#(imagine letting a service person into your house and then they decide to wander around in an off-limits room for a couple minutes

[ineffablefool]

This connection is supposed to be symmetrical.

[evanjinx]

alternative universe buddie fics recs :)

note: the links weren't working the first time i wrote the post but i edited and they're okay now!! if it still isn't working for you is probably because you're trying to open from a reblog from before i edit it, so try open directly from the original post on my profile.

Blind Date by @sassypopstar [complete | teen and up audiences | 3.8k words]

Buck feels a little ridiculous dressed in a jacket and a shirt. But Maddie had insisted on him dressing up for the occasion and even Chimney had quipped that it’s the right thing to do. So Buck, who never went on a blind date before in his life, listened to his big sister and her boyfriend because apparently that’s who he is now. Or the one where Buck goes on a blind date with someone called Eddie.

Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno [complete | teen and up audiences | 23.4k words]

A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day. Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.

Call It What You Will - Fate? Destiny? (A Tsunami) by @abow123456 [complete | mature | 20k words]

Evan Buckley's day of relaxation is cut short when a tsunami hits the beach he was relaxing at. He has to fight to keep himself and a lost little boy safe from the water, as well as anyone else he finds. After, he meets the boys father and family, and it causes a snowball effect of good things for him, for once.

Capuccino with extra, extra sugar by buckbng [complete | teen and up audiences | 2.7k words]

Buck is the cute barista and Eddie is the grinch that hates coffee. Until, he doesn't. Because if Buck says he looks like the kind of person that would love a cappuccino, who's Eddie to disagree with him? OR Eddie really doesn't like coffee but pretends he does just so he has an excuse to see the cute barista at the coffee shop.

Confirmation Bias by strifechaos [complete | mature | 31k words]

After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck. With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys. AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.

dream of some epiphany by extasiswings [complete | mature | 7.3k words]

Evan Buckley is lost. It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door. Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name. Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.

Frequent Flyer by red_to_black [complete | mature | 13.4k words]

In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer. (Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)

Gave me no messages, gave me no signs... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 7.4k words]

"Buck is beyond nervous, and he’s really trying to convince himself that the familiarity of the situation is not some sort of bad omen. Just because there are parallels of the start of his relationship with Eddie to that of his relationship with Abby doesn’t mean that this new adventure is destined to end in the same miserable fashion. He hopes it won’t, has to believe it won’t. Because even with Abby, he hadn’t fallen this hard for her before their first official date. With Eddie, everything is already intensified by a thousand." Or, Buck covers a shift for a firefighter at the 136 and it leads to a budding relationship through text messages.

Gotta Find My Corner (Of the Sky) by doctornineandthreequarters [complete | general audiences | 31.3k words]

It was the last day of 2016 and two lost souls found themselves in a quiet dive bar, as the loud noises of the city celebrating New Year’s Eve buzzed around them. Most people chose loud, flashy bars with DJs and entrance fees and promises of champagne for New Year’s Eve. But both occupants of the dive bar preferred the quiet. They both didn’t need the added chaos when everything around them already felt chaotic. --- Or, Buck and Eddie meet on New Year's Eve, 2016, a meeting that sets of a series of events that changes the trajectory of both of their lives.

I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Till I Saw Your Face by @hmslusitania [complete | general audiences | 10.4k words]

After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid (like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club. OR Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.

i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday [complete | teen and up audiences | 36.3k words]

In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.

i wanna be know (by you) by @starlightbuck [complete | general audiences | 12.5k words]

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief.

“How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

if i got locked away (would you still love me the same?) by @firefighterhan [complete | general audiences | 3.7k words]

Buck gets accidentally thrown in jail after meddling in a fight outside of a grocery store. There, he meets an unexpected guest, famous music artist Eddie Diaz, who is being suspiciously quiet about how he ended up here in the first place.

if only in my dreams by @buttercupbuck [complete | general audiences | 5.4k words]

Years before Eddie joins the 118, Buck meets him at an airport bar on Christmas day.

in a week by @buttercupbuck [complete | explicit | 78.9k]

in which Eddie joins the U.S. Forest Service and in the meadows of California, finds the things he thought he lost and the things he thought he'd never have.

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation by JayJay__884 [complete | general audiences | 6.6k words]

Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 84.7k]

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

Lift me up by @captain--sif [complete | teen and up audiences | 5.5k words]

Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 11.2k words]

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

*stupidly handsome and annoyingly talented rival spy

Mr. Buckley's After Hours Detention by aresaphrodites [complete | mature | 11.4k words]

It’s not like Eddie Diaz planned on this. Really, there was no scenario in his mind where he would ever be bringing his son’s teacher a freaking goody basket to class; a homemade goody basket, no less. Then again, Christopher has never had a teacher quite like Evan Buckley.

MukbangsWithBuck by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 19.3k words]

After growing tired of eating alone in his loft, Buck decides to start a YouTube channel where he records himself eating dinner and telling stories about crazy things his team has encountered on calls. He eventually gains a substantial fanbase, and he is led to the channel of another LA firefighter who uploads informational videos and also casual vlogs with his ten-year-old son. It isn't long before the two start a friendship through messages, both of them secretly hoping it will turn into something more. Or, Eddie and Buck are both firefighters/YouTubers and they end up falling in love.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates [complete | explicit | 139.1k words]

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.  But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie. Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back. He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head. 

Passive Aggressive Flirting by @starlingbite [complete | general audiences | 4.5k words]

Buck and Eddie have never met. They both work at the 118 but just on different shifts. That's all about to change when Buck finds a sticky note message, signed E.

String of hearts... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 11.1k words]

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

check out my post of buddie fics with dad!buck

[multiplefandomsblog]

Hajime x reader x Nagito NSFW and SFW headcanons

request; omg could you please (of course, only if it isn’t a bother) do the polyamorous SFW and NSFW headcanons like you did for kokichi and Shuichi with Hajime and nagito? gn! or fem! reader, please 🛐

Warnings; unedited, minor spoilers, long af, polyamory, anggggsssst, fluff, the timeline is bullshit, voyeurism, praise kink, degradation kink, orgasm denial/edging, cock warming, BDSM, gn!reader, I tried making the reader’s parts gender-neutral, anal, fingering, hair pulling, cum eating, mentions of choking

Note; I feel like I made this more different compared to the Shuichi and kokichi one, but I still hope you enjoyed it nonetheless, thank you for requesting! (i also had so many more things to add, but it was becoming quite long so I had to hold back a bit qwq)

- mod chia

•SFW•

◊ TSUNDERE HAJIME AHHH- I’m so sorry, I just had to.

◊ But yes, Hajime is absolutely the cutest tsundere ever.

◊ It’s especially amusing when you and Nagito both gang up on him, kissing or cuddling him randomly just to see him flustered. You’d both randomly start being super affectionate towards him, turning him red. A thing you and Nagito would do is lean on both sides of his shoulders at the same time, or hug him from the back and front. Maybe some cheek kisses from both sides, he loves those but he won’t tell you that.

◊ I headcanon Hajime to be a protective boyfriend. If he ever found out someone had been rude to you or Nagito, he would throw hands. He is willing to beat up anyone for the two of you, you can’t talk him out of it.

◊ Hajime would get jealous easily, as a result of his insecurity about his talentlessness. If he ever saw an ultimate putting the moves on either of you, he’d probably get uncomfortable and try to pull you away or be extra affectionate.

◊ He gets kind of upset and envious of the ultimates Nagito praises, it makes him wonder if you and Nagito preferred someone else that had talent. So please assure him that he’s everything you both want and more, he needs the confidence and comfort.

◊ If he felt particularly insecure one day, you’d both sandwich him in a cuddle and tell him how important he meant to the both of you. He would refuse at first, saying that he was alright and all, but you two don’t fall for it.

◊ As you two are always there for him, he’s always there for you too.

◊ If he’s ever stressed during a class trial and you or Nagito’s stadium was next to his, he’d instinctually hold hands with either of you, feeling his nerves calm down a bit at the reassuring squeeze. 

◊ He has a sense for when you two are feeling upset, he always knows when something is up because he has a ton of experience himself. So he can recognize all the symptoms because he’s seen them in himself.

◊ Hajime somehow always knows the right thing to say and the best stuff to give to you when you’re feeling down in the dumps. He always reassures you that no matter what, your feelings are valid and that you can always come to him or Nagito when you aren’t feeling like yourself. 

◊ I headcanon that Nagito has some trouble detecting when something is wrong, I feel like he’d be too blinded by how amazing you two were that he’d overlook some symptoms of something wrong, brushing it off. He wouldn’t really think about the fact that you two could have issues in the first place, as a result of him viewing you so highly.

◊ Nagito is a great listener if you ever want to talk, and he will provide the warmest cuddles if you need them. He isn’t great at comforting you or advice, but he will whisper the sweetest things in your ear when you’re feeling insecure. 

◊ Nagito is a pretty thoughtful boyfriend, he remembers everything about the two of you(i.e. Favourite food, flowers, colour, material, etc.) though he can’t even remember to take care of himself. 

◊ He remembers all of the things his loves enjoy, and getting them for you two makes him extremely happy. He spoils you both rotten even though Hajime insists he doesn’t have to, but he does anyway.

◊ Nagito sometimes thinks he intrudes between the relationship with you and Hajime, he has thoughts of leaving the both of you because he thinks your relationship would be better without him. He’d see you two being adorable with each other, and think of how lucky he is to have you two.

◊ Almost too lucky. He worries that his presence in the relationship will somehow harm both of you, he’s convinced that something terrible will happen. So he’s constantly paranoid around the both of you. With everything good that occurs, something terrible follows; That’s his ultimate.

◊ In the early stages of your relationship with him, he’s pretty distant, always trying to edge himself out so you two could be happier together. But you two would notice his behaviour, asking him what was wrong. 

◊ As he explained, your hearts broke from his reason as you both smothered him with love. Hajime would aggressively love him, telling him he shouldn’t think that and that you both would be extremely upset if he had left. 

◊ He’d cry from the affection he’d receive from the two of you, feeling incredibly grateful for the both of you. After that, he’d stop being distant, realizing that he was just being selfish and hurting his loves. He’d realize that he had been doing the opposite of making you guys happy, and all he wants is for you two to be happy.

◊ I headcanon that Hajime and Nagito both have a teensy bit of trouble initiating kisses or contact, you’d have to initiate most of it. Hajime being too awkward and a tad shy, whereas Nagito doesn’t feel worthy of your touch.

◊ Buuuut, Hajime can and will initiate affection if you tease him to the point where he just wants to shut you guys up with his lips. He’d kabedon you guys and everything.

◊ Nagito’s favourite thing to do to you both is cooking and giving gifts. He loves acts of service because it makes him happy to know that he’s making you two happy from what he’s doing. If you let him cook or do anything for you, he’d be extremely happy. All he wants to do is to please the both of you.

◊ It’s cute seeing him dance around in his little apron while he cooks, it leads to one of those rare moments where Hajime initiates a back-hug. You’d join shortly after, not wanting to miss out on the cuddles. Nagito would be pretty surprised, but he’d let you two cling onto him as he kept on cooking with a wide smile on his face.

◊ A thing Hajime unconsciously does is hold your guys’ hands, he doesn’t want you two to wander off and him to lose you. It’s kind of a mom’s instinct.

◊ A thing you like to do is steal both of their clothes, wearing them around the house as if they were yours. The boys love seeing you in their clothes, their hearts just melt from how adorable you look. Hajime would flush and then question you for it,

◊ “Why are you wearing my clothes?” You clenched your hands around his material, bringing it tighter around your body. “Because it smells like you.” Hajime rolled his eyes but didn’t tell you to take it off, “Y-you’re such a perv.” He walked away, “But I’m your perv, right? Right, Hajime??” 

◊ Nagito would question you for it, but for different reasons. “Ah yes, of course, you still look stunning in my garbage hoodie. Speaking of, why are you wearing my trash clothing? I can buy you your own hoodie, you know.” He walked up to you, tugging at the hem of his hoodie you were wearing, “Do you want me to take it off?” You teasingly pouted as Nagito panicked, “N-no! I mean… If you’d like to, it’s your choice. But if you decide to keep it on, I wouldn’t be upset- Hell! I’d never be upse-” You shut him up with a bear hug, “Don’t worry, I’m not even wearing anything underneath this in the first place.” “Oh. Haha, wait wha-”

•NSFW•

◊ I think Hajime secretly loves cockwarming but would never suggest it because he’s afraid you two might think it’s weird. During movies where one of you decide to sit on his lap, all he’s thinking of is sinking his dick inside either of you, walls squeezing around him comfortably.

◊ I headcanon Hajime to be a switch, it depends on his mood if he’d rather be a top or bottom. He goes along with you two are more comfortable with.

◊ I can imagine Hajime tied to the bedpost as you sink down on him, Nagito watching you both with his cock in his hand. Nagito joins after a while, Hajime looked so vulnerable, it’s alright if he’s selfish just this once right? He’d slip himself underneath Hajime, his dick sliding in Hajime’s ass as he cried out pleas and moans. 

◊ Hajime’s eyes would be rolling in the back of his head as you both bounced on and thrusted into him, the pleasure mind-numbing. He’d be drooling from the intense pleasure he received from the both of you, Nagito whispering praises on how good he felt around him whilst you lost your mind writhing and grinding against his dick. 

◊ I headcanon that Hajime wouldn’t really enjoy hardcore degradation, maybe some small stuff to make him submit, but any personal degrading turns him off.

◊ Now, I don’t think this is a popular opinion but, I can see Nagito getting off on degradation. You or Hajime could call him a slut, and he’d be cumming from words alone. He doesn’t really think about whether you truly feel that way about him, he goes into that mindset and he kind of forgets all of it, focusing solely on the pleasure he was giving to you two.

◊ Hajime likes being told he’s making you feel good, it reassures him that you’re actually enjoying it and it’ll get him to go harder and faster.

◊ When Hajime tops, I think Hajime wouldn’t really be a soft or hard dom, he’d just be in the sweet middle spot. He’d never go too far but he wouldn’t be too gentle with either of you. Ultimately, it depends on his mood. For example. If you both had provoked him beforehand to the point he was done, he would go feral and hard dom the shit out of you both, not even giving you a chance to breathe.

◊ It’s kind of hot when you see his face turn red and his neck pop a vein, but it’s even better when he starts releasing all that sexual frustration into you both.

◊ He’d have Nagito on his dick while Nagito sucked the life out of you. Nagito wouldn’t even have enough time to protest, Hajime would already have his tip teasing Nagito’s rim with Nagito’s head pushed down in between your thighs.

◊ He wouldn’t stop thrusting until he came, using you both for his pleasure and his pleasure only(kinda hot ngl). Even when he did feel either of you reach your high, he’ll pull away when you could practically taste it.

◊ He loves edging, the distress on your faces when he pulls away at that last moment gets him off in a sadistic way. 

◊ Though, he would never let you two go without an orgasm unless you or Nagito acted bratty even after the many punishments. He punishes the both of you until you two finally break and submit completely to the point where you had no brat left in you.

◊ Nagito’s praise kink is more giving than receiving, though he will never complain if you did praise him. It makes his heart full when you tell him how good he is, he’s glad he’s making you feel good. You two always make Nagito feel good, so he always makes sure to let you know how good you make him feel.

◊ It’s kind of hot when you see his face turn red and his neck pop a vein, but it’s even hotter when he comes back to release his frustrations into the both of you.

◊ Nagito definitely puts the pleasure of his loves first, he always makes sure you two cum before him. 

◊ Nagito wouldn’t insert his dick in either of you unless you begged for it, he doesn’t think he deserves the pleasure, he prioritizes both of your orgasms first.

◊ Nagito as a bottom would always ask before he could cum, he wants to be good for the two of you and never wants to disappoint you. He doesn’t even think he is worthy of an orgasm himself, so if you said yes, he would hysterically thank you as he gasped and whined from the intense pleasure his orgasm brought him.

◊ Nagito is very vocal during sex, and god bless because I think we all know that Nagito has the breathiest, sexiest moans.

◊ I headcanon Nagito to be the softest dom, I cannot imagine this man degrading or hurting you two in any way. He loves you two too much to hurt you, even if it’s for sexual purposes. Though he may sometimes accidentally(?) overstimulate you at times, losing himself in the moment. 

◊ Nagito as a bottom enjoys any humiliation, degradation, choking or pain you put him through, he loves it all. His sexual reactions are definitely the best, he makes the prettiest moans as you or Hajime insert kanye west loves fingers in his ass, drool trailing down his chin as he arched his back. 

◊ Hajime loves pulling hair as much as Nagito loves having his hair pulled. 

◊ Nagito mostly gets off by watching the two of you fuck, pleasuring himself as he watches the both of you with dilated pupils. You two often have to beckon him to join, eventually resorting to ordering him after his many refusals that you didn’t have to.

◊ A thing Nagito does after sex is licking up every single drop of cum you two had given him, not letting a tiny bit go to waste. He thinks your cum is ‘hopeful’ and it’s precious to him, so he doesn’t want to seem unthankful for the cum you gave him. He makes sure to lap you both up clean, maintaining eye contact as his tongue slides up your guys’ skin.

◊ Hajime’s hard dom demeanour changes completely after sex, however tired he may be, he always makes sure the both of you are alright after the rough treatment he had given the both of you before he passes out. 

◊ Nagito would praise the both of you after sex, holding both of you close as he let you doze off in his arms.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

[musicallisto]

Hi, congrats on 800 followers! Can I please get a Six of Crows ship? I’m have short brown hair (I dyed red last week) and green eyes. I don't mind if im shipped with a girl or a boy. I like reading (no romantic novels), music and photography. I'm Aquarius. I’m very curious. I'm a little shy and even cold at first. I’m not good with feelings, I mostly keep them to myself if I can, but I care deeply for my loved ones and would do anything to help them, even if I'm not very good at giving advice. ☆

hi! here’s your vanilla milkshake, I hope you like it! I ship you with jesper fahey!

You don’t imagine the extent of my joy to be able to add a gif of an actual real person for Jesper... however shall I survive until Aprid 23rd?

For the longest time, you thought the world started and ended at your corner of Fjerda, in your frozen estate by the True Sea.

You were descented from minor Fjerdan nobility, and your father, jaded by Court Life and its political intrigues - and, unofficially, penniless after giving his all for the sempiternal wars on Ravka -, had decided to leave the capital and retire to his family’s estate by the sea a few years after you were born.

All you had ever known were the large, marbled corridors you’d spend entire afternoons wandering, daydreaming about adventures in the confines of the country - or living the lavish life of a true Fjerdan princess, in an outrageously enormous bed of satin sheets...

The house was spacious and beautiful, with a marvelous view over the sea, gently carrying its boats to and fro before you - and you’d stay there on the balcony in your flowy white dress, admiring the ocean until you couldn’t fight the chills of the night creeping up your spine anymore; but as tranquil and languid as your existence was, it was also terribly lonely.

All you longed for was a sibling, a friend, a partner in crime, someone you could explore the world and go on quests with...

... until a lighting bolt tore the silence, one night.

You couldn’t sleep, so you had gone on a walk by the shore as you often did - your father was never worried about it, since you knew the rocks and their cracks like the back of your hand, and would know the way back home even with your eyes closed.

But you were so absorbed by the distant twinkling of stars that you didn’t notice the shadows creeping up behind you until it was too late.

Screams in a language you can’t understand; an arm around your neck in a chokehold, another slipping under your knees; you thrash around, slice all you can, bite and claw at all you can grasp...

Your abductors know better than to let Fjerdan nobility get away from their grasp. They don’t know exactly who you are - but they’ve guessed from the distinguished aspect of your house that there’s a fine sum to gain from whoever will be willing to pay for you - your father for a ransom, or anyone else, in Kerch, who’ll make good use of your services.

Those brothels in Ketterdam pay good money for young girls, they hear - even more so for a Fjerdan pearl.

When they throw you on an overloaded carriage like a potato sack, you’re still yelling at the top of your lungs, pleading for your father, for one of your maids, for anyone to help you.

But no one hears.

You shed all the tears you have in the first night, tossed around in a dark chariot, off to somewhere unknown. Your father hasn’t prepared you for this - nothing, not even your books nor your fantastical imaginary adventures...

But you don’t intend on being sold off that easily. So you devise a plan to get away.

The first opportunity to break free presents itself when your kidnappers force you to board a ship; but they manage to catch you before you’ve run very far.

But second time’s the charm; with nothing better to do during the voyage than to bide your time and gnaw at your bonds, you’re able to slip from your captor’s watch, and blindly run through the harbor - just to get as far as possible from the stench of this floating carcass.

The first thing that strikes you is the odor. You’ve known the sea forever - it’s clear and bright as ice, and smells of fresh mornings and cold salt; never of this green rot that festers everywhere in these streets... and all those chimneys, all those people, who stare you down as you run down these grimy streets, barefoot in your off-white dress...

You understand that you’re farther from home than you’ve ever been, and it’s not a thrilling adventure, it’s terrifying and overwhelming, and you want nothing more than to burst into tears.

But you don’t, because a pair of strangers flag you down in a language you don’t understand.

