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wheeboo · 2 years ago

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wilted | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which you've contracted hanahaki despite being in a relationship, and it makes you question everything. PAIRING. kim mingyu x gn!reader (ft. jeonghan) GENRE. angst, established relationship, hanahaki au WARNINGS. descriptions of illness (hanahaki disease), mentions of coughing and blood, mention of death, cursing, terms of endearment, miscommunication or honestly lack of communication, depictions of an argument, gyu is a little bit of an ass in this and i'm very sorry about that but it's for the plot, description of hospitals and surgery, unrequited love WORD COUNT. 6.1k

hanahaki disease ( 花吐き病 ) 𑁋 a disease in which the infected coughs up flowers due to unrequited love.

notes: this entire story was inspired from this post which i hoped i was able to stick to :)

A shift has never been this relaxing before.

Normally, you're used to the hectic hustle of weary students aiming to acquire their morning coffees before running to class and impatient corporate workers racing against the clock in the bustling jungle of the city. But today, the scene was drastically different.

The clear blue skies outside were barren of any existence of clouds, the sun rays pouring in through the café windows like warm honey and casting ornate patterns of light and shadow on the rustic wooden tables that filled the vast space. In the midst of this fresh and sunny afternoon, you find yourself standing idly behind the counter, fingers rhythmically tapping on your phone as you shoot a text message to your boyfriend.

[ 04:39pm | y/n ] gyu ! should i bring home something for us to eat tonight? been craving that gimbap from a while ago 💕

The message sends before your attention would be halted by the chime of the doors opening.

You've worked as a barista in this café for the past year while searching (or struggling, to be honest) to get a job in the field you sought for. It's easy to give yourself credit when it comes to plastering on the brightest smile on your face every time the bell above the doors would ring. You can be having the worst day of your life, yet you've mastered the skill of hiding your worries beneath that obnoxious apron and sage green logo-emblazoned hat sat on your head.

It's a bit different this time when the customer who walks in is someone you're beginning to consider a regular at your café.

"Ah, Mr. Yoon," You greet him with a shake of your head and a wide grin. "The usual today, I'm presuming?"

"That is, if you can stop putting down 'Mr. Yoon' on my cup than my first name," he responds teasingly, and it makes you lightly chuckle as you lower your gaze to start tapping in his order on the screen.

Mr. Yoon, as he preferred to be called initially as a running gag, had become a latest fixture in the café, like a light-hearted charm that captures the attention of both you and your co-workers. It's rare to see people like him walk in. His visits were characterised not just by his liking for the café's signature caramel macchiato, but also by the easy banter and warm camaraderie he shared each time he visited that makes your busy shifts a little more bearable.

"Okay, Jeonghan," You reply playfully, reading out his order even though you know it's correct. "One caramel macchiato with a pinch of wit, coming right up."

He lets out a chuckle as he hands you his card with a wink. "You're the best, you know that?"

You flash him one last smile before facing your back towards him to prepare his order. "Flattery will get you anywhere, Mr. Yoon."

You take your time in creating his order, looking up briefly to notice he had sat himself down at one of the tables in the corner of the café. You carefully pour the steamed milk over the espresso and caramel, and when you finish, you place the perfectly crafted caramel macchiato on a tray and carry it over to Jeonghan's table.

"Here you go, Mr. Yoon," You say with a smile, bringing the tray down and placing the cup in front of him. "One caramel macchiato, just the way you like it."

Jeonghan takes a moment to properly observe it, as if examining the crevices of each layer in the cup, before leaning back in chis hair and crossing his arms together. He lets out a relaxing sigh.

"Congratulations, you've earned yourself a perfect score this time." He turns the cup just slightly to show off that you've indeed put the order down under his first name.

You roll your eyes. "Well, I'm glad to have gotten it right."

"It's about time, don't you think?" Jeonghan queries, before taking a sip of the drink, eliciting a satisfied hum. "Mmh, but it was definitely worth the wait. Thank you, Y/N."

You grab the empty tray back in your hands. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

Jeonghan just shoots you one last playful smirk in your direction before you turn away to head back around the counter, pushing yourself through your next set of customers.

However, as time continues to pass so torturously slow, an unusual sensation begins to creep into the core of your chest.

It's like a subtle tickle, a slight tightness to your trachea that you merely dismiss just as fatigue from the dry air as you strap the lid on the order of a cup you're preparing. You take a moment to rub your chest absently, hoping the discomfort will pass, but it lingers.

Yet once you set the order down on the customer's table and dismiss yourself back behind the counter, you let out a small, involuntary cough into the palm of your hand. It's nothing, you tell yourself. You're probably just coming down with a minor cold.

But then, you see it𑁋a very small delicate, pale pink petal resting on your hand where you had covered your mouth, and that's when you feel your heart drop down to your feet.

This can't be happening, You think frantically. Not now. Not like this. You glance around nervously, hoping no one else was watching or waiting for you at the front. The café is still bustling with customers, and the regular chatter continues, completely oblivious to your growing panic.

As you stare at the petal, it begins to crumble, disintegrating into tiny flecks that drift away like dust in the wind down to the floor below. The feeling in your chest, however, remains, and it intensifies. It's like a weight, an ache that refuses to dissipate, and sets the adrenaline to your limbs as you dash towards the employee's only restroom, locking the door behind you.

You place your hands on either side of the sink, the coughs leaving your mouth now bouncing off the walls of the restroom. The coughs wrack your body. Each one doesn't bloom out a petal, but as you release one last cough, you watch as another petal slowly floats down in the sink below your gaze.

Then you look at your reflection in the mirror, and it reveals nothing out of the ordinary. No flowers sprouting from your mouth or bloodstained petals; it was purely only just... fresh petals.

Your mind runs circles. It physically hurts to even think, like twist and turns on an abandoned dirt road. If what you're suffering from is really what you think it is, then your thoughts dash back to him. To Mingyu, whom you've been with for the past two years, and the thought of him makes your heart race. Thinking about him helps just slightly, but not entirely, yet... what is causing this?

You're still in love with Mingyu𑁋you know you are.

You splash cold water on your face, trying to collect your thoughts and the pain wracking your chest. This can't be happening. It's impossible that you'd suddenly develop Hanahaki for someone else.

You quickly take out your phone from your back pocket, punching in your passcode and sliding to your text messages. Your fingers instinctively land on Mingyu's text thread, punching in words in a panic for some help. But when your eyes trail to the last message you sent to him, you notice that it was simply left on... seen.

That's when another cough racks your body, and you can't help but watch in horror as more petals, delicate and pink, fall into the sink, before wilting and crumbling down the drain. It felt like they were mocking you in shame.

Hanahaki disease. An illness described to be acquired from unrequited love.

The doctor explained the options to you: surgery to remove the flowers with the risk of losing your feelings for the person you love, medication to suppress the symptoms with the risk of some side effects, or the most common method𑁋reciprocated love. If the person you love returns your feelings, the disease will fade away on its own. However, if those feelings remain unrequited, the flowers will continue to grow, ultimately suffocating you.

And you would die.

Because that's exactly the kind of news you wanted to torment your life with. It's like a fucking parasite, a cruel insidious joke taking root in your chest. A fucking plant is growing in your fucking chest. Hanahaki disease was rare, but it had chosen you, and it had chosen to do so at the most inconvenient time.

You've heard the stories of the disease from the countless articles you searched on your phone the moment you got back into your car. You've also heard these stories growing up like an urban legend, even in its rarity, at some point becoming deathly afraid of it when you were younger, yet your own family had reassured you that no other person even down to your ancestors had ever been affected with the disease.

You're the first person. How fucking lucky are you.

You were lucky enough to catch it in its early stages, explaining to the doctor that you had never once had any other signs show other than today.

"It doesn't mean you have a lot of time to pick a treatment option," the doctor had said to you as you blankly listened. "I recommend getting it treated as soon as possible, no matter how early it may be, because waiting it out could be detrimental to your state. I'm going to prescribe you some medication to help reduce your symptoms. You can pick up at the pharmacy after this."

But you just... don't understand. None of this has been making sense in your head; it's just been buzzing painfully with confusion, and if anything, making you feel even worser than the actual disease plaguing your body itself. You've always been faithful to Mingyu; you've never harboured romantic feelings for anyone else other than him. You tell him that you love him, and he tells you that he loves you too.

Yet here you are, coughing up petals that seem to defy logic and the rules of this damn disease, trying to think of someone, anyone, who may have slipped past a crack in your heart somewhere.

But it all draws a blank, yet it's the only thing in mind that can be causing all this.

The doctor's words echo in your mind. Surgery came with the risk of losing your feelings for Mingyu, something that you couldn't bear to imagine. Medication can help suppress the symptoms temporarily, but it wouldn't cure the underlying cause. That left you with the most daunting option𑁋reciprocated love.

But how could you possibly explain this to Mingyu? How could you tell him that you were coughing up petals because of some inexplicable turmoil in your heart that had nothing to do with him?

You can't do this. Not right now. God, you need sleep.

"Gyu?" You call out, your voice echoing within the quietness of your shared apartment.

Stepping into your apartment, you're initially met with silence, but it wasn't until you hear a door shut that awakens your senses, and you see Mingyu stepping out of your shared bedroom. For a few moments, you let your eyes trail over him, seemingly dressed up like he was going to an outing, and you feel your lips twitch unconsciously.

"Babe?" You call out again, a bit louder this time, and it catches Mingyu's attention.

A faint smile crosses his face as he makes his way toward you, and for a second you can feel something catch in your throat once you can feel his warmth touch your skin.

"Hey," he greets you calmly, pushing away a strand of hair behind your ear. "How was work?"

"It was..." Tell him, Your mind urges. Tell him right now. "...fine. Nothing much today."

"That's good," he responds, locking the watch on his wrist in place.

"Are you going somewhere?" You ask him quickly, shifting your eyes up and down and over his form.

Mingyu's expression changes slightly, becoming almost tense, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before it changes back to that lazy smile he had on before. You swear that if you weren't so hyperfocused with every fibre of your being pulling you back, you wouldn't have noticed.

"Just some dinner with the guys. Haven't seen them in a while," he responds coolly, brushing past you for a moment to grab the keys hanging next to the door. "Do you want me to bring you something back?"

You watch Mingyu's every move, the unease and some discomfort from the disease in your chest growing by the unbearable minute, even with the increasing tension in the room that's absolutely suffocating you at the same time. This isn't the time to let your guard down, but you're torn between the fear of losing him and the need to protect him from this awful reality.

But... he's going out? And he didn't tell you? Nor even bother responding to the text you sent him earlier? He was probably just busy, You think. Like he always is.

"No, it's alright." You take a chance and step up to him, planting a brief kiss to his cheek. You feel a little bit better doing that. "I'll just heat up something from the fridge. Have a good time with your friends, okay? I love you."

Mingyu smiles softly at your gesture, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. And you swear you notice a distant look in his gaze, or maybe you were just imagining things and it's just another symptom of this stupid disease and your fervent overthinking. The dimness of your apartment didn't help either𑁋his eyes just looked drained of any colour. Maybe he was just tired.

