#im also his best man at his wedding this october | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raplinesmoon · 3 years ago

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October (MYG x GN!Reader) - Oneshot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x GN!OC/Reader

Genres: heavy heavy heavy ANGST

AUs: interns!AU

Word Count: 8.3k

Trigger Warnings: a story about love that’s not a love story, some cursing, mentions of traumatic accident and brain injury/coma, mentions of hospitals and medical issues, mentions of life support and end-of-life-care, mentions of miscarriage, sadness and just generally people being assholes (including Yoongi), MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, please be kind to yourself and don’t read if any of these things make you uncomfortable or sad (your wellbeing is valued and important)

Ratings: R

Summary: Yoongi can’t remember his life before the fall. He doesn’t want to either - being with you while the mugunghwas bloom is enough.

A/N: Hi everyone! Putting this out there that this is probably the longest (and angstiest) thing I’ve ever written, and I cried a lot while writing it. This story is based on the Bollywood movie October, which is single-handedly one of the most amazing films I’ve ever seen in my life. This story deals with heavy topics (read at your own discretion), but I really tried my best to use my healthcare knowledge and some research to make this an honest portrayal. I recommend reading Being Mortal by Atul Gawande if this topic interests you more. Honestly, it was a journey for me to write this, and although it’s very sad, I’m really proud of it, and if you choose to read it, I hope it speaks to you in some way. Also, big thanks to Suzie (@lcksndkys) for beta-reading this and helping out on the medical side of things (she’s the best, pls give her a follow)!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

November

“Hello, welcome to the Signiel, how may I help you today?” your chipper voice cuts through the din of the hotel lobby, a warm smile lighting up your face.

“Yes, can you tell us what’s good to see in your city?” The man’s accent is foreign, but kind. He seems genuinely in awe of the posh decor that surrounds him, and the subtle chill emanating from the sliding doors as they woosh open and close.

“Ah yes, there’s so much to see in Seoul! There’s Gyeongbokgung Palace, the Samsung Museum of Art, Namdameun Market…,” you drone on, sharply aware of a pair of cat-like eyes gazing at you from the corner of the lobby.

Your fellow intern Yoongi is there, mopping away at the already pristine marble floors, likely cursing his entire existence for accepting this internship. As interns, you expected you’d be in charge of greeting guests, taste testing the house specialties and coordinating events.

However, the menial tasks were a surprise. Sweeping floors, doing laundry, flushing toilets. Most of the interns, including you, took it in stride. Yoongi, however, was different.

Your eyes can’t look away from him as you watch him furiously mop, back and forth, back and forth, so hard you think he’ll knock the dirty bucket of water over and Manager Im will have his head.

Eventually his movements slow, coming to a complete halt. He lets out a deep sigh, the rich baritone of his voice cutting through the monotony of voices and travelling to your equally tired ears. He’s turned away from you now, instead staring wistfully at the beautiful grand piano tucked away in the corner, its pristine facade reflecting every tiny moment happening in the lobby with immaculate detail.

Glancing back towards the guests, you muster up another smile and offer them their room keys. When you look up again, Yoongi’s gone.

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

The clinking of champagne flutes and the echoes of footsteps can be heard as you prepare for tonight’s event. A wedding - one of Seoul’s richest CEOs marries its biggest social butterfly.

You remember reading the groom’s name in a magazine somewhere, and now it currently dwells at the back of your mind. Kim Taehyung? That sounds familiar.

Banishing the intrusive thoughts of handsome Mr. Kim from your mind, you turn back to the task at hand. Napkins should be perfectly folded, not a single crease visible, and the edges should be neat and even with one another. Flowers go in the specific order indicated on your index cards, and candles should be placed in the center of the table, far enough away from the edge that they don’t fall and burn the whole place down.

As you finish placing the last flowers on the table, you’re rammed into by someone. The petals scatter to the ground, creating a large mess where a sophisticated centerpiece should have been.

“Shit, sorry, I-. Here, let me help you,” the person groans out, ennui evident in their listless tone.

“Hi Yoongi! How are you today?” you greet him, carefully bending down and tenderly picking up each stray petal. The mugunghwa flowers feel soft in between the pads of your fingers, their smell light and sweet.

Yoongi lets out a sharp grunt of acknowledgement, as he hunches over and desperately shoves the flowers back into your hands, like a man possessed. As the last bloom finds its way back to you, he nods and makes his way towards Manager Im standing all the way by the stage.

Trying your best to refocus your attention, you catch the faint wind of their seemingly unpleasant conversation from where you stand.

“Need off on the 30th and 31st -- parent’s anniversary -- silver jubilee.”

“Hotel at full occupancy -- should know better -- go get a haircut and stop bothering me please.”

“Fucking fine, keep me here to do your dirty work, then. All I’m asking for is a job that’s worth my qualifications, you know, like the fucking degree I’m supposed to be getting for this?”

You wince at Yoongi’s last comment, knowing the words ring painfully true yet no one else is brave enough to voice them. Manager Im doesn’t bat an eye, ushering Yoongi away with a sweep of his arms and moving on to another part of the room.

As he huffs past you to leave the room, you offer a weak smile Yoongi’s way.

“Thank you for your help picking up the flowers, Yoongi! I’ll see you later.”

Shoes tapping against the marble, he lifts his head but doesn’t turn as he makes his way out of the ballroom, failing to spare a single glance in your direction.

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

December 31st

“You know what your problem is Yoongi? You’re constantly annoyed,” Yeri drawls, scowling as the whipped cream topping her coffee drips onto the ground.

You swing your legs from side to side on the curb, avoiding eye contact with Yoongi as he pushes himself out from underneath the hood of your car.

“You know why I’m irritated? It’s because I’m constantly surrounded by you two,” he gestures to you both and scoffs.

“Yah, don’t tell me you’re annoyed about me calling you irritating,” Yeri’s voice goes shrill as Yoongi flips her off, slinging his bag around his shoulder and walking over to his motorbike.

“Thank you for the oil change Yoongi!” you shout, but your voice is drowned out by the whirring of the engine as it fades away, the bike zooming down the road and away from you both.

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

Tinsel and fairy lights shimmer along the vast hallway as Yoongi vacuums the carpet that is now full of glitter from the guests’ merrymaking. Despite the cheery exterior scene, the inside of Yoongi’s headset is blaring Seo Taji and the Boys, not Deck the Halls.

He’d unceremoniously landed himself in hot water with Im again, his frustration getting the best of him. Not surprisingly, Im had retaliated by putting him on cleaning duty the one night he knew all the interns were having their holiday party.

Yoongi groans loudly, blinking his eyes and letting his mind travel. If just thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine the bass thumping outside, the clinking of glasses as the drunkest one in the batch gets up to make their yearly toast… he can imagine you, full of warmth and laughter, sparing a smile for everyone you come across.

Yoongi hates that he can’t hate you like he does the others. That you’re always asking him about his day, thanking him for doing the bare minimum when he could be doing more, appreciative of his mere presence when all Im and the others want is for him to get lost. To disappear.

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

“Yah, Namjoon, why are you on the ground again, are you drunk?” Yeri screeches, trying her best to lift up the gentle giant of a man who’s made himself at home on the grass by the pool.

“Druuuunk onnnn youuuuu babyyyy!” Namjoon shouts with vigor. Namjoon’s candid behavior has you smirking to yourself, thinking how nice it is to see the kind, reserved intern let loose and enjoy himself a little. Yeri seems to be enjoying it too, a faint blush coloring her cheeks despite the grimace on her face.

“A toast,” Seokjin, the broad shouldered senior intern exclaims, “to another year gone by!”

“Happy New Year!!” The chorus is loud and raucous.

Glasses are raised and hors d'oeuvres consumed, the golden lights twinkling in the night.

“Seokjin, another drink?” Yeri reaches out, offering up a beer in her hand.

“Nahhh, I’m okay,” he counters. “Besides, gotta drive home with Yoongi at the end of the night, you know how it is.

“Come to think of it,” you ponder. “I haven’t even seen him, where is Yoongi?”

You hoist yourself up onto the railing, dizzy from the effects of the alcohol reaching your head.

You feel the wet, slippery dew drops against your fingers and suddenly, nothing.

Slipping through space, the air whooshes around you as you fall, staring up at the sparkling lights one final time before you hear a loud thump and everything fades to black.

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

“Patient is in acute respiratory distress —- I’m having trouble finding a pulse --- might need intubation,” the static crackles through the radio.

Yoongi was slumped against the hallway, eyes closed. Lost in a dream world of allegros and sonatas, he’s jolted awake by the jarring dissonance of a wrong note. Blearily, he rubs his eyes, but the note remains prolonged, piercing his eardrums.

It’s a siren. His pupils dilate as the bright red lights hit them. Something’s wrong.

Yoongi doesn’t know when he started running, or how, just that he’s skirting on death’s edge, skipping stairs two at a time, making his way down the emergency staircase to the ground floor exit.

He’s greeted with the sight of Manager Im, face blanched and brows furrowed, speaking to a police officer.

“Their name is ___. They fell from the third floor swimming pool, but normally no one goes there.”

The officer nods along, jotting Im’s statement down on a notepad, and it’s then that Yoongi turns and sees the blood.

A pool of it, and you, in the middle. Before he can even think, EMTs are strapping you in and lifting you onto a stretcher.

“Current status, 23 y/o F patient who will need mechanical ventilation, sedated, no movement. Pulse 110”, the voice blares through the megaphone.

All Yoongi can do is tremble, Seokjin coming to wrap an arm around him. He watches the ambulance as it drives away, wondering where and when everything decided to go so wrong.

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

January 2nd

The fragrant perfume of gochujang and crackling of oil permeates the air as Yoongi pulls up to the tteokbokki stall, shaking out his windswept helmet hair from the frantic drive over.

Seokjin gives him a pitiful glance, Yeri and Namjoon both avoiding eye contact.

Yoongi decides to speak up first. “Dude, you could have told me what happened that night.

“Yoongi, I called you. I must have left at least 15 messages.”

“Listen up, interns,” Im sneers. “You will not breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not until the police report is complete. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Manager,” Yeri and Namjoon answer monotonously, Seokjin nodding along.

“Min,” Im says, “here’s an extra entry pass. Go and see them, and report straight back to me afterwards.”

Yoongi gapes at the keycard Im hands him, unsure of how to breathe.

“Yoongi,” Yeri breathes out, struggling to hold back tears. “Go. 3rd floor, neuro ICU, bed 28.”

Yoongi steps backwards. One step. Another. He feels as though he’s dragging his feet through a pool of quicksand. If he doesn’t get on the bike, he wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital. He wouldn’t be able to see ___, broken and bruised. He would be able to pretend that nothing had happened, that everything was normal, that you’d pop up out of nowhere and say “Hi Yoongi!” with that wide smile of yours.

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

“Dr. Sungchul Kim, please report to the cardiology department.”

The loudspeakers are garish and blaring, befitting of a circus rather than the serious, sterile institution Yoongi finds himself in.

Yoongi thought the behind the scenes of the hotel was the most depressing thing ever, but he was wrong. The white walls and the smell of antiseptic taunt him, reminding him of the way these walls act as a prison for lives barely hanging on. Lives like ___’s.

As he approaches the ward, he can make out a haggard looking woman with kind eyes, conversing with a police officer towering over her.

“___ was a good person. They would never drink alcohol so recklessly, and all their friends at the hotel were such good influences. I know my child. They didn’t just fall, someone pushed them.”

“Ma’am,” the police officer starts, “I understand your concern, but we have to consider all possible options here.”

The officer’s conversation with your mother drifts away as Yoongi finds himself at the entrance of the neuro ICU. The guard gestures for him to remove his shoes and sanitize his hands.

Then, Yoongi is ushered into room #28 with a gust of cold air following behind him. He wonders if you were cold when you fell. He hopes not.

He tiptoes through the room, silent, as if one wrong footfall could wake any of the patients in here. People who sleep but don’t dream, don’t know when or if they’ll wake up.

At the end, towards the window, he stops and sees you. Small and frail-looking, bright spots of red and purple littering your entire face. They’ve cut off your hair, he muses. He remembers how you always used to wear it in a sleek, neat style, and how keeping it off your face highlighted your eyes.

And the tubes. There’s so many. Yoongi counts 19 in total, all hooked up to different machines and making their way into your body. He wonders what they’re all for, how they manage to keep you alive when you look anything but.

The nurse comes by to change your IV, and Yoongi feels sick. He’s an intruder, and he doesn’t belong here. Doesn’t deserve to be here. He turns on his heels and walks out of the ward, the monotonous beeping never leaving his head the whole time.

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

January 16th

It’s hot and muggy in the apartment, the pressure cooker letting out the last bits of steam as Seokjin scoops out an even portion of rice, placing a perfectly shaped dome on Yoongi’s plate.

Silence was never an issue between the two of them, but now, it feels overwhelming. Like both of them have forgotten how to speak, forgotten how to live.

The days since the accident have all passed like this, in still and stagnancy.

“I still can’t get over how swollen their face was, and did you see all those tubes?” Yoongi’s voice is gruff, hoarse from days of no use, from keeping his head down and changing sheets and mopping floors.

Seokjin stares at him questioningly, wondering why Yoongi chose to broach this topic of conversation when they haven’t spoken in a week.

“I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me just standing there,” Yoongi drawls on.

“Is that why you never went back? I’ve been there twice already, you know. Namjoon has gone at least three times, and Yeri goes as soon as she gets off work every day.”

“I-, it’s not that, it’s the machines. They make it hard to concentrate,” Yoongi counters, feeling ashamed that while he was lost in a haze, his fellow interns were using their free time to visit the hospital.

“They asked about you, you know? Right before they fell. ___ asked, “Where is Yoongi?””

The same feeling of sickness from the ICU washes over Yoongi again, his breath heaving and palms becoming clammy. He wishes he could admit himself into the hospital too, maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty.

“Bro, something’s wrong with the food, it doesn’t taste right today” Yoongi starts, hauling himself up off the ground. “I’m gonna go to the tteokbokki stand and eat. You want anything?”

Seokjin looks up at him, cheeks full of food. “It tastes fine to me.”

“Alright then, see ya later man.” The door closes on a concerned looking Seokjin, as Yoongi makes his way out to the parking spot.

The cool air on his face has Yoongi feeling lighter, breathing easier, and he feels brave enough to detour from the tteokbokki stand and follow the green and white exit sign to Seoul National University Hospital.

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

Inside, the ward air suffocates Yoongi once more, as he makes his way to room 28.

He sees your mother again, and another smaller version of you, trapped in yet another conversation, this time with the doctor. A sister maybe? He always thought you were an only child. Yoongi surprises himself constantly with how much he never knew about you, how much he could’ve found out if only he took a chance.

Passing by, neither of them fail to acknowledge the blonde haired boy making his way into ___’s room. Glancing again towards the end of the bed, he sees the same nurse from last time, clipboard in hand, recording your vital signs.

She takes notice of him lingering behind her. “Are you family?”

Yoongi shakes his head no.

“A boyfriend then?” Another shake of his head.

“The other boy that was here, is he the boyfriend?” Yoongi’s throat tightens, but he somehow manages to croak out a no.

“Sir, if you don’t have a reason to be here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I hope you understand, these are the rules.”