A tall and lanky dark-skinned boy, wearing vibrant fabric and a self-assured grin; and possibly the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen in your life, all bright eyes and genuine frown.

Paralyzed, you open your mouth, once, twice, incapable of making the slightest sound; until the girl notices your visible discomfort, and, eyeing your pale eyes, asks in the slightest of Ravkan accents;

“Are you Fjerdan?”

You nod with all your soul. You’re ready to cling onto them both for dear life.

“What happened to you?”

Your voice fails you - you can’t explain it - you haven’t even comprehended it all. You were curled up in front of the fireplace just the night before...

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head with despair, trying to blink back the tears.

“Come with us. We know someone who’ll help you.”

You don’t mull it over very long. Maybe it’s your sheltered uprbinging that has made you naive; maybe it’s the curiously comforting warmth you see in the Ravkan girl’s eyes; but you simply have no better option, and you can’t understand a word of Kerch, or wherever it is that this barbarian folk speak.

Although your two saviors start arguing, probably about whether or not they can reasonably take you in, your tear-stained cheeks and desperate vulnerability are enough to convince them - so you follow them.

Into the lair of the Dregs, of whom you’ve never heard - and of Kaz Brekker, who you know very well.

After all, he’s the infamous gangster who invaded your homeland, broke into the Ice Court, and stole the Shu boy - or so you saw your father read in the papers. To know that you are under the same roof as that lowlife would be enough to give your father a heart attack...

You’re half convinced that he’ll throw you back to the streets, but Nina and, surprisingly, Jesper as well, plead in your favor with a greatly convincing fervor. You learn that it’s probably because Kaz has much greater worries on his mind - the criminal group is planning on retrieving one of their own from the clutches of a treacherous business partner, or so you’ve gathered.

Either way, you’re more than happy that the terrifying and redoubtable Kaz Brekker is leaving you alone, and that you can enjoy Jesper’s company.

You two become unexpectedly good friends overtime. He comes to visit you at the Crow Club, where you’re staying, almost every day. Yet communication is not your strong suit, especially in a language you don’t understand at all, and you don’t fancy yourself a particularly enthralling girl to be around.

Not when one has lived the life of a criminal, a sharpshooter, a wanderer, a playboy... well, all those things that Jesper prises himself on being, and all those words he’s taught you in Kerch.

(That and the curse words, of course, that you’re a bit intimidated to use at first, until they slip out of your mouth one evening when you drop your plate at dinner with the Dregs, and the entire canteen falls dead silent.)

“Did she just say ‘fuck’?”

“I think she just said fuck.”

“See, Matthias, she wasn’t immediately struck by lighting by Djel’s hand. You won’t die if you say it.”

Speaking of Matthias, he’s also a good friend of yours - it’s comforting and refreshing to have a familiar face around, one of Fjerdan roots and mores.

Although the rest of the group says you’re not that Fjerdan.

“You’re one of the feisty ones, at least.”

“I’m not ‘feisty’. Shut up, Jesper.”

“Ah, I see you’ve been working on the vocabulary I taught you!”

Matthias and you both have a lot of soul-searching and unlearning to do about the outside world - you were raised in particularly bigoted environments, you somewhat less than him. The hatred for the Grisha he’s been taught by the Drüskelle is fear in your case; you’ve been brought up on bedtime stories of bloodthirsty Grisha who devour unruly kids, and war and devastation caused by their unstability and blasphemous magic.

It’s even more of a shock to you when you learn Jesper is a Grisha.

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve started to fall a little for him - how could you not? He’s funny, charming, sarcastic and witty; always has the best stories to tell, and despite it all, sincerely cares for you amidst the chaos of their heist and revenge plans.

But to learn he was the kind of monster - no, the kind of creature - no, the kind of person, you force yourself to correct mentally - that you had been taught to fear for your entire life...

“I’m so sorry. You should never have been there.”

He’s pacing back and forth in your room after a shootout has gone awry and you were caught in the crossifre; it’s the first time he’s ever had to use his Durast powers to get you of the mess - and normally he wouldn’t have, because it’s a secret he wishes he could carry to the grave, but the fear of losing you was too strong...

“Thank god that I was there, though. What would you do without me?”

He’s fidgety and restless, nervously playing with his pistols, and his nervous laugh is all but genuine; and you’re huddled up on your bed, staring him down with wide eyes.

“Jesper, you...”

“Yeah, maybe not the best moment.”

“Jesper...”

“It’s like they have a knack for knowing exactly where we’re gonna be and when...”

“Jesper!”

He abruptly turns to look at you, and his eyes widen. He’s starting to understand, almost, but refuses to believe it. Your voice is a murmur, and you can hardly hold his gaze.

“Jesper, are you... going to hurt me?”

His words die in his throat. He remembers where you’re from... the garbage that they must have filled your ears and head with from the day you were born... how feverish Matthias was with Nina... he looks at his hands, and his Materialki magic rumbles like a dark curse.

“Y/N, you’re scared of me?”

The sheer hurt in his voice breaks your heart. Even though you’re trembling, you let him step closer to you, slowly. It’s Jesper in front of you, not some ungodly monster from legends... Jesper, your Jesper...

“I’m... I’m sorry...”

He cups your face in his hands, warm and just a bit moist, and stares into your eyes with a vulnerability you have never seen in him.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Y/N, I swear on my life. All I want is you to be safe...”

Safe from me, if that’s what you wish, he thinks for a split second, but you don’t give him time to doubt; you’ve captured his lips in a frenzied kiss, and hold on for dear life onto his lean shoulders.

Fjerda and its blind hatred is very far from you, now. You're locked in Jesper's embrace, and you won't have to hear their lies anymore.

You know you have nothing to fear from him; not now, and not ever.

800 follower sleepover CLOSED!

[kpopchangedmylife44]

Ateez: honeymoon thread

Hello fellow atinys, my blog reached 500 followers and I would like to thank everyone, who enjoys my stories 🥺 I’m really happy that someone out there gets to read them and it maybe put a smile on their face ☺️ So this is a 500 follower special. It’s a long thread and also kind of a sequel of my wedding post. I planned it for quite some time, but I also procrastinated and everything was overwhelming in life. Now I’m back (kinda) and will start to work on the requests I got. ✨

Hongjoong

Planning: although you both were extremely tired, you insisted to plan everything yourself, so it turned out exactly how you imagined

Location: Italy

Accommodation: several cozy hotels in bigger cities

Food: it’s Italy so you can bet your ass there is a lot of pizza, spaghetti and ice cream involved

Activities:

- you would start your honeymoon in Rome, where you wander around and fall in love with the city

- the architecture and museums are extremely beautiful, so you’re even more happy that you get to experience it with Hongjoong

- visiting Verona and pretending you were Romeo and Juliet (but with a happy ending)

- eating a lot and wearing comfortable clothes as you walk around so much

- Hongjoong is particular affectionate during this trip as he showers you with compliments all the time and never lets go of your hand

- exploring Venice by boat and singing some dramatic song that you once heard in a opera

- wearing couple jackets he designed himself which feature your initials 🥺

- he filmed parts of the trips as he would like to make a short film, which you could enjoy afterwards

Seonghwa

Planning: since you both hated it, you were hiring someone to do it for you, at least you had prepared a mood board and the general direction of your trip

Location: south of France

Accommodation: fancy all the way, either a really nice hotel or a little castle (or chateau how you say it in French)

Food: grapes in the form of wine

Activities:

- prepare yourself for the luxurious trip of a lifetime

- you’re arriving there and everything is ready for you both

- first are reFrEsHMents (which means alcohol)

- full course meals (and yes, this includes your husbands looks)

- boat trips and visiting tiny islands for the day

- taking a lot of selfies

- enjoying the sun and the food (and Seonghwa in swimwear)

- skinny dipping in the sea

- hot nights in the hot tub

- testing wine and feeling a little pretentious

- visiting a chateau and running around there like a music video

- Seongwha saying ,,so ha“ when he sees you

- kisses your hand and hair all the time and is more clingy (or thirsty) than usual

Yunho

Planning: you try to plan without the stressful part, so you ask a professional for help and it’s really smooth from this point on

Location: nationalparks in the USA

Accommodation: small hotels along the road (not Motels)

Food: normal restaurants, but also a lot of burgers

Activities

- it’s like a roadtrip, but way more comfortable

- you sleep in cozy little hotels and visit some bigger cities along the way

- wandering around the nature with Yunho is actually really fun

- although he is quite hyper around everyone he enjoys the calmness of your trip

- always holding your hand and kissing you

- you visit several national parks like Yosemite and could gaze at the stars during the night

- englishi Time

- he is no longer yunhoe bit yunhusband (i’m sorry)

- buys dumb souvenirs like mood rings which you religiously wear from then on

- thought that he saw a bear and almost started crying

- singing really loudly in the forest

- oh and also outdoor sex

Yeosang

Planning: 8 months before the trip, but he actually always had ideas; planned his wedding and honeymoon years ago when he first met you, he also made a mood board and it helped a lot

Location: Japan during the cherry blossom

Accommodation: a traditional house with a lot of privacy, an onsen but also room service, does not look like a hotel but has all the privileges

Food: lots of chicken; Japanese dishes, but also snacks whenever you go out to explore

Activities

- you would first explore Tokyo and visit everything the city has to offer

- as the city is really beautiful but also hectic, you would visit Nara-park and pet the deers to relax

- you would let some street artist paint a portrait of you both as it’s a really fun idea to remember the trip

- shiba inus everywhere and Yeosang melts every time he sees one of them

- ,,Look at how cute they are. We need to adopt at least one in the future“ (and you would, because they are so adorable)

- fotoshootings with the cherry blossom

- after a week in the urban area you would travel along the coast

- Yeosang rented a car for it and you stayed at different hotels along the way, which you also booked prior

- you visited a little island where a lot of bunnys live and had the best time there

- Yeosang always buys souvenirs whenever you visit a new city or attraction

- he especially loves the postcards as he plans to do a collage with them for your honeymoon fotobook

- driving along the coast would be peaceful and filled with laughter, Yeosang giggling to himself and feeling like all of this might as well be a dream

- ,,I never knew it was possible to love someone so much until I met you“

San

Planning: you booked the trip 6 months prior and you gradually became more and more excited for it, although both of you aren’t really into planning, you did it with a lot of excitement and talked about it for hours on end

Location: South Africa

Accommodation: a huge wooden house in the middle of a resort that focuses on reserving the wildlife

Food: a huge variety of fruits and meat, the dinner is a feast every single day of your stay (and so is your husband)

Activities:

- the journey itself would be really cute as you were flying first class and cuddled all the way until you arrived

- San even mumbled in his sleep how excited he was to finally go

- when you arrived you took it really easy, just relaxing at the resort, which also had huge beds and a stunning outdoor area with a whirlpool

- the first evening you relaxed in that whirpool, while spotting some giraffes in the distance and it just hit you like ,,Wow, look how amazing life could be” (bish, I wish)

- you never really believed that you would ever be this happy, finding someone that you loved and going on adventures with him but here you are

- and of course San felt it too, but you just sat there enjoying it, holding hands and not saying anything

- the next couple of days included going on safari, climbing a mountain, standing under a waterfall and chasing sunsets

- it was the perfect balance between adventure and relaxing

- because of your husband you always felt a calmness by his presence

- ,,I wish we could do this all over again, San.“

- ,,Well, we have the rest of our lives to go on adventures like this.“ 🥺🥺🥺

Mingi

Planning: like the wedding itself it happened quite fast without much planning

Location: Australia

Accommodation: several hotels as you also rented a car

Food: some really strange exotic food, but mostly real meals with the occasional burger and cocktails

Activities

- the focus is on having fun, enjoying every moment and just going with the flow

- after all its Mingi, who has a lot of spontaneous ideas

- why not go snorkeling or run naked around the beaches?

- or that time he was convinced that he saw a shark and you both panicked and screamed (but it was a dolphin)

- going to a concert at the beach and dancing until your feet hurt and he has to carry you

- also sleeping at the same beach as you two were too drunk to find the way back to the hotel

- Mingi being extra clingy and giving some people the stink eye, who look too enthusiastically at you

- he wrote a rap for you (inspired by your honeymoon) and performed it by the ocean

- it’s like having the best trip of your life and realising it doesn’t end when you get home, because having Mingi as your husband is a great adventure and he spends every day trying to make you laugh and love life

Wooyoung

Planning: the location itself was decided a long time ago, but the activities are more spontaneous, just going with the flow

Location: Iceland

Accommodation: first in a hotel, then in a mobile home

Food: fresh food like fish and also a lot of snacks

Activities:

- your honeymoon and accommodation were a little unconventional

- you started in the city of Reyjkavic and visited the touristy sights

- you stumbled around the Icelandic phallological museum and decided to go inside for the lols (and had a lot of giggles)

- after a few days in the city you ventured out to the beautiful nature of Iceland

- it started at the blue lagoon, which was the most relaxing thing and you were just hanging out and sipping slushees (they are really good, I had the time of my life lmao)

- then you drive around and it feels like absolute freedom

- you feel like exploring a whole new world as they are a lot of waterfalls and geysers

- Wooyoung feels like he is falling in love with you even more (if that’s even possible) and if he hadn’t already, he would marry you then and there again

- star gazing as there is no air pollution and it’s amazing how many stars there actually are

- visiting the diamond beach, which sparkles and has you feeling like little kids

- long morning snuggles and random hugs throughout the day

- and he would also be your personal photographer and scream how cute you are

- your honeymoon would also include really random stuff (like the penis museum) like skateboarding in the middle of nowhere (like Walter Mitty - the absolute legend) or hiking because you felt like it

- never a dull moment with your husband that’s for sure

Jongho

Planning: he wanted everything to be perfect so you started pretty early (1 year before)

Location: England

Accommodation: small hotels with cozy interior

Food: pretty normal food, you also tried fish & chips once (and it was nothing special)

Activities:

- would hold your hand during the whole flight

- you started your honeymoon in London which you loved at first sight

- the hotel was really central, so you could walk to a lot of sights

- London by night was magical and you visited many museums which had great artwork and were free

- theater nights and going for a walk along the Thames

- after a week you started to explore the cities around London like Oxford, Brighton and Cambridge

- and everything was so stunning and with Jongho by your side you could literally cry, because does it get much better than this??? (well no)

- Jongho declares his love for you at least once a day and although it was so cheesy it still got you giggling and feeling all mushy inside

- he loves all the old buildings and biscuits, so you would probably visit again sometime

- it’s a really nice and somehow relaxing trip although you get to explore so much

[reversecreek]

MEET THE NPCS...

BOBBY YANG, “BIG BOB” .

1. how old are they and what do they look like?

thirty-four. implausibly tall. the day magda first saw a sketch of slenderman she thought of him. when her aunt shelly pulled up the dirt road to abernathy creek magda remembers seeing him through a dusty back window with his head bowed to avoid getting tree leaves in his eyes, joint between his lips, dungarees dirty and half unbuckled. one side of his hair is buzzed with no apparent style intention and he has a weed leaf tattooed behind his left ear. an elephant on his thigh. a name on his ankle he often wears a plaster over. once it soaked through and fell off in the creek and, newly glossy in the sun, nine year old magda reached to give it a blunt and shameless prod. big bob never explained who the name belonged to, he only reached to thumb at the minari growing by the water bed and talk about the fact it was a "versatile little sucker”. 

2. if applicable, where and when did they meet your muse?

big bob introduced himself as such and magda raised her eyebrow in disbelief, the soul of a disgruntled pensioner in a seven yr old’s body. magda didn’t rly talk to anyone when she first arrived in her new home, verging on mute. she was angry at the move, angry that her dad hadn’t called her when she got there, angry that she didn’t know her mother’s voice to imagine it telling her everything was okay. the world made her so angry she didn’t want to acknowledge it. she sat outside in silence for a long time letting a ladybug crawl over her hand, and big bob didn’t ask anything of her, he only schlepped closer and presented her with a buttercup. she looked at it like it’d spat in her face but took it nonetheless. it was strange having an actual bed, if you could call a bare mattress that, used to sleeping on the sofa in shelly’s old trailer, and the springs nipped at her like a dog demanding treats, so she wandered outside in one of shelly’s big tie dye shirts like a nightdress, searching for the moon. big bob was standing out there already in the overgrown grass, stark naked, chin lifted to gawk at the moon himself. magda didn’t disturb him. this is when she first discovered his habit of naked sleepwalking. abernathy creek felt like a bird house overrun with all kinds of eccentric, squawking parakeets. it was a lot for a seven yr old to take in. this was a strange reality she’d never signed up for, swallowed by the commune to overheat inside it’s belly. 

3. what kind of a presence do they have in your muse’s life? do they have a positive or negative relationship?

bob’s definitely a character. three times now he’s slipped hallucinogens into magda’s tea without her knowing under the impression that this is just harmless fun and he’s actually helping her by pushing her little boat to bob along the ocean of enlightenment, once at as young as 16. every time she realises he’s like “y’just got bobbeddddd!” and magda’s like here we go ig. told her the raw earth has healing properties to explain why he’d dug up the grass just to rub his hands in the soil and lay there like a panting, overheated dog. he’s an important component to abernathy creek and oversees a lot of the agriculture there. rigged up the irrigation system himself using copper pipes that magda suspects were stolen. the beat up camper van that’s usually parked up behind abernathy and hidden under leafy branches appeared when he did, apparently, although he insists it belongs to everyone. he leads the crusades to drive it up to the mountains and take a group of abernathy creek residents shroom picking. he’s in charge of drying them for selling, too. jack of all trades, really. magda claims not to care for him (or anyone) but she still walked out onto the grass, took his hand and lead him inside whenever she found him sleepwalking at night in her teens. once a group of kids were daring each other to get closer when he was out there and magda threw a stone so hard at one of their shin’s it split it open and made them scatter. but again, magda “does not care about him”. the jury is not convinced.

4. are they revered in irving? do they have bad blood with anyone?

honestly everyone in irving probably thinks he’s a rly strange guy and i won’t fk around. he kind of is. wears many necklaces around his neck n one is just a pouch that has a prehistoric mosquito encased in a little piece of amber inside. sometimes magda wonders if he likes to play up to his reputation by putting it on a little bit. once she saw him suddenly jerking his head like a pecking chicken and saying “g’warn GET” to scare a random middle aged hiker into galloping in the opposite direction in the trees near abernathy. has a masterful knowledge of bird songs and can imitate them all impeccably. sometimes does this instead of replying with words. never cares about the holes in his shoes where his toes poke out. always seems to be turning a rusty coin between his fingers like it helps him think. he makes moonshine that will knock u off ur feet tho which is always a good time if ur lucky enough to try it. he has a very rich n warm voice like a log fire or a gooey chocolate brownie. even with all of his oddities he sounds kind. he’s very unconventional n doesn’t abide by rules of society a lot but he’s quite funny n a good time. makes engaging smalltalk if u treat him with respect. weird but admittedly a tiny bit wonderful. 

OTIS WOLFE.

1. how old are they and what do they look like?

forty-six but he looks older. the skin beneath his eyes is subtly purpled like it’s been dyed by a lick of beetroot juice. he has a very charismatic walk which doesn’t sound like it makes sense but it does to look at him. he walks everywhere buoyantly and with purpose. very high energy in his good days. lives everything in large quantities, good and bad. always used to wear a tan leather bomber jacket when magda was growing up but he forgot it w her one visit n it’s the only time she’s known him to call up two days after leaving to ask if she’d seen it. magda lied and said she hadn’t. she still has it to this day. sleeps in it on her bad days. otis has a smile so big it shines like live wires are sparking in his mouth. magda’s fingertips prickle like she’s an hour recovering from shoving a fork into a plug socket whenever she sees it. she used to think that’s what excitement felt like. that used to be true.

2. what kind of a presence do they have in your muse’s life? do they have a positive or negative relationship?

it’s very complicated. magda knows her dad isn’t a good person but she knows he isn’t a bad person either. sometimes it’s more frustrating to see things in grey because you just want something solid to take shape that u can actually put ur finger on. she finds herself perpetually stood at a fork in the road between believing in him still and deciding he’s no good. sometimes she’ll start walking in one direction only to realise it loops back on itself and she’s right back where she started. otis has given her a lot of fun “adventures”. taught her how to juggle. they stayed in a hotel on someone else’s credit card once and racked up a gargantuan tab ordering every form of room service and renting godzilla and the matrix on pay per view when she was 11. sometimes he’d use her in gimmicks where she had to lie and pretend she had a health condition so they could get a few bucks off charitable strangers on a street corner and under the veil of youth magda found playing up these roles funny because who would ever believe that? wasn’t everyone in the world so stupid except them? it was nice being part of his team. his “little wolfie”. but then a lot of things weren’t nice either. he’s left her stranded on the side of the road with nowhere to go on more than one occasion. he’s passed out in motel corridors and she’s had to lug him into a bed. he’s forgotten almost every birthday apart from one where he sent a card with five dollars inside and handwriting so squiggly she could tell he was drunk when he wrote it. he doesn’t know she likes to sing because he’s only ever listened when he’s fallen asleep. otis is all of magda’s heart and that’s why sometimes she likes to forget that it’s beating. 

