#i was playing sims with my friends and i suddenly died of laughter

[crayonsandclovers]

this is real btw

[kiruuuuu]

Buck/Fuze oneshot (?) in which there’s a broken sink, almost a broken heart, and no broken bones (but only because Kapkan had no say in the matter). (Rating M, fluff/humour/very light angst/a little sexy, ~4.8k words) - written for @yovelie! Thank you so much for commissioning me, this was a blast to write ❤ Find my commission info here!

This has also been posted to AO3, and here’s a link 💞

.

Buck returns home to a dirt-streaked Fuze lying on the kitchen floor, soft curses in his mother tongue half swallowed by the cupboard into which he’s shoved most of his torso in order to either repair their sink or alternately turn the awfully cramped room into a questionably functional swimming pool. He’s so engrossed in his task that Buck dropping his bag of groceries onto the table makes him jump, hit his head and increase the volume of his swears.

“Is it broken again?”, the Canadian wants to know superfluously, but maybe striking up a conversation will distract Fuze from his imminent headache. A disgruntled noise is his reply. “The only thing missing from this being a Sims household at this point is the spontaneous combustion.”

He doesn’t need to see Fuze’s face to know he’s grinning: the torch he’s holding between his teeth slips slightly and lets him know of the Uzbek’s amusement. “Is craftsmanship in your home country as shoddy as here? You’d think most English plumbers were born with feet for hands.”

“Are you telling me it’s better in Russia? What about Maxim’s story about his uncle’s pipes exploding in the middle of summer?” Buck hasn’t yet started unpacking because he’s too caught up in the view before him – Fuze is wearing a grey wifebeater which is just as greasy as he is, and together with the loosely fitting sweatpants and naked feet he really is a sight to behold. For a moment, one of his arms comes into view, tan skin sweaty and melting Buck’s knees slowly but surely. Fuze’s solid body is distracting enough even without it being presented on a silver platter like this.

“You’re forgetting that he hails from a long line of dumbasses”, comes the murmured reply, making Buck snap out of his reverie with a laugh.

“Well, fortunately at least he fell far from the tree.” A prolonged silence. Buck grins. “Come on, are you really throwing your friends under the bus like this?”

“Don’t tell anyone. But yes, I heard a story of someone fixing their power line with a fork. To my knowledge, it’s holding up to this day.”

“If you start wrapping our sink in sellotape, I’m calling a professional”, Buck threatens and finally turns to the reusable bag, starting to put away the foodstuffs he bought. In the process, he has to step over Fuze several times and barely avoids getting tripped, lightly kicks him in this ass in retaliation and thinks he hears a chuckle. “Our kitchen is too fucking small.” It’s a complaint both of them have uttered many times before.

“I wouldn’t mind so much if its infrastructure wasn’t totally screwed up. And by the way, I’m covering this.”

“What, the shopping?” A grunt. “No, not this time. Most of it is for me anyway, you never have breakfast.” This conversation, too, is familiar and they repeat a variation so regularly for it to become annoying enough to warrant establishing a proper system – and yet they still haven’t done so. It’s as if fighting about who gets to pay for groceries is a game they both enjoy playing, even if the outcome is usually muddled and probably works out fifty-fifty in the long run but neither of them can really be sure. The rent, water, heating, all of it they split evenly but food remains a topic of debate.

“I asked you to get some of my vodka though.”

“Yes, but they didn’t have it.”

A disbelieving pause. “So you bought nothing?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I got a different one.” Which cost noticeably more than Fuze’s favoured brand, but Buck is not about to tell him. Movement catches his attention and he interrupts his stocking of the fridge to look over to where Fuze is crawling out from under the sink: his hair is damp and sticking up, a dark streak dirtying his cheek and stubble visible, betraying a day off work. His own personal smell is triumphing over whatever cursed product he normally uses to mask it and it drives Buck wild, makes him forget whatever it is he was doing and instead stare at Fuze’s heavy, attractive and most of all masculine form.

Without even a single glance at Buck, Fuze unselfconsciously reaches for the bottle of clear liquid and reads the label, unhurried and unaware of the effect his naked, almost unnoticeably paler upper arms are having on Buck; he’s exuding a kind of energy to which Buck is painfully receptive. If anyone asked him a few years ago about his ideal domestic kind of wet dream, he’d have no answer, but now all he’d do is point at the man in front of him.

