he runs into her and can start a conversation. That's not right, and all the way through I couldn't get over the creepy nature of this beginning.

Heughan and Chopra both put in decent performances, but they are constrained by the tropes of the story and the genre. That makes it difficult to put in a truly heartfelt performance, and it definitely hamstrung them as actors. Again, that's not to say they were bad. They absolutely weren't, but yet again the roles and performances just don't stand out above the pack. They weren't bad. They just weren't special.

The director and writer, James C. Strouse, has done a decent job with the locations and sets. The film looks gorgeous at times, and the choices made by the director cinematographically are spot on. He hits all the points you'd expect as well story-wise. These include the "unexpected" crossovers where they don't 'see' each other as well as several other. To be fair he does do those pretty well, but honestly you could have a romdram bingo card and get a full house really easily.

It does have a pretty decent soundtrack. This becomes even better of you're a Celine Dion fan. Celine does, of course, have a role in the movie as a very slightly dramatised version of herself. Though I suspect that she was actually fully.just being herself.

Overall, it's not a bad film. It's just nothing outstanding or special. It's certainly not a film I'll be adding to my regular rewatch pile, if I ever watch it again. If I was going to put it up against a romdram I thoroughly enjoyed, that did do something different, and that I have watched several times, it would be Last Christmas starring Emilia Clarke. That's how you do a romantic drama. It's getting a 5.5/10, because it's not bad, but it's barely above the median. If you love romantic dramas you might absolutely love this, and I honestly hope you do.

#romance #drama #sms #texts #opera #orpheus and euridyce #tropes #new york #movies #reviews #cinema #odeon

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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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oneprompt · 3 years ago

Note

Yooo your writing is so good!!! If it's alright, may I ask for the monster trio's hcs on almost losing their S/O in a fight with other pirates/marines? (Sorry if its a bit angsty among all these fluff fisbg)

authors note: hii <3 im very glad you’re enjoying it , that means a lot to hear ! and yes , i do love me some good angst .. i hope you enjoy ! <3 + zoro’s takes place during enies lobby , luffy’s takes place during wano and sanji’s takes place in whole cake <3 just . thought it’d be easiest to use pre existing arcs ...!

Zoro ( Almost ) Losing His S/o Headcanons

• Zoro finished his fight as quick as he could. He knew there was possibly more keys to find... and even if there wasn’t, you all still had to reach Robin. And you.... Zoro was furious at himself. How could he let you linger alone? Not that he thought you were weak, no. You were a force to be reckoned with. But Zoro couldn’t help but worry about which Cp9 agent you were put against, especially considering he struggled within his own fight..

• He’s quick to take his key and run up the crumbling stairs of the Tower of Law. Please be okay. Zoro didn’t look the part but he was so worried, so concerned. Zoro needed you to be safe, he was praying you weren’t put up against any of the big guys...

• And finally, Zoro had found you. The sight was one he had never wanted to witness in his life. He had no clue how to react, truly. Zoro never had a person in his life to call his, no one that made him feel the way you did. So, seeing you doused in blood, the deep slices upon your chest from claws made his blood boil. You had to be alive, right? You weren’t dead. No, you couldn’t be.

• Where was everyone? Where was Chopper? Zoro has no experience with medical supplies, not like that mattered, as he had none. He tried to not stare at you, trying to steady his somewhat shaky breathing. You had been pinned up against that leopard zoan user, hadn’t you? Wasn’t that guy the strongest? Why couldn’t you have been anywhere else?

• The light tears that laced his dark eyes were quick to slip and dissolve as you suddenly touched him. The sudden weight of your hand upon Zoro’s broad shoulder felt heavy, it felt endless in this moment. Were you.. really okay? As soon as he finally looks back at your bloody and disheveled self, he’s greeted with the softest smile he’s ever seen you bear upon your face.

• You want to apologize. Say sorry for failing your battle with Lucci, for worrying Zoro. But Zoro gives you not even a moment to think of what to say, as he pulls you into an almost out of character embrace. It was full of love, of security. Even as the claw marks upon your chest stayed branded on, you cling to Zoro, giving no regards to the scene that was before you both. Zoro was so happy to see you.