3. are they revered in irving? do they have bad blood with anyone?

he’s very flighty n rarely in irving any more tbh but was more when magda was younger n his visits were a little less sporadic. probably owes a bunch of people money for some reason or another. smashed up fannie’s recently when he turned up drunk and got ahead of himself on a giddy n frenzied rampage in the name of “fun” n “just having a laugh”. magda’s aunt shelly really doesn’t get on with her brother n thinks he’s a complete deadbeat waste of space n resents him a lot for the impact he’s had on magda. magda remembers being little and peeking through a crack in shelly’s trailer door when he turned up drunk one time to collect her for a visit n shelly wouldn’t let him in. something along the lines of “you don’t give a rat’s ass about that little girl” and “she worships you, y’know that? most of the time, you don’t even remember her name”. magda crept back onto the sofa and pretended to be asleep by the time she came inside.

4. if your muse is no longer in contact with them, how did the relationship end? did your muse get closure over this?

magda slowly stopped trying to keep in contact over the years. it got embarrassing trying so hard when she didn’t get much back. like pushing a boulder all the way up a hill only to watch it roll back down again. it’s probably contributed a lot towards magda’s inability to really try with people like she should, especially when her heart’s involved. she doesn’t want to be humiliated again. magda hasn’t spoken to her dad in person in almost a year. they had a phone call about seven months back but it turned out to be a butt dial and he hung up because he was in the middle of a conversation at some bar about the moon landing conspiracy. magda’s playlist that i have for her is called “a rodeo clown in a revolving door” which is basically the role otis serves in magda’s life. always in and out. never constant. gone more than he’s there, especially lately. idk if magda will ever get closure over that. she certainly hasn’t now. pouts my fuckable lips to the side w a hand on hip and triple f’s prominent.

[armandyke]

Could we start again, please?

Summary: After the most hectic three months of his life, Diego finally gets a chance to speak to Eudora again, even if it wasn't the way he wanted.

Word Count: 2176

Square Filled: Funeral

Characters: Diego Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of alcohol, season 2 spoilers

A/N: The ninth and final entry for @tuacreatorsbingo!!

You can read it here, or on my AO3

It had been eight days now since Diego had found the envelope addressed to him sitting on the mat by the front door. It was unusual for three reasons. One: He hadn’t received any mail in over twelve years. Two: He hadn’t been registered at his childhood home in over twelve years. And three: He didn’t recognise the handwriting on the envelope. Every day since then, he’d woken up, read over the card inside, and put off his decision for another day. Today, though, he couldn’t do that, because now he’d run out of days. 

He read over the gold, embossed words for the hundredth time.

Detective Eudora Patch

Dec 1983 - Mar 2019

Funeral Service

Apr 15 - 10AM

He wasn’t going to the funeral service. That at least he was sure about. For starters, people would want to know how his hair had grown five inches in two weeks, and even with the charges dropped, he was pretty sure there was a good number of people who still thought he was the one who killed her. No, the real question was whether he would go to the burial. 

Two days ago he’d decided he absolutely, categorically, wasn’t going. Yesterday he decided he definitely was. Today… he wasn’t sure anymore. Part of him felt like he was probably the last person she’d want to be there, another part felt like he owed it to her. He wasn’t there for her when she needed him, so the least he could do was be there now. Still, there were so many other complications if he did go. What would he do when he got there? Should he bring flowers, or was that tacky? What flowers would he even bring? She always had sunflowers in her kitchen… but she also liked bluebells… and daffodils… Okay now he was definitely overthinking the flower thing. 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tossed the card aside and got to his feet. 

He wasn’t going. 

He rifled through his closet for a shirt. 

Maybe just for five minutes. Just to pay his respects. 

He’d slept in his jeans last night. Christ, he needed to get his life together. 

No. Nope. Not going. 

He tugged his boots on, threw open the door, and headed down the stairs. 

Just a quick walk-by, no big deal. 

About ten paces down the street he started having second? Third? Twenty eighth thoughts? But he pushed them out of his mind, trying to find something else to focus on instead. It was cold out despite the sunshine, and he was starting to regret not throwing a jacket on before he left. This was always Eudora’s favourite time of year. When the sun was out and the flowers were growing, but it was still cool enough to wear a sweater. Actually, she seemed to love every time of year. She had a way of romanticising everything; of finding beauty in the mundane. She made him appreciate things he’d never thought worthy of appreciating before. That, at least, would stay with him, even now that the rest of her was gone. He could still notice the way the frost on the grass caught the sunlight and sparkled like diamonds, and smile at a squirrel bouncing across the road and into the bushes. Just little things that he’d never thought he was capable of before he met her. 

He reached the cemetery a lot sooner than he’d hoped, and he lingered by the gates for a few minutes psyching himself up before finally heading inside. It was a huge place, with trodden pathways weaving in and out of the headstones. He wandered aimlessly until he spotted a small huddle of people gathering further down the path. His latest plan had been a quick walk-by, but he found himself getting closer, leaning against a nearby tree that was close enough for him to see what was going on, but far enough away to avoid being spotted. 

It looked like he’d already missed the coffin being lowered, which he was silently relieved about. Seeing her coffin would have made it too real. He could pick out Chuck, and a few other guys from the station in the crowd, Eudora’s mom, who he’d met once and made just about the worst impression possible on, and her sister, who looked like a ghost of Eudora, only with glasses and shorter hair. There was an older man who must have been her grandfather, and a couple standing with her mom who he assumed were the aunt and uncle she’d told him about once. She talked a lot about her family and how close knit they all were, pretty much the polar opposite of his own family at the time, and a few times he’d found himself wondering what it would be like to be part of that. But that possibility was buried in the ground with her, and he was pretty sure the rest of her family would have some choice words for him if they saw him here. 

He had no idea how much time had passed when the crowd finally started to disperse, but his fingers were starting to go numb from the cold and his arm was aching from leaning against the tree. One by one the group made their way back down the pathway, filing into waiting cars at the gates, leaving him alone with thousands of headstones and one mound of earth. He should be leaving too, but her headstone looked so lonely without her family there, and now that he was here it seemed rude to leave without at least walking past. So, after checking, and then double checking, that there was nobody else around, he headed over. 

“Hey, Dor,” He said quietly as he approached, sitting on the damp grass by the stone and taking a deep breath. 

The headstone looked expensive, made of jet black polished granite. He wasn’t sure it’s what she would have picked out for herself, given the choice, but then there were still a lot of things he didn’t know about her. 

“I don’t know if you’ve uh… been hanging around these last few weeks, but it’s been pretty crazy.” 

Suddenly he wished he’d taken a little more interest in Klaus’ powers when they were younger. He knew ghosts existed, but he didn’t know much about how they actually worked. Were there rules? Could they only stay in certain places? Even if she was a ghost and she could go where she wanted, why would she give a shit about what he’d been doing anyway? 

“I grew my hair out.” That was a stupid thing to say. “Saved the world a couple of times.” He sighed, slumping against the stone and hanging his head. “Things have gotten so messed up since you left. You’d think I was making it up if I told you.” 

She wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t. Somehow, no matter how insane his situation was, she always believed him. Maybe that was why he often found himself telling her things he never thought he’d ever tell anyone. 

“Okay, so, those freaks in the masks? Turns out they work for some super-secret time travelling organisation that monitors everything to try and preserve the timeline. And Five worked for them too. And Vanya? My sister with no powers? She does have powers, and she accidentally blew up the moon, so we had to time travel to fix everything but instead we got stuck in the sixties, and I got stuck in an asylum and uh… met this girl, Lila. We had a sort of… thing going on, but then it turned out she was working for The Commission too… and also had powers like us. And uh… so basically Vanya almost started a nuclear war, and we stopped it, and now we’re back here.” He paused, chewing on his lip for a moment. “Oh, and we accidentally screwed up the timeline so bad we created an alternate universe. But we fixed that too so… everything’s fine now, I guess.” 

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it didn’t feel as cold sitting with her. The logical part of his brain knew it was probably just the headstones blocking some of the wind, but it was nice to imagine that maybe she was listening, probably rolling her eyes at how ridiculous his life was and lecturing him about what she would have done differently. She’d always had a hidden competitive streak. If he stopped two apocalypses, she’d have to stop three. And she could. She would have stopped ten doomsdays by now if he’d been the one to die instead of her, and then maybe everyone would have been better off. 

He should have brought some flowers.

“I really miss you,” He admitted, lowering his voice even though there was nobody else around. “I forgot, for a little while. The last three months have been so crazy I barely had time to think about it. But now I’m back here and… and I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought about going back to the whole vigilante thing, but I don’t think the other guys will be as forgiving about me messing up their crime scenes. And bugging you at work was always half the fun anyway.” 

There was a lot more he could say, but he could feel the emotions starting to bubble up so he kept quiet. He ran his fingers over the grass and took in the flowers people had laid over her grave. There were roses, carnations, and a bouquet of bright pink lilies. She once told him she could never have lilies in the house because of her allergies, and his fingers itched to move them away from her, despite knowing how stupid that would be. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching in the grass, and he quickly started looking for the quickest exit route. The panic faded again as the footsteps grew closer. He recognised the clumsy pattern of steps, so light that it was as though the feet were barely making contact with the ground, and the faint smell of cigarettes. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked before Klaus had a chance to announce himself. 

“Speed dating,” Klaus sat flatly, dropping unceremoniously to the ground with a heavy thud as he sat next to him. “I found the invite in your room. Thought you might need some company.”

“I don’t,” He mumbled. 

“I thought you might say that too.” Klaus leant back on his hands and looked over at him. “But I’m here anyway, so suck it up, tough guy.” 

Diego let out a frustrated huff, though secretly he was thankful for the distraction. 

“What were you doing in my room?”

“I wanted to borrow a couple of your shirts.” 

“You mean steal them?” 

“Tomato tomato.” Klaus shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess. And anyway, if you don’t want people to steal your shirts, maybe you should stop buying nice shirts.” 

He grinned at him and Diego tried to force a smile back, but it can’t have been too successful because Klaus’ face immediately softened again. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.”

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” 

Diego looked up at him. “I never said it was.”

“No, but I know how your brain works,” Klaus said, waving his hand as he spoke. “You hero types think every tragedy is your personal responsibility, but sometimes bad things just happen. And I didn’t know your friend very well but, speaking from a wealth of experience, I know most dead people don’t want their loved ones to wallow in regret for the rest of their lives.” 

Somehow, that made him feel a little better, or maybe it was just the sheer ridiculousness of what Klaus was saying that made him smile. Either way, it eased some of the guilt, and he found himself trying to talk himself out of the question he desperately wanted to ask. 

“Have you…” He paused, chewing on his lip. “I mean, I don’t know, can you…”

“I haven’t seen her,” Klaus said, putting him out of his misery. 

He felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief at that, nodding slowly. “That’s good, right? That means she’s not stuck down here?” 

“Either that or she’s avoiding me.” 

“That’d be understandable.” 

Klaus grinned. “There! You sound like you again,” He said, punching his shoulder lightly. “Wanna go get dangerously drunk?”

“It’s noon.”

“And?”

Shaking his head, Diego got to his feet. “I need to get some flowers,” He said, rolling his eyes at Klaus’ desperate, puppy dog expression. “And I’m gonna need your help, because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Eudora with Klaus enthusiastically tugging on his arm, but he didn’t think she’d mind. She always used to tell him he should try to reconnect with his family, and this was probably the first time he’d ever actually listened to her advice.

[number1mongrel]

Fire Flowers

This is my fic for @kumeko for the @fateverse-exchange ! An all-ages everybody lives AU diartoria fic with the Emiya family!

Summery: The Emiya family goes to a summer fireworks festival. Artoria invites Diarmuid along as well.

It was Irisviel who first heard about the Fuyuki summer fireworks festival. Artoria was not surprised in the least that she’d immediately decided they were all attending. The next week was spent shopping and waiting in anticipation, with excited buzzing throughout the Emiya house.

It was then a few days before the event that Artoria approached the woman in question as she was reading yet another brochure. “Lady Irisviel… May I ask you a favor?”

Instantly dropping her small book of info on various festivals, Irisivel said, "Of course, Saber! Anything!”

“Might I… invite Lancer along with us? His Master and Mistress don’t allow him to have many days off, even now that the war has been over for some time, but…”

Irisviel smiled with some other emotion that wasn’t immediately clear. She laughed. “Yes, I think you should do that,” she said. “I’m sure it would make him very happy.”

When the day did finally come, the Emiya family—now a group of five when it had been three only six months ago—with Diarmuid in tow arrived at a hillside near the river, on the outskirts of Shinto. The hot summer evening was alive with music and cheerful voices. Warm bright lanterns illuminated the park in front of them, with hanging decorations, stalls, and outfits splashing their rainbow of colors into the mix as well. The scents of the various food options created an aroma acting as a haze of delight encompassing the entire area. 

“A real festival!” Irisviel declared, clapping her hands together with an awed look on her face. “Yes, this is just how I hoped it would be.” She was dressed in a floral pink yukata she’d bought just for the occasion. The fabric was still new, the pink hydrangea pattern bright and crisp. Her hair was tied in a beautiful updo, held together with a matching hydrangea pin.

Artoria snapped out of her mouthwatering smell-induced haze and said, “This is certainly quite a gathering. It’s not that similar, yet it does remind me a bit of the celebrations we had in my time,” she said. The black suit she’d worn during the war had been replaced with a long airy dark skirt and a short-sleeved light blouse. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Diarmuid next to her. With his new clothes he seemed to blend right into the modern world. He was dressed fairly professionally for the event; his forest green dress shirt was well-ironed but not stiff, allowing him a casualness to his appearance despite the outfit. He had the sleeves buttoned-up to the elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. His black slacks similarly walked the line between formal and informal. Artoria thought it was fitting for a man who was most at home in nature and yet was now in the service of a prominent mage.

Illya had eyes wide with excitement, but she still stuck closely to her father’s plain faded yukata. Being around so many strangers could be scary for any child, nonetheless one who had lived completely sheltered until recently.

Then there was Shirou, practically swinging with energy holding Kiritsugu’s hand. Despite the fact his original parents had died in an accident not that long ago, he seemed to fit right into the Emiya family like he was there all along. “Let’s go!” he said. 

Kiritsugu gave a small laugh. “Yes, we’re going, we’re going,” he said, starting to walk forward. The warm relaxed expression he wore now was nothing Artoria could have imagined from him when she was first summoned.

As the family began walking towards the entrance, Irisviel stopped, turned around, and took Artoria’s hand. “I almost forgot,” she said, giving her a coin purse. “Just in case we get separated and you want something to eat. Feel free to spend all of it. It’s really no trouble.” 

Artoria gave her thanks and Irisviel went back to walk with the others. Once she was gone, Artoria opened the purse and widened her eyes at the amount. “She is really too kind…” she said with a light sigh. 

“Well,” said Diarmuid. “Shall we follow them?”

They went through the entrance together, both of their eyes wandering through the unfamiliar sights, as well as the massive amount of families and couples that seemed to be here. Children were running around in masks with toys held high above their heads, not seeming to pay notice to any adults they might be getting in the way of. 

“It’s very crowded,” Artoria said, furrowing her brow as she was just barely able to avoid colliding with another man. 

“It is,” Diarmuid agreed, practically gleaming. 

Artoria spotted Irisviel and the rest buying cotton candy at a stall a short distance away. Her mouth opened as she locked eyes with the fluffy sugary treat. She had entered targeting mode.

“Would you like some, Saber?” Diarmuid asked. 

Artoria cleared her throat. “It would be a waste not to try it while we’re here,” she said.

They went over to the stand as well. Artoria took out the coin purse. “May I have two of these treats please?” she asked the worker.

Diarmuid took his wallet from his pocket, but Artoria shook her head. “You are my guest. For this, at least, I would like to treat you,” she said.

The man looked between her and Diarmuid and gave them a confident smile. “Two cotton candies coming up for the lady and her date,” he said.

“Her what?” asked Artoria. 

Irisviel, standing nearby, giggled.

Diarmuid gave a light shrug. “It must be a modern word the grail didn’t teach us.”

They received their cotton candies and went over to where the rest of their group was sitting at a picnic table. Kiritsugu and Illya were on one side, with Irisviel and Shirou on the other. Both benches looked to have room for one more person. 

“Saber! Come here!” Shirou said.

Without a second thought, Artoria slid into the side with the mom and son duo. Diarmuid remained standing, avoiding eye contact with Kiritsugu. 

“Oh!” Artoria exclaimed after taking a bite. “It’s very sweet!”

“It’s incredible!” Irisviel exclaimed. “It’s soft at first, like the name would suggest, then after only a moment it melts completely in your mouth!” She took another bite.

Illya and Shirou seemed to be enjoying it as well, eating theirs so fast they were sure to get a stomach ache later. Kiritsugu was eating slower but seemed to be enjoying himself just as much.

Artoria looked to Diarmuid and watched as he took a small and hesitant bite. “It’s good,” he said, a smile replacing any apprehension that had been showing before. “So this is what sugar is like. It is quite remarkable indeed. To think in our time a mere taste of sugar would have been beyond our understanding, and here is an entire ball of it.”

Something in what he said had bothered her. “Have you not tried much of modern food since you’ve been summoned? It’s been almost six months since the war ended.”

“Ah… Well, since we are still Servants that do not require nourishment, my Master thought it was unnecessary and wasteful for me to have anything. Though back during the war he did have me eat a piece of one of Caster’s monsters because he thought it might increase my magical energy.” The memory of the last part seemed to be enough for him to grimace at the cotton candy and slightly push it away.

Artoria felt her dislike of Kayneth begin to swell. “I see…” she said. “Well there is plenty to try here. Lady Irisviel has given me this money to use as I see fit, so I shall spend it trying various treats with you.”

A softer and gentler smile now came to his face. “Thank you,” he said.

Artoria’s heart sped up a bit. How strange… her magic resistance should still be protecting her from his curse.  

They kept eating, with Illya even letting Artoria try some of the different flavor she got. Once they had all finished, they got up and kept moving, but only walked around a few minutes before stopping again. A rich, belly-filling smell accompanied by a beautiful sizzling noise preventing Artoria, Shirou, and Illya from moving any further like they were trapped in a bounded field. The only such culprit could be something fried.

“Okonomiyaki,” Kiritsugu said. “I think you would like it, Iri. And that cotton candy certainly wasn’t enough for dinner. How about we have some of this?”

There was unanimous agreement on that front. Diarmuid took out his wallet once again, but this time it was Irisviel who shook her head. “Let Kiritsugu do this. He may not say anything about it, but, well…” She gave an apologetic grin and looked at the back of her husband, who paid for the food with no indication he could hear them.

With an unsteady glance at the couple, Diarmuid lowered his head like he was going to kneel for a bow before remembering such a thing would be conspicuous here. Instead, he simply said, “Thank you. You honor me and my lord with your kindness, even if it is unnecessary.” 

Soon, several fluffy savory pancakes were cooked to order, covered with a drizzle of mayonnaise and other toppings. The aroma of the finished product was even stronger than when it was cooking. The group moved off to the side of the crowded path, not even waiting until the treat had cooled before digging in.

While the others began eating, before Diarmuid could even take so much as a bite he had to fend off a few curse-stricken women who approached him asking for his phone number. By the time that was over Artoria had eaten more than half of hers. “How does this fare?” he asked.

“Excellent,” she said, then blew on another piece to cool it down before putting it into her mouth. She was so focused on eating it seemed that was the only answer she could give at the moment.

Diarmuid began eating his as well. “Though the ingredients and the taste are different, the fact that this contains wheat makes it feel familiar. Certainly more than the cotton candy. Hm, yes, I would say I like this a lot.”

Now completely finished, Artoria nodded. “You put it rather well.”

Despite not being finished with their own okonomiyaki yet, Illya and Shirou seemed keen to move on and keep looking around. “I’m sorry Saber,” Irisiviel said, as she was being pulled. “I’m not sure we’ll be able to stay in any one place for very long. We’ll meet up again in a bit, alright?”

“Yes, don’t concern yourself with waiting for me. I hope you are able to have fun together.”

The rest of the family took off and she turned back to Diarmuid, who for some reason was giving a concerned glance towards the ground. “Is something the matter?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It is nothing worth mentioning. I just wonder… is it truly alright for me to be here with the rest of you? Am I not getting in the way of your time spent with your Master?”

“Not at all. I am hardly here to spend time with that man anyway,” she said. "As for the others, I am living with them now, and we all get plenty of time together day to day. Regardless of that, though… I invited you here because I wanted to. We did not get the honor of finishing our duel during the war, but now that our spirits are trapped in this era for the time being, nothing would give me greater pleasure than spending time with you, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne.”

The soft smile he had before returned, and his cheeks began to look the same color as the sweet treat he’d had not long ago. “Thank you. Your words are extremely kind. More so than a mere knight like me might deserve,” he said.

“Well that is just utter nonsense,” Artoria said. “You are one of the finest knights I’ve ever faced in battle. Have you forgotten the times you have bested me? I do not wish to brag, but that is not an easy feat. Your knack for strategy, as well as your strength and speed, are simply remarkable. You can wield your two lances better than most can ever wield one.