Fuze unceremoniously opens the bottle and takes a long swig and Buck nearly has to sit down because his brain is too preoccupied with the line of Fuze’s throat, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and the lack of care about arbitrary social norms to focus on ensuring his legs don’t buckle under him. Raw, unadulterated desire roars in his ears and deafens him, makes him miss Fuze’s verdict entirely.

When he receives no response, Fuze finally looks over and understands immediately what must be embarrassingly visible on Buck’s face as he smiles, lazy, self-satisfied, flattered. “Is it the undershirt?”, he wants to know, voice slipped an octave lower and of a decidedly more gravelly quality. Buck is starting to come apart at the seams.

“It’s the everything”, he replies hoarsely.

And he’s so, so grateful that the times when a concession like this would’ve left Fuze uncomfortable instead of smug are over. It was a few long months, filled with uncertainty and awkward silences, and he fought so hard to get to where they are now. To the point where Fuze’s grin turns predatory as he stalks towards Buck. He absent-mindedly closes the fridge door and steps back, pretends to retreat from Fuze’s advances until the windowsill digs uncomfortably into his back. He awkwardly puts down the yogurts he’s been holding, just in time to throw his arms around the Uzbek crowding into his personal space. A deep inhale muddles his mind further as Fuze’s smell is much more intense up close, his collarbone too inviting for him not to lick a broad stripe over the salty skin and hum contentedly at the taste.

Fuze seems happy with simply standing there, allowing Buck to lavish him with caresses, cover his skin in eager kisses and grope him unashamedly and this, too, is a success. “I need to buy a spare part down at the hardware store”, he mumbles into Buck’s hair and stretches into blunt hands exploring his torso under the wifebeater, fingers digging into his abs.

Buck nods, understands what he’s really saying and relents. Not now, is Fuze’s implication, but his body language adds: But I want it too, later. They kiss, languid and sloppy, the sharp tang of vodka unexpectedly welcome and helpful in grounding Buck. If there’s anything he’s learnt over the past year, it’s to give Fuze space when he demands it. “Then go”, he says softly and without reproach after they’ve separated. His want is transforming into deep adoration which leaves him just as breathless as his need did. Now and then, Fuze is in a mood and takes control, rides with abandon and clenched teeth, less vocal and quieter than normal but merciless. The look he shoots Buck before withdrawing lets him know that he is in one of these moods today, will refuse to let Buck do all the work for once.

“Otherwise the sink will never stop dripping”, Fuze adds with an indication to the opened bottle of alcohol, “and how else am I going to dispose of this swill?”

His laughter echoes in the hallway after he catches sight of Buck’s outraged expression, and half a minute later he’s gone, still without socks in his shoes and probably sporting a semi but he’s too practically-minded to worry about either of these things. It’s one of the reasons why Buck has become so enamoured with him: his efficiency and dislike of anything needlessly complicated or fancy resonate with Buck’s own views. They moved in together to save money, have worked out a system of who does which chores and stick to it religiously, and it’s functioning wonderfully.

Buck finishes his task while singing to himself, some catchy tune Frost was playing on her phone earlier, and realises not for the first time how happy he really is in their bubble. At work, the two of them generally hang around their own friends, but the rest of the time belongs to them and he feels like they’re putting it to good use. Daydreaming about what Fuze is going to let him do to him, the ringing phone registers almost too late.

And once the person on the other end has said a few words, he almost drops it, scrambles to leave immediately and while he does so, suddenly remembers once more how all of this started.

.

“You could’ve died.”

Buck is at his wit’s end and the mindless repetition of something he’s been told numerous times today into the cool space separating him from one of his colleagues-turned-reluctant-friend-recently-turned-nuisance isn’t helping in lightening his mood. He doesn’t know why Fuze insists on following him around without stating clearly what it is he wants – he already got an apology, a rundown of how and why the mission went sour and an admission that yes, he’s indeed right in his assessment. Buck could’ve died today. And inexplicably Fuze won’t leave him alone because of it.