She beckons Yoongi out of the room. He turns and gives ___ one final wave, passing the two women on his way out, before being cast out into the frigid chill of the winter air once more.

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

February

“Off again, Yoongi?!” Namjoon calls out, as the door shuts in front of him, and he and Seokjin hear the kickstart of the motorbike once more.

Yoongi’s been disappearing multiple times a week, firing up his bike and blazing through gas money. Somehow he always ends up at the hospital. Sometimes, he’s brave enough to go in and spend a minute, or five, or ten by your side. Sometimes he just lingers outside the ward, especially when he sees the nurse go on. Most of the time, he just sits outside on the bench, listening to conversations between the doctors and staff that work there. Yoongi would consider himself halfway to an MD based on the things he’s overheard sometimes.

Today, though, he’s possessed by the unknown urge to see you again. To check up on you. Maybe it’s based on the conversation he overheard last week between your mother and the doctor. About how you’re in a deep coma, and neither awake or alert. About how your case might be hopeless. He hears your sister cry, your brother (who he’d seen recently) with the doe eyes suck in a gasp, and your mother plead to give them some more time.

He wants to tell you that time’s running out, that you need to wake up soon or everything will be over. And yet, he wants someone to be gentle with you. To tell you that despite how hard it is, you can take all the damn time in the world. Just as long as you keep trying, keep fighting.

“Excuse me sir? This is a day pass.” The guard outside the hospital stops Yoongi.

“Shit, I-, I left my night pass at home. Can you just let me in please? I have to speak to someone, it won’t take long at all.”

“No entry without a pass, sir. Rules are rules.”

“Fuck, listen, I just need like five minutes please? I’ve been coming here everyday, they recognize me. I really need to speak to her.”

“No entry without a pass,” the guard becomes aggressive, pushing Yoongi away. Yoongi struggles in his grip, cursing out the guard with every breath, but he finds himself back on the curb, head held in his hands.

“Excuse me? I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re looking for a night pass. You can borrow mine.”

Yoongi stares up at the mellifluous voice, and does a double take. Kim Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung whose wedding he’d coordinated mere months ago. Before the fall.

“Are you sure you don’t need it?”

“I’m Kim Taehyung, I can get another hospital pass any time I want. My wife’s in the hospital for pregnancy complications. She’s staying for a few days, but I know she’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay. You, on the other hand, don’t seem so sure. Take it, please.”

“Mr. Kim --- Taehyung --- sir, thank you. Thank you so much. I hope your wife is okay.” Yoongi’s gummy smile shows for the first time in a long time, as he snatches the pass and presents it to the guard standing there with an astounded look on his face.

Taehyung watches the other man with a wistful smile. Give a life, save a life. He and his wife couldn’t save their baby, but maybe for the man with the gummy smile and the sad eyes, there was hope yet.

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

“Hey. Hey ___. Wake up.” Yoongi whispers, flailing his arms around, trying to catch your attention.

He yearns to reach out and stroke the short spikes of hair that now adorn your head, hoping that a tender touch would jolt you to life.

“___, wake up please. I have something important to tell you.”

Yoongi feels the tears building up in his eyes, and he wants to fall to the floor from exhaustion. Working shifts at the hotel, then coming here and spending time with you. He wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

“You wanted to know where I was that day? The day you fell? Actually I was…. I wasn’t around. I wasn’t there.”

Yoongi chokes the words out, reaching behind his head to ruffle his hair and relieve the nervous itch that has built up in his bones.

That night, Yoongi sleeps on a bench outside, the bitter tang of tears and unspoken apologies clogging his throat.

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

March

For the first time in months, Yoongi wakes up and heads to work on time. The hospital was important, but today, the hotel housed something even more important. ___’s car.

The abandoned red station wagon is parked in the same spot outside the hotel, collecting dust that flies away with each gust of the spring breeze.

“What do you need this time?” Yeri’s voice is clipped and harsh as she approaches Yoongi by the parking lot.

“Did uh, ___ ever talk about me? Like in college?”

“Are you kidding me Yoongi? That’s what you called me over to talk about?”

“Yeri, please! I need to know.”

“No, Yoongi! No! We had better things to talk about than your lazy ass! Why would they have cared?!”

“But they did Yeri! Why would they have asked about me before she fell? And none of you thought to tell me either! People’s last words are special, they’re not just something you can ignore!”, Yoongi is roaring, rage boiling in his veins.

“Look Yoongi, I really don’t think they were interested in you. You guys were too different. Now, if that’s all, both you and I should get back to work,” Yeri says icily.

“Fuck that, I’m out of here. See you around, Yeri.”

. . .

“Hey!” Yoongi gestures to the valet, pointing at the station wagon. “Do you have the keys for this?”

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Your mother is a professor, Yoongi muses. Another thing I didn’t know about her, he ponders to himself as he pulls the now shiny and sparkling station wagon into the driveway of your family home. Your mother steps out onto the porch, wide-eyed and shocked at seeing the familiar vehicle being driven by such an unfamiliar person.

“You’re the one from the hospital. How did you get our address?” her tone is laced with shock and surprise.

“My name’s Yoongi, I was one of ___’s fellow interns. I got your address from Yeri. I’m sorry for not letting you know in advance that I was coming, but I thought it was time to return the car to where it belonged.”

Tears fill the old woman’s eyes as she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”

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Everywhere Yoongi looks, baby pictures of you adorn the walls. You’re alone in some of them. In others, you’re accompanied by a mini you and a doe eyed boy. The common theme among all of them is that your smile is bright, eyes wide and filled with kindness. You’re happy. He’d never seen you any other way until the fall.

“Yoongi,” your mother calls out. “Please come and sit.”

She clears her throat, starting again. “Between here and the hospital, things have been so hectic, we forgot all about the car. Thank you for bringing it back for us.”

“You know,” Yoongi speaks, startling everyone at the table. “When I was a small child, I fractured my left arm. It should have healed in three weeks but it didn’t. I thought I’d never be able to play piano again. But eventually it healed. In the same way, ___ should have been okay by now, and she’s not. But she will be. She just needs a little more time.”

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April

The underside of ___’s bed has become a familiar place to Yoongi. Every day, he checks the bag filled with yellow fluid underneath, using it as his one sign that ___ is still alive.

“Nurse, isn’t her urine output a little more than usual today? What could that mean?”

Nurse, unfortunately, has never warmed up to Yoongi in the few months they’ve known each other.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Yoongi flashes his teeth and lets out a gummy smile. “You’re right, I actually do have something I need to do. Bye, ___. See you soon.”

The little girl is anticipating Yoongi’s arrival in the waiting room. He plops down on the seat next to her, and pulls out a book from his bag.

“How much longer until your mom has the baby?”, he asks.

“I don’t know,” she whines. “You should ask the baby.”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, flipping open the pages of the book. “Now where did we last leave off? I think our hero was about to fight the mighty dragon…”

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

The bland mush of the hospital café’s offerings leaves a strange taste at the back of Yoongi’s throat. Huddled around a table all together, ___’s uncle is the first to speak.

“I’ve seen cases like this before. I think we should pull the plug. If ___ has to live like this, like a vegetable, what’s the point of all this torture? They won’t even recognize us anymore, is that what you really want?”

“Please Won-jae, don’t start again with the negativity,” your mother looks this close to losing it, hair frazzled and clothes rumpled.

Yoongi clears his throat, startling the table guests once again. He notices they all seem intimidated by him, as if he’s a stranger that makes them uncomfortable, scared to admit their hopelessness.

“Just because ___ can’t recognize you, that doesn’t mean you can’t recognize them. They’re still the same ___.”

“I think he’s right,” the shy boy with the doe eyes speaks up. Yoongi had recently learned your younger brother’s name. Jungkook. The younger boy had looked at Yoongi with stars in his eyes, asking him for help with his homework and talking to him at any chance he could get. Yoongi would spend every second of the day with Jungkook and your younger sister Sooyoung if it meant the sadness in their eyes would disappear little by little.

“Anyway,” Yoongi says. “I have to get going. I’ll make sure to stop by the pharmacy and get ___’s medications before I leave. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“No, Yoongi.” Your mother offers him a faint smile, tenderness in her gaze. “You’ve done more than enough.”

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May

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital these days,” Seokjin says the moment Yoongi walks in the door. “I was beginning to think I’d never seen you at home again either. Not like I see you at work these days anyway.”

Yoongi ignores him, leafing through the fridge for anything to eat. He finds nothing. Disappointed, he slams the door shut, Seokjin’s broad frame cornering him against the fridge.

“Only like the taste of hospital food now?”

“What the fuck is your problem, Seokjin? If you have something to say, just spit it out.”

“Fine. I will. I’ve covered 6 of your shifts over the past month. Yeri has covered 4, and Namjoon has covered 3. I can’t afford the apartment anymore because I’m the only one bringing money in since you never come to work, and I’m this close to asking Namjoon to move in with me.”

“Your point is?”

“You know what it is Yoongi! Why are you doing this? What were they to you anyway, it’s not like they were your best friend. The doctors said it themselves, the chances of survival are low.”

“Seokjin, you’re telling me you only do something when there’s a 100% chance it’ll work out? If there’s a chance, even a small chance that ___ will make it, I have to help.”

“Yoongi, you have to start living in the real world again. What you’re doing isn’t practical. You’re not helping anyone - not me, not you, and not ___.”

“Don’t you dare say that, Seokjin. Don’t you dare,” Yoongi wants to continue on, but is interrupted by the blaring of his ringtone. ___’s mother. Seokjin looks at the phone, daring him to pick it up, to confirm his suspicions that Yoongi is no longer capable of rational thought when it comes to you.

Accept call. With no hesitation, Yoongi leaves his best friend and roommate behind, revving up his motorbike and disappearing into the night once more.

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“___ has had a massive stroke. While their brain activity spiked, they weren’t able to regain control of her movements. It’s likely they’ll be paralyzed for life.”

The doctors deliver the crushing blow to the family huddled in the stairwell, Yoongi standing in the corner beside them.

“You heard what the doctor said, and yet you still foolishly cling onto hope. Why can’t you all just be practical for once? What kind of a person would want to live like this?” Won-jae’s biting words cut through the air, and Yoongi can see their devastating effects, watching the hope slowly drain from your family’s eyes.

There were many socially unacceptable things Yoongi would like to say to your uncle right now, but for the sake of avoiding chaos, he decides to be gentle instead.

“Maybe ___ wants to live like this. Maybe ___ wants to live, period. Maybe they don’t. In any case, who are we to decide that for them?”

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“Your uncle has the patience of a wild boar,” Yoongi says to you. He hopes you’re listening, that you can hear his rant. It’s not like Seokjin wants to speak to him anymore, so he only has you to let it out to.

“So what if you need the machines for a little longer? There are times when my motorbike doesn’t start either. Then, I just give it a good kick and it starts. The machines will do the same for you, so just bear with it ___. Okay? Just bear with it for me. For us.”

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

June

The chill air of the morning greets Yoongi the moment he steps out onto his balcony, craving the iced Americano he always used to get from the hotel kitchen. The hospital coffee is absolute shit, he decides. And it wasn’t like he had money to afford fancy coffee from any of the cafés surrounding it. Seokjin had stopped loaning him money long ago, instead preferring to sulk with Namjoon and Yeri any chance he got.

A strange sight greets him across the parking lot. His bike, perched against a blooming tree, covered in a fresh blanket of mugunghwa flowers. He hadn’t even noticed the seasons changing, the sterile white walls of the hospital obscuring every ray of light that dared filter in through the windows.

An idea crosses Yoongi’s mind. He chucks on his sandals and makes his way to the carpark. Kneeling by his bike, he painstakingly picks up every single blossom, the light floral scent permeating his senses.

Not less than fifteen minutes later, he’s dumping the blooms out onto your hospital bed, dozing off in the chair next to your bed as he prepares for the long day ahead.

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

He wakes to the appalled gasps and shrieks of the nurses, rubbing his eyes and balking at the sight before him. Your nostrils. They’re moving. You’re breathing on your own.

Dr. Sungyuk Park is by your bedside, the most renowned neurosurgeon in all of South Korea. The man who knows everything seems lost for words, and behind him, he sees Sooyoung and Jungkook hugging your mother tightly, tears in their eyes.

“Coma patients can often respond to strong external stimuli, like the smell of these flowers. In this case, it’s a very positive sign that we’re on the right track,” Dr. Park explains, and Yoongi feels the burden upon his shoulders lift with each word.

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

July

“____, today at 5am, you opened your eyes. You’re doing very good, I want you to try to do a little bit more? Can you do that for me?” Dr. Park’s voice echoes across the ward.

Yoongi can’t believe it. A month ago, he brought the mugunghwa flowers to you. In that time, you’ve started slowly waking, coming back to life before him and your family’s eyes.

He rests a hand on your mother’s shoulders, fearing that the poor woman may fall over from sheer joy.

“I want you to look to your left for me,” Dr. Park continues, your orbs bloodshot but still beautiful to Yoongi’s own eyes following his finger slowly and precisely.

“Aaaand to your right please,” you follow seamlessly, the opening of your eyes mark the beginning of a new chapter in your story.

As Dr. Park steps out, your mother rushes to your bedside, gently reaching out to stroke the long bangs that now fall over your face.

“___,” Sooyoung cries. “Your hair is so pretty now. Now please get better. Get better so that we can all go home soon.”

“It’s been too long,” your mother sobs, collapsing against Jungkook. “It’s been too long without you, my dear. Please come back. Come back soon.”

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

Sweat drips down Yoongi’s back, restaurant duty causing him to hover between the dining room and the kitchen behind it, cleaning up scraps, carrying plates, and bussing tables. Manager Im has him working double duty on probation, threatening that if he doesn’t show up for his shifts, his degree will be terminated and he’ll never graduate from the management program.

Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t have minded the hours. In fact, the old Yoongi would have taken this chance at redemption in stride. The new Yoongi, however, is filled with butterflies. He longs to see you every day, to see your pretty eyes looking up at him, to ask you how your day went.

The other day, Sooyoung ran up to him and hugged him tightly, saying that after just two weeks, you’d moved from being able to open your eyes to croaking out words.

Eomma had been your first. Garbled in tone, but the meaning crystal clear. Sooyoung had been with you all week, trying to teach you the syllables.

“SOO-YUNG,” she lisped out, the air escaping between her two buck teeth. “Soon you’ll learn my name too!”

Yoongi’s thoughts are interrupted by a plate being shoved towards him.

“Excuse me, waiter boy? Are you even paying attention? I told you to take this food back.”

“Why,” Yoongi seethes. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Don’t talk to me in that tone! This food already tastes like shit and we’re paying for it, bring us something else on the house.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, putting on his customer service voice. “I’m sorry the meal wasn’t to your satisfaction. Unfortunately, I can’t refund the order completely. I’m sure we can bring you another replacement that’ll be more to your liking.”

The man sneers, disdain evident in their expression. “Listen to me you fucking nobody, your job is to make people like me happy. You don’t have a life. I control your paycheck, and therefore I control your life. So, it’ll do you good to just shut up and do what I say.”

White hot rage blinds Yoongi’s vision, and before he knows it, the plate is clattering to the ground and his fist is flying into the asshole’s face. A scuffle starts, people jumping in from left and right to prevent the two of them from hurting each other.

Yoongi feels a pair of arms drag him away from the man, Seokjin holding him steady.