"Thanks, Y/N." He offers one last smile, but there's something lacking in his tone that you can't quite place, and it's anything but comforting you at the moment. "Love you too."

Your heart quickens just a bit at that, the corners of your lips edging up just slightly as you watch him. He grabs his jacket and heads for the door, and you're left behind in nothing but the silence of your place.

And all at once, you feel all the discomfort you were trying to hide finally spill out from your lips, coughs leaving your mouth like a downpour, each one a bit more painful than the last. You double over with one of your arms wrapped around you and the other clutching at your chest as if trying to physically grasp the pain and pull it out of you.

"Shit, dammit," You murmur weakly, bringing your hand down from your mouth to see a few petals fluttering to the floor, feeling the tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

You bring yourself back up, opening up your bag and taking out the medication you picked up from the pharmacy earlier. Trailing down to the bathroom, the medication bottle rattles loudly in your shaky hand as you fumble to open the cap. The pills inside are small and white, and the label on the bottle provides instructions for dosage. With shaking fingers, you fish out one pill and place it on your palm.

Then you take a deep breath, attempting to steady your nerves, and then swallow it down with a gulp of water from the bathroom sink.

You hope that it will provide some relief, even if it's just temporary.

You don't know what time Mingyu comes home that night. You heard him come in, but don't have the energy to properly acknowledge him. So you stay low to your sheets, feeling some residual discomfort crawl back into your throat when you hear him open the bedroom door.

You wish he can hold you𑁋it's all you want right now. His comfort, his large arms wrapping around you like how he used to do so before, how he would kiss the top of your head and your shoulder before holding you close in his embrace, the way it felt so right and safe being in his hold because you know it's enough to make all your worries disappear in an instant.

But he doesn't, only sliding into the empty space next to you, and you're afraid that if he does it just might make you feel even worse. You barely feel his warmth on you. Yet you miss him; you miss everything about him. And you still love him. You always have.

You always will.

...right?

It's not right to tell him right now.

You certainly wouldn't like it if someone was staring at you, but you can't help it, not when Mingyu is the only other thing in the room you could possibly look at.

It's been more than a week since you found out you have Hanahaki. Each day you would wake up in an absolute coughing fit, the petals coming in more frequent amounts than before. The medication has helped to lessen the symptoms, yet the side effects are taking a toll on your body. You're constantly fatigued, and your appetite has declined just slightly. You feel like a prisoner in your own body, all because something beautiful and deadly is growing within you.

Mingyu still doesn't know about it. And deep down, you can't shake the feeling that something is... different.

He used to be so attentive with you. Now, he often seems preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts. He no longer surprises you with sweet gestures or random acts of affection, and the warm, lingering kisses that he would leave to your lips have turned into quick pecks on the cheek, or simply, just nothing at all. You hardly wake up with him right next to you because of his work, and the shared laughter and late night conversations have nearly ceased to exist.

You remember the days when Mingyu used to look at you with such warmth, love, and adoration, but the spark that used to light up his eyes has dimmed. You barely feel it anymore. His replies to your questions asking about his day are kept brief. You would excuse it as him simply being exhausted, but there's a persistent feeling in your chest, and it's not just from your illness.

"Gyu?" You call out for him meekly from the kitchen, watching as he doesn't peel his eyes away from his laptop screen, only lifting a brow up slightly. "Are you busy later?"

"Yeah, I am. I got invited to a company dinner later this evening."

There's a visible downturn to your lips at his words, but he doesn't see it𑁋doesn't bother to see it, anyway.

"Oh." You feel it crawling up your throat again. "Okay. How about tomorrow?"

Mingyu finally looks away from his laptop, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he sighs. "Tomorrow's not good either. I have a meeting with a client, and it might go late."

"Maybe the day after tomorrow?" You suggest, some desperation creeping into your voice.

Mingyu seems to hesitate for a moment, and you hold your breath, hoping for a glimmer of hope, something. But then he shakes his head. "I can't promise anything, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'll be sure to make up to you, okay?"

That's what you always say.

Will you ever make time for me again someday?

You swallow hard, feeling a lump in your throat. The realisation stings, more painful than the illness taking form in your lungs.

"Okay," You mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand. It's okay. I love you."

A brief, long, pause. "Love you too."

But it's okay, because you still love me.

Then you find yourself swiftly retreating into your bathroom, heart heavy as you grab a tissue and let out a few coughs into the tissue. More petals fall from your mouth, before you crumple the tissue and toss it into the bin next to the sink, then splash some water on your face to hide the tears that threaten to escape.

You don't know what to do.

You can't even bother to see how much pills you have left because you feel like you're taking ten of them every damn day. You have yet to tell a soul, and you know that you should before it's too late, but who you can turn to? You have no one𑁋you can't even figure out yourself why this is even happening to you without feeling like you're going absolutely manic.

It's been hard trying to hide the fallen petals away from Mingyu, or away from anyone, in fact, and you find yourself coughing up more petals even when you're just in the same room as him. You always have to discreetly spit them into a tissue or rush to the bathroom to dispose of them, hoping he doesn't notice.

You hardly even see Mingyu anymore. It's either he's always called into work, has something important to do with the guys, or you feel it snaking up your throat painful enough for you to not make a move. The words stick in your throat, and the fear of losing him freezes you up. You can't help but blame yourself for being so distant around him.

If you've really fallen out of love out of him, if you did supposedly fall for someone else, wouldn't that mean that... you're leading him on? It's a thought at the back of your mind, but the guilt gnaws at you day by day like the ever-growing branches piercing through your lungs.

It's frustrating. All of this frustrating, and it's obviously spilled into your work performance as well. You can hardly perfect orders without making mistakes, and your once bright smile has faded into a forced, weary expression. Your manager and co-workers have given you concerned looks, but you've brushed them off, simply claiming it as stress or lack of sleep.

But it doesn't hit hard until today, because it happens so fast𑁋the metal tray you're holding loudly suddenly crashing down to the floor. One moment you can't breathe, and the next you're letting out hacking coughs into your hands, knees dropped to the floor with the spilled coffee staining your pants and shoes.

The café erupts into chaos as some customers quickly rush to your side, a hand still covering your face. You can hardly respond to anyone from the intense heaviness to your chest and dry pain to your throat.

You feel the petals tickling the skin of your hand, quickly crumpling them up in a fist and stuffing them inside the pocket of your apron.

"Y/N, are you okay?" a familiar voice asks worriedly, Jeonghan's voice, who you served earlier, and you catch a glimpse of him kneeling down beside you.

You can't look at him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, doing your best to keep whatever you had left of your composure. You force a weak smile as you bring your hand down to the side.

"Yeah," You croak out, voice raspy and barely audible. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy."

Jeonghan doesn't seem convinced, his eyes trailing over you carefully. You only look past him and keep your gaze low, but it wasn't until you catch sight of a fallen petal resting by your shoes.

And he also sees it as well. Jeonghan's gaze flickers downward, his eyes narrowing as he spots the pale pink petal, and something in his expression changes.

Then he looks back up at you, giving a faint smile, yet serious look.

"Let me take you to the doctor," he urges.

"What? Jeonghan, I can't𑁋"

"I'm taking them to the doctor," he tells one of your co-workers passing by with a broom to clean up the mess you brought to the floor, completely cutting off your words.

You can hardly believe your eyes and ears right now. Your co-worker only nods and quickly takes over your duties while Jeonghan helps you to your feet. Despite your protests, he guides you outside the café, keeping a loose grip on your arm before you get yourself to separate from him in a brief panic.

"Jeonghan, you can't just𑁋just take me out of work like this."

He shoots you a bewildered look. "You're sick, Y/N. It's obvious."

"I know, and I'm fine. It's just stress and bad sleep. Please, just take me back to the café𑁋"

"You have Hanahaki," he says flatly and outright. "I've seen you cough them up. You don't have to hide it from me."

Jeonghan's words hang in the air like an anchor sinking in the ocean. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest, and your mind races to find some way to deny it, to deflect the truth. But deep down, you know he's right.

Jeonghan, however, doesn't press you for an explanation. Instead, he takes you by the wrist gently and drags you to his car parked nearby.

"Jeonghan𑁋"

"I've had it, Y/N. I've had Hanahaki before," he confesses, a solemn look to his face as his words sink inside you.

You're quiet for a few moments as his words hang suspended in the air, a heavy silence between you two. Hearing that kind of news is from him is oddly... both surprising and comforting, knowing how how rare the illness is. But maybe just maybe, he might understand what you're going through, even if you can't seem to understand yourself.

Once you finally slide into the passenger seat of his car, you manage to get your voice back.

"You've... had it? I mean, just... what happened... how did you get rid of it?"

Once the car engine roars to life, Jeonghan just releases a small chuckle.

"It's the usual story: you fall in love with someone who doesn't love you back. It was terrifying, you know, seeing bits of your feelings turn into something physical like that. I waited too long, so I ended up getting the surgery." There's a shadow of some passing tree branches that cast on his face for a moment. "They never told me the surgery would also mean that my feelings would completely disappear, but it was the only way to save my life."

His face remains calm as he continues to drive, keeping his eyes on the road while your own thoughts were juggling together like a tangled mess of strings.

For a moment, Mingyu's face flashes in your mind, and you wish he were here with you. But you're torn. You don't want to burden him with this.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," You finally say, keeping your voice low. It was all you can say at the moment.

Once the car stops at a red light, he turns to you with a small, sad smile. "Don't be. It was a long time ago, and it taught me a lot of lessons, you could say. I survived, and you will too."

Another round of silence passes through the car, but this one feels less heavy, more contemplative. You watch the passing scenery outside the window as your thoughts continue to whirl like a storm within your mind. Knowing that Jeonghan survived offers a glimmer of hope, but it also deepens your sense of isolation𑁋that you can't lean on Mingyu for support in the same way.

You don't want to lose your feelings for him. You've already built this start of a future with him, and you can't bear the thought of basically removing him from your life for no solid reason.

"I-I have a boyfriend, you know," You blurt out, interrupting the silence, hearing Jeonghan let out an acknowledging hum for you to go on. "We've been together for the past two years, and whenever the... coughing, petals, all this started happening, it confused me."

"The heart is a complicated place," Jeonghan assures you.

You faintly smile at that. "I still love him, I'm sure of that. I know I do. I've never had feelings for anyone else. I just... I can't figure out why this is happening, why I'm coughing up these stupid petals in the first place, and it's been eating me up inside. It hurts."

Jeonghan listens intently as you pour your heart out, his eyes fixed on the road ahead but his attention fully on you. When you finish speaking, he clears his throat.

"You haven't... told him yet, haven't you?" he asks softly, breaking the silence.

You shake your head. "No, I haven't. I-I've just been... scared that I've been pushing him away, leading him on and I don't know about it. What if... if my heart is just betraying me? And now, with this... I don't know what to do."

Jeonghan's lips purse together thoughtfully.

"I think... If you know you love someone, you do," he says. "But... what makes you certain that he loves you back in the same way?"