“But I didn’t”, he replies patiently, gently rocking the canopy swing on which he’s perched. He hoped for a minute of peace, wanted to fiddle with his phone to calm down from the earlier excitement of a successful hostage rescue, wanted to enjoy the unusually cold Nevada night by himself.

“But you could’ve”, Fuze maintains stubbornly, not moving an inch from where he’s standing in the breeze, a shirt apparently warm enough for him. Even Buck has donned a light jacket. They’re outside their motel, the others congregating in different places.

“Sit down.”

He does. Carefully sinks onto the wooden bench a laughable distance away but at the very least gives in to Buck’s rhythm of back and forth, back and forth. They’ve begun interacting more as of late, Buck couldn’t even say what the catalyst was, and now that he’s become better at reading the Uzbek’s silences, his mild expressions, between the lines he utters, he’s appreciative of his uncomplicated company. Irritating him is easy and amusing, genuinely upsetting him hard, and entertaining him worthwhile – Buck prides himself in his ability to befriend anyone he sets his mind to, but with Fuze there was surprisingly little resistance. He’d even call his efforts reciprocal.

Right now, however, he’s being an idiot and Buck doesn’t know why. Something is on his mind and the only obvious explanation is the nearly botched mission. “We were successful. We did it. Why does it matter if I almost kicked the bucket?”

“I don’t know.” The lilting accent always becomes more forceful and pronounced when Fuze is troubled. “That’s the point. I don’t know.”

Buck frowns in confusion. “What do you -”

“I want to know why it bothers me so much.”

They stop. Wind carries over the echo of someone’s laughter though it sounds haunting rather than contagious. “I do consider you my friend”, Buck tries, “and I’d also be upset if you got hurt.”

“No.” The word is final, decisive. Fuze has thought about this, is getting angry that Buck doesn’t understand. “Sasha got hurt last time, Timur before that, it’s part of the job. They don’t do the same things.”

“The same things?”

“To me.”

He forgets how to breathe. Automatically, he nearly asks what do I do to you but they’ve reached a point where it’s obvious and he needs to decide: go down this path and gently coax it out of him or… or not. Squash his hope before it blossoms.

The Uzbek isn’t looking at him, has started swinging them slightly again, gaze on the folded fingers in his lap. His general determination wavers rarely and makes him seem sure of himself, but right now he looks helpless and frustrated. Probably dissatisfied with what he can’t control. Of all the people Buck knows, Fuze is the only one he’d call honourable – moral, yes, most of them are reputable too, but none of them track so meticulously what they owe others in order to repay them like he does, most of them do allow certain deviations from established rules where Fuze doesn’t for himself. Never has. In his heart, he carries around values which form the foundation of all his actions and interactions and he adheres to them.

And isn’t this the whole problem? The fact that Fuze himself is now deviating from one of his core beliefs? Doesn’t this explain his worried side glances, all the times he flinched when Buck accidentally touched him, the way he hovers around Buck like someone who fails to find the right words?

“Can I… touch you?”, Buck wants to know quietly and waits, reaches out when he receives no answer. Only reluctantly does Fuze surrender one of his hands, leaves it balled into a fist even as Buck strokes the back of it. It’s remarkably warm, a welcome source of heat in Buck’s palms and slowly, slowly he massages it to relax, uncurls Fuze’s fingers, interlaces them with his own and simply holds it. A small sun, just for him.

He knows Fuze is undyingly loyal. Accepting him is a responsibility Buck isn’t sure he can carry and so he asks: “Can I sleep on it?”

Fuze’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t pull them back. Concern is written on his face and he still hasn’t returned Buck’s gaze. “I didn’t – I wasn’t sure you’d consider -”

And he looks so lost that this is the moment that Buck knows: even if he goes to his room with the intent to mull it over, he’ll stay for five minutes at most before rushing out to knock on Fuze’s door. So he might as well not bother at all.

.

When Buck barges into the hospital room, Fuze’s scowl drowns out the sunshine with its ferocity. He’s sitting upright on his bed, a stained bandage wrapped around his head and a flustered nurse by his side who seems to have missed her vocation as overzealous talk show host who asks decidedly too many questions.

“Bastien, finally, please tell this woman that it’s perfectly normal for me not to know which weekday it is”, Fuze addresses him and doesn’t even try to hide his annoyance, much like the nurse next to him.