“Besides your skills with the spear,” she continued before he could interrupt, “I respect your sense of honor and chivalry, and, frankly, I appreciate your respect for me as a king. Thought not unexpected, I’ve found recently that many others seem to disagree with my ideals…” She shook her head and looked back to him. “You are also simply a pleasant person.”

“Are you certain you are not the one famous for their charms?” Diarmuid teased with a grin. Though still blushing, his eyes were full of kindness. “You certainly know just the right thing to say.”

“Historically that has not been the case for me. However, you are quite easy to talk to, perhaps because I am not your king.” 

With one more fond look at her, he turned back to his okonomiyaki.

Diarmuid continued eating, with Artoria standing by his side watching the crowds pass as she waited for him to finish. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Memories came flooding back to her. The celebrations she’d attended as a young girl, the Christmases where she’d eat and dance and sing with everyone else. And then there was the sword in the stone, and the Christmases after where she stood and watched, observed her people do those same things, where she’d take the plainest and smallest cut of meat, as the people around her drank and celebrated to their hearts’ content.

Opening her eyes again, she saw Diarmuid next to her, close to done with his food; his famous beauty bathed in the various colors of light shining all around them. The way he ate, he was unconcerned with manners—not unexpected for a Celtic knight—but yet his movements were so graceful and precise, Artoria could see why so many would fall for him, even without a curse. Why that thought came to her mind just now she couldn’t say.

He finished his last bite, licking his lips and swiping the back of his thumb across them. Crumbling his paper plate, he dropped it in a nearby trash can and asked, “Is there anything you would like to do?”

Artoria looked around and spotted some carnival games down the aisle of stands. “What would you say about continuing our duel off the battlefield? Though not as honorable as a fight to the death, these games here seem to require some amount of skill and dexterity.”

Diarmuid nodded. “An excellent idea,” he said.

They went back into the crowd, walking until they came across a shooting game. A few children ran away just as they approached, laughing and clutching their prizes in hand. The booth had several shelves of prizes ranging from candy to figures to stuffed animals. Artoria saw Diarmuid’s eyes scan the shelves, lighting up as they made contact with a toy plush dog. 

Diarmuid then picked up one of the guns sitting on the ledge and turned it over in his hands. “Despite being given the knowledge of how to use these, I have never seen one up close. Although I’m sure you have, as your Master is very fond of these types of weapons.”

Artoria sighed. “Yes, he is,” she said flatly. She leaned over to look more closely at the gun. “Is it safe to have such a deadly weapon used for a mere child’s game?”

The teenager running the booth, sweating from the summer heat and the bright lights, gave them a strange look. “Um… they’re not real. They just shoot corks. If you can hit the prize with the cork it’s yours,” he said.

“I see.” Artoria picked up one of the other guns. She held it at arms’ length and nodded to herself, before she two began twisting it in her hands. “It’s very light. I assume that is because it is made out of plastic as opposed to metal. And the way you hold it…. This is not a weapon that can be used as an extension of one’s own body.”

“Indeed,” Diarmuid said. He tried lifting it up in aiming position at the prizes, tilting his head and adjusting the distance of the gun from his chest. 

The game operator shifted around uncomfortably and stared at them in confusion. “If you want to play, that’s two hundred yen each. Otherwise, could you step aside please? There are other people who would like a turn.”

“Ah,” said both Artoria and Diarmuid, looking behind them to see three or four people who looked like they were starting to get impatient.

“My apologies, sir,” the former said with a slight bow. She looked back to Diarmuid. “Well? Shall we see who shall be the victor of that toy dog?” 

Diarmuid looked a bit surprised but gave a small laugh and nodded. “Yes, a fair wager indeed, Saber,” he said.

They paid the fee and took up arms, standing so close side-by-side they were practically touching. 

“Though we are both already experts of sword and spear, I don’t suppose this will allow us to qualify for the Archer class,” Artoria said.

“We certainly shall see,” Diarmuid responded. After flicking his eyes back to her one more time, he took his first shot. It missed, just barely, hitting the wooden ledge right below the dog instead. It was much closer than would be expected of someone who’d never held any sort of gun before, but that was warrior’s instinct and the Grail’s knowledge for you.

Artoria narrowed her eyes, aiming the barrel right at the nose of the dog. With the same amount of concentration she would use for a mana burst, she pulled the trigger. Another miss, this one going slightly too far to the right and passing by the dog entirely.

Not wasting any time, she reloaded her weapon, fired her next shot, and— 

“Holy shit…” muttered the game operator. 

Artoria’s cork had collided with Diarmuid’s own second shot, knocking each other off path, leading to another miss.

“Has your aim improved so much in just one shot?” Artoria said, putting in another cork.

“Alas, I am not that skilled,” Diarmuid said, reloading his own gun. “It was pure chance.”

Still, both of their shots had seemed to be on aim to hit the target if they hadn’t hit each other first. They were clearly getting better as they went along with this, and with one more shot one of them should be able to do it. It just came down to who could shoot first.

Artoria kept her gaze firmly on the toy as she raised to shoot once more, listening to the sounds of Diarmuid raising his as well. They would end up firing at nearly the same time again. The barrel only wavered once or twice before steadying right in the goal zone. And with that, quick as her fingers could, she fired her third shot. And according to her ears, Diarmuid had done the same.

Observing the half a millisecond as only a trained warrior could, Artoria watched both corks fly towards the toy, nearly identical in their path. They were both close now, soon to hit. The one that would get there first was— 

The soft thud of the cork hitting the stuffed dog was not nearly loud or intense enough to portray the atmosphere that had just occurred. Nevertheless, the teenage boy on the other side of the booth clapped his hands together. 

“We have a winner!” he said. He walked to the back where the prizes were and removed the dog—judging by its color and the shape of its plush head, it was probably meant to resemble a greyhound—from its perch and brought it back over to the contestants. 

He stuck it over the counter. “For you, Miss,” he said.

“Thank you,” Artoria said, smiling as she took it from him. It was soft, in both the texture of its fur and how it was stuffed.

“Congratulations,” Diarmuid said earnestly, placing the gun back in its place. “It was a fair duel but you have bested me. I suppose you are the one who shall be summoned in the Archer class next time.”

They walked away from the booth, their place immediately taken by others behind them. 

“Simple luck,” disputed Artoria. “There is little room in such a game for strategy.” 

She tilted her head, and with a simple satisfied smile to herself she stuck out the dog towards him. “Please take this,” she said.

“But you won it fairly.”

“I only picked this as the prize because you seemed fond of it.”

Having no counterargument to that, Diarmuid took it from her and held it lovingly. He played with its ears between his fingers and said, “Thank you, truly. It reminded me of the dog I had when I was alive. I would like to properly repay you someway.”

He stopped walking as they passed a stand selling various masks. Some were traditional designs, some animals, and others characters from children’s television shows. “Would you like one of these?” he asked.

“If you are going to insist on buying me one anyway…” She picked up a lion mask. “This one seems nice.” 

Diarmuid pulled out his wallet and paid the man standing nearby as Artoria put on the mask. “It looks lovely. I think it suits you very well,” he said after turning back to her.

His compliment made her chest swell again. Why… she had never cared when someone complimented her like this before. “Thank you,” she said, turning it to the side of her head to see. “Shall we move on to the next game?”

They went goldfish-scooping next. Unlike the shooting game, though...

“Ah, this is much more difficult than it looks,” Diarmuid said with a wince as his third scooper broke, letting his captured fish escape to freedom. Well, momentary freedom before it was caught again by someone else.

“Ha!” Artoria cried as swung in with another fierceful scoop. It cupped a panicking fish for only a moment before the paper burst, and Artoria’s arm finished its swing with nothing to show for it. 

She fell to her knees. “Utter defeat… I have been bested by the fragility of these scoops.”

Diarmuid raised a hand to his face to stifle a fit of laughter, turning away as his shoulders trembled with mirth.

Artoria frowned and folded her arms. “Does my failure amuse you, Lancer?”

He shook his head and looked back to her. “No, no. My apologies. It was just… a rarer side of you. It’s rather cute.”

Her face now felt rather hot. “Not you too… Lady Irisviel already insists on teasing me in such a way,” she sighed.

Diarmuid picked up another scoop (his last for what they paid), and said, “I see. I meant no offense, but I will refrain from referring to you in such a way from now on… Oh?” While he was talking, he had made his final attempt, and now held a flailing goldfish. 

“I’m impressed,” Artoria said. “It seems you are the one who has bested me this time.”

They got the fish wrapped to be taken home in a plastic bag full of water. Diarmuid held it up to stare at the creature swimming around, then handed it towards Artoria. “This will make a nice gift to your Master’s children,” he said. “I’m afraid if I give it to my lord it will only end up the victim of some mage experiment.”

“You should be the one to give it to them. They will appreciate it just the same. If you are worried about their opinion of you, you need not be,” she said. “Though it might not be obvious from their excitement, they seem rather comfortable being around you despite not knowing you very well.”

“I was a father of four children,” he said, eyes full of a longing bittersweet nostalgia. “Though the circumstances… Well, anyway, I suppose I am simply used to being around them. They might be picking up on that. You seem rather well with them too. They treat you like you like a member of their own family. You also… You’ve already spent much time with them at this point, so I understand.”

Artoria smiled and nodded, thankful that he had not asked a question she didn’t want to answer. “Yes…The days seem to pass quickly. It’s been rather nice.”

Diarmuid looked like he was going to say something else when a voice called out to them.

“Oh Saber! There you are!” Irisviel came running over towards them. A few strands of her updo had come loose, creating a cloud of silver around her head. 

“Lady Irisviel,” Artoria said, gripping Irisviel’s arm to steady her as the latter ran out of breath. “Is everything alright?” 

Once she’d recovered, Irisviel grabbed Artoria’s hand and started to pull her in the direction she’d just come from. “Yes, everything’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. "Shirou and Illya got these little yo-yo balloons filled with water. They’re having so much fun playing with them! Kiritsugu won them some prizes too. Oh and I got to try shaved ice! It’s very cold but also sweet!”

“I’m glad you’ve been able to enjoy yourself,” said Artoria as she was dragged along. “But… might I ask where you’re taking me?”

“The fireworks should be starting soon, so I thought we should all get together and watch them. Oh, but we still have a little time, and there’s another snack I thought you’d like to try.”

They swam back through the crowd, with Diarmuid following close behind them. The sun was indeed beginning to set, and more people than ever seemed to be bustling about, searching for good viewpoints to watch where the fireworks were going to be set off.

Kiritsugu and the kids were waiting for them by another food stand, sharing a basket of the treat in question between them. 

As the scent hit her, Artoria perked up again, already feeling her stomach beginning to growl despite having eaten not that long ago. 

“They’re octopus pieces fried in little balls,” Irisviel said. 

Artoria nodded, looking at the booth where the person was preparing a fresh batch. The banner at the top said “takoyaki”, and a sign underneath listed a few different types for sale. Her eyes were drawn to the one at the bottom of the list, with the image of several chili peppers surrounding it, and the label reading “Hot!”. 

She looked to Diarmuid and saw him standing by Illya and Shirou. “Would the two of you be interested in this fish?” he asked them, holding out the bag.

They both cheered. Shirou looked to Kiritsugu, who nodded, but Illya took it in her hands without even bothering to check. The goldfish was swimming in circles, unaware it had changed owners.

“Thank you, Mr. Lancer,” Illya said, with Shirou adding his own thank you as well.

Diarmuid smiled. “Make sure to take good care of it. It needs to be properly cared for. Even a tiny fish is a big responsibility.”

The two children nodded. 

“We can stop off at the store to buy supplies on our way home,” Kiritsugu said. He looked at Diarmuid, whose smile turned a bit awkward in return.

“Lancer…” said Artoria, pointing to the spicy takoyaki listing. “What do you say about making this our tie-breaker challenge?”

Diarmuid looked at the label and considered, folding his arms. His stuffed dog from earlier was tucked in his elbow. “Food with a taste that hurts you… I have heard my Master complain about it. I would say I am fairly curious to try it myself,” he said.

“I have had some since my summoning here, but it was all relatively mild. I’m interested to try this as well.”

“Oh, a contest?” Irisviel asked, practically fluttering with excitement. “That sounds like fun. I can’t handle spicy food, but I’m excited to watch!”

Artoria ordered the hottest option of takoyaki, and in a minute she was holding a paper basket filled with ten little battered balls. They were warm, heating her hand through the paper, cooked to a beautiful golden brown and covered with sauce and spices. The smell of them stung her nose along with making her mouth water. 

She and Diarmuid each took a piece with a toothpick. “The one who stops first shall lose. Or otherwise, the one who eats more shall win,” the former said.

“Yes, that works,” said Diarmuid. “Shall we?”

The rest of the Emiya family watched as they raised the takoyaki to their mouths. “Ready, go!” called Irisviel, cupping her mouth with her hands.

They both took a bite.

“Mm!”

“M-mm…!”

Artoria’s mouth filled with an unfamiliar pain. She was burning, her mouth was on fire. Her eyes pricked with tears. And yet, the taste was exquisite. Absolutely delicious. Chewy and soft, fluffy and spicy. But still, it hurt so much she wasn’t sure how much more she’d be able to eat.

Though, Diarmuid appeared to be worse off. His eyes were also watering, and his face was flushed red. He swallowed and coughed, holding a hand over the bottom of his face and sniffing. 

“Too much for you to handle?” Artoria teased, picking up a second piece. 

Diarmuid shook his head, forcing a grin on his face and shakily taking another one as well. “It was a surprise,” he said, voice raspy. “However, it is nothing I can’t handle.”

Artoria’s second bite hurt more than her first. The pain compounded. What was before just a few spots on her tongue now coated the roof of her mouth and her throat as well. But the taste was just as good. If she could just focus on that… 

“Ugh…” Diarmuid swallowed, wincing. His tears had spilled over and were running down his face. He held out his toothpick to pick up another, but hesitated.

Not letting that opportunity pass by, Artoria quickly grabbed another. Her mouth was getting numb. She could barely focus on what was in front of her. Yet she could do this. Even as the white-hot spiciness caused her own tears to fall, she was starting to feel like she wanted more. If she just ate another one before she could simmer in the pain too much, the delicious flavor would allow her to go faster, and she could win.

She took her fourth as Diarmuid took his third. They were getting close to the end. Diarmuid looked like he was nearing his limit. Still, despite her strategy, she couldn’t last much longer herself. 

Shirou and Illya cheered them on, continuing to eat their own non-spicy takoyaki.

Artoria could barely see over her tears, her face and lips burning now along with her mouth. Despite how good it tasted, she wasn’t sure she could handle any more. If it was any other sort of pain she could handle it. She was a knight, and a king. She was not weak. But this was still new, and she had no tolerance. The idea of losing in a battle of food frustrated her, but there was nothing to be done. Her toothpick trembled just above a fifth piece. With reluctance she stabbed it in and brought it close to her mouth. No, it was too much. There was no way she could. “I…”

“Concede,” Diarmuid said. He coughed again, his voice jagged and brow knit with pain. His flushed face was shiny with sweat and his eyes were slightly swollen from the tears. It was not a look Artoria had seen on him before. So vulnerable and uncomposed… What had he said about her before? A rarer side… It was… 

“Saber wins!” Irisviel cheered.

Grateful she didn’t have to eat another bite (though she might try again another time), Artoria breathed a sigh of relief. She traded the basket with Irisviel, who offered her a napkin and a plastic cup full of water. Not wasting any time, she gulped down the water and cleaned off her face with the napkin. Her mouth still felt like the Battle of Camlann, but the pain was slowly dissipating. “You did well, Lancer,” she said. Her voice was pretty hoarse herself.

He wiped himself down as well after drinking his own cup. “In my life I participated in many drinking and eating competitions with my fellow knights, but this was by far the most interesting one, despite my loss.” He started laughing, and this time made no effort to stop it.

Oh, the word was cute.

As she came to this realization, an announcement came over the loudspeaker stating the fireworks would start in five minutes.

“Oh, quickly, let’s go!” Irisviel said, grabbing both of them. 

The party of six walked a bit more, leaving the densely-packed booths and finding an empty spot on the nearby hill. It was still crowded, but now they had an unobstructed view. The chattering excitement of the crowd was reaching a peak. Laughter and cheers surrounded them from every direction.

That was all merely a backdrop as Artoria stood there thinking. She’d always known Diarmuid was beautiful and charming. She thought of those models she’d seen on advertisements around the city, styled and posed to catch one’s eye and draw them in. That was his curse after all. But that couldn’t be what this was. She didn’t feel her heart flutter and pull towards him upon their first meeting, the way Irisviel had described his curse as working, but that seemed to be what was happening now. 

The first of the fireworks went off, shooting overhead and exploding into a yellow flower of light. It reminded her of Excalibur’s glow. A shining warmth that filled her heart. A warmth...

A second and third firework followed suit, of blue and green this time.

Artoria watched, her eyes wide, and smiled to herself. So that was it. A feeling she’d stamped down in her original life. One she had only just begun to feel for Guinevere before it was too late.

She wasn’t a fool. She must have known it somewhere in her the moment she’d asked Irisviel if it was alright to invite him. The Grail had been the only thing that had mattered to her. But the Grail was gone, and they were still here. 

The fireworks continued with deafening bursts, the crowd and Emiya family alike cheering at the gorgeous display. Artoria looked away from the sky to the profile of Diarmuid’s face. Any physical traces of their competition earlier were gone, leaving just his handsome features. She looked into his golden eyes, with the colorful explosions above reflecting off of them. 

He noticed her gaze and met it with his own.

Artoria was certain her newfound feelings were showing on her face, and from the way Diarmuid looked at her now, she knew he felt the same way. 

The fireworks continued around them, but for the rest of the show, all they could look at was each other.

[spasmsofthought]

knife to the chest (modern spy!zuko au) [i]

Here it is! Bear in mind that this is, hopefully, only the first part. If you feel like you’ve jumped into the middle of the story, I want it to feel like that. I hope it isn’t too confusing! 

This OC/reader’s character will definitely be more explained as we go along, I just didn’t want to give everything off the bat. 

I’m sorry if any of this feels OOC but I wanted to adjust to the world setting, especially a modern spy one. I tried to keep Zuko in character, but writing him as a spy was a tad bit difficult for me, so I apologize if he seems totally not like he should be. 

I hope you all enjoy this! I really wanted to get it out there asap, so excuse any spelling or grammar mistakes! I will try to really go over it in-depth soon! 

Please let me know what you think - I’m worried this isn’t that great because this is an entirely new world to me. 

Keep your eyes peeled for new chapters! 

Next Chapter 

--- 

There are snippets you remember of your childhood: the feeling of laying among the grass, jumping into puddles as it rains, and blowing dandelion wishes into the sky as a breeze ruffles your hair. Every once and a while you see the flashes in your mind when you can escape to the time when everything was normal. You miss those days. 

You miss mundane life. You miss when weeks and months would go by like the snap of a finger and there was no reason to alter your life in any way, shape, or form. 

Having a father go into politics changes those unvaried, innocent childhood days in an instant. Your days can no longer be filled learning at an academy with the other children your age in your village, setting dates to play on the playground, and filling your stomach. 

Having a father, then, remain in politics for over a decade reshapes the entire vision of your life. It means the finest tutors available to educate you in your own home, isolated away from any of your other peers besides those of the same social status. It means you learn etiquette and how to have proper conversation. It means every move you make, every word you say, is scrutinized because your father has been part of the governance of the Earth Kingdom for over a decade. 

Sometimes, it feels like even your thoughts are being monitored by those that surround you. 

It is isolating to have your family be in such a position of power with no way to escape it. You are separated from those of a lower class simply because you have more wealth, and you are distinct at your own level because you are not a family with old money but a family with political power. 

“Are you listening to me?” Your eyes refocus on the face of your father. His face is scrunched up and his shoulders turned inward toward himself, a sign that he is a kind of tense you cannot undo with the sweet words of an obedient daughter. 

Even if people call him the “second most powerful man” in the Earth Kingdom, you can’t believe this. There is no logic. 

“I just don’t understand why it’s necessary,” Calm, like a river, you remind yourself. Stay calm. 

“It’s necessary because I say it is.” Your father has never been authoritarian now, so it’s only confusing to hear him use a tone with you he only uses as a politician wielding an iron fist trying to get his way. He’s never been a politician with you; always a father. He knows better. 

He’s not the right-hand to the King at home. At least, not to you. 

“I just don’t understand how I’m in danger here. I’ve never needed a detail like this in your decade of previous political service!” Calm, and quiet, and obedient daughter, but even your father can’t deny the facts laid at his feet. 

You’re not stupid, even if you hide your intellect behind a veneer of dutiful obedience. 

“Are you alright?” A masculine voice tears you away from your memories. He’s seated beside you in the vehicle, earpiece in and eyes constantly darting across the scenery flashing by him through the window. He’s always assessing, always listening. It’s like he’s always ready. You can’t imagine how exhausted he must feel. 

But then again, he never tells you how he feels. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Lee,” You shrug, leaning your forehead against the window. It’s uncomfortable but cool and it gives you a brief reprieve. “I just want to get out of this dress.” 