“Yoongi man, stop, just stop. Leave it alone, leave it!” Seokjin implores him to calm down.

Yoongi yanks himself out of Seokjin’s grasp, untying his apron with a groan and throwing it onto the luxurious hotel carpet. He can feel Im’s seething stare from behind his eyelids, but he no longer cares about Im, or the hotel, or this job. All he wants is you.

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

As dawn approaches, Yoongi once again finds himself by your bedside. Except, this time, he’s not alone. Dr. Park is there, checking your vitals and jotting notes down on a clipboard.

“Dr. Park, does this mean she’s fully conscious now?” Yoongi gazes expectantly upon the old man, willing him to inject some much needed hope into his day.

“Thalamus… cortex… medulla oblongata… dorsal plexus of the spine. These medical terms have one spiritual connotation… the soul. And the soul never goes into a coma. Have patience, ___’s trying.”

And with that, he makes his final notes and leaves the room.

Yoongi takes this moment alone to stare into your eyes. He’s never properly looked into them, he realizes. Even when you’d always greet him daily, he always looked past you. Never at you. He takes all the time he has left.

“____. Hey ____. Listen to me, can you say Yoongi? YOON-GI. It’s simple, just try it.”

You look up at him with a blank stare. No response. Yoongi panics, his chest becoming heavy. For a moment, he entertains the terrible thought that you’ll never recognize him again, that maybe he doesn’t mean anything to you, even though you’ve come to mean everything to him.

“___, please. Please say something, do something. It’s me. Yoongi. You asked about me before. Please, please. Look to your left if you recognize me.”

When he sees your eyes shift to the left, Yoongi almost sobs with relief. He wants to collapse and hug you for making his insignificant existence feel worth something again. But he doesn’t want to scare you. Instead, he lifts himself up gently and waves goodbye, pinning something on the wall before slipping out of the ward before the first rays of morning light filter into the room.

When he doesn’t come back to your bedside that day, your family is left speechless. Gone, nearly without a trace. The only proof he’d existed at all was the small passport photo he’d clipped to the railing of your bed, the black ink of the Hangul lettering spelling out a single word. Yoongi.

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

August

The new hotel brings a strange feeling with it. Yoongi’s not used to the crisp air of the mountains, growing up among the fog and fumes of Seoul. He’s not used to having a fresh start, to being unburdened by the weight of others’ expectations. He doesn’t know how to feel, so he settles for just living for now, spending every day training staff and overseeing operations.

When the Signiel offered him a new placement, Yoongi was reluctant to leave you behind. He’d paced for days on end, chewing his fingernails raw, wondering how to break the news. Your mother beat him to that.

“Yoongi, you’ve done more for us than you could imagine. Please, it’s time for you to go on and live your life. You’re still so young. We’ll manage.”

And so, Yoongi headed towards the hills. The cozy chalet he worked at was full of nothing but friendly and forgiving people. He struck up a friendship with the assistant manager, Hoseok, and the two of them would often roam the grove of Japanese Maple trees adjacent to the hotel, wandering and rambling on for hours and hours. Hoseok reminded him of Seokjin, and of Yeri and Namjoon, people he should have held close to his heart, but instead, he let go.

He wondered how you were constantly. Amongst preparing the drinks, dusting the decor, and planning excursions. His thoughts never strayed from you. Were you still in the hospital? Were you home? Was someone taking care of you?

He’d given the nurse strict instructions before he left, telling her every little detail he noticed you liked or responded to. The nurse waved him off with a smile, saying he was a fool in love. And that’s what solidified Yoongi’s decision to run.

Love. The feelings he developed for you were dangerous. Love made people selfish, it made people succumb to their deepest desires without a second thought for others. Yoongi decided that wasn’t fair to you. You deserved to live out a full and happy life. You deserved to live unburdened by his feelings, feelings that were out of his control, but could have sent you reeling off the rails were you ever to find out. Yoongi never wanted that for you, and maybe he’d never find out the reason you asked for him the day you fell, but he’d made his peace with it. The mountain air had done him some good.

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

Peace, however, is a fickle thing. Yoongi’s startled awake in the middle of night by the blaring of his phone, your mother’s contact name lighting up the screen.

He scrambles to answer the phone, breathing heavily as he rasps out, “Hello? Ahjoomah, is everything okay? Is ___ okay?”

“Yoongi,” your mother sobs out. “The last few days have been so difficult. First ___ stopped responding, then they had another seizure. We had to take them back to the ICU, and the doctor told us they’re at a severe risk of cardiac problems. Once the seizure subsided, ____ started to become violent towards others and themself. They’ve had to put on restraints.”

“Ahjoomah, I-, let me help you, please.” Yoongi pleads, tears pricking his eyes. “What do you need from me?”

“Yoongi, I just wanted to let you know since you’ve become so close. Don’t worry about us, this is now part of our lives. You focus on your work, okay?” her voice cracks on the last syllable, and the line cuts dead.

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

September

“___, can you please lift your leg for us again. Please try one more time,” the physiotherapist asks, struggling against your lashing figure.

Yoongi looks at the scene with grief, chastising himself for leaving. After the phone call, he’d packed his bags and caught the first train to Seoul, leaving an apology note for Hoseok. Come the morning, he’d woken up in the hospital waiting room to your mother’s shocked face, catching the faint hint of disappointment emanating from her.

“Doctor?” Yoongi says. “Is it okay if I just take ___ out into the hallway for a bit?”

He nods a reluctant yes, and Yoongi wheels your chair out into the sunny yet secluded alcove at the end of the hallway.

He leans against the wall, looking at your face that’s lolled to the side, turned away from him.

“I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you again I promise. Now, don’t you want to get better?”

As Yoongi falls asleep that night, his phone buzzes with a text from Seokjin.

You’re back, and you didn’t think to tell me? The keys are in the flower pot outside the door. There’s food in the fridge. I made samgyeopsal, your favorite. Oh, and Yoongi? When you come back in, please take a shower. You probably smell like sterile piss.

He lets out a loud laugh and looks up at you, suddenly stopping in his tracks when he sees the ghost of a smile flicker across your face.

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

Bringing his foot down onto the plywood, Yoongi jumps on the makeshift ramp he’d built to commemorate your homecoming, testing it out for signs of weakness. Driving to your house each morning, checking out the ramp, lifting you in and out of bed, making sure there was fresh air circulating in your room… it had all become part of his daily routine.

His mornings, afternoons, and evenings were filled with you. He’d cook breakfast for Sooyoung and Jungkook in the kitchen. He’d strap you into the wheelchair and take you out for a spin every afternoon. In the evenings, he’d sit at the dining table with you and your mother, her professor side out in full force as she taught you how to write shaky letters once more.

Today, on his daily stroll with you, he’d stopped in the park for a moment. The weather was chilly yet enjoyable, but he still made sure you were bundled up in a coat and scarf.

Yoongi lets out a groan and plops down on a bench, right beside your chair. The falling leaves have him reminiscing on his life a year ago, and how different everything was back then. How both of you were two ships in the night, navigating the same murky waters yet never crossing paths. And now you’d become his anchor, and he was your lighthouse, guiding you to safety and security every hour of the day.

“Do you ever want to go far, far away?” Yoongi blurts out, unable to contain his thoughts. “Where would you go? You never imagined you’d go into a coma, right? None of us did.”

The last words are a whisper, Yoongi being careful not to dwell on the past. All that matters is the road to recovery.

“Can I ask you one final thing? That night, when you fell, why did you ask for me? Why did you ask for Yoongi?” The door was closing on this chapter for the both of them, but Yoongi would always wonder about the what ifs. What if he had been there that night, what if she had never gone into a coma, what if life for the both of them hadn’t morphed before their very eyes?

A strangled noise interrupts Yoongi’s thoughts once more. He glances over to you, and is shocked to find your lips moving.

“Yoon-gi,” you croak. “Yun-gi.”

Recognition fills your eyes, and Yoongi is incapable of doing nothing but hiding his head in his hands, not wanting you to see the tears of joy that fall and mix with the dew drops on the vibrant green grass.

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

October

The call came in the middle of the night, annihilating Yoongi with the weight of its impact, and for once, he’s the weak one. Sobbing helplessly into his sheets as Seokjin throws his arms around his roommate and holds him through the night.

____ had another seizure last night. Their lungs collapsed. They passed away at 2:27am.

The words echo in Yoongi’s brain as he makes his way to your front door, pushing past the crowd of mourners as numbness encapsulates his entire being.

He passes your uncle, hunched over in the recliner, weeping into his hands. He passes your mother, holding on tight to Sooyoung and Jungkook, almost as if they too will slip out of her grasp at any moment.

He gazes into your room, surprised to still see you lying among the pillows. You look so peaceful, almost as if you’re asleep. It’s the most he’s seen you look like your old self in a long time and Yoongi feels nothing but pain as tears burn in his eyes. Pain that you were awarded a brief moment of peace, of normalcy, before it was all snatched away so soon. Pain that you’d never live out the life you deserved to have, to achieve the happiness that you were meant to achieve. And he’d never be there to see it too.

He stays the night, and the night after that, and the next two nights, helping with the signing of documents and ushering the guests out, one by one, until it’s just your mother and siblings with him at the table.

“We’re moving to Daegu in two weeks,” your mother gasps. “For a fresh start.”

Yoongi knows that their paths diverge here, that in two weeks, all traces of you, and Sooyoung with her buck teeth, Jungkook with his doe eyes, and your mother’s loving smile will be erased from his life. He keeps quiet, afraid to say anything. Afraid to tell them that he doesn’t want them to go, that his soul that had finally found an anchor would be cast out into the depths once more.

“You know Yoongi,” your mother chokes out a sob. “___ loved mugunghwa flowers. Every year, they’d eagerly wait for October when all the flowers fell from the trees and collect them on a sheet with thier father and count them one by one. Mugunghwa are known for their extreme resilience, weathering the worst of conditions to produce something beautiful. They’ll always be known as the “eternal blossom”, and I couldn’t think of a better way to describe our ___.”

The magic of the mugunghwa isn’t lost on Yoongi. He watches as your mother gestures out to a potted shrub in the yard. “____ had a plant of her own. Every day, they would come home and smile at it, water it, and tend to it. They’d pick the flowers when they fell and put them as a centerpiece on our table. I don’t…. I can’t just leave it here to die.”

“I’ll take it,” Yoongi says. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. It’ll be safe with me.”

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

November

The heat of the spotlight burns the hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck. He’s going to suffocate in this damn suit. He’ll have to talk to Seokjin to see if Yeri would be able to find him a replacement.

With a flourish of the keys, he ends the song and clears his throat into the microphone.

“That’s all for tonight, folks. My name is Min Yoongi, grand pianist at the Signiel Hotel, and the piece you just heard was called October. Thank you for listening.”

A/N pt 2: I didn’t want to put this in the summary, but this piece is dedicated to a classmate of mine that passed away suddenly this semester. I’ve been wrestling with a lot of grief surrounding their passing, wondering if I could’ve done or said something to make things turn out differently. Like Dr. Park says, the soul can never be put into a coma, and I hope that wherever they are, their soul is resting easy and at peace. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

188 notes · View notes

hrina · 4 years ago

Text

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #spookrry #harry writing #ok here it is 🙃 i lowkey feel like its gonna flop but w/e

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lepidopteragirl · 2 years ago

Note

quackity will never be happy yes he will no he wont yes he absolutely will. hes definitely not going to die nothing bad will ever happen to him his brother tubbo will be the best man at his wedding and karl and sapnap will say i do and they'll live out the rest of their days together forever and always. its gonna happen in june. or july. or august. definitely august and if not then september and if not then october and if not then november and if not then <- for the impersonation thing im not very good at it but i did my best. imagine im also wearing clown makeup the entire time while reciting it that part is important

HELPPP YEAH OKAY. its goign to happen in septemebr this time tho i know this to be true okay trust. and if not then october okay this is so real fall weddings r on the rise where i live okay u gotta believe me

#fasjdl;kfdaljkfsd hiiii alyyyyy <333 #ty for the ask!!! <333

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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Summer Heat

Summary: in which the reader and her husband Andy go for a nice bike ride amidst the summer heat.

I’m making this a headcanon (My 1st at that) bc I have zero inspo atm

yeah, there is a shameful self-promotion in here if you see it.

kinda unedited, so plz pardon any mistakes

Labor Day was right around the corner, signaling the ending of summer. Soon you’d be going back to work and now was the only time you could spend with your husband.

The weather was an enjoyable 70 degrees, perfect for a bike ride. One that Andy had suggested last night over dinner.

“And tomorrow’s high will be 73 degrees, ideal weather folks!” The meteorologist then tuned off for a commercial break as you turned your attention from the tv to Andy. You could see the gears sharply turning in his head, pensive, as he mindlessly picked at the chicken.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about babe?” Reaching across the table you lightly tapped Andy’s resting hand, his head popping up from his daydream.

“Huh? Oh!” Your words replayed in his head as he hadn’t heard them in the first place. “We should go for a bike ride tomorrow. Ya know before work starts, just you and me.”

Andy looked up to you and held your hand that was once gently laying on his. A winsome smile stretched across his face.

“Sounds like a plan, bestie.” Happy with your answer, Andy resumed his dinner, you getting up for some salad.

For the bike ride, you wore some light denim shorts and a simple cantaloupe colored t-shirt, Andy wearing a red short-sleeve button down and grey shorts.

While Andy removed the bikes from the racks in the garage, you situated two water bottles and both of your wallets and cell phones.

Upon entering the garage, you stopped dead in your tracks to see Andy lifting your cruiser bicycle off of the rack, his shirt practically hermetically sealed around his arms, the buttons struggling to hold on. Once your bike was down, he went to grab his own, watching you out of the corner of his eye, making sure his movements were slow.

The two of you always goofed around, whether that be making jokes or just teasing each other.

“Muscle, baby, muscle.” Walking by, you dropped Andy’s water bottle into the holder, then tapping on his biceps as he laughed deep within his gut. Before you could walk away, his arms caught your waist, spun you around and pressed a short yet sweet kiss to your lips.

Once the two of you had your things together, Andy closed the garage while you pulled out your phone, playing a Spotify playlist that you shared with your husband, a hodgepodge of many songs.

Starting out on the street in your neighborhood, you realized there wasn't a plan for the day.

“Hey ‘Drew, where are we going exactly?”

The two of you rode side by side, making it much easier to communicate and keep track of the other.

“Into town! I was thinking, ice cream!” A devious grin grew onto his face. Andy knew you wouldn’t say no and that’s exactly what happened.

Turning out of your neighborhood and onto the sidewalk, your phone suddenly switching from “Don’t Stop Believing” to “Wannabe.”

Visibly you cringed and shook your head, about to change the song suddenly noticing Andy... attempting to dance while biking, singing along to the words.

“C’mon babe! Sing along!” You laughed at your husband’s puerility.

Ever the ham, Andy was doing this to embarrass you, to which your giggles would most definitely erupt. Your nervous habit.

The man really didn’t care if any of yours or his friends drove by, you were his wife, someone he could be a total goober around.

Finally you caved in and joined him.

“If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give.”

Eventually after a couple of nostalgic songs, you both made it into town and at the ice cream parlor.

A bike rack was cemented out front of the shop, convenient for you and Andy to lock the bikes up there.