“We have odd working hours”, Buck reassures her. “Which date is it today?”

“25th of May.”

“Anything else you need to know?” The woman merely rolls her eyes and storms out of the room, leaving them alone and allowing Buck to breathe freely again. “Are you alright?”

“Some fucking idiot ran me over and gave me a goddamn concussion, of course I’m not alright”, Fuze spits back and reaches up to his wound, sighs when Buck catches his hand halfway. “I can’t see straight, I’ve got the worst headache of my life and I have absolutely no confidence that you’ll be able to repair the sink even if I gave you detailed instructions.”

This is when the last of Buck’s worry dissipates, accompanied by a genuine laugh. When he received the call about Fuze being in hospital, his insides twisted and he almost caused another accident on the way here, but seeing the irritated Uzbek and being met with his dry sarcasm is refreshingly heartening. “I’d probably find a way to set the kitchen on fire, you’re right.” They both know he’s more than capable of fixing it but it brings Fuze joy to tinker around in their flat and who is Buck to take this away from him?

They chat for a few more minutes, Fuze outlining how the accident happened and ranting a little more, much to Buck’s delight – he usually suffers in stoic silence, so him opening up and complaining is a good sign Buck welcomes. Still, whenever he expresses worry, Fuze waves him aside as he’s wont to do. Despite how far they’ve come, expression of feelings remains uncomfortable to him. He jokes about how he had to explain that all the dirt on his arms and clothing had nothing to do with how far he flew but rather a broken sink and Buck only narrowly resists running his fingertips over the still stained, pronounced muscles.

Eventually, he promises to dip back home to fetch a few things to do as Fuze is required to stay the night and Buck wants to ensure he doesn’t start dismantling the various devices in the room, as well as spare clothing and toiletries. He’s about to head out when a hand closes around his wrist and holds him back, even pulls a little.

Cautiously, Buck allows the other man to hug his waist while not moving his head too much, and gingerly cards his fingers through dark hair during the short embrace. Fuze isn’t generally very physically affectionate, but any and all reminders of their own mortality bring out his clingier side. Not that Buck is complaining.

“Thanks”, Fuze murmurs into his shirt and the Canadian is pretty sure it’s not only the spare clothes for which he’s grateful.

Much more relieved and with a secret smile on his lips, he leaves the room and is in the middle of making a mental list of things to bring when he comes across three familiar faces in the hospital’s lobby.

He stops dead in his tracks. The three Russians stare at him.

“… how is he?”, Glaz eventually asks.

Buck isn’t sure yet why they’re looking at him as if he’d insulted their grandmother but feels his pulse quickening nonetheless. Even singularly, they’re intimidating, and together they’re downright terrifying. “He’s alright. Are you going to visit him?”

“That’s why we’re here”, Tachanka’s voice booms, “but we were just told to clear our visit with Shuhrat’s husband.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Well”, says Buck, panicking internally. “A funny mistake to make, isn’t it?”

“Because apparently for right now, only visits by close family members or spouses are allowed”, Kapkan adds without missing a beat, glaring a hole into Buck’s skull, “but his husband is apparently fine.”

Maybe he can run. The exit is behind them, but if he dodges Kapkan, he can -

“Don’t even think about it”, Glaz advises him politely and Buck just accepts his fate.

.

“Las Vegas”, Kapkan repeats, deadpan, apparently still not understanding it the third time whereas Tachanka continues his full-belly laugh which already made him sit down on the floor. By now he’s wheezing and suffering from oxygen deprivation, judging by the colour of his face and the receptionist’s worried glances in their direction. Glaz looks like he’s not sure whether to facepalm or simply leave.

“Yes”, Buck sheepishly confirms for the third time. “You remember that we stayed behind to do some sightseeing for a few days?”

“I can only imagine the fucking sights you saw between his legs”, Tachanka croaks and starts coughing from laughing too much.

“Why in the world would you get married though?”

Glaz’ disbelief does nothing to lessen Buck’s embarrassment. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“How the fuck did you convince him to go through with it?”

“Well, he was going through an intense phase of euphoria and unhindered self-expression.”

“Also, he was piss drunk”, Tachanka translates helpfully and Buck nods with a grimace.