He snorts and rolls his eyes at your words, like you really are the privileged daughter of a high-ranking politician. 

You want to joke about it more, but it’s true: this dress is making you miserable. Your arms have been itching since you put them in the fabric, and everything feels stuffy and hot. 

Ever since being assigned to you a few months ago by your father for further protection, Lee has stuck to your side like glue. You can’t do anything to get rid of him (you’ve tried) outside of the times your bedroom door is shut or you are sleeping. 

He’s there when you’re eating breakfast and he’s in the shadows during your classes and when you eat lunch with your friends. He’s there when you’re getting coffee and when you try to go to the gym and just end up wandering around for 10 minutes before leaving. He’s there standing against a wall as you silently eat dinner with your mother, the two of you seated at a twelve-person dining room table. Your father is absent at almost every meal, no matter the time or day, and you learned when you were younger to stop asking your mother where he was or if he was coming.  

Lee may be competent at his job of protecting and keeping track of you, but he’s not exactly the most personable guard you’ve had. 

Maybe that’s the reason why it’s so easy to tell him the truth. Maybe it’s the reason why you’ve felt like you don’t have to wear the “politician's daughter” mask around him. 

His demeanor is so icy that it can feel like talking to a brick wall; a brick wall that won’t tell anybody else. A brick wall that won’t tell your father, for certain. He may report security findings to your father, but he’s not obligated to say anything else. The things you blurt out when you and Lee are alone stay right between the both of you.

He may not offer any advice or speak at all, but Lee has become a confidant of sorts.

In  a world of shifting political alliances and opinions and shifting ideologies, he’s become one of the only people you trust implicitly. Solid and stoic, he’s a dependable presence in a world that is submerged in secrets and double meanings.

You sometimes think if he were normal, you might be able to love him.

“I don’t even know why I have to be there tonight, it’s just another speech.” Politicians are all the same, and you know this because you have lived ten years with one inside your house (that is, whenever he decides to have a family again). Your father’s words tonight will be no different than anyone else on that stage: promising things he know will get him support and trying to appease ears with intricate thoughts that actually pave a road to doing nothing.

Lee turns his head a little in your direction, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if it’s because he’s trying to make sure he says what he has to or if he’s trying to keep himself from bursting at the seams for some reason. Out of everyone else, you think, he’s the person least likely to spontaneously combust.

“It’s important that you attend,” Lee has never squirmed, but now he does. You wonder what’s going on to make him like this.

He’s never physically shown signs of having nerves before. By all accounts, he’s like steel.

Your furrow your eyebrows at him, at his strange behavior, but he doesn’t do anything else but stare out at the window again.

The rest of the ride is dead silent, the kind of silence you haven’t been used to since he was fired hired by your father. You try to pick apart Lee’s words but, as always, he has given you nothing to pick apart.

The stadium parking lot is already being packed with cars, suburban moms with children, men in their 40s still wearing their suits from their jobs. You miss all the inconvenience of traffic and parking out at the edge because, as being the person you are, there is already an entrance and exit marked out for you. One that must have been cleared days before you were even forced to come. It’s easy to go through the routine of letting Lee unbuckle his seatbelt and climb out of the car first, circling around to where you are. The door swings out all the way when he opens it, but one of his hands gently grabs your elbow as you bring your feet to the ground.

He’s never done this before.

Lee has never touched you like this ever, softly and affectionately. It makes you feel like you could sink into a puddle on the concrete as he brushes his hand up your arm to your shoulder and then down to the small of your back. It feels like he’s caressing, not handling or protecting.

He’s never done this before.

You feel like you’re in a different world as the car door closes and Lee walks with you inside the stadium. You feel like you’re sleepwalking as you enter a hallway simply lit with fluorescent lights spanning the ceiling.

Lee’s lips come to brush against your ear and your breath hitches as your body is tempted to stop moving altogether. But you continue walking.

“You trust me, right?”

What an unbelievable question, you think as you pull back. You almost feel like laughing.

“Of course I do, Lee.” His left eye winces slightly, like you’ve said something painful. It draws attention to the scar he’s had on his face since you met him that first time at the end of first conversation with your father.

“You have to do whatever I tell you tonight.” You nod, furrowing your eyebrows and exhaling with amusement. He’s definitely acting weird tonight. You know that it should make you feel apprehensive, but you’ve always felt safe with him. Always, since the first moment, though you’ve never really been able to understand why.

It’s an easy walk to where you’re supposed to be seated inside the auditorium, silent and like a prop until you are given your cue to smile and wave. You take a glance around at the space that has been transformed into a political rally. The colors are gaudy and there are lights and cameras everywhere. It’s almost like it’s meant for reality television and not an event meant to highlight people who want to serve this kingdom’s government. You don’t understand the reason why you need to look your best, your hair and make-up done to perfection, when all you will ever do for these people is smile and wave at them. You are a useless figurine, a pawn on a chessboard who will be sacrificed at some point for the sake of making a better and more strategic move elsewhere. Lee stands to the side, back to normal as your silent guard.

You try not to dwell over the sensation of his touch from earlier, but remembering it gives you a slight shiver. You have always been off-limits to everyone but those of your own class, and the boys that do run in your same social girlfriends either already have popular, wealthy girlfriends or have no desire to date someone whose status relies solely on political relevance and position. Lee is the only one you’ve never had to hide any part of yourself with before. He listens to your droning and your rambling, and though he never laughs, his eyes light up when you unleash your sense of humor. He’s perfectly happy to sit in silence or listen to your favorite music on a car ride home. He isn’t ashamed to go on late-night Oreo or ice cream runs. He doesn’t scold you for having political opinions of your own, even if they are ones in complete opposition to what your father says he believes.

The stadium fills with people, murmuring and holding signs, and a timer shows on the jumbo screen, altering many that it’s almost time to begin. You continue to sit in silence, even when the clock counts down to zero. You don’t cheer or applaud as your father steps onto the stage, all smiles and jolly laughter. His façade is easy to see through if you look hard enough. He’s not that hard to read once you’ve been around enough politicians.

“–my daughter came to join us today. She loves being able to participate in what her father fights for – ”

Like the obedient daughter you are, you stand up to smile and wave for a few seconds before you sit back down. And just like it always does, the focus lands back on your father. You show up for 5 seconds to give a boost to his appearance and you are discarded routinely like the old childhood you find in the back of the closet. Before he can really get going, though, you hear doors open and the noise of people talking escalates.

The sight of Earth Kingdom Dai Lee is a startling sight to see, mostly because there is no reason for them to be here.

Lee forcibly grabs you for your seat and forces you to move with him to a covered spot nearby, where you are both out of sight.

“You have to leave.” He says as he discards his earpiece to the ground and begins to loosen his tie. You have no idea what’s going on, so you stare, bewildered, at him for a moment.

“I’m not leaving,” You frown at him as your father speaks loudly into the microphone. The Dai Lee are steadily making their way to the front, occupying the four aisles that people could otherwise escape through. You can feel the tension in the air, wringed with worry and a bit of foreboding.

You stare at Lee and realize he isn’t surprised by this.

“If you don’t leave, I don’t know what will happen to you.” He’s taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. If this were happening in any other situation, you would take some time to appreciate him without a stiff uniform to cover him up anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” You step closer, trying to keep calm as you can hear panic escalate in the stadium around you. “Just tell me what’s going on!”

“If this is about the war,” Your father shouts as the Dai Lee make their way up the stage to him, “we can talk. This isn’t nece-” The mic cuts off and the Dai Lee haul your father away from the podium and start to make their way down a set of side stairs.

“What is his talking about?” You exclaim at Lee as you try to rush forward. He doesn’t let you get very far away, but you’re close enough for people to start noticing you, including some sporadic Dai Lee agents. There is no reason that Dai Lee agents should be taking your father away; they both work for the government! “What war? There’s a war?!”

There is no war your father would always say to you. There are conflicts outside of Ba Sing Se, but there is no war.

He lied.

You glance at Lee, but his face is impassive, set like stone. There are so many things going on that you don’t know what to feel. Your stomach tenses and your heart squeezes, like they both know what he says next won’t be good.

“Lee, tell me some-”

There are screams from the crowd, people throwing things and trying to escape from their seats. There are some climbing over each other. Babies are crying.

“My name isn’t Lee,” He’s so blasé that it takes a minute for you to digest his words. He starts to distance himself, walking away from you as Dai Lee agents approach you too. “And I told you, you should have left.”

The Dai Lee restrain you as they pull your arms behind your back with a tight grip. You try to wriggle free, but one Dai Lee agent holds your left arm, and another holds your right. Their hands grip you so hard, you know you’ll have bruises whenever they let you go.

“What?” Your breathing becomes shallow and you look around, trying to locate your father. You can’t find him, but based on the noise level in the room, which has erupted into complete chaos, he’s still here. You feel the panic seep into your bloodstream, and you try to buck against the restraining grip holding you back. “What is going on?”

Some other Dai Lee agents try to make a move for him, but he puts his hands up. “My name is Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation.” They nod and step backwards, like the words hold weight and you become even more confused. Dread coils and squeezes tight around your heart. You can’t breathe.

Prince Zuko?

The Fire Nation?

“I was just spying on your father.” His eyes lock with yours as you gasp and then begin to physically struggle again. 

He was just spying on your father? 

For what purpose? 

There’s too much going on: screaming in every direction, there are people trying to flee but being trapped by officers. You can’t find your father. Despite your relationship with him, losing him would devastate you. You try to rise to your toes but the agents that hold you force you back down onto your heels.

All you can think is: There is no war.

The Fire Nation.

Prince Zuko.

He’s a spy. 

There is no war. 

Who you knew formerly as Lee turns his back to you and walks towards the stage. It’s like he’s a completely different person. 

He’s a spy. 

Spy. Spy. Spy. 

He was spying. 

He greets a smaller girl with a hug, and you can briefly see the word “brother” form on her lips as she greets him back. She directs some of the Dai Lee to follow her and Le- Prince Zuko and betrayal sinks like a stone in you, weighing you down.

He doesn’t look back once.

You can’t catch your breath. 

You try to wrestle out of the grip the two agents holding you have your body in, but you fail yet again. A black hood comes down over your face as you struggle further. The agents begin to drag you somewhere, your orientation and senses shrouded by black fabric.

The last thing you hear before you are too far away is the sound of gunfire.

---

(I never said he would be a good spy. xo) 

[btsslowburnfic]

Sonata-First Movement

The dear @omgalyssag17​ asked: hi i saw you have your requests open and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a story where yoongi moves into a haunted apartment/house (human!yoongi x ghost!reader pairing). i like giving authors lots of room for creativity so let your imagination flow. And I did. So much so that the story will be told in three parts over the next three weeks XD I LOVED THIS PROMPT SO MUCH Series Summary: Yoongi travels to a lake house to get some work done in peace. While he is there he has several strange encounters that make him question his own sanity.  AN: Y/N as a ghost is slightly neurotic at times because she hasn’t really had conversations with people in about ten years. She’s trying so hard to be a good hostess XD Series contains angst, humor (well I think so), and fluff.  WK:5kish Day 1

Yoongi parked his car at the end of the gravel driveway. The drive up to the Lakehouse had been pleasantly uneventful. It was starting to get foggy though, so he was glad he had left Seoul when he did. He reached into his front pocket for the set of rental keys. They were neatly labeled: cabin, boathouse, boat. 

The wooden front door opened easily although it creaked loudly. He decided to take a look around before bringing in his luggage and equipment. He was on a rare break from work. While the other members had gone traveling or home to spend time with their families, Yoongi had decided to get some work done. But he would do it away from the city. He told the Agency to find him somewhere nice and quiet. And with a piano. That last part proved to be more of a challenge, but they had discovered this remote cabin which had belonged to a pianist. The property had been listed as “for sale” for several years and the family decided instead to rent it out to at least recoup some money.

The air smelled slightly stale so he left the front door open and began to explore the property. It was a small 2 bedroom cottage-style lake house with large windows running along the back of the living room. The sliding glass door led out to a small deck, overlooking the lake. It was beautiful. Or at least it could be. Yoongi looked through the glass and could barely make out the lake that he knew should be there. The layer of fog was rolling in against an already grey sky, causing the horizon between the water and air to blend together into a monochrome greyscape. 

There was a small kitchenette in the corner of the main room, and on the opposite side, a piano with a desk sat next to it. Perfect. A fireplace adorned another one of the walls, providing both a heat source and a beautiful focal point.

He continued to walk through the house, discovering the bathroom and two bedrooms. The larger of the two also had large windows and a sliding glass door. Yoongi shook his bangs out his face and stepped out onto the wooden deck. The deck was small and surrounded on most sides by built-in benches. There were also several empty wooden planters. Whoever had lived here must have enjoyed flowers or herbs, he mused to himself. He gazed out towards the lake where he was able to barely make out the boathouse. In addition to the stored motorboat, there was a kayak stacked against the boathouse and a rowboat tethered to the dock. Good, he thought. He doubted he would use the motorboat at all on this trip, so it was nice to have options. The steps down to the dock were made up of several twisty flights of stairs. He decided he would check out the dock tomorrow. 

Yoongi went back through the house to get his equipment set up. When he came back, he discovered the front door had shut. Dammit, he thought and sat down with his armful of equipment, squeaking the front door open again. He placed his laptop and speakers down on the desk. Now to get his luggage and food bags. He knew there would be no delivery service out here. Hell, he’d be lucky to get cell service out this far. Which is one of the reasons he had decided to work out in the country. He knew he wouldn’t be distracted by his phone or by the members messaging him. It would truly be a break from everyone and everything. He grabbed his suitcase and used it to prop the door open and then took several trips out to the car to unload the bags of food he had bought on the way up.

Yoongi began to hum to himself while unpacking the food. Cold in the refrigerator, room temperature in the cabinets. He was a very neat person and was very satisfied when all of the groceries had been put in their place. He went back to get his suitcase from its place by the door. Yoongi scratched his head. His suitcase had been by the door, hadn’t it? Maybe he had wheeled it into the kitchen without thinking. He walked back over and looked around quickly, still not seeing it. Ok. Maybe he hadn’t brought it in from the car and just thought he had. He knew in the back of his mind that he had to have brought it in, because he was using it to hold the door open. Maybe it was on the front porch? He turned the corner and saw the suitcase sitting by the front door. He jumped a little bit and shook his head. Maybe he was more sleep deprived than usual and it was making him dumb. “What the hell?” he said out loud. He walked over and firmly grabbed the suitcase as though he was afraid it was going to wander off.

He turned on the light in the master bedroom and put away all of the clothes, storing the suitcase under the bed. Now, he could finally get some work done. After coffee. Coffee was an important step. 

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

You sat over at the desk, observing the newest cottage guest. The delightful scent of coffee wafted through the air. There were several things you missed about being alive, and one of them was a nice, hot cup of coffee. Especially out on the back deck, first thing in the morning. You often wondered if you were actually stuck in hell; able to smell coffee and not drink it. You were able to see every person who trespassed in your house, but none of them could see you. 

At least it looked like this guy would be a considerate guest. Too often it would be loud families with their ill-behaved children banging on your beloved piano. Sometimes it would be drunk fishermen. At least they could be entertaining. And they were also your favorite to mess with; they were never sure if there was a ghost or if they were drunk. Hilarious. Death had very few benefits but that was one of them.

You watched him pour himself a cup of coffee. Now that you noticed, it was very late to be starting a pot of coffee. He must be a night owl. You got up so he wouldn't sit on you. It always felt so weird when the living touched you; their solid body parts passing through your non-corporeal form. It didn't hurt but it made your body feel like it was being stretched in ways that it shouldn't be able to. 

He sat the cup down and started to unpack what looked like headphones, a microphone, and some other things that you knew had to do with recording music. Oooo interesting, you thought. He was a very meticulous person. You had noticed the care he had taken into putting everything in its place even though you could tell he was eager to begin the task at hand. He plugged in the electronics and began to press some buttons. He put on his headphones and began vibin to some beats.

You frowned. You wanted to hear the music too. You reached over and gently flipped the bluetooth switch on his headphones off.

Yoongi stopped and took off his headphones. He looked at them with a concerned expression. That was so strange. He had charged them all last night. It didn’t even occur to him to check the manual power switch; there was no reason to. He frowned and placed the headphones on the desk. He dug the charger out of his bag and crawled down on the floor to plug it in. 

You smiled as you watched him try to turn himself tiny. It was pretty cute. He slowly backed out of the space under the desk, and while still on his knees, pressed play. The lakehouse was filled with music. You felt the space in the middle of your body, where you once had a beating heart, relax. You hadn’t heard music in forever. You would occasionally play the piano, but most of the time it just made you too sad. 

Yoongi took out his notebook and began flipping through it, trying to find the page he had been working on. You spied over his shoulder, trying to see what his project was. Notes? Lyrics? Ouch. You felt his hand go through your face as he raised his arm to run his fingers through his hair. Ok, ouch wasn’t the right expression, but it had surprised you nonetheless. He continued to fluff his hair several times. It was very fluffy, now that you noticed it. You wanted to touch it. You really tried to not be a creepy ghost. But you hadn’t had visitors in so long. And it looked so soft. You let yourself pet his dark, black hair.

Yoongi froze and looked behind him. His nose scrunched up as he turned his neck and looked above him, searching for the draft that had just blown his hair. Seeing nothing, he continued on with his work.

His hair was soft. You knew it would be. Alright, you decided, enough of being creepy. He seemed nice enough. You traveled over to the living room and laid down on the couch. Being dead was so boring.

Yoongi continued working and drinking coffee for several hours before deciding around 4 am to go to bed. This was a poor decision because there were no curtains in the lake house, and the sun came in at 7 am. He groaned and pulled a sheet over his face.

You laughed as you saw him wrestle with the too small sheet. He would pull it up, his feet would become uncovered. He would pull it down, and a sunbeam would fall directly onto his face. Poor guy. The next time he pulled the blanket up, you gently tucked the comforter over his feet. He didn’t even notice, he just let out a satisfied groaning sound as he rustled around trying to get comfortable. Finally, he was able to fall back to sleep.

Day 2

Yoongi woke up around noon. He scolded himself for not thinking of bringing an eye mask along. He was used to sleeping at strange hours, in a state of permanent jet lag, so he usually remembered to pack it. Oh well. He groggily shufflled to the kitchen and grabbed an iced coffee. The lake was beautiful this morning. The sun was shining and reflecting against the water. He decided to wash up and head down to the dock.

You watched him down the iced coffee like it was a lifeline. Did this guy know that drinking-water also existed? You wondered as you followed him around. You watched him look out over the lake while drinking the coffee. The corners of his mouth upturned as he looked out over the water. With a determined look on his face he went over towards the bathroom leaving you to hang out in the living room. You walked over to the desk area where he had left his stuff out. You decided to look through his notebook and found several pages of lyrics. He was really good, you thought as you flipped through. You took your time reading some of the pages and notes. You also saw some compositions written down as well. 

Yoongi walked out of the bathroom wearing a towel and sopping wet hair. Since he was the only one there he hadn’t bothered to take his clothes into the bathroom with him. He walked out into the living room and saw his notebook jump off the desk. That’s weird. He thought as he walked over to pick it up and put it back on the desk. He ran a hand along the back of it to see if it felt extra slippery. No. He did the same to the desk. Weird.

You were trying to NOT be a creepy ghost and yet here was a hot guy wearing a towel in your living room. You looked around, where to go, where to go? You couldn’t go to the master bedroom, that’s where he would go next. You saw him bend over to pick up the notebook. If you had blood left in your body, you are certain it would all be rushing to your face right now. Must leave. You hastily made your way to the guest bedroom, carefully opening the door and stepping inside. You took a few deep breaths out of habit.

Yoongi sat the notebook down on the desk and heard a creaking sound coming from the other side of the cabin. The drafts in here were unbelievable, he thought and he headed to the bedroom to get dressed.

You kept yourself in forced isolation until you heard the sliding door of the living room open up. You peeked out the window and saw him making his way down to the dock. Finally, you thought, as you went back into the living room. Ever since you had heard the music last night you had been wanting to give it a go on the piano. You looked down at the dock to make sure he had made it before you took a seat at the bench and began to play, 

Yoongi felt the sun shine down on his dark hair. He usually blow dried it, but between the hot sun and being on vacation, he figured he would let nature take care of it today. He sat down cross legged on the dock, looking out across the Lake. He could see a few other houses lining the perimeter and several patches of trees. The water lightly rippled, splashing gently against the rowboat. He looked over the side of the dock. It was shallow and he could see minnows swimming in the water that had been warmed by the sun. He smiled and took in a deep breath of the fresh air. He took out his pen and began to write.

You couldn’t remember the last time you enjoyed playing the piano. It had been probably about 6 months before you died. If you had to guess. Time is a funny thing. It speeds up as you get older. And once you’re dead, it’s like the blink of an eye. It wasn’t enough time. You sighed sadly. But, playing this music made you happy. It made you so happy that you had lost track of time until you heard the unmistakable sound of the glass door sliding open. You were pretty sure you were able to stop in time. You made a cringe face and turned to the door to see if your guest had noticed.