Walking into the ice cream parlor, you both were met with a rush of cold air, or maybe it was just cold because you had been biking for quite some time now.

“Hello.. Oh! Hi! Mr. & Mrs. Barber what can I get you?” The young girl’s personality lit up once she saw your faces. Everyone in the town of Newton pretty much knew who your husband was, also making you just as known.

Returning a friendly smile to the girl, you ordered three scoops of mint chip, your’s and Andy’s favorite ever since college. (As mentioned here hehe)

Taking two spoons, you sat at the table where Andy happily eyed the stack of ice cream sitting in the bowl in front of him. Handing him the spoon, you giggled as he immediately dug into the mint chip, looking at you utterly confused.

Mouthful of ice cream your man-child answered…

“Wut?”

Some ice cream dripped down his bearded chin and you quickly reached for the napkin, dabbing his chin and dramatically sighing.

“Why have a child when I have to take care of you?”

Removing your hand from his face, Andy just shrugged his shoulders going back to mining through the ice cream scoops.

Exiting the parlor, stomachs full, your arm was wrapped in Andy’s as you strolled to the bikes. Just as Andy was about to unlatch the bikes, you stopped him.

Looking across the street you pointed to the little dress shop, the displays in the window shining from the afternoon sun.

“I need a dress for that charity dinner, that may I remind you, is the one you are dragging me to!”

Andy’s work was hosting a gala for an extension on one of the buildings.

You didn’t want to go, but your husband had to be there. Of course he didn’t want to show up either, yet he’d rather suffer with you and your jocular complaining, there to entertain him.

Compliant with your request, you both crossed the street and entered the boutique, many rows of handmade dresses lining the aisles.

Andy picked out two dresses while you already had two of your own in hand. Gladly, you took his picks and headed straight for the dressing room, a bench in front of it so you could showcase.

The first dress was a dusty rose, A-Line, asymmetrical chiffon evening dress. It’s three-quarter sleeves, stopped directly at the elbow, perfect for the upcoming fall weather.

The party was the first week of October but you wanted to get this shopping over with now.

The second dress, Andy had picked out. A burgundy floor length gown, tank sleeves and a v-neck that was stunning. Along the left leg, a slit that ran up to your knee, presenting your legs and your future choice of heels.

When showing that dress to Andy he looked up from his phone, absolutely stunned. You were always able to take away his breath, as cheesy as it sounds.

The third dress, a navy blue maxi dress. Long lace sleeves that were surprisingly comfortable.

And finally, the fourth dress. A grey cold shoulder midi dress, with some lace on the chest.

All of the dresses Andy loved, which really didn’t help. You specifically brought him along for his opinion.

So maybe you were a little indecisive on your own…

After a few minutes of debating, you received an answer.

“I love the burgundy one.”

And you agreed with him.

At the counter, Andy fought you to buy the dress to which you stubbornly replied that you’d buy it yourself.

It was a running game in your marriage. The two of you would always “fight” over who would pay.

“Just save us from the knock-down drag-out and let me pay!”

You both were really too good for each other, but in the best way possible.

The lady at the shop had politely offered to hold the dress so you could come back and get it tailored tomorrow. Very helpful since you only had bicycles as the chosen mode of transportation.

By the time you had finished dress shopping, it was already time for dinner, the ice cream dissipating and no longer able to quench your hunger.

The bicycles were still latched to the rack as you and Andy sat on the bench beside it.

“You hungry?” You nodded and Andy pulled out his phone looking for places to eat, you doing the same.

Ten minutes later, Andy had found a pizza parlor about 3 miles away, an easy bike ride for you both.

The pizza parlor chosen was your typical family-run restaurant, simple yet delicious food.

After being seated, the two of you were starving, so hungry that when the waiter came for drink orders, you also put in the pizza order.

For the twenty minutes that ensued, you and Andy shared a basket of bread, making conversation about work and such.

When the pizza showed up on the table, it was like a saint had arrived. Your empty stomachs figuratively thanked you both at the first bite of pizza.

Like ravenous animals, you both scarfed down at least two slices in a matter of minutes. Pausing, Andy looked at you and you did the same.

Setting the pizza down, the two of you just started laughing at your messy guzzling, pizza sauce on both of your faces.

The people around you were probably confused at your sudden outbursts. Then again who cares?

Once again, you wiped Andy’s face, him doing the same to you. As you wiped the sauce from his beard, Andy caught your hand and kissed your wedding ring.

“You truly are my best friend, (y/n). I don’t deserve you.”

Andy was most certainly your best friend and you his.

Eeekkk im literally screaming. I looove andy. Sorry for the crappy writing, yet thanks for sticking through it.

#andy barber #chris evans #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x you #andy barber imagine #chris evans x reader

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caterinawriting · 4 years ago

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The Cost of a Legacy (7)

Summary : He sees her and she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, everything perfect. Well except the fact that they’re growing up during the revolutionary war. Their love will hit many hurdles and what the future has in store may not be what they planned.

Pairing : John Laurens x Reader

Words : 3,697

October 1776, Switzerland

4 years later

Dearest Daughter,

I know my letters have been few and far between and I do apologize. I think now is a good time for you to know what our situation is, since the colonists have declared their independence, the business has collapsed. As you know our ships to transport our “Merchandise and goods” were all harbored in London. The British government has taken those ships back and left me without a cent. I regret to inform you that I, Thomas Gavalanch have failed you, I'm sorry princess. Our savings are also gone due to bad investments I made in the last years.

I know it's a bad situation, and because of it you have to come back. In this envelope, there is enough to get you back to New York. I know it's cruel to rip you from your world in Switzerland but unfortunately darling I can no longer pay to have you abroad. Please on your long journey back try to forgive your father. I tried to do what I thought was best.

Sincerely

Your father, Thomas Gavalanch

“What did the old man say?” She turned to John who was watching her from his seat across her room. To an outsider, the scene looked wrong, a young woman alone in her room with a man who is not her husband but to them, it was normal. This is how the last four years had been going for the two, two friends who loved- liked each other's company. And would sometimes sneak a kiss here or there, totally normal.

She turned to him and smiled, placing the letter under her pillow, “Nothing just that he misses me, and he's sorry for not writing to me as often.” (Y/n) turned back to her book in her lap, pretending that the letter didn't faze her. She stared at the page trying to concentrate on it, her mind not allowing her. When would she leave? Did her father already cancel her classes, or would she have to? Maybe Anna knew more than her, she'd have to speak to the older lady after John left. Oh gosh, John! What is she going to do, just leave him again? “Hey, are you okay?” She looked up, John now sitting next to her, her book in his hand. “Yea just, thinking of daddy. I haven't seen him in so long, he hasn't seen me in years. When I finally see him again I wonder if he'll recognize me.” John looked at her, a stare that often made her blush. “When Gavalanch sees you again he will be stunned to see what a beautiful woman you've become. He'll be sorry he missed seeing you transform from a pretty girl to a goddess of a woman.” She laughed slapping his arm, he laughed also at his comment. “I'm not lying you know? You are the most beautiful woman I've laid my eyes on. Not just that though, you are also intelligent, charming, elegant, a perfect young woman.” She blushed looking up at him.

“I actually wanted to ask you something.” He pulled out a cloth wrapped with a ribbon out of his jacket. “I don't know if you remember but for my seventeenth birthday, you sent me a letter with this ribbon. I kept it when we were apart all those months ago, I remember carrying it everywhere with me because it gave me hope we'd be together again one day. After I stopped writing to you, I still carried it everywhere with me, it comforted me like I knew you would. When you wrote to me your last letter I cried with it in my hands, and in the envelope, you sent your necklace, the one I gifted you for your fourteenth birthday. I remember you swore to me you'd never take it off.” (Y/n) sighed, about to explain herself.

“I understand why you returned it to me, I made you feel unloved and I never want to make you feel like that again. For the rest of my life, I swear to you, on my life that you will never feel that helpless again.” He untied the ribbon to reveal the necklace, “You said to find a good wife and give this to her, well (Y/n) if you'd have me I'd like to give this to you.” She gasped, tears running down her face, and asked him the only question on her mind. “John, are you asking me to marry you?”

He smiled using his other hand to wipe her tears, “It's not proper I know, since we technically have not been courting, and I haven't asked your father. And I only have this necklace to give you- I'm doing all this wrong right. This probably isn't how you pictured it, (Y/n) what I'm trying to say is that I do things that feel right and you and me are right. So what do you say?”

“Yes, yes John Laurens I will marry you.” He threw his fist in the air, celebrating his victory. He finally had her, John took the necklace and locked it around her neck. He turned to her capturing her lips with his, both so happy to be in that moment. He started kissing all around her face as she laughed, “John! John, oh my John.” He pushed him away, his lips still purcered. “What, I just want to kiss my fiance?” She laughed, still holding him away from her, “I have something serious to tell you.” He stopped his actions and sat still, “What could be more serious then what I just said?” (Y/n) took a deep breath, what to say.

“I lied.”

“About wanting to marry me?” His face paled. “No about what the letter said, from my father.”

“Oh thank god, continue love.” She took another breath, “I need to get back to New York, he needs help and he's asked for me to return. Were- were broke, the business is dead and he can't afford to have me here anymore. He says he's made a lot of bad investments and wants me back home.” She waited for his expression to change but it didn't, she thought hed look angry or disappointed. “Say something.” He sighed, “Well I guess I am going to have to ask Gavalanch for his blessing.” He laughed, pulling her into a hug. “Are you mad?’ She asked, her head in his chest.

“No, this is what you've waited for, to finally go home. Im happy for you (Y/n) you're going home to see Gavalanch, Angelica and her sisters I'm so happy for you.” He said with complete sincerity. “What about you?” He snorted, “What do you mean about me? I'll be right behind you, (Y/n) you are not getting rid of me, where you go I go.” She sighed in relief, “I thought you'd be mad.”

“No, I thought originally that we'd just stay here, start our life here. But the colonies that's home. So if you're going home, so am I.” She blushed when he said starting their lives, she was engaged to a man she loved. “I love you John.”

“I love you (Y/n).”

---

“Oh Anna.” (Y/n) hugged her maid, what a mother figure she'd become for her. She wished Anna could come with her to New York but she had her own family in Switzerland. “You must visit me every chance you get dear, don't forget about the time we spent here.” She nodded hugging the older woman again, tears welling in her eyes.

“Hey, hey no crying this a happy moment! You're going home, it took long enough.” John who had just turned up with the rest of their bags. Both of them left Switzerland. “Anna I just wanna thank you for taking care of my bride to be, you've been an excellent caretaker and friend to her.” He leaned in giving her a side hug. “Of course sir, be sure to come back when you have little ones, I'd love to see your beautiful children.” They both blushed, “Of course Anna.” (Y/n) hugged her once more, the older woman gave one last goodbye and retreated up the docks.

“Are you ready?” She turned to him, frowning. “Yeah, I'll miss it here but at least you're coming with me. I just wish you could come with me now.” He sighed pushing a strand of hair out of her face, “I know but I promise after I settle things with my father in London I will be on the next ship to the colonies.” She nodded leaving up to kiss him goodbye. Hopefully not for long, she wanted him home so they could tell her father about the engagement together. She pulled away, leaning down to grab her bags. “I should get going, it's odd you know. This is like dejavu.”

“Promise me when you get home you won't leave me again.” She looked at him through her lashes, her face serious. This time things needed to be different, she couldn't live without John. “Hey, look at that necklace around your neck. If I promised I won't leave you again I wont. I promised to marry you so the only way you'll get rid of me is in death okay? When I get home to you we will tell Gavalanch and start planning our wedding okay?” She nodded, throwing herself in his chest. “Get home safe okay John.” She planted one last kiss on his cheek and turned towards her ship. “(Y/n)!” She turned to see one of the biggest smiles from John. “Honey! If I have to swim the atlantic to get to you I will.” She laughed, blowing him a kiss which he pretended to catch. He watched as she boarded her ship, before turning to the one on the other side of the harbor. He boarded watching her ship take off, he'd take care of his business in London as soon as he could and then head home to (Y/n). Now to earn his father's approval and respect.

---

Here she was back in the greatest city in the world, well in her opinion. Just being back in Manhattan made her heart feel almost complete again, only thing that was missing was John but he'd be back in a couple of weeks with the rest of her soul. For now she could deal, she couldn't wait to see Angelica, Oh! And her sisters must be so big now! She grabbed her bags and began looking around for her father. She searched the port for a while before she retreated back to her starting point. Where was he? He said he'd be here to greet her and take her home.

She sighed looking off in the distance for him, maybe he was late. ”Excusez-moi are you Miss Gvalanch?” She turned to see a very handsome man speaking to her, sounding French she thought. “Yes I am, (Y/n) Foire Gavalanch. If you don't mind me asking, who are you? Are you one of my father's helpers?” He laughed, taking her hand and kissing it. “Marquis de Lafayette, you can call me Lafayette. I do not work for you father but I was sent to bring you home.” She nodded handing him a bag, he led them to a carriage taking her other bag and tossing it in, before assisting her in. “I will eh- return in a moment.” She watched as he went up to the driver, she assumed he was telling him the direction to her home. She took notice how tall the man was, he towered over her earlier. She was trying to compare him to John who was only an or two taller than her, Lafayette was maybe 5 inches taller than her. “Merci” He joined her inside, sitting directly across from her. “Pardon, I walked here so I had to eh- direct him.” (Y/n) nodded staring out the window taking in the scenery.

“So Foire? You know in French that means fair?” She nodded, “I took a bit of French when I was younger, I assume that's your home country?” He smirked at her, “It is my motherland, let me just say Miss Gavalanch you are foire.” He turned his head to the widow, she blushed doing the same to cover her red face.

---

“Here's your bag Sir.” John thanked the man taking his bag, here he was back in London. He looked around the port, it felt like just yesterday he had rejected Martha here, he sighed leaving the port. He had his father's address from letters from Henry, now if only he remembered how to arrive.

He approached a man, “Excuse me sir,can I bother you for directions?” The man scoffed eying John down, “Are you from the colonies?” The man asked him, John assumed he guessed by the lack of an accent. “I am? Sorry I'm just in need of direction.” The man looked angry as he towered over John, maybe he should have asked someone a little friendlier looking. A group surrounded the two of them, “Tell me boy do you think you guys can just declare independence and you're done with us? No son we own you, King George owns the colonies.” Ah, that explains it, this man was a supporter of the crown, well he assumed everyone here was. He remembered reading the Declaration of Independence by Thomas Jefferson,while in Switzerland. Written very well in his opinion.

“Well boy?” The man and his group awaited his response. “Sir I don't want any trouble, I'm just trying to see my father” The man pushed John’s chest, “You should've thought of that before you showed your face in London” The man swung first hitting John straight in the eye. John dropped his bag, he was never one to step away from a fight. He pounced at the men, delivering blow after blow, not even registering the hits the man was landing on him, he knew he was doing more damage.

In between the shouts of the crowd John heard a voice louder then the rest, “Gentleman stop this! Stop!” Another accentless person, was it who he thought? He was pulled off the man by the powerful voice and dragged out the crowd as the bystanders checked on the bloody man. John did good, he won this fight. John collected his bag and turned the man who dragged him out, “Hey thank you- Henry? Is that you?” Henry looked at the man, finally recognizing his older brother's face. “John? Brother oh my god, what are you doing here?”