“I’m going to gut you”, Kapkan hisses and alright, it seems the niceties are over now.

“To be fair, I was also piss drunk”, he attempts to defend himself and watches a little helplessly as the murderous glint in the Russian’s eyes does not disappear.

“And this entire time everyone thought you were roommates.” For some reason, Glaz sounds disappointed.

“You’re not wrong. It’s a more… permanent arrangement though.”

“Divorce him.” All eyes land on Kapkan whose stony expression nonetheless betrays his anger. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing, you’re not in love, you’re not planning to stay together for the rest of your lives. It was a mistake. Haven’t you thought of the possibility that he’s staying with you out of a sense of duty, and not because he wants to?”

Of course he has, and not only once – but this is a thought which he didn’t allow to penetrate their bubble filled with lazy evenings and rare cuddling and occasional hour-long conversations, a bubble Buck protected with all his might and which now has burst to leave behind… not much, really. Getting his fierce denial rubbed in his face by one of Fuze’s closest friends, by someone who knows him well and understands his motives, is disillusioning, produces a bad taste in his mouth. The thought of having bound Fuze to himself purely through a drunken mistake they made together is uncomfortable. Not an achievement about which he’ll ever brag.

“You’re acting like he doesn’t have a brain of his own”, Tachanka starts berating Kapkan after having gotten up with Glaz’ help, but Buck stops him with a shake of his head.

“No, it’s – I’ll talk this through with him.”

.

He doesn’t talk it through with Fuze. That evening, he takes stock of their odd friendship he hesitates to even call relationship and tries to look at it from an outsider’s viewpoint. They’ve never brought up their spontaneous wedding again, merely drifted towards each other until Fuze moved in as a logical next step, and while they’ve been opening up to each other, there’s no way Fuze would actively want for their marriage to last. It’s a miracle he even let it go this far.

Another irate call from Kapkan convinces him that there’s really only one conclusion to draw, one decision to make, and so with a heavy heart, he makes it.

Fuze returns home two days later, occasionally colliding with a door frame and complaining about the staff which kept him for much longer than necessary, doesn’t mention the perfectly functional sink and immediately starts his ritual of clumsily seducing Buck with a series of thinly-veiled innuendos and pretty obvious gestures. The second time he bends down to pick something up, marvellous contoured backside directed at a highly amused Buck, he nearly faceplants and so Buck drags him to bed once he’s regained his balance. He makes love to him more gently than usual and swallows all the little noises Fuze makes, worships his body as if this was the last time he’d get to do so, and ignores the possibility that it might be. They gaze into each other’s eyes as they come, Fuze biting his own lip with such a reverent expression that Buck is overcome with a sudden surge of emotion prompting him to wrap himself around the Uzbek when they go to sleep and keep him in his bed instead of letting him escape to his own room.

The next day, Buck receives mail.

.

“Much better”, he informs Frost with a distracted smile. “His vision is still a little messed up and he’s voiced his intent to off the guy who hit him several times, but his usual sunny disposition is making a comeback.”

“I’m glad to hear it”, his teammates beams. “You were very worried about him, I could tell.”

“Yeah”, he confirms and tries his best to concentrate on their conversation which is ultimately hopeless. When he left this morning, he placed the papers on the kitchen table, impossible to overlook, but he’s heard nothing from Fuze so far. “He’s – yeah. I’m always worried.”

This earns him a warm smile and for a moment he considers whether Frost knows just how true his words really are and in which emotion they’re rooted. “And he’s back at work already?”

“No, he’s meant to stay at home for at least -” And suddenly, someone slams a stack of papers onto his table, right next to his lunch, nearly giving him a heart attack with the loud, unexpected noise.

“What”, Fuze says and points accusingly at the offending sheets, “the fuck.”

At first Buck doesn’t recognise them because they’re in an extremely sorry state, a corner burnt off, most of them crumpled in some way and potato peels as well as egg shells pieces clinging to the top one wetly as if the stack had spent an undisclosed time in the garbage. It’s not hard to figure out who maltreated the papers this way because Fuze is seething, not to mention that he drove to the base purely to toss them under Buck’s nose. “Let’s talk about this privately, shall we?”, he suggests and gets up to appease the furious Uzbek, knowing how much he hates scenes of any kind – and a half-full canteen certainly is the worst place to discuss the matter at hand.