Yoongi stood extremely still. He had definitely heard the piano playing. Only for a second or two. But the sound was unmistakable. Maybe a mouse was in the dampers. He cleared his throat and walked over to the upright Yamaha. You stayed absolutely still as he reached over you, his face inches away. You didn’t have to hold your breath, you didn’t even breathe anymore, but you found yourself nervously worried about it. He smelled good. Stop being creepy! Yoongi opened the lid quickly, hoping to catch the mouse in action. No mouse. Strange, he thought, and closed the lid. He stepped back and eyed the piano suspiciously.  Wait a minute. He looked at the sides and then he opened the lid once more. “Hmm? What’s this?” he reached in and took out a yellow, legal-sized envelope

You had forgotten about that. 

He held the large envelope in his hands, inspecting it. He turned it around. There was nothing written on the outside but he could feel the contents inside of it. He bit his lip, unsure of what to do with this. He sat it down on the desk and headed to the kitchen to eat lunch.

You tentatively pressed your fingers against the envelope. You were surprised no one had found it yet. You were certain your family would have quickly sold the house, so you had placed the document somewhere safe. But no one had come to buy the house. Maybe because you had scared them away. The first few years of your haunting you hadn’t been quite as kind of a ghost. Time had mellowed you and allowed you to come to terms with your death. You looked over at the man who was starting to shake ramyeon packets and boil water. You gently tore the corner open and waited a minute to see if his curiosity would get the better of him.

Yoongi walked back over to the desk while he waited for the water to boil. Now that he looked harder he saw that the envelope had been opened ever so slightly. He felt a little odd, but decided to go ahead and open it. He carefully slid the contents out onto the desk. He saw a picture, sheet music, and a letter. He picked up the photo first. It was a picture of a young woman who looked to be about his age, sitting out on the back porch, petting a large yellow dog. She was looking off at the lake smiling and it appeared she hadn’t known someone was taking her picture. Yoongi looked out, holding the photo up in between himself and the window. He matched up the benches and planters perfectly. It was definitely taken here. The next thing he picked up was the sheet music. It was untitled and about 20 bars of music filled the sheet. He placed the music on the piano’s stand. He picked up the letter and began to read.

“I don’t think I’m going to have enough time to finish this composition. I really like it and I would love to hear it completed. I sit down every day and try to but the headaches are getting worse and it’s hard to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. I wish I had more time. But I suppose that’s to be expected, isn’t it? I thought there would be more time. I can only hope someone takes Barley and gives him a good home. Dogs don’t know about death right? Animals fear pain, not death. I fear both even though each gets worse and closer every day. As for the piano, I just hope it goes somewhere where it will actually get played by someone who loves it. I’m hoping my family finds this, but if you find yourself reading some random dying girl’s letter, please let my family know I tried to hold on for as long as possible. And I really tried hard to finish this. I just can’t anymore. Thanks for reading this. Whoever you are. Have a great day and remember: life is short. [y/n].”

Yoongi felt tears running down his face as he finished the letter. Jesus. Had this belonged to the girl who lived here before? He looked at the picture of the girl and the dog and flipped it over. “Me and Barley May 2010 BEST DOG EVER.” Yoongi gently placed the letter and photo on the corner of the desk and ran a hand along his chin and then his cheeks, wiping the tears quickly with the back of his hand.

You watched as he cried and felt bad. You had written that letter probably a week before you died. Maybe a month? It was hard to tell. Time passed differently when you were dead. And the last few days, weeks(?) of your life had not been easy on your body or mind. All you remembered was the instant feeling of calm and peace. At first. Until you realized for some reason you were trapped in the lake house. You watched him sit down quietly and look at your composition and put his fingers onto the keys.

He began to play. At first it was so soft you could barely hear it, but as he continued to play it got louder. You remembered the song so well. You were slightly biased, but you thought it was, “Beautiful.” you heard him say as he came to the end of the song. He sat like that for another few seconds and then played it again from the start.  He picked up the music sheet and sat it down on the desk. He got up and moved over to the desk chair, taking out his. He started to copy the notes onto his notebook and then started to add notes to it.

Was he going to finish your song? You sat in awe as you watched him play with the chords and rhythm to try and figure out what would work best with what you had already composed. You sat down on the piano bench and watched his face as he concentrated on how to approach the music. The timer went off in the kitchen and Yoongi got up to assemble the noodles. He brought the hot bowl and chopsticks back with him, careful to not sit it on the desk. He read the letter again.

“Well, I’ll try to finish it for you,” he said. “But I don’t know if it will be what you would have picked.

You gave him a sad smile. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to you. “That’s ok.”

Yoongi looked over towards the piano. He kept feeling something. Something randomly around him. And this time he had sworn he heard something as well. “I need to stop talking to myself, I’m starting to imagine answers.” He said, taking several more bites of noodles. You just laughed. A small tinkling sound. Yoongi got up and went over to the back porch to look for windchimes or something. Having found none, he shook his head and sighed. He quickly finished up his lunch and sat down next to you on the piano bench. He reached over for the sheet music, and then very delicately placed your picture next to it.

“Alright [y/n] let’s finish writing this composition.” he said as he gently placed his fingers on the keys. He played the song again, this time adding a few of the notes he had added. He was satisfied with a few of them but others he scratched out with his pen. He began again and again, trying to work through the bridge. You understood his frustration. This was the part you had gotten stuck on as well. You liked the few notes that he had successfully added. Suddenly, without thinking, you thought of what would sound good next and played a series of notes. 

Yoongi sat there not moving. The keys to his left had definitely just played by themselves. And not random keys like a mouse on the dampers. They were notes that matched the song perfectly. What the hell.

You froze. Shit shit shit. You were going to scare this guy off. The only person who had actually spoken to you in a decade. You felt like you wanted to cry. Dammit [y/n] you scolded yourself. Yoongi was afraid to turn to his left. He knew it was silly. There wouldn’t be anything there, other than that feeling he kept getting in the house. He was going to make himself do it though. He very slowly turned his head and looked at you. At least, it seemed like he was looking at you. But from his perspective, he just saw the windows of the lake house. He let out a deep breath. “Here I am, afraid of ghosts.” He said out loud. “Well, if there is a ghost here, thanks. Those notes work well,” he said as he wrote down the keys you had pressed and then played them himself. The two of you stayed like that for about another hour before Yoongi decided he was going to work on another project. You decided to go out on the back porch and give him some privacy. 

The rest of the evening Yoongi didn’t feel anymore of that warm buzzing sensation he had felt since his arrival. You had stayed on the back porch until it became dark to give him a break. You were so afraid earlier that you were going to scare him off. Usually you couldn’t wait for the guests to leave because they were annoying, but you wanted him to stay. He was nice and quiet, and cute, and working on your song, and cute. And oh my goodness, you thought listening to yourself. You had a crush on this guy. Ugh. You didn’t even know ghosts could get crushes. You sighed, once again bemoaning the fact that being dead was standing in your way. You didn’t get the chance to date much when you were alive. You went straight from University to writing music up at the lake. You thought your love life could wait until you had established your career more. Just another thing you had been wrong about. You sighed as you re-entered the cottage and saw Yoongi still sitting at his computer jamming away with his headphones on. Did he ever stop working?

Yoongi had worked on several projects that afternoon and was feeling very satisfied with the progress he had made. The earlier piano incident left him feeling a little skittish, especially now that it was dark outside. He wasn’t easily frightened, but as he thought back to the past two days, several incidents were very strange. He didn’t believe in ghosts. He told himself. Over and over again. Probably a little too much for someone to not actually believe in ghosts. He reached over to the piano stand and took the picture off the stand, sitting it down on the desk and running a finger down it.

If Barley was alive, he would be a very old dog by now, Yoongi thought. He wondered if the woman’s parents were the people renting out the lakehouse. He would have to have the Agency contact them and ask about her in a delicate manner so he could give them the documents.  Yoongi stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He would usually make some coffee and continue working, but he found himself unusually tired and not particularly wanting to sit in the living room full of wide open windows and wide open spaces. He took his phone and a drink into the bedroom. There. If you’re under the covers, ghosts can’t get you, He found himself thinking. I’m so stupid. There’s no such thing as ghosts. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” He said out loud, like that made it more real. You just laughed. Yoongi froze. That tinkling sound again. Ok. It was time to pull the sheet over his head and go to bed. Which he did. 

You felt bad and resolved that tomorrow you would be quiet, and not touch him, and not have impure thoughts about him. You would try so very hard. But, for a few minutes, you were going to watch him sleep. Just a little. Ghosts are allowed to be a little creepy.

Day 3

Yoongi woke up around 9 in the morning. It was raining outside. He felt his shoulder ache; the joint affected by weather ever since his accident. He groaned. He was hoping to take the rowboat out today but it would have to wait. He stayed in bed for a while, checking his phone even though he knew the reception made it almost useless. 

He walked out to the kitchen and started to make the coffee without thinking. Wait a minute. He hadn’t set the coffee and filter out. He knew he hadn’t. And yet when he came out, the carafe, water, filter, and coffee were all laid out in a nice row.

See? You didn’t want to be creepy or scary. You wanted to be helpful. Yoongi let out a deep sigh, trying to fill himself up with bravery. “Whoever is here needs to stop messing with me. My head is fucked up enough without thinking I’m actually going crazy as well.”

Oh. You thought the coffee would make him happy but instead it had made him upset. You pouted. What could you do to make him not afraid? It was difficult being a ghost. You walked over to the piano and decided to play a nice happy song for him. Something not scary at all. You began to play the tune of “You are my Sunshine.” No one could be scared of that song. No one. Except apparently Yoongi was.

“Ahhh….” he let out a tiny scared sound. He looked over at the piano playing by itself and covered his ears and headed for the front door. He opened it and stepped outside into the rain. Shit. Shit. The piano is playing by itself. He thought. Shit. It’s raining. No. It’s pouring. The awning over the front door was very small. He ran over to the car to try and get inside but he had locked it. He scolded himself. This was the country, why the hell did he lock his car? Who was going to take it. Shit. He couldn’t walk anywhere else. He would have to go inside and get the car keys. He walked back to the front door and pulled on the knob. It was locked. SHIT he had also locked the bottom lock out of habit last night and hadn't unlocked it in his haste to get out of the house. Wet, scared Yoongi paused for a moment and laughed. This was ridiculous. The whole situation. He wiped his wet face with his hands and ran his fingers through his soaking wet hair.

You sat there feeling very sad. You had just tried to help. You felt like the two of you really shared a connection through the music, and he had talked to you, and you sat out coffee for him, and played a very cute song. Why was he being such a scaredy cat? And why was he still outside? It was pouring and his car keys were sitting on the fireplace mantle. A minute later you got your answer as you saw a very wet Yoongi at the back door. He was absolutely soaked. 

Yoongi arrived at the back porch. Surely he hadn’t locked all of the sliding glass doors. He looked in through the windows and was shocked to see the profile of a girl sitting at the piano. Oh God. There was someone actually in the house. What if the girl wasn’t the only one? What the hell was going on? Yoongi felt his heart beat racing in his ears.

You got up, slightly annoyed by the fact he would rather be in the pouring rain than hang out with you and walked over to the door, opening it ever so slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t notice and think it was the wind. Or maybe he believed in ghosts now, you sighed.

Yoongi watched the woman through the fogged up windows walk over towards him and open the door just a crack. He heard her let out a deep sigh like he was being annoying. He opened the door the rest of the way and slowly walked inside.

“Wow you look even better when you are soaking wet,” you mused from your spot by the fireplace mantle.

Yoongi shook his hair out of his face and looked over at you, “Thanks, but who are you and why are you here….” His eyes widened as he was finally able to see clearly.

Your eyes also grew wider and you looked behind you to make sure he wasn’t speaking to anyone else. You looked back at him, “You can see me?”

Yoongi slowly nodded his head. The woman definitely looked like she could be twins with [y/n] from the photograph. “Of course I can, you’re ogling me from the fireplace.”

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

help me gather mine

Restless and worried in the wee hours of the morning, Tony leaves home to clear his head and finds himself in a synagogue for the second time this week. {missing scene from 10x12 "Shiva" shortly after the death of Ziva's father}

Friend drabble project, this one for my babe @benditlikepress, who is a fantastic supporter and a wonderful friend. <3

Can also be read on ff or AO3

____________________

“A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.”

— Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration 

____________________

Tony closes the bedroom door behind him and returns to his makeshift bed on the floor outside the kitchen, tired and feeling heavy with borrowed grief. It comes as no surprise that Ziva dismissed him rather than choosing to talk about her feelings, but something about the way she looked before that, right when she woke up… 

Well, it has Tony feeling unsettled. 

He doesn’t go to sleep once he settles back onto the loaned inflatable mattress; his mind is too busy to relax, instead repeatedly mulling over possibilities and worries, stressing over solutions to problems that haven’t yet been made entirely clear. 

He needs to empty his head, get some clarity. 

He texts Abby after another fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, and despite the late hour, he gets a quick reply… clearly, Tony is not the only team member still awake and worrying, and Abby agrees to his request without question. 

He rises from the blow-up mattress and pulls on a coat over the sweats he wore to bed, then tugs on his running shoes. By the time Abby arrives, Tony is sitting on the stoop outside his apartment waiting for her.

“Thanks for this,” he tells his friend, standing and clapping Abby’s shoulder fondly.

“Of course. Has she…?”

“She woke up with a nightmare, but as far as I know, she went back to sleep. Didn’t tell her I was leaving.”

“Hm. I’m guessing you didn’t tell her you called a babysitter, either, did you?”

“Nope, and I’m hoping she won’t wake up again to find out.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks, Abbs. I’m sure Ziva would be fine alone—I mean, she’s not even actually alone, Shmeil’s asleep on the couch—but Gibbs would have my head if I just abandoned my post.”

“You didn’t call me ‘cause Gibbs was worried, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t dignify that with a response. “I’ll be back in an hour, two tops,” he says instead.

“Be careful.”

“You, too.” Tony pauses, and then adds: “If anything happens, if anyone shows up, Ziva can obviously hold her own, but… just in case you need it, there’s a gun taped to the back of the toilet.”

They nod at each other—the heaviness of the week’s events keeps even smartass Tony from making any jokes—and Abby slips into the apartment while Tony heads out of the building. 

His feet tread a familiar path as he automatically settles into following his jogging route; it’s a good thing, too, because he’s not very focused on where he’s going. Instead, he lets his chaotic thoughts start to whir again, nudged toward organization by the mild distraction of exercise. 

The urgency of the team’s quiet investigation into Eli’s death has kept Tony from thinking too deeply about what’s really concerning him here: Ziva, and everything that she must be feeling. Oh, he knows they’ll get to the bottom of the shooting at the Vance house—they always do, in the end. And he’s certain that they’ll get whoever is responsible for it. But for Ziva… None of this will ever be neatly tied up and boxed away for her, no matter how the investigation ends. 

Tony has known for a long time that his partner’s relationship with Eli is—was—complicated at best. Until tonight, however, he had been focusing on what she told him when he found her after pinging her phone: she wants revenge. Of course, Ziva hadn’t been lying then, and her words are undoubtedly still true—but her nightmare tells Tony that she’s also just grieving. She’s hurting deeply, even if she won’t admit it to anyone other than herself. Maybe she’s not admitting it to herself, either, though, and maybe that’s part of the problem. 

Tony can feel her slipping away. Rage and mourning are slowly eating away at her rationality, leaving behind someone whose behavior he can’t predict. He’s afraid of what she’ll do next. 

That concerning thought is interrupted when something unexpectedly catches Tony’s eye, drawing him back to where he is.

A few meters back from the sidewalk, tucked away in a large, darkened building, there’s a single brightened window. Light passes through thick, translucent panes to spill onto the ground below, leaving on the grass a thin column of luminescence broken by only one thing: the shadow of an unlit menorah resting just on the other side of the glass. 

The familiar shape makes something clear: whether by fate, coincidence, or simple subconscious choice, Tony’s restless wandering has led him to a synagogue.

He’s not sure why, but something about the place draws him in—maybe it’s just a stronger-than-ever desire to understand Ziva. Whatever it is, though, it makes Tony leave the sidewalk, his feet passing noiselessly over a manicured lawn as he drifts closer to the window.

Inside, past the menorah, someone is visible. A man sits in profile, staring studiously down at an open book as he turns a page. Though it’s going on four in the morning and the rest of this particular sleepy neighborhood has been at rest for hours, something about this man seems… unhurried. Relaxed. Peaceful, even.

I could really use some peace right about now, Tony thinks. 

Without letting himself consider all the reasons that he shouldn’t, Tony turns to his left and bounds up the steps leading to the synagogue’s entrance. Then he knocks on one of its large doors. 

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a face appears in the lit window that Tony can still partially see from where he’s standing—it’s the man who had been reading, and he looks at Tony in confusion. 

Tony waves awkwardly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, and after a pause of clear deliberation, the man in the window gestures something along the lines of ‘hold on a second.’ He disappears from view, and shortly after, Tony can hear footsteps behind the door directly in front of him. Then there’s the sound of a lock sliding free. 

The door opens just a little. “Good evening. Can I help you?”

Tony isn’t sure what to say without sounding insane, but he tries. “I, um, I was out walking, and…” He sighs. “Are you a rabbi?”

“I am, yes.”

“Any chance we could talk? Like, now?”

Tony can dimly see the other man evaluating him and considering, and he finds himself really second guessing his impulsive decision to knock. To his surprise, though, the rabbi only pauses temporarily before opening the door further to admit him. 

Tony sticks his hands awkwardly into his pockets and walks in, glancing around. This is not the same synagogue he found Ziva at recently, but even in the low lighting, he can tell that this one has a similar setup. 

The rabbi interrupts Tony’s musings by brushing past him after re-locking the thick door. “This way,” the man requests softly. Then he leads Tony down a hall and into a large, almost cavernous room where Tony thinks services must take place. After motioning Tony into a pew, the rabbi sits down himself and looks at the restless agent expectantly. “Okay, we can talk here. I’m Rabbi Aviyah Silverman—you can just call me Rabbi Avi. And you are?”

“Tony DiNozzo.”

The rabbi nods. “Alright, Tony… what’s on your mind?”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t even know,” he says, feeling displaced and wrong-footed. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not even Jewish.”

“I could tell that the moment I saw you.”

“How?”

Rabbi Avi smiles with a touch of humor at Tony’s expense. “For starters, you’re not wearing a kippah, but maybe more to the point, you look… very uncertain about being here.”

Tony laughs ruefully—he really can’t argue with that astute observation—and he finds that the other man’s straightforwardness relaxes him a little. “You’re not entirely off-base, I guess,” he admits. “Before this, I’ve set foot in a synagogue maybe a handful of times in total.”

The rabbi dips his head again, looking thoughtful. “Well, something led you here. What were you thinking about when you decided to knock?”

“A friend.”

“What about them?”

“She, ah…” Tony hesitates and then sighs. “She’s just going through something difficult. I’m worried about her, and I don’t know how to help.”

“Has she asked for your help?”

Tony snorts, trying to imagine that impossibility. “No. That’s not really in her nature.”

Rabbi Avi lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Without knowing exactly what’s going on, there’s a limit to how much advice I can give, but… let me say something general that I think you may need to hear.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“There are things in this life that a person must face for themselves—and by themselves. That isn’t to say you should abandon your friends, but some demons live inside the mind, and sometimes, they’re too personal to fight while someone else is watching.”

“So you think I should just... leave her to it?” Tony asks, trying to work out the implications of the metaphor. “Let her deal with it alone?”

“Not at all. What I’m suggesting is quite the opposite, actually.”

Tony frowns. “Then what—”

“Remind her that you’re there for her! Even the battles we fight by ourselves leave us drained, right? If you’re up pacing the streets of Washington in the middle of the night because you’re so concerned, you must care about your friend. Feeling supported might give her the strength she needs to do what she has to do without you… so, tell her that when she finishes with whatever that is, she has you to fall back on.”

“She knows.”

“Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t, but a reminder couldn’t hurt.”

Tony finds all of this to be surprisingly logical, and he nods in agreement, staring up at a large Magen David hanging in a place of honor on the far wall and thinking of the one Ziva wears around her neck. “Surprised you’re not telling me to pray about it or something,” he jokes softly, his gaze and his thoughts still far away.

Rabbi Avi chuckles. “Proselytizing isn’t a very Jewish thing to do. Besides, no one ever walks in here looking to be told to pray.”

Tony smiles a little. “I wouldn’t know how to, anyway. Ziva—my friend—would probably be able to teach me… She is Jewish.”

“I see why you ended up here, then.” Rabbi Avi reaches under his seat and pulls out a siddur, offering it to Tony. “If you decide you want to try your hand at praying, this is full of prayers and blessings to choose from. What I think you really need, though, is some time alone in a quiet place to think.” He rises from his seat, and Tony pulls his eyes away from the unfamiliar text in his hands to look up at the other man. “My office is down the hall on the right,” the rabbi continues. “I’ll be in there if you need me, but if you don’t, stay as long as you’d like.”

“Thanks, Rabbi.” Tony offers a hand to shake, and Rabbi Avi accepts it.