Luffy ( Almost ) Losing His S/o Headcanons

• Luffy is immediately engulfed by sudden flashes and memories of Marineford. He’s reminded of the soul crushing despair that engulfed his pure heart as Ace died within his arms. And here it was, happening once more. But not with Ace, with you. You were his most prized shipmate, he loved you a lot. No way was this happening... Luffy couldn’t lose someone he loved so dearly, not again.

• He’s squeezing you, nails digging into your flesh. Luffy is pleading, begging at that point. You had to be alive, you’ve survived much worse then this. You two would make it out of here. You and everyone else would beat Kaido and Tobi Roppo, wouldn’t you? You had to! You all made a promise... you promised to be at Jinbe’s banquet with the rest of the Straw Hats, with the other samurai..

• Luffy can’t help but cry. It’s out of character but with the sight of your body bruised and molded in such a painful state, it’s impossible not to. The way you’re making... you look so peaceful, just like Ace. Ace had the same smile on his face before he fell upon Luffy, adjusting every bit of dead weight onto the younger boy.

• He should’ve been there to help. Luffy couldn’t help but blame himself. Where was he during your grand fight? You must’ve advanced to King and Queen far too quick... Why couldn’t you have waited? Luffy could’ve been there.. he wanted to help, he could’ve helped. Did you die because of him...?

• Yet, the sudden noise of coughing made his sobbing halter, at least in volume. Luffy looked down at you, your bruised and bloodied face now accompanied with the presence of your hopeful eyes. You were alive..? Luffy’s tears cascaded downward, gently splattering down onto your cold cheeks. He couldn’t believe it..

• Luffy is all over you, crying his entire heart out. But can you blame him? He didn’t want to endure a repeat of what happened with Ace, pacing through another heart wrenching death. Your well being meant everything to Luffy, it truly did. He wanted to become the Pirate King with you on his side, he needed you in order to tap into his full potential. Without you, he could never reach his dreams.

Sanji ( Almost ) Losing His S/o Headcanons

• Sanji’s rapid footsteps pattered through the wedding, slamming down onto the cracker tracks that placed themselves throughout the setting. He saw the way you fell to the ground, every inch of you slamming to the candy coated ground as Big Mom had used her devil fruit. You couldn’t be dead... were you truly that afraid of Big Mom? So much so she could suck every bit of life out of you?

• Sanji can’t help but feel completely at fault. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t came here, if he hadn’t treated you all so badly before departing, none of this would’ve happened. If only Sanji wasn’t born, none of you would have to deal with him. It should’ve been him to die, not you. He knew how awful of a man he was, he knew how happier you would be without him on your side.

• It takes him all of his strength to hold in his tears. Crying was for the weak, wasn’t it? Instead, Sanji just stares at you, almost as if he was completely numb and oblivious to the world around him. You’d get up, right? You couldn’t die. No. You couldn’t, he wouldn’t let such a thing happen to you.

• Why did you come here to save him? Why did any of you show up for him? If you all let Sanji be wedded to Pudding, none of this would happen. You and the rest of the present Straw Hats wouldn’t have been put under such dangerous circumstances. Sanji felt at fault. He couldn’t even sell his life away correctly without hurting anyone..

• The sudden embrace around his neck is enough to make Sanji gasp. Was it...an enemy? No. No, it was the best thing it could’ve been. It was you. How had you overcome Big Mom’s devil fruit, you wonder. Sanji doesn’t hesitate to hug you back, not in the slightest. He held you as tight as he could, allowing you to sob into the white suit jacket he wore, your tears seeping into his cotton button up shirt.

• Sanji carries you upward and flees further away from the wedding, all the while giving you reassurance. He feels horrible for what he put through, not just physically. Just suddenly departing, saying he’s wedding another woman, leaving his true beloved behind must’ve been soul crushing for you.. Sanji would never let that happen again, he’d never allow you to feel such a way ever again.

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