“No. I’m not signing this. The hell is wrong with you?”

People are looking now. “Listen, it’s for the best and you know it. We didn’t really know what we were doing back then and I don’t want to hold you back in the future. I don’t want there to be a sense of obligation or -”

“No”, Fuze repeats coldly.

Frost isn’t the only one who’s following Buck’s hushed whispers with interest. “Please, be reasonable. It’s insane and the sooner we rectify -”

“There’s only one thing I need to know”, Fuze interrupts him, standing tall, chest puffed up and eyes boring into Buck’s, civilian clothing out of place and the sole focus of everyone’s attention at this point. “I’m bad with words, but I understand actions. I only sleep in my bed because the way you move around at night drives me insane, but if you want me to share your bed, I will. I don’t touch you all the time because just being in the same room with you makes me happy so it’s enough for me, but if you want me to do it more, I will. I don’t talk about how I feel because I’m scared and I don’t want to drive you away, but I trust you, so if you want me to try and do it, I will. But I need to know whether I misunderstood your gestures or not.”

He’s hurt. Buck realises too late that it’s not Fuze’s pride which he wounded but his feelings, his trust. He thought he’d set Fuze free while Fuze interpreted it as being cast away. “It’s not about that”, he begins to explain but Fuze once again doesn’t let him finish.

“Do you want to divorce me?”, the Uzbek asks loudly in case anyone present hasn’t caught on yet.

Buck shakes his head without hesitation. It’s the last thing he wants, if he’s honest.

Rather unceremonially, Fuze grabs his collar and smashes their mouths together, Fuze still with his bandage and in casual clothes, Fuze who tried to destroy the divorce papers in several ways before accepting their reality, Fuze who hates scenes and grand gestures and public displays of any kind, who told Buck to keep their entanglement a secret and convinced him to lie – just kisses him right then and there.

It doesn’t last long but leaves Buck breathless still, gasping for air and possibly more because Fuze rarely initiates their kisses. “Then we’re not getting a fucking divorce, end of topic”, Fuze snarls, “and buy some eggs when work is over, we’re out.” He snatches the stack off the table, turns on his heel and dumps it in the bin on his way out.

Buck’s face is burning hotly and he feels three pairs of eyes glaring daggers into his back. He doesn’t meet any of them.

“What are you waiting for?”, Frost wants to know, not at all looking surprised. “Go after him and apologise.”

The catcall trailing after him as he hurries towards the door behind which Fuze just disappeared does nothing to quell his embarrassment but doesn’t change his resolve either. He really should address a few fundamental topics with Fuze which he’s been avoiding ever since that fateful deployment in Nevada, he supposes, but right now all he wants to do is kiss him until they’re both light-headed.

[phantasmkiss]

Restful Spirits Cemetery

History Build Challenge #7

Let me start by saying that everyone is safe. Everyone is safe, and there are parts of this story that I'm not even in. I'll let my daughter, Alexandria, tell those parts.

At the beginning, Alexandria was off with her cousin Leanne for an afternoon drive and a sleepover. I called out the usual cautions, reminded them that I'd have my phone with me, and got patient reassurance in return. I wasn't really worried, they'd had several drives and countless sleepovers, but it made me feel better to say the words. Be safe!

I didn't know we were going to the cemetery, Alexandria told me later. I knew Leanne was into urban exploration, but she'd never brought me with her, and I wouldn't have agreed to go. I argued with her when we got there, but she was too excited and couldn't be reasoned with.

At first it wasn't so bad. Leanne knew of a walled-in space that was always decorated. It was a little creepy, but there were flowers, candles, and sugar skulls, and it really felt like the people here were loved.

We found a smaller place where kids were, and I couldn't stop crying. The urns were all decorated with drawings and favorite toys, and though the love could still be felt, it was so sad! Those poor children would never play with their toys again. They'd never grow up, never get married.

Leanne hugged me and we went outside. It was dark by then, and we found a pet cemetery. I wondered who had loved these animals enough to give them proper graves, wondered if any of them had belonged to any of the children.