“Causing trouble, what does it look like?” They laughed, as they embraced each other. “Henry you've grown so much in the last four years, I mean look at you, you are a man now.” Henry chuckled, “Me look at you! You look so old now!” He joked, noticing his eye swelling. “Oh gosh we should ice that, you just had to approach the guy who's the most loyal to the crown right?” John laughed touching his eye, “Lead the way little brother.” Henry grabbed one of his two bags and lead his brother to his home.

“So why was that guy so pissed? Isn't the war in the colonies?” Henry sighed, “It is but you know men here tend to be very loyal to their monarchy. Most of them didn't take the news very well, calling the “United States” ungrateful. Anyone who fled here or was already living here has been treated pretty badly, that's why I put on a british accent when I need to.” He said the last part with a convincing accent, John laughed. “That's pretty good.”

“Took me four years but I did it.” They laughed, finally arriving at the home John hardly remembered. He had only spent two weeks in it before he fled to Switzerland, to (Y/n). “Is James home?” Henry shook his head, “No he's got two more hours of school, but the father is home.” John nodded taking a deep breath before being led into their home. “I'll be in my room. Father, I'm home.” He called out before running up to his room. “Okay, son!” He heard his father from the end of the hall, he assumed his study, he placed his bags down and began walking down to him. He walked up to the room, stood at the open door, and knocked, “Henry what do you need I'm busy.”

“It's not Henry.” His father turned swiftly, obviously recognizing his son's voice, “John.” His father stood up, smiling before pulling his son into his arms. “Hi Dad, how have you been?” His father pulled away taking good luck with his son, “I’m good son, my god you've grown so much, well not in height but your face looks older.” John smiled confused at that compliment, “John what are you doing here?”

“Well, I was on my way back to the colonies-”

“For the war? Oh, I knew one of my sons would fight, James is too young and well you know Henry hates confrontation. I actually mean to write to you about this-”

“No dad, well I don't know. I'm an engaged dad.” Henry's smile turned into a frown, stepping away from John. “To the Gavalanch girl I assume.” John nodded, already annoyed by his father's tone. “Yes and I'm going to marry her and we're going to start our family in the colonies.”

“Have you spoken to Mr. Gavalanch about this?” John frowned, ”No not yet, (Y/n) went ahead of me to the colonies, but when I get there we will speak to him together. Dad I came to tell you and well more importantly to get mothers' rings.” His father laughed, “You proposed without a ring?” John blushed, “Yes but mother gave me her ring when she died, I left it here. I want what's mine dad.” Henry nodded digging into his drawer pulling out the gold ring, handing it to John. “Thank you.”

“How long do you plan on staying?” Henry asked, “Only a week, just to see you and my brothers. Hopefully, clear the air and gain your support.” His father turned to the window, “It's not my approval you need John, Mr. Gavalanch never liked you much.”

“It's a good thing I'm not marrying him then.” They laughed, “Henry come down!” John was confused and watched his brother enter the office. “Yes, father?”

“Please give John the address of James school, I'm sure James would love it if you picked him up.” Henry jr. nodded explaining to his older brother how to get there. “Okay, I’ll go pick him up, and then we’ll talk more dad?” His father agreed, watch him exit.

“Are you going to tell him the rumors?” Henry Jr. asked his father.

“What? That Mr. Gavalanch has a suitor from France waiting for her in the colonies?”

“Yeah that one.” Henry Jr. looked up to his father, who smirked. “No I will not and neither will you, if you want to inherit this company you will keep your mouth shut.” Henry Jr. nodded retreating to his room, he needed to warn John some way, but how could he when his future depended on it? All he knew was that his brother needed to get home to Manhattan as soon as possible..

---

“So Lafayette, why are you in the colonies?” She asked the man, trying to kill the silence between them. “The war, I plan on enlisting soon, my father and his father fought in wars so I assume it's my time to prove myself.” She nodded already interested by this new character.

“Why the colonies though? No disrespect to you Mr. Lafayette but the outcome of this war doesn't affect you so why fight in our battles.” He sighed making direct eye contact. “My country and yours are more similar than you think, we both crave freedom and rights. The United States has declared independence and is fighting a bloody battle for basic rights they should have already had. Those rights are different from the rights the people of France need but it's quite inspiring what's been done here. To be able to fight for something I believe in is all I want, and if I can't do it in France yet, then I'll do it here.” Flabbergasted what a speech, she could tell her was passionate about his cause too, the light in his eyes during his speech spoke for themselves. “I respect that so much Lafayette, I hope when your day in battle comes you make me-us proud.” He smiled agreeing.

“I'm actually here for something else too.” He stated. “What's that?” She cocked her head to the side.”I'm engaged.”

“Oh, congratulations Lafayette! I'm sure she's lovely, and very deserving of a gentleman like yourself.” She hoped she deserved a man like John, oh how she wished he came back with her, he would have loved Lafayette. “So, how do you know my father?”

“Well-”

“Sir. Lafayette, we've arrived.” He turned to (Y/n) silently telling her they'd finish their conversation later. He helped her step out of the carriage and ran around to grab her bags, wow here she was home. She looked at her childhood home in awe, she never thought she'd miss it. She walked in, past the wooden fence taking in the condition of her garden, gosh her father could have at least watered them. She heard the door open and there he was, Thomas Gavalanch in the flesh. “(Y/n), princess is that you?” She nodded running into his open arms, “Daddy!” He caught her giving her a big hug.

“Princess you've grown so much. Oh, sweetheart, you look just like your mother, maybe even more beautiful.” She cried into his shoulder, thanking him. She’d love to be angry but she hadn't seen him in so long she could be angry tomorrow.

“Oh, Monsieur Lafayette, thank you for escorting my princess home.” Lafayette shook his head, indicating no problem. “(Y/n) this is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de La Fayette, Marquis de LaFayette, your fiance.” Her father said proudly, smiling at Lafayette.

“Fiance?” Maybe she could be angry today.

---

Im tired, not edited.

#alexander hamilton #angelica schuyler #eliza schuyler #lafayatte #peggy schuyler #aaron burr #hamilton #reader insert #fanfic #john lauren’s imagine #john laurens x reader

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ericmun · 4 years ago

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201021 Shinhwa’s Eric, Yoo In Na, And Im Joo Hwan Share First Impressions Of Each Other On “The Spies Who Loved Me”

On October 21, MBC’s upcoming drama “The Spies Who Loved Me” held a press conference with director Lee Jae Jin and Shinhwa’s Eric, Yoo In Na, and Im Joo Hwan.

“The Spies Who Loved Me” is a rom-com about a woman who accidentally gets caught up in the world of espionage when both her husbands turn out to be undercover spies.

Yoo In Na stars as Kang Ah Reum, a wedding designer. Eric stars as Jeon Ji Hoon, her ex-husband and an Interpol agent who is undercover as a travel photographer. Im Joo Hwan stars as Derek Hyun, her current husband and a corporate spy who is undercover as a diplomat.

Director Lee Jae Jin said, “Spies are a concept that have been seen often in dramas and films, so the genre itself is not unusual, but our drama focuses on the spies themselves and the characters who help the spies. It’s hard to capture onscreen the relationship between an ex-husband and a current husband, but these two men are trying to save the female lead from various situations. It’s more of a rom-com than a spy drama.”

He praised the cast and said, “Moon Jung Hyuk (Eric) has a lot of ideas on set. He’s multitalented and good at everything. Yoo In Na is so good at capturing the key points of her character. Im Joo Hwan seems like someone who would be perfectionist and strict, but he has a surprisingly cute side.”

The cast also spoke about their first impressions of each other. Eric said, “I thought she had a bright and unpredictable image, but she’s very stable, kind, and lovely. She has a mature side, but also a subtle sense of humor.”

Yoo In Na said, “Now that I’ve worked with him in person, he’s very kind. Even when we’re filming with lots of other people at the same time and he only has a few lines with me, he never forgets to give Ah Reum a warm gaze and modulate his tone. As Ah Reum, I felt a sense of comfort. I realized that’s why they call him the rom-com master.”

She added, “He’s also the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. I’m always looking at his face. He isn’t at all aware that people are looking at him either. It’s just his face.” Eric replied, “I shared on social media an article that said I was the rom-com master, but I think Yoo In Na could give me a run for my money on that title.” (note: actually the article he shared was one that incorrectly called him rom-com Queen instead of King)

Of Im Joo Hwan, Yoo In Na said, “Derek Hyun is the definition of attractive. He’s cute in one moment, and sharp in another. He has many different appeals. I didn’t think that Im Joo Hwan would be able to bring out all those sides so well.”

The director also talked about the retro-themed teasers that had similar vibes to the James Bond film series. He said, “Originally, the story started with the man and woman meeting in Hong Kong. Due to the current situation, it was difficult to film in Hong Kong, so a lot of the homage scenes to James Bond were cut. We tried to bring out that vibe in the posters instead.”

“The Spies Who Loved Me” premiered on October 21 at 9:20 p.m. KST.

Source (1) + via Soompi

#The Spies Who Loved Me #Shinhwa #Eric Mun #Eric Moon #Mun Jung Hyuk #Moon Jung Hyuk #Eric #TSWLM #Presscon: TSWLM #News: Eric #신화 #에릭 #문정혁 #나를사랑한스파이

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dillydedalus · 4 years ago

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october reading

i finished my masters thesis this month (yay!) so while i still read quite a lot for escapism i was also operating on no more than 2 braincells at any time, and one of those braincells was just. continuously screaming. so any incoherence or whatever here is. because of that.

i am sovereign, nicola barker a fantastically weird & enjoyable novella about a house-viewing gone wrong that eventually blows up the novella form. i don’t want to give away the meta aspect too much, even tho it’s not entirely unpredictable, but it is so very entertaining and delightful to read. had such a fun time with this. also has a great cover. 4/5

the lifted veil, george eliot i’ve only read middlemarch by eliot, so a 75-page novella about the supernatural sure was... different. it’s fine, but nothing special imo. i enjoyed the first chapter, which sets up latimer, a soft young man with the gift of foresight/telepathy and his fascination with his brother’s fiancee, whose mind remains opaque to him (....twilight???), but the second half is pretty meh. 2/5

the notebooks of malte laurids brigge, rainer maria rilke (read the german obvi) loved the beginning of this, where morbid, too-intense, death-obsessed author-insert malte laurids brigge walks around paris, seeing everyone carry their death with them, which then makes him think of the deaths he has witnessed in his childhood. the parts about his childhood in a danish noble family were also good, but it really lost me with the overtly poetic, weird historical/religious stuff?? feel like this might have been a victim of termin master’s thesis like maybe that’s not the time for poetic, fragmentary, modernist-ish novels. 3/5

wie der soldat das grammofon repariert, saša stanišić (read in german, english translation by anthea bell) i really enjoyed stanišić‘s memoir herkunft last year so i went back to his 2006 classic, about a kid called aleksandar growing up in yugoslavia and eventually fleeing to germany as a refugee during the war. it’s very similar to herkunft in story, although the presentation is very different. honestly overall i found it a bit Too Much, too long & too stylised in its structure. but like, i can see why it’s so popular. 2.5/5

i capture the castle, dodie smith i really liked this! cassandra mortmain is a very strong narrator, the atmosphere of the dilapidated castle and the dysfunctional family are great, & i was surprised by the crushing poverty of the family in the beginning - cassandra obviously attempts to cover this up both in her own head & in her journal, but for much of the first half or so i was genuinely really worried for the kids - and this makes rose so much more sympathetic in her resolution to escape poverty. i was less convinced by the whole love quadrangle this book got going on, but on the whole this was very charming, but often very melancholy in a far deeper way than i expected. 4/5

the death of vivek oji, akwaeke emezi my second emezi this year, altho sadly neither of them have lived up to the glory of freshwater. this one is about (gender) identity, grief, trauma, love, and solidarity/community based on otherness, which are similar thematically to freshwater, but in a novel that is, i would say, both more stylistically conventional and more hopeful/uplifting (altho it is still very depressing in parts). i enjoyed this on the whole, but it just doesn’t grab you by the throat the way freshwater does, and the reveal/central mystery just feels a bit lacking. 3/5

gott wohnt im wedding, regina scheer listen, this book is probably more competent & historically interesting than literarily great BUT it’s literally (literally) set around the corner from where i live, i know pretty much every single place & business mentioned in it & the house troubles are extremely relatable, if a lot worse than what i am currently experiencing. anyway. this novel is centered around a house in berlin-wedding & the people who live in it & it's about the holocaust & the porajmos, current discrimination against sinti&roma, the history of the wedding, gentrification, familial trauma & all that. it’s very interesting historically, slow but still very readable, and like.... i just really love the wedding! it’s kinda shitty & depressing but i love it!!! 4/5 the only good indians, stephen graham jones note: the elk in this book is not what you, a european, think of as an elk. that’s a moose. anyway, this is a horror novel about four native american men who hunt for elk when, where and how they shouldn’t have and ten years later find themselves pursued by a vengeful elk spirit. i enjoyed this! the scenes where shit goes down were certainly very horrible & gruesome & very sad as well. 3.5/5

solutions & other problems, allie brosh this book really is out there & exists. anyway hyperbole & a half was like, one of my formative internet things and i still love it a lot. this book is second only to the winds of winter in eternally getting pushed back and back and back, so this even getting published was def a pleasant surprise. it’s still really funny, and the weird ugly drawings are still amazingly effective, but this one is. very sad. some really bad shit happened to brosh inbetween and it’s kinda a downer (i mean the first one had the depression saga but this one... is darker). 3.5/5

a supposedly fun thing i’ll never do again, david foster wallace .....i might have to stan dfw, just a little bit. like, i read infinite jest when i was way too young to appreciate it (still traumatised by the uh. creative use of brooms tho) & i have NO intentions of ever rereading it BUT this essay collection was so good that i may just have to read a lot of his other stuff. particular highlights are the title essay, about a cruise journey, and an essay about the illinois state fair, two things that feel particularly fascinating and offputting in equal measure in this year of plague, where even the idea of being in enclosed spaces with many people freaks you out. but i also really appreciated his essays on david lynch & television & fiction, even if i don’t agree with all of his takes. he just has such a good voice! funny, smart, precisely observed but always with a strange spin. 4/5, minus points for too much tennis, but oh well

gruppenbild mit dame, heinrich böll (group portrait with lady) marcel reich-ranicki criticised this book for being, essentially, a sloppy mess and that’s kind of accurate - it’s definitely too long & a bit draggy & böll (and the narrator/“author”) go on tangents and into details with indulgence & abandon, but it’s also... kind of brilliant? the way the “author” collects material and testimony on leni (the lady), her family, coming-of-age and the love affair with a soviet forced labourer that made her an outcast, constructing a documented history of her while leni herself remains ever elusive, the focus on structure, architecture, construction, the endless loops of self-justification (pelzer’s insistance that he is not inhuman, the real estate tycoon’s insistence that they just want what’s best for leni & that her resistance to profit-logic is abnormal)... there’s so much in here, and a lot of it doesn’t need to be there, but a lot of it does. 3.5/5

sweet fruit, sour land, rebecca ley very lyrical, quiet, feminist climate dystopia. it’s good, well-written, very evocative of hunger and loss, a dystopia but really more about grief and identity, and i read it during the last few days of my master’s thesis and thus have absolutely nothing to say about it. 3.5/5

i also & this will be a shock, dnf’d burning down the haus: punk rock, revolution & the fall of the berlin wall, a book about the east-berlin/german punk subculture. it just felt like a longform essay artificially extended into a 400-page book & the writing was pretty basic in a music bro tries to be deep and like, subversive and shit kinda way.