Jeonghan's question hits you like a ton of bricks. It's a question you've been dying to avoid for this entire time, a fear that's been lurking in the shadows of your heart and the deepest corners of your mind.

What if... Mingyu didn't love you back?

The thought startles a cough out of you and you hastily bring your hand to your mouth, suppressing it as much as you can, the fragile petals fluttering out and settling on your lap. Squinting your eyes just slightly, you notice how they appear more redder than the usual pink you were used to seeing. You clench your hand around them, knuckles white from the tension, and swallow hard. Jeonghan shoots a quick glance of worry in your direction.

"I... I don't know," You utter out shakily. And what if I don't want to know?

The rest of the car ride is relatively quiet with the occasional taps of Jeonghan's fingers on the steering wheel, but not uncomfortably so. You can sense the concern radiating off Jeonghan, but he doesn't push you to talk further.

"You need to talk to him, Y/N," is all he says after turning into the parking lot of the doctor's office.

Once you get out of his car, you turn back to Jeonghan and give him a light wave.

I know, You tell yourself in your head. I know I do.

You stare blankly at the dark red petal in your hand, its edges slightly crumpled from where it had been caught between your trembling fingers. You can hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall itching at your skin, a constant reminder that time is passing, and you're running out of it.

Balling the petal in your hand, you stand up from where you sat on the bed and march out the bedroom. For a second, you felt like you weren't in control of your legs, yet you know you have to take advantage of the chance to muster up the courage to finally tell Mingyu everything.

Not just about the Hanahaki, but about... everything that has been suffocating you inside. It's all you've been thinking about for the past few weeks. When you step into the living room, you spot him sitting at your small dining set, focused on his work as ever with the laptop screen in front of him casting a glow to his face. He doesn't even look up when you announce your presence near him, and your heart clenches at that.

Taking a deep breath, you speak up, "Mingyu, we need to talk."

Mingyu doesn't look up, his focus still on his work, brows furrowing together. "Can it wait, Y/N? I'm in the middle of something important."

You hesitate for a moment, feeling something inside you wince at his words. "No, it can't wait. It's about us."

"Y/N, it's one in the morning right now𑁋"

"Do you even still love me anymore?" The question leaves your mouth all at once, and you swear it even freezes this exact moment that you are in.

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Mingyu finally tears his gaze away from the laptop, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, you see a complex mix of emotions in his eyes: surprise, guilt, and something else you can't quite place.

"I..." he starts, voice shaky. "Y/N, you can't just𑁋"

"Just answer the fucking question, Kim Mingyu." You clench the petal in your hand, feeling its dry, sharp edges dig into your skin. Then you realise the harshness to your words, softening your eyes and lowering your voice. "Please."

The room seems to close in around you as you wait for Mingyu's response. His hesitation hangs in the air, and you see the way his shoulders slump and the way his face contorts as he struggles to find the right words to say to just a simple question.

"I... I don't know, Y/N."

His words stab your heart. It's getting hard to breathe, but you can't let yourself cough now. Not in this moment. The petal in your hand crumples into dust as you clench it tighter.

"What the hell do you mean, you don't know?" Your voice trembles as you ask, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance. "You either love me or you don't, just tell me, for God's sake."

Your frustration is evident, tone catching him off-guard. Mingyu's gaze drops to the table, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"...I'm sorry, Y/N. I-I'm so so sorry."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. This is what you've been afraid of, what you've been trying to avoid. But now that it's out in the open, it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted, even if it's crushing you at the same time.

And then, you feel it𑁋a sharp pain to your lungs that makes you gasp as if you've been stabbed by a searing blade. The room spins as you struggle to catch your breath, your hands trembling as you clutch your chest, letting out harrowing coughs after coughs. Mingyu jumps up from his seat, immediately racing to your side.

"Y/N?! Shit, Y/N, you're bleeding𑁋"

You can't respond, the pain in your chest and the taste of blood in your mouth overwhelming your senses. You hold onto him for support as another bout of coughing consumes you. This isn't how you wanted to reveal your condition to him, but there's no hiding it now.

You feel the way Mingyu scoops you into his arms, the blood from your mouth and the petals staining his shirt as he reaches for his phone to dial emergency services. His voice is helpless and frantic, and within seconds, minutes, maybe even whole hour, you hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.

The soft hum of machines echo through the air as you stir awake, eyes fluttering open and the blinding white lights above blurring your vision. The first sensation that you register was the overwhelming scent of disinfectant filling your nose, sharp and pungent. Then came the dull ache in your chest that makes your breath quietly hitch.

Blinking your eyes open, you realise you're in a hospital room, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The sight of white walls and strange medical equipment, an IV line running into your arm, makes your heart race anxiously. You try to take a deep breath, but then you feel that ache in your chest again, and it makes you groan.

Just then at that moment, a young looking nurse enters the room, her eyes widening when she catches sight of you awake and distressed.

"Easy now," she says, rushing to your side and gently pushing you back down onto the bed. "You've just had surgery. You need to rest."

Surgery...?

You could only nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak. You watch as the nurse adjusts some of the monitors and checks your vitals, making sure everything was in place.

"Everything went well during the surgery," she reassures you. "But the hanahaki flowers had grown more aggressively than expected and showed signs of piercing through your lungs. It's a good thing we performed the emergency surgery when we did."

Hanahaki... The word lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of it all. Memories began to resurface: the petals mixing with your blood, the coughing fits, and... Mingyu. It all seemed so distant now, as if it had happened to someone else.

"You were lucky that we caught in time before the growth would have overtaken your lungs," the nurse says sympathetically while writing down your vitals on a chart.

Lucky. How ironic. You were alive, yes, but at what cost? You couldn't help but wonder if the surgery had taken more from you than just the hanahaki flowers.

And then it hits you.

There's no trace of the pain that had clawed at your chest for so long, except for the skin atop your heart where you can feel the incisions. The hanahaki flowers are gone, removed during the emergency surgery, but there's something else missing too𑁋your feelings, your love, for Mingyu.

You feel nothing. No pining, no longing, no aching heart. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your chest, but the emptiness is... disquieting, unnerving, just a void, a hole in place of where your warmth resided in.

You're no longer in love with Mingyu, just like he is for you.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair

#kflixnet #k-labels #caratsland #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu angst #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu angst #kim mingyu x reader #svt imagines #svt angst #svt x reader

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munchin-cheese · 9 months ago

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My Current 1.6 Mod list: Deco and Fashion (3/3)

🪑Furniture

I'll try to list this category as best as I can. I have a lot of furniture mods and I'm still getting a lot more ☆(＃××)

TheDeafProphet's : Furniture Catalogue | Dining room | Rugs

PlatinumCat's : Painting | Rattan Furniture

Twinkle22's : Opulence

Farmerbeans's : Pirate Furniture and Decorations | Bathroom Furniture

🚪Wallpaper and Flooring

Pretty Wallpaper | Wallpaper and flooring Hojicha | K10_FTW's Woods Wainscoting and Floors | Rustic Country Walls and floors

🧣Fashion

I only have one for new haircuts, it works without fashion sense

╮(￣ω￣;)╭

Fashionable Hairstyles Gentlemen Edition

I hope this mod list helped youu, if you're curious about anything feel free to ask ! (´ ε ` )♡ (Part 2 here) (Part 1 here)

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew mods #stardew #stardew valley mods #mod list

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keeping-writing-frosty · 14 days ago

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Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp Excerpt

[Author's Note: I've been fiddling around with chapter one to make it better. And, well, I think it is! So gonna share an excerpt. Most is under the cut.]

In a home from an era long passed, sat perched atop what the locals had always called Little Mountain. Which bordered an ancient forest that had existed for far longer than any memory of the collective consciousness of the locals and the natives before them. It always has and always will be there—it will outlive humanity. Despite, in actuality, being well-maintained in appearance and landscaping, it still seemed ancient and craggy to those without a certain eye. Walls made of hardwood and uneven stone that somehow gave it a beautifully-rustic look and met together in such a way to lock and give the structure a solid hold. A large front door, larger than most even from that time period, that took more strength than one would assume to open.

Within this home sat a creaky staircase covered in somewhat muted, crimson-colored carpet, nestled in the shadows of the early morning as the golden honey-light streamed through the arched, dirty windows, which did not affect their brilliance. Beneath the stairs sat an ancient, knotty-wood door, whose weathered surface felt far-too-smooth for how it looked. Its natural dark brown color seemed deeper and darker than any other Cara had seen before; however, to the pre-teen, the door seemed to call and beckon her, much like an enchanting siren-song—she could not resist the temptation.

Despite the early hour, three movers brought in the family’s boxes, which were a multitude as they brought their entire lives with time, and all the vintage and antique furniture that her parents had collected over the year. Cara approached the small door under the stairs with wide, mismatch-colored eyes: the right colored a light blue-green turquoise that her mother proclaimed was a reminder for the Pacific Ocean; whilst the other a deep brown-orange amber, which looked like honey depending on the light. For now, they turned their gaze to that door.

With her parents too busy making sure everything went into the proper rooms and space, Cara used all of her strength in her slender frame to pull the door open with a solid tug. Yet it only opened just past halfway before the rusty hinges stopped their creaking and squealing, refusing to budge any further. When she peeked through into the darkness, which held only wispy spider webs and dust that clouded her vision, disappointed hit her like a wave as all she found was an empty wooden box covered in decades of dust, adorned with a faded Black Cat Cigarettes logo. After she pushed the box aside, stirring up a massive cloud of dust, it caused her slightly-upturned nose to scrunch up in response.

Cara was such a precocious, garrulous girl whose inquisitive nature was a cornerstone of who she was; mother, through some head- and heart-aches, had grown to love this curious nature. Almost like a deranged kitten—in a way. Having discovered this hidden gem just after she pushed open the front door of her family’s new home for the first time. Despite this newfound door, which had given her nothing but dust and a box, she felt not even a single ounce of comfort that Oregon held in every tree, cloud, and blade of grass. Maine did not have that comfort, this home-like feeling to her, not even a speck to it. Neither mom nor dad listened to her complaints when they told her they were moving.

“Give it some time, darling,” mom told Cara on the plane ride. “It’ll feel like home soon enough. Plus, there’ll be plenty for you to explore.”

Dad pulled Cara into a side hug in the cramped airplane seating. “Maine will never replace Oregon, but it did not need to,” he comforted, tousling her raven-colored hair. “Try to find the best things about Mount Desert Island: that old forest I know you would love to explore, all the snow during winter, and your new friends and adventures you will find there.”

She didn’t think it would ever feel like home. As Cara lost interest in the compartment under the stairs, she exited out into the frosty morning air. Where a chilly breeze blew off the ocean, ruffled the leaves, bringing with it a briny scent so much like the ocean breeze from home, yet also quite different. Taking several steps down the cobblestone path that led away from the porch, to take in the rather enormity of the house itself.