It really was beautiful there. Some of the graves were tilted, sunk into the ground with time, but most had some sign that Sims still visited. There were flowers, mostly. Some had vases, or potted plants that looked well tended, and some had only a single bloom.

We were looking at marble tombs when a little girl came up to us. Leanne told me to leave it alone, that kids are horrible, but I love kids and she looked lost. How could I ignore her? I picked her up and she cuddled against my neck.

I almost had Leanne quieted down when I saw someone over her shoulder. The baby's mother had come for her, but she wasn't what I expected. Fierce brows were sunk low over deep-set eyes and blood-red lips surrounded a mouth filled with fangs. They were vampires! They wanted us to join their legion of the undead and had soon kidnapped us into the catacombs!

I told Alexandria that was nonsense. We don't have the Vampires game pack!

Okay, we didn't meet any vampires, Alexandria admitted. She was stalling, so I told her to go on.

Leanne wanted to go into the catacombs, Alexandria told me. She said she was going in whether I went with her or not. I didn't have time to think it through, but I hoped I could keep her from getting into too much trouble. Or if she got hurt, at least I would be there to help her.

In the catacombs the hallways were narrow and I felt a growing sense of unease and slight claustrophobia. What if we got lost? What if we got stuck? I hadn't known we were going to the catacombs so I couldn't have told you and no one knew where we were. At this, Alexandria gave a pointed look at Leanne. There were lots of urns and the lighting was dim and eerie.

We entered a brick room with crosses made of skulls and a giant stone statue. Leanne was super excited. She had read about the catacombs in Paris that have skull art and she had hoped to see some. What she really wanted to do was take a skull off the wall and inspect it. She wants to be a doctor, and apparently inspecting skulls would have helped her in her studies of Sim anatomy. I talked her out of it, but just barely. Leanne took a picture.

Meanwhile, I was at home, playing on my computer in blissful ignorance. That is, until I pulled up Simbook to find my daughter tagged in a picture taken someplace she shouldn't be! I whipped out my phone to call her, but as I took my thumb off the dial button, I heard ringing across the room. She'd forgotten her phone!

Willow Creek hath no fury like a mother scorned! If I couldn't call my daughter home, I'd go get her, even in the deepest catacombs of a haunted cemetery. I grabbed our phones and my car keys and left the house.

Eventually, Alexandria went on, Leanne and I entered a room with fossils and jars as well as a few odd graves. We couldn't read them in the dark so Leanne took out her cell phone and shined her flashlight on the stone. There were no names on the graves and no inscription like 'RIP' or 'Beloved so-and-so'. The only writing was the dates of birth and death. The dates of birth were written in a language neither of us could understand. Simoogle Translator didn't help either.

I was still puzzling over the graves when Leanne called me over to a table at the side of the room. She was staring in fascination at the strange fossils on the table. They were no type of plant or animal either of us had ever seen. Leanne nudged me and pointed toward the floor. We crouched down and found jars filled with formaldehyde and bizarre creatures... Aliens! The room was for aliens! The graves and fossils were all for them!

Leanne began telling me of a time when she was with another one of her friends and she got abducted. Go ahead and raise your eyebrows, but after seeing those aliens in jars there is no doubt in my mind that aliens exist!

We left the alien room and continued our exploration, finding a pile of skulls resting in the near darkness. It was super creepy. Leanne reached out tentatively to touch the skulls, but I smacked her hand away. Who knows what could happen touching a skull? I warned her that there might be a trap or disease carrying pests. Leanne leaned closer to the stack of skulls and without warning collapsed sideways. "Leanne!" I cried. Suddenly she jumped up and said "Boo!'' I jumped and gasped. Not funny, Leanne!

Leanne and I left the skulls, her still giggling and me grumbling over the prank. We came to a hall with a door set in the wall. Leanne cautiously tiptoed over and peeked in. She gasped and pulled away, breathing fast. I, however, smelled baloney! I walked up to the door expecting another prank and peered in. What I saw surprised me. There was a ring of gnome spirits! At the head of the circle was a strange gnome in a cloak. The gnome looked up and pulled back his hood. He appeared normal, but his eyes were gold and glowing. My gaze stuck to his as he lifted his scythe, but Leanne pulled me back.