#the books i read #long post

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missallycat · 5 years ago

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Did you know? - Gilmore Girls FAQs, trivia and curiosites

I’ve watched this show so many times, I stopped counting years ago when I reached double digits. Is my favorite show of all times and I’ve been told almost nobody knows it as well as I do, so I decided to put together all the knowledge I’ve gained over the years of trivia tidbits, although in that I’m nowhere near an expert ;) my deal is knowing these characters and their personalities and the lines of the show lol but I figured I’d give it a try and collect all the trivia and tidbits of knowledge I’ve gained over the years in one post that I’ll continue to edit to add more stuff (there are a couple that I didn’t get a chance to add right not that will add later on)

1. Yes, that’s Kirk in guardians of the galaxy 2 http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0348231/. And yes Sam Smith (depending on the photo) does look like Kirk (Sean Gunn). Sean Gunn also played the movements of Rocket the racoon.

2. And yes that is Jess dad's girlfriend Sasha now as April's mom (yes she was/is in Twin Peaks http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000145/). Amy wanted to work with Sherilyn and rumor has it she was offered the role for Lorelai first but there’s no article yet to be found stating this directly from the Palladinos mouths.

3. And yes cousin Marilyn and Gran, Lorelai the first, Richard’s mother, are the same actress. (Happy Day’s Mrs Cunningham http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005385/?ref_=nv_sr_1).

3. Yes the girl in SH high unnamed who asks Lorelai a question and Logan’s LBD friend Juliette are the same actress. Different character. Riki Lindhome played the unnamed student of SH high and Juliette

5. Yes the first episode looks completely different (not just in the diner) because it was filmed in a different location (Ontario, Canada).

6. Yes, that’s Luke in Seinfeld. (”sponge worthy guy”) and in Will & Grace, jerk guy obsessed with huge boobs, Grace wanted to impress with the water bra. Lauren was also in Seinfield as one of Jerry’s brief girlfriends. That’s also a young Lauren in Caroline in the city.

7. That’s Chris in friends (hums when he pees guy). Yes that's both Luke and Chris on Will & Grace (Luke water bra artist narcissistic guy, Chris cabin in the woods hot guy).

8. Yes that is Logan (and with Usher for that matter lol) in that scene at 7th heaven . And yes Logan. Matt Czuchry was in the good wife, and he has his own show now “The Resident” on Fox. Currently filming a second season (as in October 1st, 2018)

9. Yes Crazy Carrie was also the Stars Hollow High teacher (by a different name) in the pilot. Same actress that plays crazy Carrie but different name of character

10. No, nobody knows if the show will ever come back (as far as it’s been told everything points to a NO). The Palladinos don’t double book, they are happy doing Mrs Maisel and they devote themselves to one show at the time. The last interview they gave on the subject was to Michael Ausiello in the podcast you can hear in the links. 1. A direct link to the article from November 2017 but is important to listen to the podcast http://tvline.com/2017/11/27/amy-sherman-palladino-podcast-interview-gilmore-girls-mrs-maisel/ 2. This is a link directly to the podcast that opens right up and they say "it would have to be the right time , we don't know but we're open. We said no before and ended up doing more that's why we're open now but it would have to be in a different format", Daniel doesn't repeat the would have to because he already said it right before in the same sentence. Basically is nothing we didn't know. However is a very interesting podcast http://hwcdn.libsyn.com/p/b/8/1/b810a8eea76b5eb5/Amy_and_Dan.mp3?c_id=17932724&expiration=1526427435&hwt=95629606ee9caf86bc57bb8d2d70cf6a. Amy and Dan Palladino show creators and writers and producers, these are the people who made this universe, these are the people who the show belongs to, this is THEIR baby and they made a damn good one.

11. No, Lauren Graham did not have cancer and write a book about it. (different person, same name).

12. No, Lauren and Scott didn't hate each other's guts they just weren't BFFs. They have both said this endlessly, they have respect for each other. Scott had a crush on Lauren when he begun the show. But from what has been told and learned about Scott, it seems he doesn’t like to get along with the rest of the cast unless is for his personal gain.

13. NO Rory is not a surrogate. They never even discussed the surrogacy Lorelai with Rory neither did Paris with Rory and Gilmore Girls is a light dramedy not a soap opera it doesn’t have sudden hidden scenes that come to change the show completely, other shows, soap operas could do that, Gilmore Girls DOES NOT. She is NOT pregnant of the Wookie. She never slept with Paul (the actor even said it wasn’t Paul’s) Milo said Jess is not the father and doesn’t romantically love Rory anymore. Only Alexis and Matt were told who the father of the baby is. The Palladinos have said clearly that the father of Rory’s baby was never meant to be a mystery. The only person that fits is Logan. The only actors they have told are Alexis and Matt and told them they could do what they wanted with the information but they have chosen not to say anything because is Amy’s story.And the Palladinos have said IT IS THE OBVIOUS CHOICE. So, Logan is the father, is no cliffhanger is open ending. Yes it would be lovely to see more of them but the Palladinos don’t have the style of wrapping up things in a big pink bow.

14. Ace is Logan’s term of endearment for Rory, it shows respect and admiration, it comes from what they used to call top reporters in the 50’s movies, he first calls her that in a IM conversation at the Yale daily news in the episode season 5 episode 6 of Norman Mailer, I’m pregnant!. Not in the poker game, not in the LDB first gathering. Is a term of respect for her abilities investigating the Life and Death Brigade.

15. The love rocket. Rory understood the meaning because it was the same model, came from an episode of the Twilight zone that was Logan’s favorite. It didn’t need confirmation from Logan because Rory had already said she understood it and she explained it to Lorelai in the same episode: “When Logan and I were first going out, we were in the pool house one night really late, and we were falling asleep on the couch. And this episode of "the twilight zone" came on -- "the long morrow." There's this astronaut who was supposed to go into space for 40 years, but right before he left, he met this beautiful woman. But for those 40 years that he was going to be in space, he was going to be in suspended animation. So when he came back to earth, he was going to be really young, but she would be really old. So he goes into space, and when he does come back, the woman is still young and beautiful because she put herself in suspended animation to wait for him, but he's really, really old because he took himself out of suspended animation so he could be old with her. He spent 40 years alone in space just waiting to see her, and he was willing to come back as an 80-year-old man, giving up almost his entire life just to spend those last few years with her. The point is, that this is Logan's favorite episode of "the twilight zone." And when we watched it together, he said, "that's true love." That's true love! This is the most romantic gift I've ever been given.”.

16. Chris wasn’t at Rory’s high school graduation. He was however at her college graduation. The reason they give is he had to work. Probably the actor who was a guest star was doing another project and couldn’t be in the episode or they just didn’t want to write him in so they could develop more the arc between Lorelai and Luke.

17. June 3rd is the date of Rory’s court date AND the date chosen by Lorelai for hers and Luke’s wedding in the original show. Is the same date different year, coincidence as Lorelai herself says the date happened to happen. There’s a theory that is ASP’s best friend Helen Pai’s birthday. Since it was in an old interview we haven’t found the confirmation of it yet becaue there’s no data (at least on the searches we’ve done so far by various people) on Helen Pai’s date of birth.

18. Lane’s story is loosely based on Helen Pai’s, executive producer of the show and Amy Sherman Palladino’s best friend. HEP ALIEN is an anagram of her name (Pai’s name). Helen Pai’s husband is real life Dave Rygalski which was the character of Dave initially based on until the actor had to leave for a better offer.

19. The real life Dave Rygalski shows up in the troubadour’s “attack” episode, he was with Daniel Palladino who was singing a beaver ate my thumb Dan is singing and Dave is playing the bass. Daniel Palladino is also the town loner, the one who protests at the church and appears briefly in the pilot episode leaving Luke’s. In total Dan Palladino shows up three times in the show

20. Keiko Agena and Emily Kuroda are Japanese American that’s why when they speak korean in very few moments in the show is very difficult to understand for people who do understand korean. Also Mrs Kim’s real name, at least Korean’s name is Jong Ya. Lane’s is Hyun Kyung, without last names, which come first in Korean Culture so Lane would be Kim Hyun Kyung, Mrs Kim however would not be Kim as last name, that’s a westerner tradition, in Korea women don’t change their last name when they marry and they are referred as Madam, Auntie, or as mother of such (name of youngest child) depending on level of familiarity. There’s never a mention of Mrs Kim’s “westerner” first name.

21. There’s also no idea of what Lane’s father does or where he is during the original show. Amy Sherman Palladino show creator said she never saw the need to create or cast a Mr Kim because it was more to focus in the mother and daughter dinamics. No is not the unnamed Asian waiter at Luke’s. Mr Kim appears in the revival for a brief moment, never before. There’s a fan theory going around that he was never there because he had to constantly be traveling to supply antiques for the store. Lane mentions “my parents”, “my mother and father” in a handful of ocassions through the show. He WAS NOT the unnamed Asian waiter that is always at the background at Luke’s. The Palladinos had never made anyone pass for Mr Kim not even as the back of a head until the revival as a way of fan service and as a joke like saying “oh look, so maybe he had been there the entire time”.

22. The translation of the korean wedding ceremony is here: https://missallycat.tumblr.com/post/173812878159/i-got-a-sidekick-out-of-you (is a tumblr post) complete with before and after.

23. What does Lane’s grandmother say when she arrives at the house before the wedding? Grandma takes her coat and she sees Lane, she calls out her name Hyun Kyung-a (the a is an added sound they use for familiarity when they call someone's name) and tells her to come down. After Lane comes down she pats her in the cheek and says Lane is "oh so pretty!". Lane replies, "welcome, grandmother, I am very happy you came." The grandmother then says, "it's good to have come / I'm glad I came." She then talks to Mrs Kim (Yong Ja-ya Jong Ya is the name the ya the added familiarity informal sound), asking why is that Budha statue here in the room?. Mrs Kim says I was going to move it, mother (formal). Grandma walks through the house she's saying, "ugh, it's so dirty and stuffy in here - open a door." Then Mrs Kim says something that sounds sort of like, "rest first, please." When the camera cuts to Lane and Rory giving each other 'the look,' Grammy Kim is saying, "hey, why didn't you come out to the airport?" Mrs Kim maybe replies, "you said yesterday... that I shouldn't..." (and the sentence doesn't finish). Grammy Kim then says, "the atmosphere/karma is bad [in here]. It needs to be changed. Let's bow 108 times."

24. The episode of Jess in California “Here comes the son” WAS the backdoor pilot episode of what was going to be made into a spin off. But it wasn’t deemed interesting enough by the network to justify the expenses of shooting in the actual locations so it didn’t happen.

25. Miss Celine and Drella the harpist are the same actress. Alex Borstein. She was going to be Sookie, she was in the unaired pilot but due to conflicts with her other show she couldn’t be so she came later as other characters. She was also the voice in Dwight’s answering machine (especially my trivial pursuit!) and the woman’s voice in the museum. Jackson was married to her but they are divorced know.

26. Paris (Liza Weill) initially auditioned for the role of Rory, she didn’t get it but they liked her so much they created Paris for her.

27. Luke was initially going to be a woman but they figured the show needed more testosterone so they casted Scott. This has been the first and only major role Scott Patterson has had in his entire “career” as an actor, the one that led him to get a few more minor roles, rumor has it, he’s very difficult to work with and not talented enought to be worth the pain. He milks Gilmore Girls every chance he gets.

28. Sookie was going to be gay but the network put a stop to that, they didn’t want any openly gay characters in the show. The Palladinos were new at this so they accepted the network’s conditions. Is probably why Michel was always put as bicurious or closeted gay man during the original show and was only fully out in the revival as an obvious thing that needed no explanation or backstory because everyone always assumed Michel was gay.

29. Kirk (Sean Gunn) was initially just an appearance, Mick in the pilot episode, then swan guy, then Kirk new manager at Doose’s new in town who didn’t know Miss Patty or anyone and then became the Kirk Gleason we know and love. Sean Gunn was initially an extra but they loved him so much they created Kirk Gleason as permanent character for him.

30. Gypsy and Berta, the maid in AYITL are both played by the extremely talented, Rose Abdoo. She was hilarious in a reading when they hadn’t casted anyone yet so she was given the part. Her language is “berta-ese” lol She speaks mostly Spanish, a couple of words could be Brazilian portuguese (maybe?), is mostly nonsensical Spanish words in the kind of Spanish that wouldn’t make a sentence with any meaning or sense and Rose Abdoo said she had changed a few vowels of the words to make it more confusing.G

31. The unkown town elder (towel guy) is played by William Morgan Sheppard. He was never in the show before or after.

32. None of the elders were the same actors or characters of Richard’s two friends in the golf outing with Rory. But one of those friends was the reverend that buries gran, and in the revival is Charlie of the gazette.

33. Rory’s resident advisor Tess the girl who hands her the keys on her first day of Yale (SE04 EP2 “The Lorelais first day at Yale”) is a different actress than Sandee from Sandee says in AYTIL (a year in the life, netflix GG revival) Tess name is Joy Darash http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1384632/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t17 Sandee is Julia Goldani Telles http://www.imdb.com/name/nm5065920/?ref_=tt_cl_t3 (if you ever saw ASP’s show bunheads that’s Sasha)

34. When they take the roadtrip to Harvard. The picture of the girl Lorelai stares at when she’s in the hallway is a stranger it has to do with the year not the girl herself. That's the year she would have graduated if she went to an Ivy league college as it was planned. It was sort of a “what if” moment.

35. Emily Gilmore didn’t go to Yale she went to Smith to study History. Women weren’t admitted in Yale at the time Richard and Emily went to college but it was usual that girls colleges and guys colleges would have parties together and visited each other when there were couples. First mention of Emily attending Smith was in season 5. How many kropogs to cape cod. Richard jokes how Emily got kicked out of the women’s softball team for elbowing another girl. In season 7 I’m a kayak hear me roar, Emily says she went to Smith and majored in History.

36. They talk about Richard’s mother in the first season in past tense but later on Trix appears. It was an error of the first season when things weren’t that defined.

37. Alexis Bledel and Milo Ventimiglia did date in real life, apparently it ended really badly. She also dated Jared Padalecki. She didn’t date Matt Czuchry at least not that is known but both are extremely private people, however they are good friends and trust each other a lot from every interview they have given and enjoy working together. She’s now happily married to her Mad Men costar Vincent Kartheiser and they have a beautiful boy together.

38. Luke’s diner has the sign of William’s hardware store and not Danes’ because as a fandom we assume William was his dad’s first name. You’ll see changes in the diner all through the show. However Luke’s parents names are never mentioned ever during the show. The pilot episode was filmed in Unionville Ontario in a building that was formerly Williams hardware. For continuity when they moved to the studio lot at Warner Brothers the name was kept. I don't remember them ever explaining the name on the series other than the hardware store belonged to Lukes father

39. Lorelai’s doll house is NOT the same dollhouse on friends but it is the dollhouse they show on sale at Kim’s antiques, in one episode where Lane is going to talk to her mom about the band and Mrs Kim cracks the joke “but is past their bedtime”.