Capped with a tall, steepled roof with a singular, narrow tower that rose from the attic and the tallest part of the manor itself, which towered high above anything she saw in the small nearby town of Haven Bay. It provided a spacious attic that Cara wished to explore. As far as she knew, for decades it had been nothing but storage. Yet a couple of years ago, the land-lady, a Mrs. Robyn Clarke, refurbished it into an apartment where a curious old man lived that introduced himself over that long move-in weekend. Jakub Kaczmarek was his name, and he explained he came from Poland, and that he worked as a marine biologist at Miskatonic University for just under fifty years. Now he trained his various cats to do tricks on command.

Cara thought him an interesting man, eccentric, and with a lot of knowledge and wisdom to share. And it did not take her long to find out that when she spent five minutes around him, he was never short of a tale to tell, mostly stories about the ocean or back home in Warsaw. Much of him seemed magical, and he had a natural aura that lingered around. Jakub always reeked of cheap tobacco, cheaper, bitter alcohol, and a tinge of fish.

Once all the furniture and boxes were in the correct rooms, Cara went about exploring. She found beneath the creaky floorboards a wine cellar as ancient and dusty as parts of the house above, which intrigued the twelve-year-old girl. The darkness did her eyes no favor; everything smelled of dust with an underlying musky earthiness. Her imagination conjured up every monster she could think of. Shapes within the darkness turned into a horned face, even if Cara knew it did not exist.

After a moment of searching on the wall with her hand, Cara flicked on the light switch. Which caused a flickering light bulb above her head to turn on, casting shadows that danced and twirled about ancient crumbling crates, disused wooden barrels, and moth-eaten linen sacks. Mid-room sat aged wine shelves, laid mostly barren, minus a few glass bottles with French-sounding names and a layer of dust generations thick. When inquired, Mrs. Clarke reassured the family that anything which remained was no longer fit for consumption. That they could keep the bottles—might even be worth something—though recommended tossing its contents.

It made no sense to her how anyone could like wine—smelled so awful! However, her mother would indulge in it; she kept her bottles in that little wooden cabinet dad made for her. Which would undoubtedly find its permanent home down here. Where Cara would have to head down here to grab whichever bottle her mom wanted. Which made her skin crawl just thinking about it. Even when her parents came down here to marvel at the wine cellar, all the shadows made Cara feel like there were a pair of unseen eyes on her.

Tired of being cooped up inside, Cara left to explore the property. Nestled midway down the hill behind the manor, where he land protruded out before it sloped at a gentle angle down to the ground. Down a cobblestone path with stairs just wide enough to let her feet step down in a safe and comfortable way, lay an ageless, well-maintained garden that held a wonder to it. That it’s only entrance through the tall bushes cut into an almost wall-like shape, a pair of flowering bushes flank the entrance. A wooden sign proclaimed with pride that the garden was first designed and planted in the mid-1800s by a Louis Bennefield, which was only a few years younger than the house itself. Now tended to by Mr. Kaczmarek, which took up most of his time.

It had a certain natural majesty. Weather-beaten trees provided a protective canopy for marble benches adorned with little baby-faced cherubs on the sides. Delicate flowers of all colors lined the pathway within, beautiful shrubbery and small trees. Several ornate birdhouses modeled after several local homes, or so Cara was told. The environment here cast a spell on Cara, as when she sat down on a bench and watched the dappled shadows. Eventually, she had to get up as her mother would be cross with her if she didn’t unpack her room

****

Tag List:

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @dyrewrites

@i-do-anything-but-write

Want to join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post. Send me a message, or even just reply to any of my posts asking!

#creative writing #writeblr #young adult #horror fantasy #authors #excerpt #short

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year ago

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The 1975 Game Mansion in Gatlinburg, TN is for sale. It's been an Airbnb short term rental w/a game theme, (but i really think that it could've been done nicer). The lodge on the property has 7bds, 5ba, and sleeps 20. Asking $1.175M.

The entrance hall has an inexpensive black & white checkered floor and just a black Parsons table. You can see the game logos on the stairs. IMO I feel that this home was a DIY Airbnb.

According to the "map" on the wall, it's called the GO! Lodge.

I'm a little confused, b/c the "mansion" also has some game decor.

The rooms are jumbled in the real estate photos as usual, but the main house is rustic and the rooms are not used for their intended purposes. This would be a family room and it has a football theme. Sort of.

Now, in the corner of the family room there's a bar. They placed 4 large games in here.

The dining room has a puzzle theme, and they've got boxes of puzzles on the shelves.

It doesn't look like the kitchen is used. I don't know, do you usually go out to eat when you're in an Airbnb?

They removed the dishwasher. There's a single cup coffee maker for guests to use, though, and what looks like a toaster.

This room, which could've possibly been the living room, is for board games.

Domino-themed powder room.

Scrabble room.

One of the baths.

Two bunks that accommodate 6 kids.

That seems to conclude the mansion tour, and this is the lodge, in the rear.

There are only beds and baths in here. Monopoly room.

I never heard of Spin to Win.

Nice shower room has a playing card theme.

This room has a Las Vegas theme with dice and cards. Maybe that's a slot machine in the corner.

Pac Man room sleeps 6.

Multiple arcade game.

It has it's own UNO en-suite.

Clearly, the chess room.

Outside in a courtyard, there's a large Connect 4 game.

4.50 Acres. I can see where this place wouldn't do that well. It's not that great. The world famous Arts and Crafts Community of Gatlinburg is nearby, so people may as well get a hotel room there. They have beautiful ones to choose from with pools and everything.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/673-Glades-Rd-Gatlinburg-TN-37738/42507806_zpid/

#airbnb for sale #the game mansion #unusual homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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onceuponapuffin · 1 year ago

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Fanatic Intervention Part 15!!!

Okay, this is gonna be a long one, but I promise it's important. There was just a lot that I had to get in here. Also we had our first ever tie! So I chose between the two. Alright, let's do this. Enjoy!

Beginning || Previous || Next

*******************

The bar in question is rowdy and rustic. The crowd that has already gathered is loud, probably drunk, and honestly makes you wish you had some anxiety meds with you or something because the button in your pocket is a single thread holding you together when you could really do with a rope. You look over to Aziraphale, who’s grimacing at the scene. Oh good, so you’re not the only one who isn’t a fan of this place. You notice Crowley studying the bar – no doubt trying to get a sense for their selection.

“Over there,” Anathema shouts over the noise. You follow her pointing arm to see Sardis, already at a table and waving you over. Well, at least you definitely have a space to sit. That’s something.

The four of you approach Sardis who waves you into the seats around him with an enormous smile.

“Welcome!” He says grandly, “To my favourite place this side of town.”

“Your favourite place,” You repeat with skepticism, “Is a dive bar?”

“Oh not just any dive bar Little Moth,” Sardis winks as he speaks, “The best karaoke bar this side of the bayou. Personal opinion, of course. But I am an angel after all so feel free to take that as gospel.” He laughs loudly at his own joke. You chuckle uncertainly. Aziraphale shakes his head. Anathema rolls her eyes. Crowley looks like he could vomit. Basically, Sardis is the only one amused. Once he finally stops laughing, he looks around at you. “Such sour faces, my friends. But of course you have, I’ve forgotten my manners! Let me get you some drinks before the festivities start.”

“The festivities?” asks Aziraphale, “I’m sure you don’t mean...”

“The karaoke, of course!” Sardis smiles before leaving the table with a wink. “Be back in a sec!”

“I am not singing,” Crowley states firmly.

“Nor am I,” Aziraphale frowns.

“We may need to consider it,” Anathema says after a pause, “He has information that we need, and we may have to play his game to get it.”

“I mean, I don’t exactly…dislike him...but he's weird,” You, the dimensional traveler, observe.

“Oh absolutely weird,” agrees the witch.

“A very weird one indeed, yes,” affirms the angel of the Eastern Gate.

“Weird as all fuck,” confirms the demon.

Sardis returns carrying a tray with five drinks and lays it proudly on the table in front of them.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I took my best guess,” Sardis announces as he hands around the drinks, “Sherry for the angel, whiskey for the demon, margarita for the witch, and I played it safe and got you a sangria.” He lays the alcohol in front of each of you. You take a sip and holy crow is it ever delicious. “’S that good, Little Moth?” Sardis asks you as he takes his own seat. You nod, and his smile grows. “Good, glad to hear it.”

“Thank you kindly, Sardis,” Aziraphale ventures, taking a sip of his sherry, “Now, perhaps would you mind telling us what you know?”

Sardis laughs again. He laughs a lot, you notice. Probably having the time of his life with all of this.

“What I know is that I’m not saying anything about Jesus until you sign up and sing me a song.”

Honestly, you need to take a deep breath at that. The irritation is building. First he wouldn’t say anything until you came here, and now he won’t say anything until you sing for him. He keeps changing the goal posts on you. Anathema had said you might need to play his game to get information from him, but you honestly didn’t think it would feel so...condescending.

Anathema’s phone suddenly starts ringing. She pulls it out of her pocket, and you briefly notice the What’s App logo and Newt’s face lighting up the screen. After a brief apology, she excuses herself from the table and leaves the bar. Well. Lucky her. You sigh and stand.

“Yeah okay fine, I’ll be right back.”

“Where’re you going?” Crowley asks. His question has bite, but you’re sure it isn’t anger – he just doesn’t want everyone to end up leaving him with Sardis.

“I’m going to sign up,” You say, “Sing a song. Karaoke, right?” You look at Sardis, who nods appreciatively.

“There now! Little Moth gets it!”

Crowley and Aziraphale both gawk at you, but you’re already turning and beelining for the sign-up table.

Now here, dear Reader, let’s take a moment to talk about the Anxiety Loophole. In ordinary circumstances, you’d be lucky to talk to a crowd and sound normal about it (not to mention the possibility of nausea and such), but the Anxiety Loophole is a magical and gracious thing. In a situation where there is something that must be done, and everyone around you is too scared or embarrassed or anxious themselves to do it, suddenly it becomes possible for you. You may never dream of asking for your food to be sent back at a restaurant, but if your friend needs more ketchup and is too nervous to ask for it, you will put the chef in a headlock if you have to in order to get it for them. Or, say, if an angel and a demon have expressly stated their discomfort with singing in public, and another angel with vital information demands a performance before telling you said information, signing up for karaoke suddenly seems like a piece of cake. Besides, you figure, most of the people in the room are drunk. So you pick something easy, something loud, something most people here probably know already. That way, they’ll do most of the work for you, and then you’re singing with them, instead of for them. Are you a genius? Yes, yes you are. Take the praise, Reader, you’re going to want that confidence in a few minutes.

You return to the table, having put your name and song on the list, and take a seat (and a very large sip of your sangria).

“There,” You declare, “Now how about we talk about Jesus while we wait for my name to be called.”

“You’re not actually serious about this,” Crowley asks. You look to Sardis.

“I am if he is.”

Sardis’ eyes widen in surprise before he smiles again. “Oh, I most definitely like you, Little Moth.” He leans his chin on his hands. “Tell me, what has Metatron had to say about you?”

Oh good. You’re actually getting somewhere.

“Nothing good,” You admit with a frown, “He tried to turn me into salt once, and then trapped me in a bathroom and tried to manipulate me.”