“Any time. You’re a good friend, Tony. Don’t let yourself worry so much that you forget that.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say to that, so he offers a small smile of appreciation. As the rabbi walks away and Tony glances back at the thick book in his hands, though, the sight of English text and Hebrew text lined up together offers sudden inspiration. “Hey, Rabbi Avi?”

“Yes?” The rabbi pauses just shy of the door they walked in through. 

“How do you say ‘you are not alone’ in Hebrew?”

____________________

The sound of airplane engines fills Tony’s ears as he walks slowly toward the tarmac; somewhere under those bright fluorescent lights, one of those planes is waiting to carry Ziva away. 

Ziva herself stands back toward the gate, something making her linger even as she sends Shmeil on, and Tony, catching the tail end of the conversation, wonders what it is. Maybe it’s just dread for the tasks ahead of her, something Tony can understand. 

“Go with him, Shmeil,” Ziva is saying as Tony walks up behind her. “I will be there in a moment.”

Shmeil, kind and good-natured as ever, brushes that off. “Take your time. It’s a long flight. Besides,” he adds, making eye contact with a half-smiling Tony over Ziva’s shoulder, “I think someone’s come to see you off.”

As Ziva turns, following her elderly friend’s gaze, Shmeil departs. Tony only has eyes for Ziva, though, noticing that she’s entirely unsurprised to see that it’s him. “You did not have to come,” she tells him quietly.

“Well, you always forget your gum and magazines when you fly, so…” Tony’s weak joke gets no more than the distant hint of a smile in return, so he stops trying for levity. “They’ll find Bodnar, Ziva. Mossad’s looking, CIA, Navy Intel, Interpol... us.” He hopes that Ziva understands just how much support and care and promise is hidden in that last word.

Us. 

Whether his intent is clear to her or not, though, Ziva doesn’t say anything back.

“Shmeil’s got your back,” Tony tries again—anything to engage her. He gives her a smile. “Shmeil, the man of steel.” 

Still, Ziva doesn’t speak. Her expression, carefully neutral, doesn’t shift, either. That more than anything else worries Tony... Ziva hasn’t always been overly impressed by his often childish sense of humor over the years, but rarely has she failed to react at all. This time, she doesn’t laugh; she doesn’t huff; she doesn’t even roll her eyes. It’s almost like something is weighing on her so heavily now that the effort of rising to his bait is beyond her capabilities.

It’s like something inside her has broken under the heaviness of grief and of expectation. 

Swallowing back a deep, bone-aching worry for his friend, Tony sighs, unable to stop himself. “Don’t do this,” he begs, his voice dropping to a whisper, and he finally gets a response out of Ziva. 

“I am going to a funeral, Tony,” she informs him with a slight nod, as if he doesn’t already know. “I am delivering my father’s eulogy.” 

That’s as clear an answer as any, and it’s probably all that Tony is going to get—she’s shutting him out again, and no matter how she felt about her father while he was alive, she will do what she must. It’s time to give it up, to stop fighting her or trying to help her. 

It’s time to follow Rabbi Avi’s advice and just… be whatever Ziva needs him to be. 

He can do that. “How’s this for a… an opening line: ‘He did it his way,’” he suggests wryly.

Ziva studies Tony’s face, and a small amount of the tension in her body seems to release. That’s enough to tell Tony that he’s doing the right thing. “My father was, um… not an easy man to understand, and yet…” Finally, she smiles a little.

“Complicated runs in the family,” Tony concludes.

Ziva hesitates, looking away for a few beats. “Tony, I…” She trails off rather than finishing, but she meets his eye again.

“What?”

He has rarely seen Ziva as vulnerable as she is then… Her lips twitch briefly, forming words that remain unspoken, and her eyes are a little too bright to be empty of tears; a smile emerges and then fades above her trembling chin as she fights for something intangible. In the end, though, her obvious struggle draws to a close when she reaches up to hug her partner tightly. 

Tony’s arms raise automatically to hold her back; her face presses so securely against his neck that he can feel it in her cheek when she smiles. This embrace alone, secure and trusting and intimate, might be nearly enough to knock his breath out, but then an unanticipated thought pops into his head and threatens to steal his breath entirely…

He loves her. 

The realization, though unexpected, doesn’t come as a shock. Of course he loves Ziva, even if he has never stopped to think about it. She’s his best friend and has been for a very long time. 

Tony won’t do her the disservice of telling her now, though. She has enough on her plate without having to field any heartfelt confessions tonight.

Instead, Tony tells her something that means the same thing.

“At lo levad.”

You are not alone.

Ziva tightens her embrace for a fleeting moment before releasing Tony and stepping back. There’s a smile on her face and tears in her eyes, and when she answers in a whisper, Tony thinks she might understand what he meant by it. 

“I know.”

Not waiting for Tony to say anything else, Ziva turns away, heading purposefully toward the plane carrying her father’s body; then she’s gone. 

Still and quiet, Tony stares after her, worrying about her and missing her already.

He doesn’t turn back until her plane has disappeared into the dark sky, long out of sight.

[madbucker]

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon

Eventual Daryl Dixon x female reader.

III.

Season 1.

MASTERLIST.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: King County went down and Y/N is left alone hiding, trying to survive and looking for her sister.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 2k.

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! If you have any questions or want me to write about a situation in particular (like how they met, runs, the prison, or whatever you come up with) just send me an ask and if I feel like it fits with the story, then I’ll write it! Anyway, if you are into simple writing and limited vocabulary, then I hope you like it and as I said before, I’ll gladly take constructive criticism! ♥ I MEAN IT, CORRECT ME, PLEASE lol. We’re going back in time this chapter!

Gif’s not mine.

Since you could remember, you wanted nothing more than to become independent. The future you had imagined seemed bright and full of opportunities.

You had just left your home after being forced to leave your undead roommate locked in her room: your own best friend. She was the first person who made you feel at home when you first stepped foot in Georgia with your sister. In the beginning, you had stayed in cheap hotels in Atlanta until you got a job in a small county around 6 miles away from the city and could afford rent; that’s when you met Stella: a girl your age who had moved from somewhere in Kansas a few months before you met. You worked together and she had told you she was looking for a couple of roommates so she could both afford rent and eat proper meals, and, of course, you and your sister said yes straight away. And just when you thought you were living the life you had always wanted, the world became a living hell. Just weeks before you thought you were starting to build the foundations of the life you had always wanted.

Now you were stuck somewhere in a middle-class neighborhood, alone, inside one of the few houses that weren’t either burned down or destroyed. It wasn’t easy to imagine, but maybe you could survive in this new world. Even all alone and with a twisted ankle, if you just stayed hidden in the house until you healed, then you could head to the woods and get away from the infested area.

The whole place had been raided, the cabinet doors were broken and there was almost no food left inside of them. And you couldn’t ignore, as much as you tried, the bloodstains of the bed sheets. The house had dreadful stories to tell, you knew it, and deep inside you, you thought it was almost immoral for you to stay there. You were occupying someone else’s house, whatever their fate had been. But, what else could you do? Go out to the streets and hide behind trees or trash cans? You wouldn’t last a week. So you stayed there, rationing provisions and coming up with ways to make them last.

The first night at the house had been relatively quiet. You managed to close and seal all the windows without major effort and barricaded the front and back doors. You also made sure no one was there with you. Living nor dead.

A weak and a half later, or perhaps two weeks, —you didn’t mind counting the days anymore—, you heard something from outside. Voices, not grunting. People. Looking through the window trying not to make yourself noticeable, your eyes stumbled upon a man, a woman and a kid running inside the house across the street. Lying on the floor were three of the dead. 

You thought of telling them to stay with you so you could survive together, but decided to wait just to make sure they weren’t a threat. You still had enough supplies to last a couple more days, so there was no use in leaving the house. In theory, and if they didn’t decide to scavenge there, you could keep an eye on them and make a decision.

And so you did. Two days, not more, not less. You scrapped the last tuna can, knowing it was expired and that your stomach would hate you in a few hours. But at the end of the world that was the least of your worries.

Morgan, father. 

Duane, son. 

Jenny, used-to-be-mother, used-to-be-wife, now one of the dead walking in the streets. You felt guilty for not even realizing she had died. You hadn’t heard anything, you didn’t know when it had happened either. 

Listening to their story broke your heart and made you wonder what might’ve happened to your family back at home. Was their city still standing? They were a few states to the west, how long would it take you to get there? Was it worth the risk? Were they alive? Were they looking for you? Since you had to escape from your apartment you had forbidden yourself to think about nothing else but surviving. Every time memories of your family struck your mind, you would put up a wall to avoid rambling.

The first night with the two of them caught you breaking down and crying yourself sleep. You felt safe for the first time in a long time. You knew someone was near you, watching in case something went wrong, so naturally, your guard didn’t stay up. You didn’t stop it from crumbling down, though, the following day could find you all alone again and if you had to cry, it had to be under a roof with people taking care of you. Even having Duane around helped, as young as he was.

You lied on the mattress curled up in a ball, trying to cry in silence but failing miserably. Your sister, where was she? Where were her friends? Did she make it?

She had gone camping with friends a week before hell broke loose, and you hadn’t heard from her since. She hadn’t called  you, hadn’t texted nor tried to contact you in any way. Maybe she didn’t know how bad things had gotten. You remembered how she joked about some cannibal she had heard from in the news, just before she left.

“If shit goes down you’ll be the first to die,” she joked, “Imma survive like the badass I am.”

“I may not be in the best shape but I’m strong as hell,” you replied.

“You are, but I’m fast, I can outrun a thousand of those flesh-eating psychos. And have you seen how hot I am? Hollywood says I’ll survive.”

“Okay, try not to run into any of them in the woods then! Hollywood loves a good plot twist.”

That was it. Those had been your last words. You tried to comfort yourself saying that at least it wasn’t a fight and that, maybe, being away from the city had kept her safe.

You had waited for her. You had, even with your not-so-dead roommate and her boyfriend locked in her room. It had been days before you decided you had to go out looking for her, but life had tricked you and forced you to stay inside. At least your ankle was better, you decided you would start looking for her as soon as it was fully healed.

“Always go for the head. I’m not giving you a gun, the sound attracts more of them, but the knife will do.”

You nodded but couldn't ignore your pounding heart. You were about to face the creep that had been wandering around the backyard that day, and even though Morgan would be close enough to save your ass if things went south, it was still dangerous. Probably the most dangerous thing you had done in your life. Brave was the last word you would use to describe yourself. Yeah, you were physically strong, but you'd rather stay safe, and if something involved the smallest amount of danger, you would avidly try to avoid it.

Morgan stood behind you with his hands holding your shoulders, slightly pushing you out of the house through the back door.

"The head. Don't waste time. If it grabs you, go for its knee and break it." His tone was cold and determined. He had done that before... teaching someone how to take down creeps, with Duane. But Duane was braver, he had the courage you lacked.

You were trembling, and it got worse as soon as you saw what used to be a woman. She was blonde, and wore a graphic grey shirt, probably not older than twenty-something.

Around your age.

You could spot at least three bite marks on her arms, and her clothes were bathed in blood so dark it almost looked black. Besides the mess, it seemed as if she had been dead for no longer than a few days. She had had a life before becoming a victim of the twisted, sick joke life was then. You could've been her. You could be her in no time if you didn't put yourself together. Your sister, if she was still alive, could be her if you didn't learn how to protect her.

"Morgan, Morg-" your voice shook, it was desperate and loud. So much that the undead in front of you realized you were there.

Noise attracts them, you remembered.

"Go, now, I'm here.”

He let go of your shoulders, and suddenly you felt extremely vulnerable. You felt small, defenseless, and it didn't help that the thing was walking faster towards you, with its arms in front of it, ready to grab you as soon as it was close enough. Your knife was heavy as if you weren't supposed to use it, as if it wasn't yours to have. The creep was getting closer to the porch you both stood in, and when its feet stomped on the steps, your heart raced.

You were frozen even when you felt its hands grabbing your clothes, making you stumble to your side and bump into a small garden table. Only then you reacted, stabbing the undead in its eye. It fell down on top of you, and you weren't sure if it was its body weight or the adrenaline, but you couldn't breathe.

"Daddy, daddy!" Duane's voice was faint but clear, he sounded frantic, and not that far away from where you two were.

You saw Morgan approaching you and pulling the corpse from on top of you, he looked pissed off. The guilt eating you alive, and before you could say anything, he was running off to find his son. You followed him to the street without speaking a word.

"Daddy, I got this sonovabitch! Imma smack him dead!" Duane held a shovel standing next to someone. He was lying on the garden of one the houses

Something, not someone. It, not him. You had to remind yourself.

You saw Morgan shoot a creep as if it was nothing, making you wonder if you'd ever be able to do the same. You were weak, you could only hide and expect to never run into one of those things. Not for the first time, you wondered if you would survive, or for how long.

You ran towards them as they spoke. Morgan looked agitated, he was staring at the undead with a frown.

"Duane!" You almost shouted when you stood next to him. "Are you okay?" Your breath was still heavy and irregular, not to mention you were certain your heart was on the verge of exploding.

"Son, you know they don't talk."

And it hit you. You had found someone, you weren't completely alone in the world. Finding Morgan and Duane had been a surprise to you, and now someone else? You felt a hurricane of emotions take over you.

On one hand, you felt hopeful. You realized that you weren't the only ones who had made it. It allowed you to think that maybe your sister had made it too, wherever she was.

On the other hand, this stranger was wearing a hospital robe, he looked pale and skinny, almost malnourished. Not to mention the old bandages he had on his side. What if he had been locked up all this time? Then, in a way, it made sense that he was able to survive that long. Maybe it was just pure luck.

You kneeled next to him and hovered over his body to check the wound, you needed to see if it was a bite or a scratch, he could turn in any moment and kill you all.

"No! Y/N!" Morgan cried out, making you jump back to your place standing next to Duane. You felt fifteen years younger. As if you were a child being scolded by your dad.

For the past few days, Morgan had been something like a father figure to you, anyway. But you should've been able to take care of yourself, it wasn't fair for him. He didn't have to take care of anyone but his son and himself. Nevertheless, he chose to let you in. He had fed you, he tried to teach you what he knew and didn't give up in the process. You owed him, and you swore you would find a way to repay him someday.

"Hey Mister, what's the bandage for?"

[doomedandstoned]

Gangrened Conjure Dizzying Atmosphere in ‘Deadly Algorithm’

~Review by Billy Goate~

Before us lies an enigma called 'Deadly Algorithm' (2021) by Finnish band GANGRENED, whom we've introduced you to before, when they dropped that wonderfully dreary doomer 'We Are Nothing' (2014). Let me share with you the diary of my thoughts as I immersed myself in their recently released full-length.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

Deadly Algorithm starts with gentle, quiet picking that echoes faintly, but already surrounds us with a strange, if inviting, airspace. A melodic line develops as "Harrbåda" gains volume, building it seems towards a crescendo -- then suddenly stopping as a drumroll interrupts. The atmosphere returns to quirks and quarks, increasingly distorted notes, spikes of reverberating rhythm. All the while, the same short impermanent melodic motif makes its statement, until it flitters away into the void.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

"Triptaani" makes a strong entrance, this time with galled vocal attack and a slow, but strong, guitar lead girded by the fuzz-sparked gears of bass and drum languidly moving this machine along. A hail of shredding follows, with cymbals crashing to a throbbing beat, leading to one ardent chord laid upon another. Eventually the pace slows to a crawl, with dissonant harmonies, and a wild solo from Jon Imbernon that's almost overcome by the industrial crunch of Lassi Männikkö's dumming, Joakim Udd's vile spew of noise, Mikko Mannistö's declamatory singing.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

"Hologrammi" features more familiar doom pacing with a searing riffage, a slow burn flow of bass and drums, and clean (but pissed off) crooning. It's surrounded by a mesmerizing jumble of pedal effects, noise, downtuned instrumental buzz, and crackling amps -- of which make its climactic moment of vocal delivery emphatic and powerful.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

Intricate guitar trilling action introduces “Kuningatar” and it sounds almost like temelos dancing upon its appointed harmonic scale in those opening moments. By the time the rest of the crew sounds off, it turns into a frightening ensemble, indeed. I imagine this would be quite chilling to experience in a live setting. While the vocals feel swallowed up in the great reverberating wall of sound, it seems to add to the mystique of the whole dim sound environment. Psychedelic noodling returns six minutes and if you listen carefully you can hear a seething malediction pronounced sternly beneath the fray of scattered noise, synth, and pedal effects. Great doom returns to ground us to reality and the band improvises a swirl of activity that makes me think of the wandering spirits released from the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

”Triangeli” grabs hold of us with a rumbling bass line that establishes the song’s basic theme, soon to be reinforced by guitar. Meanwhile, words are spoken with accented cymbals and hypnotic drumming. The song ends with whispered lyrics uttered over a soundgarden of riffage, soft cymbals, omnipotent bass rumble, and the cycling sounds of amp feedback. I don't know the words, and the singer refuses to share them, so that means what he's singing is left up to your fertile imagination. Or you can just enjoy the vocal aesthetic and what it contributes to this dense, dark atmosphere.

A cathartic journey, indeed, which I ventured on while I was in an especially discouraged and pissed off mood. Even though I understood not its words, I felt its sentiment and it was in some way cleansing. Available digitally, on vinyl and compact disc as an independent release (order here).

Interviewing Gangrened Guitarist Jon Imbernon

By Billy Goate

You've been a band for quite a while. I understand you are one of the founding members, too. How did Gangrened form to begin with?

Well, we were a bunch of guys living in the same area around ostrobotnia, between kokkola and new karleby, here in the center west coast of finland. so few of us had the idea to do the band so we asked the others, but none of those guys except me are still in the band. high level of mobility because studies in this area of small towns, to bigger cities of Finland.

It sounds like there are challenges keeping a band together in Ostrobotnia? I imagine it makes it ver5y challenging to get new band members to replace the old. Is there much of a music scene to speak of?

Yeah, actually I'm not from here myself. I'm Basque/Spanish and in the specific area I live, like around 110 kilometers or so, there's no real bands or scene, but if you go forward you reach Oulu in the north or Seinajoki, bigger cities with more bands and such. And yes, from the exact spot I live now, I have needed to look more than 100 kms to find new members. I'm moving in a near future to Tampere, so that should help in strengthening the line-up.

So how long has the most recent crew of Gangrened been together?

Since May of 2015, just after some dates we played with Bongzilla in Finland, the entire line-up shifted.

Gangrened basically means "gangrene" right?

It's like "corrupted," you know? Yes, the name comes from the illness.

My grandfather's big toe got infected from a cut because he didn't treat it properly. When he finally went to a doctor, they told him he would have to amputate his foot to live. He refused, stating he wanted to die with both of his feet on. So he officially died of gangrene!

Ouch! Okay...

Did you pick Gangrened for any special reason, like the corruption of society or something like that?

Yeah, that kind of reason. I wanted some grimmy name, but actually now it's getting a bit inappropriate, as we are not so typically doom sludge anymore.

How would you describe/characterize your sound now?

Well, I would say it is deep and varied. Actually, I think this record is like transitional, just because, for example, one song "Hologrammi" is an old song we included. But newer stuff goes beyond what has been previously recorded, take songs like "Triangeli" or "Kuningatar."

Deadly Algorithm by Gangrened

We reviewed 'We Are Nothing' back in 2014, and at the time we described your sound in terms of: "Slow, behemoth sized riffs. Excessive feedback. Fuzz worship." What would you say has changed or is different now, as your sound, style, and general musical approach has evolved?

Well, at some point, just as an exercise of abstraction to what we were doing, how it was turning out with songs like "Triangeli" or "Kuningatar" I decided to look into my whole musical background, and keep on adding elements from it. Also I got bored of the regular sludge-doom thing. So I considered it more interesting, and more comfortable to me, to keep an essence of slow and heavy music, and atmospheric at times, but not so defined inside the regular sludge-doom thing. The atmosphere feels very trippy, even psychedelic at times.

Let's talk about the new album. Why is it called 'Deadly Algorithm'? I think about 10 years ago, I never used the word "algorithm," but now it's a common word that most people at least understand in concept.

Well, I'm studying now in the university again, engineering in information technology, and at same time i'm a person a lot with strong progressive values, so through my studies and also digging on related topics like online privacy or the evolution and development of the new technologies I found alarming how the new technologies are going and its implications.

There are several key things that many people do not think about: smart phones have like six sensors on average to spot your location, plus no company gives services for free. If so, it's because the product is the user of the service. There's no other reason for that. So beginning with these facts, there are a lot of things going on that everyone should be aware of, and the album theme is all about that. Nowadays, data algorithms are making more and more decisions in our lives that no more take into account true needs as humans.

It seems like we have created our own virtual prison, without even realizing it.

Yes, but the thing is who runs the prison? not ourselves at all.

Getting into the songs themselves, are they all sung in Finnish?

Yes. At first some were in english but then the singer decided to sing all songs in Finnish.

Starting with the first song, can you tell us what each title means and what themes you explore?

The first song ("Harrbåda") is simply the name of a coastal area around here. The second ("Triptaani") is a medicine for headaches. The third song ("Hologrammi") is named obviously after a hologram. The fourth ("Kuningatar") means "Queen" and the last ("Triangeli") is "triangle."