40. Yes Gil from Hep Alien is Sebastian Bach from Skid Row.

41. Yes the “hug-a-world” that was in the garage in season 4 is on their couch in season 1! (Same as the scary clown pillow is in a number of seasons lying around lol)

42. Alexis Bledel is actually a Latina. She was born and raised in the US but grew in a Spanish speaking, latino, household, her father and paternal grandfather are Argentinian, her mother, like herself was born in the US, but Alexis’ mother grew up in Mexico. Alexis didn’t learn English until she started school. The episode where Rory speaks Spanish with Esperanza (Season 6 episode 2: “Fight face”) she anglicized her native Spanish BECAUSE Rory didn’t know much Spanish. There’s an old interview with Ellen Degeneres on set while filming season 6 or 7 that she’s asked to translate for Lauren, she doesn’t translate everything due to nervousness. (It also happens when you live your adult life in a country that doesn’t speak your first language, growing up bilingual, you tend to adopt the accent of the language you use most and tend to confuse some words when you don’t use your native language often).

43. People praised the chemistry and physical closeness between Lauren Graham and Alexis Bledel, but there is actually a very logical reason for this: Alexis was a model and was just starting out acting and had a tougher time making her marks, so as veteran, Lauren often physically moved Alexis to make sure she was in the right place. Lauren told “The Today Show” in 2015: "The camerawork on that show is very specific and we really had to hit certain marks, which especially when you start out, is just a foreign concept...I remember a lot of times just kind of grabbing her, just kind of leading her arm. So, in the beginning, people are like, 'You have such great chemistry.' And I'm like, 'I'm mauling her. That's why.'"

(check this entry from time to time because I’ll keep writing fun facts)

#Gilmore Girls #trivia #gilmore girls trivia #Lorelai Gilmore #rory gilmore #lauren graham #alexis bledel #matt czuchry #Logan Huntzberger

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shsldepressedlesbian · 5 years ago

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Jesus Christ please tell me mORE about these characters I only know three things about them but I’m invested

hahhshahha im glad people wanna hear about them,, ok here we go, character info dump:

like i mentioned in a previous ask, the characters were created using sets of nine images, and thus they went through a certain degree of changes, though not all of them

if anyone wants to see me make the fic,, then i just might do it-

heres funfacts about the characters, cause as i noted before, i lovv them all very much:

Yuuki Mori, Ultimate Wedding Planner

Likes: bubblegum, streamers

Dislikes: wooly sweaters, dodgeball

D.O.B: October 12

Height: 5'1"

- the protag girl,,

- for the most part, a very friendly and hyperactive gurl

- always carries around bubblegum with her

- her interesting in wedding planning stems from her grandmothers encouragement, as well as having many relatives, and thus shes attended a lot of weddings in her life

- neat freak

- surprisingly athletic

- social!! but shes a little judgemental of people

- would never intentionally insult anyone outloud

- incredibly persistent

- also has a very sharp memory and eye due to her job as a wedding planner, which helps with investigating

- avoids conflict if she can

- not hard to convince

- trans and bi, like all dangan protags are suppose to be

- smells like bubblegum flavored cake and lavender

Emica Abiko, Ultimate Student Council

Likes: blank paper, lavender

Dislikes: deadlines in general, decaf

D.O.B: May 25

Height: 5'5"

- the mom friend

- tries to be as friendly as possible but shes this close to snapping

- is surviving on pure will and caffeine

- orderly

- has a strong sense of responsibility and leadership

- her dad is actually the principal of the school, which is the whole reason why shes student president in the first place. because of this, she doesnt really believe she deserves a spot in the school

- ambivert

- 'takahashi PLEASE put that down-'

- smells like vanilla coffee and stress

Arata Abe, Ultimate Historian

Likes: globes, sunshine

Dislikes: tiny dogs, flat earthers

D.O.B: June 14

Height: 5'7"

- a classy man

- very curious

- and nosey

- writes everything down in his trusty notebook, which helps with investigations

- doesnt just study japanese history. hes interested in the past of almost all countries

- very neutral on almost everything, doesnt have many opinions of his own

- but one thing he does have a strong opinion on is hating hetalia (who doesnt?)

- dresses like a victorian

- acts like he hasnt had a social interaction with a human being in years

- smells like old books and cats

Mitsuo Nakashima, Ultimate ???

Likes: dark rooms, wifi

Dislikes: confusing websites, superstitions

D.O.B: December 25

Height: 5’6”

- has not slept in a week but its fine

- very insistent on keeping secrets

- not even his classmates know who he or his talent is

- chooses not to tell anyone his talent (for some reason)

- does not believe in luck. at all

- for a tired guy who has no sense of left or right, hes pretty cocky

- probably has a tragic backstory

- spends most time locked in a dark room

- will fall asleep in a random hallway

- it might be the fatigue and coffee talking, but hes surprisingly intelligent

- smells like dirty laundry and ramen

Asuka Ando, Ultimate Student Council Treasurer

Likes: jewelry, mythology

Dislikes: delinquents, air horns

D.O.B: January 11

Height: 5’8”

- that one blonde chick in every slasher

- very cocky because of her position

- convincing and manipulative

- also good with management as you would expect from a treasurer

- was a math whiz in middle school

- despite acting in control, shes very reliant on emica telling her what to do

- hides behind bigger people

- collector of jewelry

- smells like chokingly sweet perfume and bleach

Manabu Ueda, Ultimate Astrogeologist

Likes: tea, stargazing

Dislikes: broken glass, slime

D.O.B: October 25

Height: 5’8”

- a polite boi, admirable

- more or less on the quiet side, tho he can and does step in to say stuff, and he does enjoy conversation

- his talent is something he grew from his own ambitions, but rather, it was more of a family line thing. he still does enjoy astrogeology though, which is why he chose to continue it even when he got a chance to study something different

- as you would expect from the ultimate astrogeologist, he contains many facts about space hes willing to share

- compliments others pretty often if we’re being real here, overall more of an optimistic realist

- however, even then, hes more of a ‘act first ask questions later’ type of guy as well

- a bit on the vain side?? very proud of his looks

- is very attracted to women who can beat him up-

- smells like expensive perfume and moondust

Seiichi Miyamoto, Ultimate Slam Poet

Likes: ink, protests

Dislikes: alcohol, peer pressure

D.O.B: August 26

Height: 5’5”

- best boy

- despite having the public image of a very loud and passionate young man, in person hes a lot more quiet and polite

- very good with voice shifting

- pulls at his tie when hes nervous; because of this, its always loose around his neck

- was the rep of his class

- slam poetry is a form of venting for him

- has strong opinions

- cares more about others health then his own

- not shy, just very nervous

- smells like nature and scented markers

Tamotsu Fujimoto, Ultimate Tomb Guide

Likes: sand, the heat

Dislikes: slippery ice, pens

D.O.B: November 19

Height: 6’4”

- the dad friend

- has known masa since they were kids(they met in a hospital), and thus they are very close friends

- mature but also laid back

- gives good hugs

- muscular

- wasnt actually born in japan, but grew up in it for the most part

- his parents were archaeologists, and they traveled alot. he was always particularly interested in the history of egypt, rather than becoming an archaeologist like his parents originally wanted him to be

- strong sense of justice

- usually believes in redemption

- acts as a form of transportation for the others when their tired, especially masa and satoru

- smells like tropical drinks and stuffy places

Kamiko Yamasaki, Ultimate Tapestry Seamstress

Likes: luck charms, quiet

Dislikes: being the main subject of attention, jumpscares

D.O.B: March 13

Height: 5’3”

- babey

- grew up in a superstitious household

- believes that she has terrible luck and uses everything bad that has ever happened to her as proof

- because of her supposed bad luck, she spent a lot of time locked in her house, sewing tapestries as a way of keeping busy, before being invited to sailing integrity

- has a good eye and knowledge of fabrics

- has a whole collection of sunhats. sadly, she only brought two different ones for the cruise trip(not like she was expecting more than a weeks stay hhshshs)

- has a large family

- has many bandaids on her fingers due to accidentally pricking herself on sewing needles multiple times

- interested in folklore

- very apologetic

- has a low sense of self esteem

- because of her ‘bad luck’, she blames a lot of bad stuff on herself, even if it doesnt even involve her

- sensitive

- grows quickly attached to others

- likes to stay close to anything that she believes would bring her ‘good luck’

- smells like sunflowers and dirt

Kenta Inoue, Ultimate Parkourer

Likes: sneakers, tetris

Dislikes: being told what to do, stuck up people

D.O.B: February 17

Height: 6’3”

- angrey boy

- incredibly short tempered

- no one remembers seeing him ever smile

- healthy parent relationships? whats that??

- will stomp curb you

- easy to get flustered up, though he wouldnt admit it

- will not stop until hes defied gravity

- defining feature is his allstar sneakers

- smells like varying cologne and sexual frustration

Chieko Endo, Ultimate Chemist

Likes: friendly gambling, working out

Dislikes: romance stories, people coming up from behind her

D.O.B: January 2

Height: 6’0”

- the intelligent one

- serious and calm, keeps a clear head

- a true neutral

- has mastered the art of poker faces

- apathetic

- has a strong dislike of romantic things

- sharp minded

- surprisingly agile and athletic

- can recite the periodic table from the top of her head

- is always looking above the tip of her glasses

- no one: chieko: *anime glasses gleam*

- chieko, to seiichi: ‘ah, so your the twink’

- so edge, such cool

- smells like roses and melted wax

Masa Shibata, Ultimate Dream Interpreter

Likes: fiction, horoscopes

Dislikes: spiky rocks, flashlights

D.O.B: December 31

Height: 5’11”

- mythic bab

- tries to act all mysterious and wise but sometimes accidently slips and reveals she really is just a normal teenager who spends way too much time on tumblr

- has known tamotsu since they were kids(they met in a hospital), and thus they are very close friends

- actually spent a lot of time in the hospital as a kid

- very blunt

- not good with human emotions at ALL

- not good at picturing stuff, will draw and whatever ends up on the page will -genuinely either impress or surprise her

- a little lazy if you will

- very interested in horoscopes

- holds grudges

- tamotsu translates her weird way of speaking a lot

- knows like fifty ways to get to sleep immediately

- instead of saying ‘good morning’, she asks ‘how was your dreams?’ to people

- keeps a dream journal, not for herself, but for everyone else

- smells like clean warm laundry and sheep

Fumiko Ogawa, Ultimate Lucky Student (or Blackjack Player)

Likes: the color red, praise

Dislikes: trivia facts, strip poker

D.O.B: July 3

Height: 5’9”

- has more of a gambler aura rather then a lucky student aura

- very proud of herself

- soaks up praise and compliments like a sponge

- a family girl, especially looks up to her older brother

- an attention seeker

- knows how to get what she wants

- doesnt really like the title of ultimate lucky student which is why she goes by ultimate blackjack player

- is actually not even a fan of talent schools??

- dresses like a 1940s stage dancer

- smells like raspberries and cash

Kohaku Ono, Ultimate Murder Mystery Novelist

Likes: horror movies, plot twists

Dislikes: overdone tropes, being looked up to

D.O.B: May 9

Height: 6'3"

- a polite bab

- very honest

- handy in investigating due to their knowledge and imagination

- has very low self esteem

- considers themself a borderline 'villan', despite doing their hardest to be nice to everyone

- warns everyone about themself, but characters who were in the same class as them have just gotten use to it

- very uncomfortable with praise and being called a 'role model'

- helps others to their best ability

- compares many situations to varying books, including their own

- unintentionally ominous

- writes using a typewriter rather then a computer or laptop

- smells like peppermint and typewriter ink

Aika Kouki, Ultimate Vintage Collector

Likes: buttons, dial up phones

Dislikes: being ignored, boredom

D.O.B: August 10

Height: 5'5"

- would and will add 'chan' to the end of everyones names

- grew up in a family that was very about keeping things 'old fashioned'

- resents the term 'boomer'

- talks like a 2000s teen

- very energetic and cheerful

- uses old fashioned slang often

- 'thats wack, brosiki'

- expresses interest in being other people

- very praising of others, often talking how 'jealous' she is of them

- overall very positive

- she and yuuki have known each other since grade school, even though they arent paticularly super close friends

- watched a lot of sailor moon as a kid

- modern tech impresses her more then it should

- smells like 1950 perfume and the outdoors

Satoru Takahashi, Ultimate Marine Biologist

Likes: sea otters, the water

Dislikes: his height, fish nets

D.O.B: December 5

Height: 4'8"

- its the tiny boi

- would unironically threaten your kneecaps

- is very sad about not seeing any marine animals during their cruise

- is insecure about his height but wont admit it

- often asks taller, stronger people to carry him on their shoulders(kenta refuses, but tamotsu is fine with it)

- very bold

- says whatever comes to his mind

- it started out as a joke, but he probably has a tentacle kink-

- adventurous young lad

- usually very friendly, but not hesitant to call out what he feels is bullshit

- calls kenta, mitsuo, and chieko 'edgelords'

- spaces out a lot

- smells like salt water and wet fur

Usagi Shimizu, Ultimate Runaway/Explorer

Likes: the forest, music

Dislikes: closed in spaces, car lights

D.O.B: September 1

Height: 5'4"

- very quiet

- has had many foster parents

- technically, shes listed as the ultimate explorer in the academy, but everyone refers to her talent as 'ultimate runaway' due to her reputation

- shy, but can be loud if she wants to

- surprisingly smart when asked questions

- usually calm, but it isnt hard to get her riled up

- everyone expects her to be some sort of delinquent due to her history of running away from her many homes, but really shes basically the opposite

- usually goes with whatever everyone agrees to

- takes many pictures of nature, and posts them to social media

- blushy

- smells like bushes and granola bars

#cruise to despair

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thetravelerwrites · 6 years ago

Text

Commitments: Part 2 (Gargoyles Fanfic)

Rating: Teen Fandom: Disney’s Gargoyles Relationships: Goliath x Elisa Maza Additional Tags: Marriage, Wedding Day Trigger Warnings: Light Language, Sex Mention Words: 3443

It's the day of the ceremony. Elisa has a heart to heart with her mother and father. Please leave feedback!

October 24th, 1999: Goliath and Elisa had chosen this date for the ceremony because it was five years to the night of their first meeting, when he had plucked her from the sky after, admittedly, scaring her off a parapet.

Unfortunately, their union could only be symbolic and not legal. It would also have to be a secret from everyone except for their family and closest friends, but they figured, what else is new? Elisa had long been a target of hate groups for merely having alleged, unconfirmed connections to the Gargoyles, and coming out publicly as one of their staunchest supporters hadn’t done her any favors, but openly marrying a Gargoyle would not only have been extremely controversial, it could have cost her her job, home, safety, and possibly even her freedom.

After talking with Amy, Goliath’s public defender who now acted as the Gargoyles’ legal representation in all civil matters, he had learned that there was a law prohibiting humans from marrying any being that was not also human, regardless of level of sentience or intelligence. Which meant that Elisa’s relationship with Goliath was technically bestiality and as such, illegal. Attempting to obtain a marriage license could have landed them both in jail.

There had been no such law as of 1997, Amy had told him, and she surmised the law had been pushed through in secret around the same time the Gargoyle Civil Rights Movement was being fought in court.