Sardis hums and nods in affirmation. Then he turns to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“And tell me, what have the two of you done about that?” he asks them. The both of them practically jump in surprise.

“W-well,” Aziraphale starts and stops.

“Ngggk,” says Crowley.

“Well you see, it’s a bit more complicated than…”

“So nothing then,” Sardis concludes.

“Wait,” You say, “That’s not fair.”

“Have you given Little Moth any way to defend or protect themselves?”

“They don’t need to!” You all but shout, “They’re with me basically all the time!”

But Sardis doesn’t seem to hear you. He stares at the celestials with an offended glare. Neither Aziraphale or Crowley seem to know what to make of it, but he doesn’t give them much of a chance to before he reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a card, and hands it to you. You take it from him, worried that if you don’t he might get upset with Aziraphale and Crowley and really it’s the Metatron’s fault, not theirs. Put the blame in the right place. Your hands are starting to shake a little as you look at the card.

“Oh!” You exclaim, relaxing a little. Actually it’s not all that bad. It’s a punch card of sorts. It reminds you a little bit of Furfur’s card from the 1941 minisode, but instead of being a Miracle Blocker, it’s a Miracle Enabler numbered 1 to 12. You notice that each number is perforated – meant to be torn off so that you don’t need to carry around a hole punch. Clever, actually. You show it to Aziraphale and Crowley.

“Oh my,” says Aziraphale, “That really is clever. I’m rather embarrassed to admit that the idea never came to me.”

“Huh,” Crowley adds, helpfully.

“Yeah,” says Sardis, “You probably never had to think about things like, what if they ever turn off your miracles Up There. Probably helps that your only mention in the Bible isn’t about how shit you are.”

You look at the card thoughtfully for a minute. You think about all the genie questions you’ve seen online.

“Go on, Little Moth,” Sardis coos gently, “Try it out.”

You glance at him and then back at the card. Well he’s not giving you any hints about how this thing works, so probably best to just follow your instincts. After taking a second to think, you rip off the number 1 and make a wish.

The number has disappeared from your fingers and reappeared attached to the card.

“Oop,” Sardis says, “Looks like that didn’t go through. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to make it so that I could do miracles without the card.”

Sardis starts to laugh. “Oh you have a clever mind! I like the way you think!” His laughter continues for a moment before he calms himself, though you notice it takes him some time. Then he shakes his head.

“Listen,” he says to you, “Humans just can’t do miracles. For you to be able to do them without the card, you would have to change your entire species. And this little thing just isn’t built for that sort of miracle. Try again, something smaller this time.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you stare back at the card. Something reasonable that wouldn’t need a big change in order to work. Oh, wait a minute. You rip off the number 1, and make a wish. Suddenly, you notice that you are holding a second Miracle Enabler, full up.

“There you go, Little Moth,” Sardis sighs approvingly, “Now that’s how you do it!” The first card goes in a place you can easily reach – your jeans pocket, perhaps. The second one you fold up and place in your sock. For emergencies.

“What did you mean about your mention in the Bible?” Aziraphale ventures, apparently sensing that he isn’t in trouble anymore. Sardis raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t you read Revelation?” he asks.

“Well yes, of course,” Aziraphale replies, “But I don’t recall it saying you were...well...bad.”

“Shit, Angel,” corrects Crowley, “He said it calls him shit.”

“I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead,” Sardis quotes, “Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your deeds complete in the sight of my God. Remember, therefore, what you received and heard; obey it, and repent.” He shakes his head. “Does that sound like a glowing report to you? No, see, I invited that asshat John over for brunch one time, okay? ONE. He gets the runs, blames it on the bacon. Next thing I know, I’m getting hate mail, supposedly from Jesus, with passive aggressive notes about people who haven’t soiled their clothes. Yeah, no, I know exactly whose message that was.” He huffs angrily and sips his drink.

“So….” You interject cautiously, “You stayed down here because...oh, because Heaven endorsed it?”

“Enthusiastically,” he confirms, “I’m just a minor angel – ha, barely that. More of a guardian. They don’t care about me as much as the message.”

You nod, Gabriel’s trial coming to mind. It’s all about the message.

“We know all about that,” You say gently, “They threatened to erase Aziraphale’s name from the Book of Life. Well, anyone really, who uh, helped Gabriel escape judgment.” Sardis raises an eyebrow at that.

“Oh yeah? What did that bureaucratic ass do?”

“He fell in love with Beelzebub and said ‘Nah’ to Armageddon Part 2.”

“Psh, oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Sardis says, taking another sip, “Not that any of them could erase anyone. Not really. You need to know someone’s true name for that.”

“Hold up,” says Crowley, “The Book of Life isn’t actually real?”

“Oh, it is,” says Sardis, “I know it for a fact. You see, one of the things of being an Original Angel of the Church,” he says the title mockingly, you notice, “is that you end up with a gift. Something to give the worthy when they ascend. Mine happens to be knowing everyone’s true name.”

“Wait a minute, wait,” You say, “That’s...that’s...”

“I know,” Sardis says, “Look, it’s like this. Most books that you read, the words are 2-dimensional, right? The Book of Life sort of has more than 2 dimensions to it. And it records everything. Now look,” he takes a packet of coarse sugar, “This is a soul,” he opens it and pours the chunks onto the table, “Each soul can be different people throughout its existence, and the Book, for accuracy purposes, records your name in whatever life you're living,” he picks up one crystal, “on the first dimension,” he places it on top of the paper pouch, “and your true name on the dimensions that lie underneath.” He sits up triumphantly. “So before you can actually erase anyone you need to know their true name, and before you know that, you need to know how to read the Book, and before that you need the gift to be able to perceive the different dimensions.”

“Which you have,” Crowley concludes. Sardis nods.

“Which I have, yes. Unfortunately, I also have the misfortune of never being able to be anywhere near the Book of Life. So I’m basically the angelic equivalent of a dolphin who knows all the secrets of Super Mario. I know it, but fat lot of good it does me. Or will ever, for that matter.”

You’re about to say something else, but your name gets called to the stage.

Oh. Oh right.

Oh shit.

You walk up to the stage and take the microphone uncertainly as the intro music for Taylor Swift’s Shake it Off starts to play. You chose it because you know some of the actions to it and I mean, the lyrics are so simple that you’re hoping the drunk crowd will start singing along with you.

“I stay out too late,

Got nothing in my brain,

At least that’s what people say,

That’s what people say,”

A random drunk person in the back cheers.

“But I keep cruisin’

Can’t stop won’t stop movin’

It’s like I got this music in my mind sayin’

It’s gonna be alright”

The entire bar claps three times. Oh wow.

Basically, your plan works. They all can’t help but join in for the chorus, and you end up having a lot of fun with it. Their enthusiasm is so validating, and after a minute or two you don’t care if it’s because of the alcohol or if they actually think you’re good. You just sing the song and you have a fabulous time of it. Honestly, it's hard to have a bad time singing and dancing to that song. You forget about saving the world, you forget that Crowley and Aziraphale are watching you, everything just fades away for a few minutes except for the lyrics on the screen in front of you and the energy of the people in the bar. For a few minutes, you’re just having fun, and that’s the most important thing about this, dear Reader.

When the song is over you return to the table. Anathema is finally back, and you notice she’s finished her drink pretty quickly. Good thing you ate before coming. Sardis is clapping for you.

“That was excellent! Great job, Little Moth! Here, have another one on me.” He waves his hand and a second sangria appears IN A FISHBOWL. Oh...Aziraphale and Crowley better cover you later, a hangover while one world-saving duty would suck.

Anathema clears her throat.

“So,” she says, you notice her voice shakes a little. Probably because she downed that drink so fast. “About Jesus.”

“Ah yes,” sighs Sardis, “The prodigal son himself. Well, I will tell you that he is here, though not in this city. Came down in a plane and everything.”

“Ha!” You say, pointing triumphantly, “I told you!”

Sardis chuckles. “Yes, what a day that was. Landed in Los Angeles thirteen years ago.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“Los Angeles,” says Aziraphale, “Well that’s awfully on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” You say, “So he’s an adult then, right? Not a baby?” You’re hoping. Your fingers are crossed that maybe he arrived in the states when he was a toddler, or a small kid.

“Oh no, not a baby, but not an adult either,” confirms Sardis.

“Don’t say it,” You beg.

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley looks like he’s on alert. Even Anathema looks a little unsure what to make of you.

“Okay actually just say it,” You decide, “How old is he?”

“He’s thirteen.”

“Oh shit,” says Anathema.

“Is he at least one of the nice thirteen year-olds?” You ask hopefully.

“Well,” says Sardis, “He’s definitely white this time, and his family is rich so, what do you think.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“Um, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale interrupts, “But, ah, what exactly is the problem here?”

When, dear Reader, was the last time you were around a 13-year-old boy? The age when they are all about proving how masculine they are, the age when they like to play rough in places where they really shouldn’t be playing rough, be mean for no reason other than because it makes them feel like a badass, jump and hoot and holler and laugh at anyone with sense because they get a kick out of adults getting angry with them. There is no force more annoying or enraging than a 13 year old, of any gender. But now add privileged and spoiled to that and you have a force to be reckoned with. You briefly relay this to Aziraphale.

“So,” You conclude, “The person who we need to convince to save the world, the person who needs to take this seriously or everyone dies terribly, the person who we need to care, has all the makings of the one person who is the least likely to care on the entire planet.”

“Ugh,” Anathema groans, “Why did they have to do it like that? I thought Jesus was supposed to be all about the outsiders and being kind to each other and things.”

“Well,” suggests Aziraphale, “I suppose that was probably the first time around. This time, they’re probably a bit less concerned about the, ah, morality of the whole thing, and more concerned about the messiah bit.”

“Right,” Anathema says with a disillusioned sigh, “And the fastest and easiest way for anyone to become a messiah in this world is to be rich, white, and male.”

“Cutting corners, I believe humans would say,” concludes Aziraphale.

Sardis nods, a frown upon his face. The previously cheerful angel isn’t laughing anymore as he raises his glass and says “To the world.”

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning || Previous || Next

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redactedasmr-not-the-project · 4 months ago

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Youre one of the coolest mutuals I have ever got to meet on the fandom and I hope you will become famous. This is me when u post

Enjoy :D

HEHEHEHE first of all thank you so much thats so sweet 😭💕💕???? You're super cool too, I've been loving seeing your comments on both of my blogs whenever you have misc thoughts about whatever I toss at you! Secondly this gif really got me why is he So Fast I'm loosing my shit. Thirdly, have another Redacted Pokemon drawing I made a while back based on my team picks!! I eventually want to draw all of them with their whole team, but that'll take a while lol :3

ID: a digital drawing of Guy from RedactedAudio with a delibird from Pokémon. Guy is a man with tan skin and tan lines around his arms, watch, and face where he has worn a mask. He has a blond mullet half pulled up into a ponytail, which has orange strips in it. He wears a red polo, black ripped jeans, an orange belt, a wallet chain, a wrist watch, and multiple piercings. With one hand he salutes at the camera, and in the other he holds up the delibird. Both look pleased, and both wear matching red aprons with the Max’s Rustic Pizza logo on them. The background is an orange gradient. End ID.