"Are you crazy?!" she whispered. "He could have reaped you."

I shook my head. "He’s the Reagnomper. He only reaps gnomes." Leanne was still skeptical and wanted to move on. As we went to walk past the door, she gave one last glance. Her eyes widened and she held up a finger for me to be silent. "Don't fear the Reagnomper," I whispered, and started to hum a bit of the song.

Leanne and I rushed along the halls, away from the gnomes. Her stomach growled and she turned to me sheepishly. "Do you have any snacks?" I remembered the fruit snacks in my purse, but my purse was in her car.

"They're in the car."

"We should probably leave," Leanne said. I felt relief flood over me. Leanne led the way forward, saying that there should be a second exit coming up, but we walked for what felt like hours.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" I asked.

"Positive," she said, though she didn't sound confident at all. "Oh! I think I found a door!" she shouted, her voice echoing around us. Unfortunately it was no door, but a necklace in a glass case, guarded by a silent ghost gnome. We looked closer, careful not to touch.

"I recognize this..." I murmured. Suddenly, I remembered where I had read about it. "This is the stolen necklace of the late Duchess Pinky!" Leanne's eyes widened. "It's said to have a curse worse than the Hope Diamond. Whoever stole it must have died down here."

My nerves were already stretched tight when I smelled something foul and heard the sifting of dirt from the walls behind me. I jumped, afraid that the ghost gnome had changed its mind, or we had somehow triggered a trap!

It was a ghost, but not the gnome, and not the Reagnomper! It was a pirate, one whose hygiene was so poor that we could smell him even through the veil of death. His name was Captain Long John Buttercups, and once we had gotten over the shock, we told him we were hopelessly lost.

Meanwhile, I had finally arrived. I was armed with nothing but my wits, a partial map of the catacombs I'd downloaded from Simoogle onto my phone, and martial arts, a skill I picked up long ago in Sims 3.

Still, a map can't fully prepare you for reality. My footsteps echoed in the entry hall, and a stale smell rose from ahead. A chill ran up my spine, lodging in the base of my neck, but this had to be done. I would find those girls, hug them close, and give them the scolding of a lifetime.

My map only took me as far as the room I had seen in the picture online. Sim skulls, bejeweled and painted, decorated the walls, and a lone statue stood in some unknown source of light. I stood still and listened carefully, holding my breath, only to be disappointed. There was no echo of footsteps, no laughter, no shouts for help. I gave a silent prayer that the girls were all right.

I caught the eye of a passing ghost and lifted my hand to get his attention. "Could you help me?" I asked, and introduced myself quickly. He told me his name was Captain Rodrigo De Pablo, and that he would indeed assist a lady, if he could. I exhaled in relief.

"I'm looking for my daughter and her cousin," I told him, and brought out my phone. There I had several recent pictures of Alexandria, though the phrase pink hair normally told people exactly who I was looking for. The Captain nodded.

"I know where they are," he assured me. "I will take you to them."

We walked quietly, each lost to our own deep thoughts. He paused at a small pool of water, as though remembering something, then turned to float up the stairs. I thought I could hear something now, the sound of voices, many voices, and the distinctive echoing voices of ghosts. My heart thudded.

As I reached the top of the narrow staircase, I found light and laughter, almost like an impromptu party. Alexandria stopped talking immediately and eyed me, wondering how much trouble she was in. Leanne looked away and pretended she hadn't seen me at all. "You two are in so much trouble," I said, then pulled Alexandria into my arms.

I was very tense, and Cordelia took me aside so I could try to calm down. The two of us viewed paintings which had been done when she was alive, while the girls stood nearby. Princess Cordelia pointed out that Captains Long John Buttercups and Chaz MacFreeling were to the left of her and her favorite, Captain Rodrigo De Pablo, was to her right. In each work I could see the spirits still haunting the world.

It was a long trek back through the catacombs. Three ghosts accompanied us, though the fourth, Captain MacFreeling, apparently spent most of his afterlife admiring his own painting. We said our goodbyes, and I led two silent teens back to living civilization.

Restful Spirits Cemetery in the Sims 4 Gallery

My house, Creative Spaces, in the Sims 4 Gallery

(Origin ID: PhantasmKiss)