Eighteen months after Gargoyles had become public knowledge, the Gargoyles of the Manhattan Clan and many of their allies had testified in front of a grand jury for the Gargoyles’ very right to exist without persecution. After a lengthy battle and many sacrifices and concessions, they had won.

Following the trial, a bill had been passed granting the Manhattan Clan American citizenship, basic civil rights, and put them on the endangered species list, which automatically protected them against unlawful imprisonment, exploitation, experimentation, assault, and murder.

Before the GCRM, ending a Gargoyle’s life had no legal ramifications whatsoever, but after the bill was passed, the act of killing a Gargoyle while they were awake had been classified as murder. Any person responsible for the killing of a Gargoyle could face up to 25 years in prison.

Destroying a stone Gargoyle was seen as a “common law murder” and carried with it a much lesser sentence, but the prosecution would have to prove that the stone statue the defendant destroyed was a living gargoyle. Otherwise it was simply malicious property damage, though it could possibly be tried as a hate crime.

The bill also protected any human that associated with the Gargoyles from retaliation or discrimination, which finally allowed Elisa the chance to proudly support her friends for the entire world to see. It felt great to stand with them as an advocate after hiding them and keeping her friendship with them a secret for so long.

Despite this historic victory for their kind, there was still much prejudice and hatred toward Gargoyles and the people who stood up for them. Their bold willingness to take on public opinion had afforded them some liberties, but in the eyes of the world, Gargoyles were still practically animals, and the bill had done nothing to change that.

There were new laws in place to protect Gargoyles against threats and violence, but seemingly nothing to defend them from discrimination. In fact, several xenophobic laws that had not previously existed prior to the GCRM seemed to have quietly popped up out of nowhere.

There was a law that protected the right of any public, private, or federally owned business to refuse service to Gargoyles, including hospitals and clinics. Gargoyles also could not secure a job, license, or any property that exceeded $2000 unless they could procure a valid social security number, while at the same time there was a law prohibiting Gargoyles from legally obtaining a social security number. Gargoyles were also barred from attending any state funded schools, including trade programs, and could not earn any certificate, diploma, or degree. Amy was working to change the laws, but progress was slow and she was meeting opposition from all sides.

It baffled Goliath and infuriated Elisa, who was now forced to uphold these ridiculous laws. She hated it. It was unconstitutional and disgusting and she loathed every second that she had to be a part of it. It very nearly caused her to quit the justice system altogether, because this wasn’t justice, it wasn’t freedom, it wasn’t the same system that had convinced her to join the police force in the first place.

This was a perversion of civil liberties, bigots hiding behind a mask of equality, using the publicity of the Movement as a distraction to quietly impose their will on her friends without anyone realizing it. It made her sick to her stomach, mostly because there was nothing she could do to fix it.

The only thing stopping her from planting her boot firmly inside someone’s rear end the next time she heard the term “flying rats” was Goliath’s steady patience and temperance. He constantly reminded her that no one couldn’t stop them from affirming their love for each other, regardless of these new laws. He didn’t care who found out or how many jail cells he’d have to sleep in, he was committed to becoming her mate and nothing would stand in his way.

He loved her; nothing else mattered. He told her this every night, and every night she needed to hear it just to maintain her daily composure. But she was still angry.

The day of the ceremony arrived cool and comfortable. Elisa awoke at noon in her parent’s apartment, where Beth, Maggie, and Derek had also been staying, not just for moral support but protection in case word got out.

Since there were six hours until sundown, the process of getting ready was leisurely and relaxed. Elisa had decided to forgo several things considered normal for a wedding. There would be no bridesmaids or groomsmen, no flower girl or ring bearer, no best man or maid of honor. How would they choose one, anyway?

The ceremony itself would be short and simple with no frills or embellishments, other than Goliath and Elisa reciting vows that they had written for each other.

One thing would be done according to tradition, her father insisted, was walking her down the aisle himself. The ceremony would be taking place in the main hall of Castle Wyvern. Goliath would be standing at the fireplace with Diane with all their friends and loved ones gathered around them, and Peter would hand her off to Goliath. But, she said pointedly, he would not be giving her away as if she were property. Peter had held up his hands in acquiescence, laughing.

She wouldn’t be wearing a wedding dress; she instead wore a simple gown made of sapphire blue satin, to match the ring, with a low back and a short train. Attached to the straps was a small glass lily suspended on a silver chain that would dangle halfway down her spine. It was sleek and elegant with just a hint of slink. Beth had bought it for her in New Orleans during her post-semester vacation a few months ago, before Goliath had even asked Elisa to wed him. She and Beth often didn’t see eye to eye on fashion, but she had to admit this dress seemed like it was made for her.

She wouldn’t wear a veil or carry a bouquet, either. She did put her hair up, though, held back with a kanzashi in the shape of a blooming peony that Katana had given her as a wedding gift.

An hour before sundown, Elisa and her party loaded into two taxis and headed toward the Eyrie building. Maggie and Derek took to the rooftops and likely would arrive at the castle before them.

As they approached the building, Elisa had to admit she was feeling nervous. She tapped her foot anxiously and wrung her shaking hands.

“Wedding jitters?” Diane asked, sitting beside her.

“Yeah, I guess,” Elisa replied shakily.

Diane laid a calm, warm hand on her daughter’s cold, clasped ones. “Second thoughts?”

“No,” Elisa said firmly. “None whatsoever. I love Goliath. Marriage is unnatural for Gargoyles; he’s only doing this for me. And I want this, Mom. I really want this.” She shook her head and exhaled a trembling breath. “I don’t even know why I’m so nervous.”

Diane laughed gently. “It’s completely natural to be a little nervous, sweetheart. I needed several bellinis and a shot of tequila to marry your father, and even then, I thought I might ruin his shiny new shoes. Of course, that could have been the tequila.”

Elisa breathed a soft laugh. She looked at her mother shrewdly. “You’re really okay with this, aren’t you? Me and Goliath, I mean?”

“Of course I am, baby,” Diane said. “I want you to be happy. If Goliath makes you happy, then that’s what I want for you.”

“Dad wasn’t so sure.”

“Yes, but that’s just how fathers are, Elisa,” Diane tutted. “Remember your first boyfriend, Lucas?”

At that, Elisa laughed out loud. “Junior prom, first date, Dad sitting at the dinner table, cleaning his guns. How could I forget?”

“He did that with every boy you brought home,” Diane chuckled. “He also really liked giving those boys a rundown of all his arrests and showing them awful case files, just to shake them up.”

“Ricky ran from the house before I had time to get dressed for our date, remember? He was too scared to even look at me in class for weeks.” Elisa laughed.

Diane nodded, and they found themselves in a fit of giggles, holding each other. After a moment, they tittered to a stop.

“Goliath isn’t intimidated by Dad’s gun collection,” Elisa said.

“No, that he is not,” Diane agreed. “To be honest, honey, those boys you dated before were no match for you. You need a man who is just as strong as you are, even if he isn’t exactly a man. You’re good together. You’re a lifeline for each other. That’s something you don’t just give up on because it’s hard; the trials are what make it all worthwhile. And the two of you have had your fair share of trials. You have earned each other. Nothing else is important.”

Elisa smiled gratefully at her mother and hugged her around the shoulders.

“Thank you, Mama,” She said.

“Always, baby girl,” Her mother replied, returning her hug.

The taxis pulled into the private carport reserved for the Xanatos family. Xanatos had given Elisa and her family a code to use so they could avoid getting out in the company parking complex or in the street outside.

Peter and Beth had exited first, and Peter opened Elisa’s door and offered Elisa his hand, who smiled up at him and accepted it. She walked arm-in-arm with her father to the elevator, with Beth and her mother trailing behind, holding hands.

The sun was going down as the elevator opened to the top floor. The Maza family walked out into the open courtyard to reach the private room just off the main hall, and could see the Gargoyles on their perches in the red-gold light of sunset.

Unlike the other Gargoyles, who faced outward in their typical vigilant poses, Goliath stood inward, straight as a rail, head bowed, with his wings folded around him. According to him, this was traditional gesture for when a Gargoyle declared their intentions for another. It was also traditional to stand in the perch of one’s intended mate, but Elisa didn’t perch, so that aspect was overlooked.

Waiting for them in the private room was Derek and Maggie, who had arrived first as Elisa predicted. Owen had rather thoughtfully put out a small refreshments table for the bridal party. Xanatos had offered to throw them a big wedding with a reception and everything, which Elisa had refused in no uncertain terms. This smaller touch was much more fitting.

Also in the room were the stone figures of Angela and Broadway, crouched defensively around their egg. They were understandably protective of it and had taken to sleeping in this room during the day, as it was far more secure than standing out in the open over a one hundred and thirty story drop. Since the castle no longer had a rookery, and even if it did, keeping a single egg in there would be superfluous, the anxious parents-to-be took to guarding their precious cargo closely. When they were awake, the bundle never left Angela’s arms. Even during missions, Broadway and Angela took turns staying with the egg, keeping it within view at all times.

Elisa understood. It took a very long time for Gargoyle children to be born: six months gestation in the body of the female and then a full ten years as an egg. Elisa thought nine months was a long time to wait for a baby. She couldn’t even imagine the kind of apprehension and patience it took to wait for over a decade to meet your own child.

But, she reflected, if that’s what it took even for humans, she would do it. She would do anything to have a child. Before she met Goliath, it wasn’t something she had given much thought. Back then, she was much more focused on her career and wasn’t sure if she even wanted kids. If and when she decided she did, she figured she had plenty of time. Now that she knew it wasn’t a possibility with Goliath, it was all she could think about.

Elisa had talked to Beth and Maggie about it the night before. Maggie lamented that she wasn’t sure her augmented body was capable of bearing children or what effects her’s and Derek’s altered DNA would have on them. Beth and her girlfriend Serena, both only 21, had no interest in children. They both sympathized with her, but what could be done?

In Goliath, Elisa had found her true equal and soul mate. She was overjoyed to be with him and wouldn’t change a thing about their relationship, other than more social acceptance. Her mother was right, they had earned each other and they deserved to be happy. A child wouldn’t necessarily make it that much better, but still. Still. It would always be in the back of her mind, the one thing just out of reach.

Just as they settled in, cracks began to form in Angela’s and Broadway’s stone exterior. Instead of the normal explosive way they shed their skin, they carefully shifted this way and that to slither out of their cocoon, diligent even in sleep about protecting their offspring.

“Elisa!” Angela exclaimed upon seeing her, rising to her feet. “You look lovely!”

“Thanks, Angela,” Elisa said, embracing her.

“Are you nervous?” Angela asked as Broadway came up behind her, holding the egg.

“A bit,” Elisa said.

“I’ve never seen a human wedding before,” Broadway said. “Other than on T.V.”

“Neither have I,” Angela said.

“Well, this won’t be your average wedding, Big Guy,” Elisa said. “I dumped a bunch of the traditional stuff I didn’t think was necessary. This’ll be pretty bare bones compared to most other ceremonies.”

The door opened. Lexington, Brooklyn, and Katana entered the room with Matsuko, who had her tail wrapped around her father’s hand.

It was an odd contrast to see Brooklyn next to Lexington now, who had at one point been his and Broadway’s equal in age. Brooklyn no longer crouched when at rest anymore; that was apparently a trait among young Gargoyles or ones on the smallish side, like Lexington. Brooklyn had aged over forty years in the time stream, though it was more like twenty in equivalent human years, and his countenance reflected it. He stood much taller than before and straight as a post next to his mate, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Elisa felt a little like Lexington had gotten the short end of the stick. Compared to Broadway and Brooklyn, who were both mated and fathering children, Lexington seemed a little left out. He was always his usual cheerful self, though, and never seemed bitter about how things were.

“This is so exciting!” He said brightly. “Aren’t you excited?”

“That’s one word for it,” Elisa said wryly.

Katana grinned to see her gift in Elisa’s hair. “It suits you,” she said. Brooklyn smiled fondly at her.

“I love it, thank you again,” Elisa said.

“Goliath is in the Main Hall,” Brooklyn said, his voice deeper than it used to be. “He and the others are setting up and getting ready.”

“We’d better join them,” Derek said, nodding to the others in the room. All except Elisa and her father moved toward the door.

“Hey, guys, before you go,” Elisa said, addressing her Gargoyle companions and her family. “I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am to have you all in my life. You guys have been the best friends I’ve ever had, and I don’t know how to thank you for it. I know that this is all a little alien to you, and I’m honored that you’re all a part of it. I don’t know who I would be without you and I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate each of you. I love you guys.”

“Aw, Elisa,” Lexington said shyly. “We love you, too.”

“I look forward to becoming part of your family,” Angela said. “My father loves you. His joy is my joy.”

“We’d better get going,” Diane said. “I need to get into position and prepare Goliath for the ceremony.”

Elisa nodded. They hadn’t done a rehearsal. This was all being done with no prep-work, largely because the ceremony itself was going to be short and to the point, so they hadn’t felt the need for it. Elisa was rethinking this now, perhaps a bit too late.

The others left to get into their places, leaving her alone with Peter. He held out his hands for hers, and she took them, facing her father and willing herself not to cry.

Peter shook his head, smiling gently at her. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Elisa asked.

“My baby girl. My firstborn. Getting married.”

Elisa laughed. “Technically. Not legally.” She looked up at him, wincing. “Does that bother you?”

Peter shrugged. “Laws change. In ten years time, who knows? Maybe you’ll renew your vows with a real license in hand.”

“One can dream,” Elisa said wistfully. She looked up into her father’s eyes. “I’m glad you and Mom are being so cool about all of this. I can’t imagine what you thought when Goliath first spoke to you about it.”

“Well, to be honest, we’d have supported it regardless. Nothing Goliath could have said would have actually mattered,” Peter replied.

Elisa frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I trust my children,” Peter said. “If he had asked you and you said yes, there must have been a damn good reason for it. Even if I don’t fully understand it, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad decision. You’ve always been a good kid, Elisa. You were the one out of all your siblings I never had to worry about. You always had a good head on your shoulders. Hell, you never even had a rebellious phase, and you could have been a real monster if you wanted to be.”

Elisa flinched at the use of the word monster.

“Sorry,” Peter said. “Not what I meant. I should have said disaster.”

She playfully nudged him, laughing a little.

“You’re smart, Elisa,” Peter continued. “Smarter than your old man ever was. If you say this is what’s right for you, how am I supposed to argue?” He pulled her into a hug. “I’m here for you, kid, no matter what.”

She squeezed him tight. “I don’t deserve you guys.”

“Yes, you do,” Peter said. “You deserve the world. What kind of dad would I be if I didn’t give my little girl the world?”

A knock came at the door and Brooklyn peeked his head in. Peter and Elisa parted.

“Everyone’s ready,” He said. Elisa nodded with a shaky smile of thanks, and he withdrew.

“This is it,” Peter said. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Elisa closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, holding it for a five count. She exhaled slowly, opened her eyes, and said, “Lets go.”

He extended his elbow and she hooked her arm through it. Straightening her spine, she let her father lead her out of the room.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Fanfiction #Fanfic #Gargoyles #Disney's Gargoyles #Goliath #Elisa Maza #Brooklyn #Broadway #Katana #Angela #Lexington #Peter Maza #Beth Maza #Talon #Derek Maza #David Xanatos #Owen Burnet #exophilia

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