#jameszirk speaks #redacted audio guy

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magicaltrash · 8 months ago

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Howdy, “neigh”-bor! Head on over to Fort Wilderness to visit the horses of Main Street U.S.A. at the Tri-Circle-D Ranch. But before you mosey along the wilderness trail, take a gander at this themed trash can nestled in the rustic surroundings. This unit features a white finish with gray trim around the edges and displays the distinctive Tri-Circle-D Ranch logo—a stylized trio of circles forming a Mickey Mouse head, with a large “D” in the center. The sans-serif typeface exudes a vintage, Western vibe. However, the design didn’t account for the mechanics of the unit, as the door access handle protrudes into the logo. In any case, this can definitely will “stir-up” some fun as you head on your next wagon ride! // Walt Disney World, Fort Wilderness Resort & Campground, Tri-Circle-D Ranch, 2024 [Source: LaughingPlace.com. Used by Permission.]

#Disney #Magical Trash #Disney Trash Can #2024 #Orlando #Walt Disney World #WDW #Resorts #Fort Wilderness #Fort Wilderness Resort & Campground #Tri-Circle-D Ranch

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 years ago

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Murray Bookchin, creator of the theory of social ecology, said years ago that the more the rural dissolves into poverty, development, and agribusiness, the more we would see romantic images of the rural in the media. Sure enough, in the 1990s, just as the family farm crisis peaked, commercials and magazine ads were suddenly riddled with rural images: Grandfathers were everywhere, rocking on rustic porches, uttering wise platitudes regarding the goodness of oat-bran. Red-cheeked kids began running down dirt roads after a day of hard wholesome play in the country, ready for Stove-Top Stuffing. And just as the Vermont family dairy farm began to vanish in the early eighties, “Ben and Jerry” bought the rights to the Woody Jackson cow graphic, transforming the Holstein cow logo into the sacred calf of Vermont.

Chaia Heller, Ecology of Everyday Life: Rethinking the Desire for Nature

#Ecology of Everyday Life #social ecology

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airsllides · 2 months ago

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airsLLide No. 1897: N869TA, Douglas DC-7CF, TAL Trans Air Link, Miami-International, March 21, 1988.

Getting loaded on TAL's ramp in Miami's Northwestern cargo corner (some folks also referred to it as corrosion corner), we meet the sole Douglas DC-7 of one of Miami's famous freight carriers serving the Caribbean and Central America. It complemented a fleet of twelve Douglas DC-6 that served with TAL over time. The radio call sign «Skytruck» which it used said it all about the style of business TAL engaged in. But although its freighters were old, they were kept in a healthy condition, most of them flying in an all metal look but sporting logo and titles of the owner, something that made TAL stand out among other operators flying out of this rustic corner of Miami's freight business.

#aviation #douglas

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realityjoey · 8 months ago

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CHRISTMAS EVE AT THE 118 (RILEY ANDERSON MC x EVAN BUCKLEY)

The lights of Los Angeles glowed under the crisp December sky, casting a warm glow over Station 118. The crew had reluctantly accepted that they’d be on shift during Christmas Eve this year, but rather than let the holiday spirit slip away, Bobby suggested they bring the festivities to the firehouse. Everyone jumped on board, determined to make the most of their time together.

Riley had been a little secretive all week, and on Christmas Eve, she finally revealed her surprise. As the crew gathered in the common room—decorated with tinsel, strings of lights, and a slightly lopsided tree that Hen insisted looked “charmingly rustic”—Riley arrived with several trays in hand, each stacked high with traditional British holiday treats. She set them down on the dining table with a wide grin, and the scent of spices, sugar, and freshly baked dough filled the air.

“I thought I’d bring a bit of home here,” she announced, her thick accent causing Buck to smirk in that teasing way he always did. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

Chimney and Hen were the first to dive in, lifting the lids to discover mince pies, Christmas pudding, and a few packages of what Riley called “proper British biscuits.”

“Okay, I have no idea what half of these are,” Eddie admitted with a laugh, inspecting a mince pie with a skeptical expression.

“It’s mincemeat,” Riley explained, then quickly clarified, “Not actual meat—just dried fruit, spices, all that good stuff. Trust me, it’s better than it sounds.”

Buck, standing by her side with an arm casually wrapped around her waist, grinned. “You’re in for a treat, Diaz. Riley doesn’t mess around when it comes to this stuff.”

Riley playfully elbowed him, but there was a warmth in her eyes as she saw her friends enjoying the little pieces of her heritage. Bobby even managed to snag the recipe for the Christmas pudding, already planning to try it out at home with Athena.

As the night wore on, the firehouse was filled with the sound of laughter, music playing softly from the speakers, and the crinkle of wrapping paper as they exchanged small gifts. Eddie gifted Hen a new set of tools for her car, Chimney got Eddie a framed photo of the team, and Hen surprised Bobby with a homemade ornament of the 118 logo. Riley handed out small, personalized gifts—tiny tokens that showed how much she had come to know and appreciate each of them over the past year. When it was Buck’s turn, she handed him a wrapped box that contained a new leather jacket, one he’d been eyeing but never bought for himself.

He grinned at her, something private passing between them as he muttered, “You spoil me, Anderson.”

“And you love it,” she replied with a wink.

But Buck had one more surprise up his sleeve. He disappeared for a few minutes, leaving Riley and the rest of the team to speculate about his sudden absence. When he returned, he was dressed head to toe in a plush Santa suit, complete with a hat and a fake white beard. The team broke out into laughter as he struck a pose, flexing his arms in the oversized red jacket.

“You look ridiculous,” Riley snorted, barely containing her laughter as Buck swaggered around the room, his movements exaggerated for effect.

“That’s the point, love,” Buck said, adjusting his beard. “I figured we might meet some kids on calls tonight, and I thought, ‘What’s Christmas Eve without Santa?’”

Bobby shook his head, but there was a smile playing on his lips. “That’s actually a pretty good idea, Buck. Just make sure you don’t scare the kids off.”

“Oh, they’ll love me,” Buck replied confidently, shooting a wink Riley’s way. “Everyone loves Santa, right?”

The night passed with the usual calls—some minor injuries, a small fire to put out, and one apartment where a child got stuck trying to climb down a homemade chimney. Buck stayed in costume for each call, his Santa antics bringing smiles and laughter, even from the most weary of parents.

Back at the station, Riley watched him interact with the kids they encountered, her heart swelling with affection. Even in his silly costume, he exuded warmth and care, kneeling down to chat with the kids and making sure they got a candy cane from his makeshift sack. It reminded her of just how much he cared, not just about her but about everyone he met.

As the night wound down, they gathered around the Christmas tree in the firehouse, the lights twinkling softly. Riley reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a sprig of mistletoe, her eyes glinting with mischief. She dangled it above Buck’s head, catching him mid-sentence.

“You’re supposed to be Santa, but you’re not getting out of this,” she said with a smirk.

Buck’s grin widened, and he gently pulled her closer, his hands settling at her waist as their laughter faded. He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, the kiss soft at first, then deepening as they forgot, for a moment, where they were. Riley felt herself relax into his arms, a sense of peace washing over her in the warmth of their embrace.

But their private moment didn’t stay private for long. A cough broke through the silence, and they jumped apart to find Chimney standing nearby, arms crossed and a smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” he said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Guess Santa’s getting a little extra holiday cheer this year, huh?”

Riley flushed bright red, quickly shoving the mistletoe back into her pocket. Buck, unbothered, just threw an arm around her shoulders and smirked back at Chimney. “What can I say? Mistletoe rules.”

Chimney laughed, shaking his head as he called out to the others. “Hey, guys, Buck and Riley are breaking mistletoe protocol over here!”

Within seconds, Hen and Eddie had joined them, teasing comments flying about as they ribbed Riley and Buck. But even as Riley hid her face in Buck’s shoulder, she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her lips. Buck pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hand squeezing hers in reassurance.

Despite the teasing, there was a warmth in the air, a feeling of togetherness that made the firehouse feel more like a home than ever. The 118 had become Riley’s family in ways she hadn’t imagined when she first moved to America, and now, with Buck at her side and their friends around them, she realized this was one of the best Christmases she’d ever had.

As the clock inched closer to midnight, the crew of the 118 gathered around the long dining table in the firehouse, each holding a warm drink—hot cocoa, coffee, or, for Chimney, a cup of spiced cider he’d managed to sneak in. The tree lights twinkled softly, casting a warm glow that made the space feel cozy and intimate, despite the cool breeze blowing outside. They had all settled into an easy camaraderie that made the firehouse feel like a second home.

Bobby, always the one to start things off, leaned back in his chair with a nostalgic smile. “You know, when I first started as a firefighter, I didn’t really know what to expect. My first Christmas shift, we got called to this house where a turkey fryer went up in flames. Whole family standing in the front yard, looking like they just lost Christmas dinner, and I remember thinking—‘This is it, this is what I signed up for.’ We managed to save the rest of their meal, though. I think they were more grateful for the mashed potatoes than anything else.”

Hen laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, I’ve seen plenty of those turkey fryer disasters. It’s almost a holiday tradition for some families.” She sipped her cocoa, the steam rising in little curls. “But my favorite Christmas shift was the year we got snow here in L.A. Remember that, Bobby? It wasn’t much, just a dusting, but people lost their minds. We had to rescue this guy who tried to sled down his driveway on a pool float and ended up in his neighbor’s tree. He insisted he was fine, but he was dangling upside down like a Christmas ornament.”

The room erupted into laughter, Riley clutching her sides as she pictured the scene. She hadn’t been with the 118 back then, but she could imagine it all too well. The stories flowed easily after that, each one punctuated by the team’s laughter.

Chimney, ever the storyteller, took the opportunity to share one of his classic tales. “Okay, okay, my turn. So, there was this one Christmas Eve—back when I was still a rookie. We got called out to this house because a guy got stuck in a chimney trying to surprise his kids. I kid you not, he thought it would be a great idea to dress up as Santa and climb down the chimney—except he got wedged in there like a cork in a bottle. And the best part? He sang carols until we got him out. ‘Jingle Bells’ all the way.”

Even Buck, who had heard this story more times than he could count, burst out laughing again. Riley leaned into his side, a warm feeling in her chest as she listened to her friends’ stories. She took in their smiles, the crinkles at the corners of their eyes, the way they lit up when reminiscing about old times.

Eddie jumped in next. “You know, before I moved out here, we spent every Christmas Eve at my grandma’s house. She’d cook enough tamales to feed the entire neighborhood, and by the end of the night, everyone would be stuffed and arguing over who made the best ones that year. My abuela, she had this saying—‘If you can still walk, you haven’t eaten enough.’ So, naturally, I’d be rolled out of there every time.”

Riley chuckled, picturing Eddie surrounded by family and tamales. She realized how much she enjoyed these glimpses into their lives, the little pieces of who they were beyond the job. When the conversation turned her way, she felt a flutter of nerves, but Buck’s hand found hers under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“What about you, Riley?” Hen asked, curiosity in her eyes. “What were Christmases like back in England?”