Is there any conceptual, thematic, or spiritual relationship between these tracks?

It's quite a personal thing to the singer, he wrote the lyrics and I can't exactly tell you their meaning because Mikko Mannistö is a bit secretive about it. But personal things, yes. Personal matters to him.

Tell us a little bit about the recording process. Where did you record, with whom, and are there any memories that stand out from that time?

Well, we started recording the record in june 2018, with a friend of the singer, at some big rooms in a youth center house. We did most of the recordings with him until February of 2019. At that time, we asked a few people to mix, master, and finish the process. but nothing worked and there was some time wasted waiting for answers.

I decided moving forward we would go with someone who is recording records all the time and known by us, so we asked Tom Brooke, an English guy who lives close to Jyväskylä, runs a studio, and is the live sound technician for Oranssi Pazuzu. So we finished the record, a few more guitar tracks, mixing, and mastering with him.

I remember there was a long time between sessions, so new ideas were constantly coming to us to add to the songs for the next session. That’s why some guitar tracks were added for mixing just the day before starting to mix.

I'm sure you were relieved once all the recording, mixing, and mastering was finally done!

Yeah ! like this is the record and now its totally defined and wrapped up. As a guitarist, what can you tell us about the guitar writing on the new album? Anything that you are especially proud of or that you think the listener should pay special attention to?

The intro is all played by me, and then the weirdest stuff, noisy guitar here and there, and the first half of riffs of triptaani , i'm quite proud of the first two or three riffs, and I used to be proud about some riffs in the middle of "hologrammi." The noisiest and more psyched out guitars of kuningatar.

Tell us about what you, as a guitarist, used in the studio while recording 'Deadly Algorithm'

Well, so I used three guitars to record the album: one Gibson SG Standard from the late '90s, another SG Standard from 1980, and a Gibson Les Paul Classic from around 1991. The SG from the late '90s was ultra-modded -- I changed the finish, pickups, electronics, tuners, but in the end sold it and now it's owned by David from Slomatics. The 1980 I just bought for the recording, so it was all stock. Later, I changed the pickups. The Gibson Les Paul also had all replaced tuners, circuit pickups, and so. It's my main guitar and I used it in most of the songs. The SGs I just used for "Triangeli," the last song.

About effects, I use a Big Muff Fuzz mainly, but also a custom Dunwich Amps FuzzThrone for the ultra heavy parts, like at the end of "Kuningatar." Other effects I used were the Dunlop Echoplex pedal and the Strymon Capistan. I love tape echo sounds and these pedals emulate it. Also, another effect I really like and couldn't live without is the Earthquaker Devices Transmisser. I used it in three of the songs.

Amps used included an '80s Laney AOR Pro Tube and Orange OR120 from 1975 and a late '70s Matamp GT120. Every rhythm guitar track was recorded with two of them at same time, mainly the Matamp and the Laney. That probably is the main sound of the album, but I think "Hologrami" I recorded with the Orange and the Matamp. About cabs, I used two Orange cabs -- one with Eminence speakers the other with WGS speakers.

Have you had a chance to play live at all since the pandemic?

Nope, we haven't been rehearsing either.

If you had your choice to tour with any five bands and play in any five places, what would they be and why?

We are keeping it for when there's no risk of cancellations, we have some date plans and so on, but it sucks to cancel things so we are just waiting. I would play with Unsane in New York for example then some bands I have liked recently, even if some are inactive at this moment. Belzebong, Nightslug, Domkraft, Follakzoid, and the body also.

That would be a sick line-up!

What parts of the world would you like to travel to?

Well, I've never been to America or Asia. I have been to Europe, the UK, and Russia only.

Okay, yeah it would be cool to have you come over here and play for us sometime.

Yeah, would be nice

Lastly, did you all wear your heart on the opposite sides of your head for this photo to give the illusion that your heads are on backwards? Or was it digitally manipulated to make it look like your heads were on the wrong way? I love the concept!

I made that pic myself. I took two photographs, one of us in front and another in the backs. So then I took the heads of the back picture and put on our front bodies pic, with Photoshop. David lynch-ish vibes!

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[badolmen]

Well, I originally wanted this piece to be the Botanist’s introduction to the Stranger, but the Wolfman had other ideas.

Aleks had finished most of their chores for the day, the rainwater bins emptied to glass jars and the traps prepared for another night. They had checked their plants, taken measurements, and recorded their data.

What little sanity they had left counted on those simple, repetitive, and menial tasks. Wake up. Water. Traps. Food plants. Research plants. Data recording. Rest. Repeat. Bad things always happened when they broke routine, when they left the familiar safety of their clearing – like the other day. The blood on their jacket didn’t wash out in the rainwater.

The botanist was content with their small circle of safety, their horizon that ended where the trees began. Even if their thoughts and fears traversed the dark forest beyond their cursed patch of land.

Today they convinced themselves it was sunny, though rarely was a spot of blue sky spotted these days. Even without the comforting expanse of sky, the warmth of the sun permeated the cloud cover. And the botanist decided it was a day of rest, although they had run out of calendars and lost track of individual days months ago.

They laid on the sandy soil – no helmet or face shield or earmuffs, no jacket, no chainsaw chaps. Just their bloodstained undershirt and trousers against the sun warmed soil. Aleks peered at the sky, squinting past the few dull flowerheads of the dying weeds that tried to survive the poisoned land. Maybe, if they looked hard enough and long enough, they could see blue.

“That one looks like a chicken,” Kalina said, not bothering to point as the two lay head to head in the field. She knew Aleks knew which cloud she was talking about. “And that one, it looks like a…a pram? Or maybe a bassinette…”

“I think it looks a bit like a broken umbrella,” They replied, although their eyes wandered to the bobbing heads of corn poppies around their head, eventually peering through the stalks to see if Kalina was watching them. She wasn’t; her dark eyes were trained on the brilliant and cloud scattered sky.

“Can I ask – ”

“I need to –”

“You go first,” Kalina conceded, a smile in her voice. Aleks swallowed back their inhibitions.

“I need to tell you that I’m leaving, come autumn.” Their own voice felt far away, the rehearsed lines not their own words after saying them so many times. “I got a scholarship – I, I won’t be back for a while…just, just until I finish my degree. Then I can get work out here, with the forest, and – and I’ll come back.”

“Oh,” Kalina’s voice was so small after the silence that preceded it, the rustle of the poppies almost drowning out her quiet sigh.

“Oh?” Aleks echoed, concern invading their every fiber. They couldn’t be sure, but it almost sounded like sorrow. Kalina rolled to her stomach, dark curls tickling the soon-to-be botanist’s nose as she smiled down at them.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you! You’ve always wanted to go to university – to the city. I’m sure you’ll be happy there,”

“Will you be? Happy – that is – while I’m gone?” Aleks too sat up, their hair tossed by the wind that swept over the field.

“Me?” Kalina laughed, shaking her head. “You are my dearest friend, but there is more to my happiness than one person. To live that way would be terrifying, I imagine.” Her smile faltered, grin bordering on grim. “Sorry, that’s not very romantic, is it?”

“No, I understand,” Aleks said, keeping their own false smile plastered. “Not putting your eggs in one basket,”

“More like having eggs, and sheep, and cattle, and the stray apple tree.” Kalina said with a chuckle. “You know what I mean – how you have your love of the trees, and love of rainy days, and love…for me. All love, just different kinds.”

Somewhere down in the village, a dinner bell rang. Kalina stood, dusting off her skirt and pulling Aleks to their feet.

“I’ll miss you,” She whispered, pulled them into a hug that lasted just a moment too long. With a sad smile, the girl began to trek through the poppies toward home.

“I’ll miss you, Kali,” Aleks called, finally finding their voice and forcing back the tears from their eyes. “I’ll bring you back something amazing – something beautiful!”

“Just come back Leksi,” Kalina called, her laughter damp with tears. “And come back soon!”

The botanist gasped awake, a swift kick to their bruised and battered torso jolting them from sleep. They groaned and rolled to their side, away from the unfortunately familiar figure that stood over them.

“You aren’t dead. Good.” The Wolfman growled, though his voice held a shine of cruel humor as the botanist crawled to their feet, still clutching their side.

“I’ve – I’ve got what you asked for,” They gasped between pained breaths, ribs aching as they stumbled towards their greenhouse, acutely aware of the Wolfman watching them with hungry eyes.

“Taking a midday nap? Keep that up and you’ll be a snack for the savages before I get a taste of you, Meat.” He snarled with a chuckle, the undercurrent of bloodlust in his joking tone made the botanist’s skin crawl. They ducked into their greenhouse, the shattered pane of glass still littering the dead ground around the entrance.

“I have it, here,” Aleks said, producing a sealed ceramic jar from their shelves and holding it out to the Wolfman. His nose twitched, lips curling at the bitter scent that wafted from the jar when he uncapped it. For a moment the botanist’s heart skipped a beat – was it not purified enough? Concentrated enough? Had they forgotten a step that he could smell better then they could see?

“Your services are always a delight, Meat. You might just live another night.” He finally said, capping the jar and producing a few tanks of gasoline. The botanist refrained from sighing in relief – the Wolfman didn’t take any sign of weakness lightly.

“Same to you, sir.” They said plainly, picking up two of the tanks to take to their generator. A pot clattered to the ground, shattering as the Wolfman shoulder through the doorway. An accident, probably.

“You might want to clean that up,” He grumbled without bothering to stop, walking away and eventually disappearing into the tree line.

The botanist sighed, setting down the gasoline and kneeling beside the shattered pot, carefully setting aside the sickly seedling it had housed. As they cleaned up the mess and set to filling their generator for the coming night, they let their mind wander.

Whatever did the Wolfman want with concentrated tannins?

Aleks didn’t want to find out.

[i-will-be-forever-yours]

Don’t Leave Us

A/N: Another Shawn x reader fic...please give me feedback about it! if you like it...give me your ideas too! I have limited ideas guys! Thanks for reading and I hope you all like it

Warnings: angst, pre-term labor (not detailed) fluff at the end

Summary: Shawn is going on tour, leaving his pregnant wife, and her neediness causes a fight. What happens when he leaves without a goodbye, and ignores her?

Word Count: Like 2.2k ish

posted 12-21-19

my masterlist

“Hey love, what’s that you’ve got there?” Shawn asks y/n, his thirty-two-week pregnant wife. He peeks over her shoulder to see her thumbing through their wedding album, and it warms his heart while bringing a smile to his face. She is sitting criss-cross in the middle of their bed, facing their floor to ceiling windows that open to the beautiful view of the Toronto skyline.

She looks over her shoulder to see the man she fell in love with, smiling like a child at Christmas. “I was just looking at this for old times sake,” she chuckles. “We’ll have to show this little one when they are older,” she says while rubbing random patterns on her midsection.

He sits behind her, causing the mattress to dip a little more with the added weight and hums into her neck, rubbing his nose in the spot he knew got to her. She giggles at the gesture and playfully shoves him away.

“Shaaaawn!!! Stop that, it tickles!” she laughs. However, he soon pushes her down on the mattress and moves the album out of her hands, only to start tickling her sides viciously. He was still very gentle, aware of the precious being within her, but makes a fierce assault nonetheless. When he could tell she was getting tired, he stills his assault to her sides and flops down on his side while facing her. He reaches his hand and ever so gently caresses the swell of her midsection.

She positions herself onto her side to face him and caresses his cheek. They were there for a couple of minutes before Shawn hears a small sniffle. He immediately looks down and sees tears forming at the edges of y/n’s eyes. Quickly, he brings the hand that was on her bump up to her face, to wipe the tears away.

“What’s wrong, love? Are you hurt...is it the baby?” he questions in a frantic voice, while hurriedly sitting up.

She chuckles before saying in a broken whisper, “no...it’s just that I’m gonna miss you. We’re going to miss you.”

He looks her in the eyes while saying, “I know y/n, and I’m gonna miss you both as well, but it’s only for a couple of weeks. I’ll be back before he decides to join us.”

Smiling, y/n just nods in response before falling asleep. Shawn kisses her on the temple before carefully getting out of bed and wrapping the covers around her. He then heads back into their home office/studio to finish up his last minute things before he has to leave.

It is nearing twelve when he hears the padding of feet. Looking up he sees his wife’s head pop in the cracked door. “What are you doing up honey?” she asks after yawning. He barely shrugs his shoulders before looking back at his laptop to finish up his tour plans.

She feels a little hurt at his action but merely shrugs it off before stating, “well, I’m going to the kitchen to get some strawberries and peanut butter.” Padding off into the kitchen she rummages around before coming up empty. She is able to find the strawberries fairly easily, but there seems to be no more peanut butter.

Finally, she decides to ask Shawn if he knows where any might be. Making her way into the office, she quietly knocks before entering. “Hey, hun...do you know where the peanut butter is?”

She is met with a huff and him pushing his hands against the desk, sending his chair into the wall while he stands. His hands meet his hair, while they start to aggressively run through them. He leans forward, while his hands grip tightly to the desk before he replies “y/n I don’t have time to find the fucking peanut butter. Can’t you just use the Nutella or somethin’?”

In a shocked state, she replies, “We were just, you know, kinda craving some peanut butter.”

“Arghh, will you please stop blaming everything on the fucking baby! The baby is making my back hurt, the baby is craving this, or the baby is doing that! Just stop, you are the problem, not some stupid baby!” he yells in an exasperated voice. As soon as the words come out, he can see the hurt on her face and realization kicks in. He knows what he said and quickly goes to comfort her but she is backing up from him, refusing to let him touch her.

“Baby, I didn’t mean that, ‘m just stressin over leaving…” he tries to explain, but she just shakes her head dejectedly.

With a sad smile, she just turns and lets the tears fall. In a small broken voice, she barely gets out “I think I’m just gonna go to bed now, and if you really feel that way you can go stay with Connor tonight. I know your bag is packed, so you can just go, we’ll be fine. Bye Shawn, I’ll talk to you later.”

He is just left standing there, not knowing if he should go, or leave and let her cool. He decides with the second option and leaves for Connor’s house. The next day he doesn’t even text her to let her know he left. Even after arriving in L.A he refuses to text his wife, not wanting to be rejected once again.

Back home y/n is broken. She thought for sure that Shawn would come home to make up with her before he left. That was not the case, and he just left, without a call or text. She knew from posts online that he made it, but her stubbornness refused to reach out to him. All she had wanted to say to him was ‘Don’t leave us’. It had been three days without contact, and after being overwhelmed with stress, y/n forgot to eat and take care of herself. She was consumed with worry for her relationship, and Shawn. The stress had caused the being inside her stress as well. So much stress that she went into labor, but she was still only thirty-three weeks along. To say she was panicking would be an understatement. Never had she imagined this would happen. She was not prepared for this, she thought she had more time. The nursery wasn’t even finished.

She immediately called Shawn when she felt the spasms in her midsection after calling the emergency services for help. However, her calls when straight to voicemail. Hysterically crying she calls Connor and when she hears his voice she cannot help but let out a relieved sigh. “Connor? Can you tell Shawn that I’m on my way to the hospital and to call me.”

There is a pause on the other end before he asks the inevitable, “why are you going to the hospital y/n?”

“Just tell Shawn for me?” she asks, and Connor can hear the sound of a door opening and the faint sounds of Y/n talking to the paramedics. There’s sounds of movement on the other end before she picks the phone up again and utters a incoherent goodbye. The call is ended and Connor is left standing there in shock and worry for a moment. 

Since he met Y/n, he has had a soft spot for her. He could tell how happy she made Shawn and he’d be damned if anything happened to you. He also knew about her condition and that it was relatively early in the pregnancy and that worried him even more. It left his rushing until he was standing before Shawn’s door knocking wildly.

Shawn is lying on his bed when he sees his wife’s face fills his phone screen. He smiles at the picture but denies the call, not wanting to fix the issues over the phone, but waiting to do it in person. The picture was one when she had just woken up and had a soft, sleepy smile adorning her face. He is broken from his daze when he hears banging on his door and quickly jumps off the bed and strides to the door, only to see the red face of his friend Connor staring at him. “Buddy, I don’t know what the hell is going on between you and y/n but you need to get home to her. She really needs you right now Shawn, and I already texted Andrew and he’s going to send out a notice that you can’t perform the next shows.”

“I cannot go home yet, I still have to perform for a couple of weeks before I go on maternity leave.” he chuckles with a confused stare.

“No! You don’t understand! I spoke to Andrew and you are heading home in…” he looks at his watch, “in...less than two hours!”

“And why the hell would I do that Connor? You have no business coming here and telling me how I should fix my life. I can do that on my own, and I don’t need you in my business,” he replies, getting more annoyed and confused by the second.

“It’s because your wife called me when I’m guessing you didn’t answer and told me she was on her way to the hospital. And then I heard the emergency people talking to her and then she ended the fucking call!” he said without taking breaths.

Shawn just stared for a moment before running back into his room and throwing his suitcase on the bed and shoving everything he could grab into it. “Did she say why she was going to the hospital?” he yelled over his shoulder.

“No, ‘m sorry but when I asked she just told me to let you know.”

Nodding to himself, Shawn packed everything and ran to the lobby. Knowing everything would be taken care of he let his mind wander to why Y/n would be going to the hospital. 

Shawn was a nervous wreck the entire flight, and various ideas flooded his head at the thought of y/n being taken to the hospital. Once he arrived he was like a bat out of hell and rushed through the airport with his security and into his awaiting uber. Finally arriving at the hospital, he ran to the room that he had been told she were in. However, what he saw made him want to cry.

There y/n was, with tubes up her nose and various ones sticking in her arms. What scared him most was that she was still, and there was no longer a swell to her midsection. He moved like a sloth, inching slowly to the side of the bed. Slowly he pulled up and chair and grabbed y/n’s hand in a vice grip, now and then kissing her hand and whispering for her to wake up.

It felt like hours, but in reality, it was only minutes when he saw the flutter of her eyes. She was staring at him, and that’s when he saw it. He saw that she had not been taking care of herself in what looked like days. “Oh baby, what happened?” he asked while leaning up and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She let out a sob before she moved her hand to his soft curls, running her hands through them to soothe herself. She then moved her hands to her midsection, only to realize the swell that had been there was now gone. Her eyes went wide before a sob was released. “Shawn, the baby! What happened to my baby?”

Shawn could see the panic in her eyes and quickly called for a doctor before she slipped into hysterics. The doctor and nurse came running in and were pleased to see that she was awake, but alarmed when they saw Shawn struggling to hold down her trembling body from getting up. 

“Oh, it’s good to see you awake Mrs. Mendes,” the doctor said. While motioning for the nurse to start the check up.

“Where’s my baby, I need to know where he is.” y/n cried to the doctor while fearing the worst news. She was no longer trying to get up while the nurse went through the list, but her heart still pounded in her chest.

“Well you see, since you were only thirty-three weeks into the pregnancy when you went into labor, there were some...complications. You unfortunatly had passed out on the way here, and when they brought you in, you were barely holding on to consciousness, so we had to do an emergency c-section. You didn’t have the strength to go though a natural labor ma’am.”

“That didn’t answer my damn question! Where. Is. My. Baby!” y/n yelled through gritted teeth, while Shawn sat at the edge of the bed clutching her hand in his trying to soothe her, but in reality he was terrified himself. He feared for his baby boy and also for Y/n and what would happen to his marriage if they had lost their baby boy.

“Yes, as I was saying, there were complications. There was some unexpected bleeding, and we had to fix that, but it’s okay now. But your baby...well all I can say that he is a fighter. He is very, very tiny being born so early, but he will make it. Right now he is in the nique and will have to stay there for a bit, but you can visit him and he will be good to go home very soon. You will also have to stay for a couple of days to make sure you recover properly as well.” the doctor smiles gently at the shaken couple.

Relieved sighs left their mouths as they both embraced each other and cried tears of joy. The doctor quietly stood as they embraced, and was about to leave when Shawn looked up and asked, “What caused her to go into preterm labor?”

“Well, it could be several things, but it seems that high blood pressure and added stress was a major factor. It also seems that Mrs. Mendes was a little malnourished and dehydrated, but that can all be fixed with a couple of days of rest and proper food intake.”

Shawn nodded and the doctor took his cue to leave. It was quiet for a while before Shawn broke the peacefulness by caressing y/n’s face and brushing away the tears with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry for neglecting your needs y/n. It’s my fault you went into labor, and we could’ve lost him because I failed to be the father and husband I’m supposed to be.”

“You are not the cause of this, and you are the best husband I could’ve ever wanted. I wouldn’t want to have a baby with anyone else. And he is okay, we didn’t lose him okay? I love you, Shawn.”

He smiled at her, and let the tears flow, before colliding his lips with hers. It was not the hungry kiss, nor was it a simple peck on the lips. It was a kiss that was like their first. It was meaningful.

Later that day they both saw their baby. y/n was pushed in a wheelchair because she was still weak after surgery. They saw their little boy through the glass, and their hearts felt complete. Never had they felt so much love for such a tiny being. They loved him with all they had, and they were a family. They were gonna be just fine.

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