Riley thought for a moment, the warmth of the firehouse wrapping around her as she recalled her childhood. “Well, it was always a bit chaotic, as you’d imagine with eight siblings. They’d wake me up at the crack of dawn and drag me out of bed to open presents. I would finally wake up and be in the kitchen, cooking a roast, and somehow the whole house would smell like sage and onions and gravy. It was… crowded and noisy, but that’s what made it special.”

She smiled, the memories bittersweet but comforting. “I would always play the same Christmas album—some old classics—and my sister Kyra would try to drown it out with whatever pop song was popular that year. It was our little tradition, even though it drove everyone else mad.”

The crew laughed softly, imagining a younger Riley singing her heart out trying to preserve the holiday spirit for her siblings who may struggle during this holiday.

Hen nudged Riley’s arm playfully. “And I bet you made them all those mince pies, too, huh?”

“Oh, you better believe it,” Riley replied with a chuckle. “I got the recipe from an old book, and I’ve been making them since I was about thirteen. Of course, they didn’t always turn out as pretty as these—my first batch was more like mince soup.”

Buck wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Well, you’ve definitely perfected them now. I might be a little biased, but these are the best I’ve ever had.”

Riley rolled her eyes playfully, but there was a warmth in her chest that hadn’t been there in a long time. This was different from her Christmases back home. It felt good.

As the stories continued, the team fell into an easy rhythm, the banter flowing naturally. They shared tales of disastrous holiday dinners, childhood mischief, and the strange calls they’d responded to over the years. There were stories that made them laugh until they had tears in their eyes, like the time Bobby accidentally set fire to his own Christmas ham during a family dinner, or when Hen got stuck playing Santa for her son’s preschool and barely fit into the costume.

At some point, Chimney took it upon himself to reenact a dramatic rescue from his rookie years, complete with exaggerated sound effects and wild gestures. He climbed onto a chair to demonstrate how he had scaled a tree to save a stranded cat, only to slip and nearly take out the Christmas tree in the process. The room filled with laughter, and even Bobby had to turn away to hide his grin.

Riley leaned into Buck’s shoulder, her sides aching from laughter. She glanced around the room, feeling a sense of belonging she hadn’t quite expected when she’d moved to America. This crew, this family, had welcomed her into their lives with open arms, and now, sitting here with them on Christmas Eve, she felt like she had found a place where she truly belonged.

Buck turned his head slightly, catching her gaze, his blue eyes twinkling under the Christmas lights. He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. “You alright?” he asked softly, just for her to hear.

She nodded, her smile softening. “Yeah. More than alright.”

And as the clock struck midnight, signaling the arrival of Christmas, they raised their cups in a toast—Buck still in his ridiculous Santa costume, Chimney still reenacting his rookie year escapades, and Riley surrounded by the warmth of friends who had become like family. It wasn’t the kind of Christmas she’d grown up with, but it was perfect in its own way.

“Here’s to family, near and far,” Bobby said, his voice steady and sincere, and the team echoed his words, lifting their glasses higher.

“To family,” Riley murmured, her voice blending with Buck’s, their hands still clasped beneath the table. And as she looked around at the smiling faces, she knew this was a Christmas Eve she’d never forget.

As midnight came and went, the festive atmosphere in the firehouse only grew more vibrant. After finishing their stories, Chimney decided that the perfect way to keep the holiday cheer going was to dig through the stash of Christmas CDs he’d brought with him. He plugged one into the old stereo system in the corner, and soon, the familiar upbeat notes of classic holiday tunes filled the room.

Buck groaned as Jingle Bell Rock started playing, rolling his eyes playfully at Chimney. “Really, Chim? Couldn’t pick anything cooler?”

Chimney grinned, pointing his finger at Buck like a cheesy TV host. “Oh, come on, Buckaroo! It’s a classic. Get with the spirit!”

Before Buck could protest further, Riley grabbed his hand, pulling him into the open space in front of the Christmas tree. She shot him a challenging smile, one eyebrow raised. “You’re dressed like Santa, Buck. You have no room to judge anyone’s music choices right now.”

Buck let out a dramatic sigh, but he couldn’t resist her enthusiasm. He swung her around, the plush Santa jacket flaring as they moved. Riley laughed, the sound light and joyful, and it wasn’t long before Eddie and Hen joined in, swaying along to the music.

Chimney took it upon himself to pour everyone a round of eggnog, the non-alcoholic kind Bobby had made to keep things within department regulations, though he’d slyly mentioned he might have “fortified” his own cup. He handed out the mugs, making a show of raising his own as if he were toasting a grand celebration.

“To Christmas at the 118!” Chimney shouted over the music, and the others echoed him, clinking their mugs together before taking long, appreciative sips. The creamy drink, with its hint of nutmeg and cinnamon, warmed them from the inside out.

Riley twirled away from Buck and grabbed Hen’s hands, pulling her into a goofy little dance. Hen, always one to let loose in the right company, joined in, the two of them spinning around each other with exaggerated flourishes. Bobby, shaking his head with a smile, eventually gave in too, tapping his feet to the beat and even sharing a little two-step with Eddie.

For a while, the firehouse felt like a holiday party, complete with laughter, eggnog, and the slightly off-key singing of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Buck, still in his Santa suit, kept the energy high, even grabbing the firehouse mop to use as a makeshift microphone as he sang along. He winked at Riley mid-verse, who playfully shoved him, but she couldn’t hide the wide smile on her face.

Hen and Chimney, always up for some friendly competition, challenged each other to a dance-off in the middle of the room. They took turns trying to outdo one another, Hen with her fluid, rhythmic movements and Chimney with his wild, over-the-top spins and shimmies. The rest of the team played along, acting as the judges, though they all kept changing their votes just to keep the fun going.

Eventually, a slower song came on, one of those old crooning classics that filled the air with a nostalgic warmth. The energy in the room softened as everyone paired off for a more relaxed sway. Hen and Bobby shared a dance, both of them laughing at how out of rhythm they were, while Chimney twirled an unwilling Eddie around, much to Eddie’s amused protests.

Riley found herself in Buck’s arms again, his Santa hat now crooked and askew. He pulled her close, his hand warm against her back as they rocked gently to the music. She rested her head against his shoulder, her laughter fading into a contented sigh.

“Not a bad way to spend Christmas Eve,” Buck murmured into her hair, his voice just loud enough for her to hear over the music.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Yeah. It’s pretty perfect, actually.”

For a moment, they stood together, the world outside the firehouse fading away. The lights of the Christmas tree cast a soft glow over them, and the warmth of the firehouse and their friends made it feel like they were wrapped up in a little bubble of holiday cheer.

It was Chimney, of course, who broke the moment. He appeared beside them with an exaggerated wink, holding up a fresh sprig of mistletoe above their heads. “Just in case you two need an official excuse,” he quipped, grinning from ear to ear.

Buck didn’t need more prompting. He dipped Riley dramatically, his Santa hat falling to the ground as he leaned down to kiss her, earning a round of cheers and whistles from the rest of the team. Riley let out a laugh against his lips, her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him back.

When Buck pulled her back up, Riley’s cheeks were flushed, but she couldn’t stop smiling. The room was filled with warmth—both from the eggnog and from the sense of family that had settled over them all.

As the last notes of the song faded into another upbeat tune, the team kept dancing, lost in the joy of the moment. There were no calls, no emergencies, just the sound of laughter, the twinkle of Christmas lights, and the comfort of knowing they were all together for the holiday.

By the time the night drew to a close, they were breathless with laughter, some of them sprawled out on the couches, others leaning against the walls with mugs of eggnog still in hand. Riley found herself curled up beside Buck, his arm draped over her shoulders, his Santa suit now crumpled and askew.

Bobby, Hen, Eddie, and Chimney sat nearby, chatting about plans for Christmas Day once they were off shift, about traditions they’d shared with family, and new ones they’d made with each other. And as Riley looked around the room, she realized that for all the challenges and all the unexpected turns in her life, she wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

It wasn’t the Christmas Eve she’d grown up with, but as she glanced up at Buck, who looked back at her with that familiar, adoring smile, she knew it was exactly where she was meant to be.

As the first light of Christmas morning began to edge over the Los Angeles skyline, the 118’s shift finally came to an end. The firehouse that had been buzzing with laughter, music, and holiday cheer just hours earlier now quieted as the team gathered their things, exchanged a few sleepy hugs, and headed out to their respective homes.

Riley and Buck lingered a bit longer, savoring the warmth that still lingered in the firehouse. They both felt a pang of nostalgia, already missing the shared laughter and the comforting presence of their friends. But as they stepped outside into the cool morning air, the thought of heading home together made the transition a little easier.

Buck threw his duffel bag into the back of his truck and then turned to Riley with a playful grin. “Ready to head home, love?”

Riley nodded, smiling up at him. “Lead the way, Santa.”

He let out a laugh, then pulled off the last remnants of his Santa costume—the red hat he’d been wearing all night—handing it to her with a wink. “Why don’t you hold onto this, as a reminder of my impressive holiday spirit?”

She rolled her eyes, but she tucked the hat into her own bag, knowing she’d treasure it later. They climbed into Buck’s truck, the warmth of the heater quickly enveloping them as they pulled out of the firehouse parking lot.

As they drove through the early morning streets of Los Angeles, Buck flicked on the radio, and the opening notes of Driving Home for Christmas by Chris Rea filled the cab. Riley laughed softly, leaning back in her seat as the familiar melody washed over them. Buck glanced at her, a smirk playing on his lips.

“You know, I thought you’d like this one,” he said, keeping one hand on the wheel and the other reaching over to take hers.

Riley squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the heater. “You’re getting pretty good at picking British classics, Buckley.”

They shared a smile, and for a moment, the world outside the truck seemed to fall away. The early morning streets were quiet, the city still waking up, and the two of them were wrapped up in their own little bubble, the music playing softly in the background.

Riley looked out the window, watching the city lights blur past, and then turned back to Buck, catching the way his face softened in the glow of the dashboard lights. She marveled at how far they’d come—both of them, together. It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d moved across the ocean, uncertain of what her new life would hold. But now, she had a place she called home, a job she loved, and a family she’d found in the 118. And, of course, she had Buck, who had become so much more than just a partner on the job.

Buck seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he glanced over at her and gave her hand another squeeze. “I was just thinking… we’re pretty damn lucky, aren’t we?”

Riley tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, we are. A year ago, I never thought I’d be here—celebrating Christmas with a bunch of Americans and driving home with you.”

Buck let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, I’m glad you did. I’m glad we… figured things out.”

“Me too,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the music.

They fell into a comfortable silence, listening to the lyrics of the song. The words about coming home, about the feeling of returning to where you belong, resonated with both of them in a way that felt almost too perfect. Buck’s thumb rubbed gently over the back of her hand as he focused on the road, and Riley rested her head against the seat, letting herself get lost in the moment.

Eventually, they turned onto the quieter streets of their neighborhood, the houses decorated with lights that twinkled in the pre-dawn light. Buck parked the truck in their driveway, the engine rumbling softly before he turned it off. For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence settling around them like a warm blanket.

Buck turned to her, his expression soft and open, the way it always was when they had these quiet moments together. “You know, I wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. Even the tough parts. It’s all worth it, as long as I’ve got you.”

Riley’s eyes shimmered as she reached up to cup his cheek, brushing a thumb over the stubble there. “You’re getting sappy on me, Buckley.”

He leaned into her touch, smiling against her palm. “It’s Christmas. I’m allowed.”

She laughed, a gentle sound, then leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was a simple gesture, but it held all the things she sometimes struggled to put into words. When they pulled back, she rested her forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with hers.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go inside and have a real Christmas breakfast. I think I still have some of those biscuits left.”

Buck’s face lit up, and he kissed her again, quick and playful this time. “Deal.”

They climbed out of the truck, the cold morning air nipping at their faces as they hurried up the front steps of their home. Buck fumbled with the keys, still grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, and Riley laughed at his excitement.

As they stepped inside, the warmth of their home enveloped them, the scent of pine from the small Christmas tree they’d put up together filling the air. Riley kicked off her boots and headed straight for the kitchen, Buck close behind her. They moved easily around each other, sharing a few quiet laughs as they made coffee and heated up the last of the holiday treats Riley had brought to the firehouse.

When they finally sat down at their little kitchen table, with mugs of steaming coffee and plates of biscuits, Buck reached across the table to take her hand again. They sat there, the early morning light streaming in through the window, casting everything in a soft glow.

As the song replayed softly in Riley’s head, she looked at Buck, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee or the heater. They were home—truly home. And as they shared quiet conversation and breakfast, surrounded by the peaceful stillness of Christmas morning, they both knew that this was a moment they’d carry with them for a long, long time.

No matter what the future held, they had each other. And that was the best Christmas gift of all.

#bobby and athena #buck x oc #evan buckley #evan buckley x oc #911 imagine #911 abc #911 fanfic #911 show #118 firefam #firehouse 118 #station 118 #eddie diaz #hen wilson #chimney han #howard han

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themculibrary · 9 months ago

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Mystery, Thriller, and Horror Masterlist

a cabin in the woods (ao3) - nightwalker steve/tony E, 26k

Summary: It was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, a chance for them to spend some time as a couple and work out some of the kinks in their relationship. That was before everything got weird.

A Morbid Taste for Ice (ao3) - sitehound darcy/loki M, 198k

Summary: Darcy Lewis likes to think of herself as terribly adaptable, with an "If life gives you lemons, zap life with a Taser and demand chocolate" sort of attitude. And life, lately, has had a perverse sense of humor, first trapping her in a state of perpetual Science Assistant in the armpit of New Mexico known as Puente Antiguo; and then forcing her to live in a trailer home with Jane Foster, Jane's guy, Thor, and his brother, Loki, master of mischief and wide-scale urban renewal.

But Darcy's not about to let her situation get her down. She's managed to get pretty good at her job, and with liberal application of a credit card, made her rustic house a home. And wielding a Taser and armored by her snarky wit, she's more than a match for the God of Mischief.

Stumbling face-first over the frozen body of a friend on the front porch, however, is more than even mostly unflappable Darcy can handle. The obvious suspect is her mentally unstable roommate. But despite all his other faults, Darcy is certain Loki isn't the perpetrator. And not just because she's starting for fall for him....

A Sky Full of Stars (ao3) - OllieCollie pepper/tony T, 52k

Summary: The kid is small, but he’s a dead weight in Tony’s arms. As he pulls back and away from the cryopod, something catches his eye, stopping him in his tracks. In the bottom of the pod, underneath where the boy had just been lying, is a stamped image of a spider. Next to the symbol lies a small but clear logo. Oscorp.

Provided with the opportunity to get access to life-saving treatment for his ill daughter, Tony Stark accepts the position as pilot for a two-year long delivery across the galaxy. But when an undocumented asteroid causes the ship to crash land on an unknown planet, Tony uncovers a dark secret about his employer.

Now he has to hike miles over uncharted terrain with the only other survivor—a traumatized teenager with strange, spider-like abilities. Danger lurks around every corner, and it’s a fight to survive as the duo faces deadly threats, ranging from rushing rivers to forty-foot predators.

Oh yeah, and the kid he’s with doesn’t even speak the same language as he does.

Cyclical (ao3) - Pandagirl23 bucky/tony M, 24k

Summary: An old estate was bought. Under the weeds are tunnels and the halls. Light shall be shed on a wrong that was done.

Dirty Little Secret (ao3) - spideynoir mj/peter M, 71k

Summary: MJ is now a successful journalist in New York. Peter is getting his masters while handling two jobs at once. When they reunite after years of not seeing each other since high school, it reignites a flame between them that neither expected to feel again. Starting a relationship isn't an option, but what if they remove all the complications of dating and keep all the... fun? While MJ deals with finally letting her guard down, Peter struggles to keep his two worlds from colliding. Not to mention that a dangerous menace has reached their city and now Peter has to do everything in his power to protect those he cares about.

eight feet under (and no air to breathe) (ao3) - DustySoul G, 13k

Summary: Daredevil gets buried alive.

The horrible and random demise of a civilian effects Nat and Clint. They’re going to waste time digging up this day old grave - just like the mice in this little game knew they would. They don’t actually expect the man to be alive.

Matt Murdock has to pull through, somehow, and protect his identity (both of them) while he tries to make his way back to Hell’s Kitchen. At least the journey is easier from Midtown and not a grave.

ex nihilo (ao3) - angrbodagiantess M, 27k

Summary: Something sinister is happening in Avengers Tower, and where is everybody?

haunt, haunted, haunting (ao3) - katling T, 8k

Summary:

To haunt - To appear or recur often, especially as a ghost Haunted - Often visited by ghosts or spirits Haunting - Persistently recurring to the mind, difficult to forget

Natasha Romanov returns after the Civil War, thinking she can carry on just like before. She’s wrong. She’s very, very wrong.

I'll Tell No Lies (ao3) - doctorestranged peter/wade E, 77k

Summary: When a series of murders take place, Peter Parker goes undercover in Sister Margaret’s to get intel on Tony Stark’s prime suspect: Deadpool. Peter goes in hoping to get enough information so that Spider-Man can save the day, but like everything in Peter’s life, it becomes a bit more complicated than that and it soon becomes apparent that he might not be the best fit for the job.

I'm the Guy That Didn't Marry Pretty Pamela Brown (ao3) - Kathar clint/phil M, 56k

Summary: Agent Phil Coulson of SHIELD is reluctantly heading home for his high school reunion, at the request of an old friend. Natasha Romanov is playing the part of his girlfriend, even though she’s not. Clint Barton’s shown up with his bike, his bass, and a surprising knowledge of bluegrass. To complicate matters, Phil's parents wish he’d just settle down, Natasha has a hidden agenda, Clint ends up aiding and abetting juvenile delinquency, and the town in general is extraordinarily concerned with alien carp.

Interworld (ao3) - Captain_Panda steve/tony M, 12k

Summary: You won’t ever get tired of an Avengers, Assemble! call at four in the morning.

There is no formal alarm; you are awoken by the crack of wood being liberated from its hinges. As the shadowy creature tosses the door aside, you register five facts: it is huge, crackling, jagged, bleak, and cannot be of Earth. It advances quickly.

You have a gun in the drawer next to your bed.

(1) Cowboy up. (2) Duck and roll. . o .

You're Tony Stark.

Tonight, every choice will count towards your survival.

life’s for the living (and the things in between) (ao3) - SalParadiseLost T, 70k

Summary: The Avengers get called in to help with a series of disappearances in Norway that seem to be connected to an old Norse legend. Thor has been shattered by Ragnarok, but he goes on the mission to get away from the memories that haunt him in New Asgard. Instead of a reprieve though, he finds himself facing his ghosts more than ever, especially once one of them begins to sound suspiciously like his brother.

Aka Thor is haunted, first by Loki, and later by a much less friendly ghost.

Provenance (ao3) - kingdomfaraway T, 81k

Summary: “I heard a rumor that you were introducing your new protégé to the world. I wanted to come and meet the young man who impressed Tony Stark while only in High School," Mr. Osborn spoke.

“No poaching,” Mr. Stark responded in a firm voice. “Finders keepers.”

Peter almost had to laugh at that one, technically if anything, Mr. Osborn helped create Spider-man, he would have dibs over Mr. Stark. But he certainly wasn’t going to mention it to either man.

(or: Peter Parker Struggles With Identity, Tony Stark is Concerned Dad and Norman Osborn is Creepy)

returning (ao3) - harcourt N/R, 3k

Summary: While under the influence of Loki’s scepter, Clint keeps finding strange notes telling him to wake up and isn’t quite sure what to make of them.

And they keep appearing.

The Devouring Storm (ao3) - blondsak, mysterycyclone mj/peter, ned/flash T, 98k

Summary: The city is unusually quiet tonight. Oh, sure, he’s had his usual crimes: muggings, drug deals, a few break ins. Nothing special. Nothing that could possibly explain the thread of tension winding through him, slowly tightening like a noose. Ever since last night, his spidey senses have set off at a low, maddening hum, distracting him, needling him, filling him with a restless energy that’s robbed him of restful sleep. He’s used to dealing with his super powered anxiety, but this feels different somehow. More ominous. And what’s weirder is that other people seem to be a little more wary, a little more on edge than usual, too. Cops, firefighters, even one of the guys Peter caught snatching a purse commented on it from his web cocoon on a street light.

“You feel that, Spidey? The city’s all weird tonight. Feels like the whole place is holding its breath, waiting on something.”

The One That Got Away (ao3) - lomku steve/tony T, 13k

Summary: Steve Rogers wants to go on a coffee date. Maria Hill is out for the enemy’s blood. Tony Stark is arguing with himself about what to do with a certain super-soldier’s advances. Oh, and the Skrulls are invading. Again.

The Weeping Siren (ao3) - GalaxyThreads T, 90k

Summary: When Vanaheim requests aid dealing with a creature dubbed the Weeping Siren, Sif had never thought Loki capable of doing something so recklessly selfless. Then again, this whole fiasco has made her acutely aware of something: she and the Warriors Three never really knew Loki. (AKA the Warriors Three and Sif realize they were wrong about Loki) gen, Pre-Thor

What's The Worst That Could Happen? (ao3) - slightly_salty_ace peter/wade M, 33k

Summary: Spider-man narrowly missed landing on the rooftop, but grabbed the gutter at the last second. It creaked under his weight, threatening to give. The vigilante's arms shook as he struggled to haul himself up. The bitter taste of blood filled his mouth, and his chest ached as he fought for air. Suddenly, the gutter broke free, sending Spider-man crashing into the busy street below.

Civilians screamed in shock, some scattering while others crowded around the fallen hero. There was a thud next to Spider-man's head, and he opened his eyes to see Iron Man standing over him. The armored man pointed a repulsor at Spider-man's head.

"Surrender, Spider-man. You can't win."

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