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bomberqueen17 · 3 months

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inspections

in terms of the kitchen remodel we are still waiting on like five pieces of trim and the door of one cabinet. so we're to the final details phase. which means the electrical and plumbing inspectors from the town have to come by.

the plumbing inspector came by and was super friendly and funny and was like "i guess i gotta run some water, i'll feel silly if i don't and there was a problem, but mostly i mean, if there was a problem you'd probably have noticed right?" and i was like yeah fair enough, wanna look at the gas lines they moved? and he was like oh i guess i will, sure. Super low-key.

The electrical inspector was similarly chill but he looked grimly up at the smoke detector they'd put up in not the place I'd expected them to, and said "that's. not where that goes." I said "it goes off all the time" and he was like "yeah it's way too close to the stove, I would not have put it there. But the problem is, you need there to be a carbon monoxide sensor within fifteen feet of your bedrooms, and the closer bedroom is seventeen feet that way."

Sure enough. It's the right kind of smoke detector but it's in the wrong place.

I looked up the manufacturer's instructions and they say to put it 20 feet from the main cooking appliance. Ten if that's not possible, but preferably 20. I measured, and it's eight feet from the stove. I can't get emojis to insert but this is the upside-down smiley, right here.

So the hallway location would have been completely fine for that, and in fact better. And that's where I had pointed out that they should put it, and that's where Jim had said they'd put it, and it's where I fully believed they were putting it until they finished the job.

So I'm displeased and have to psych myself up to call Jim and break the news to him, that it's not just that I could put another sensor up and be good-- the one they put in is just plain in the wrong place. I don't know if they can properly move it, they hard-wired the communication wire to the basement alarm, and I don't know if they can fish that through the ceiling that direction. (They can't, I'm one thousand percent sure the joists go the other way.)

But the alarm they installed, which cost me extra outside of the five figures of work done on the kitchen, is incorrectly located, and meets neither the manufacturer's guidelines nor town building codes. So I gotta put my big girl panties on and complain about that. I'd been preparing myself to just suck it up and set the smoke detector off every time I cooked but realizing that it's absolutely not supposed to be there has removed my last shred of putting up with that shit.

Hell fucking no. Now, how to say that nicely???? *deep breath* I can do it. Polite but firm.

On another note-- I went out of town for the weekend and got stuck there because of the snow, and finally made it back Monday morning, and when I texted the family groupchat that I'd made it home my mom was like "great!" and then literally one minute later was like "so what color are you painting your kitchen" so understand that y'all are not the only ones waiting to find out.

LOL any color would workkkkkk so I gotta pick one and do it. But probably not this week, as today's the last break in the weather and then we're supposed to get absolutely slammed with snow.

#about the author #kitchen remodel

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revelisms · 13 days

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Who's ready for Emeritus family messiness? (It's me. Constantly, apparently.)

I have lots of feelings on Secondo trying to be a "good" big brother in the shadow Primo left behind, and not quite knowing if he ever lived up to it. In short: these two have an unplanned (and needed) heart-to-heart on this.

This is now also the first of several roadtrip fic ideas, for some reason, which means I'm 1) thinking too much about what cars they drive, and 2) trying to put some pin on the map for where the Ministry could be. Lately, I've been running with something around the Veneto region of Italy, more on the inland side in the valleys.

I imagine the Ministry would be housed in a physical place that is only known and visible to a select few within access of the Church; however, those living on the grounds can and often do leave for business in neighboring towns (aka: running Nihil's errands, like these two are (attemptingly) doing here).

a handful of repairs

2.5k words | Rating: T | Secondo-Centric | CWs: Dysfunctional family dynamics, arguing, language, anger issues, parentification, referenced smoking/drinking, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The sun, broiling as the unmasked heavens, has seemed to lay a personal vendetta against him, today—or, rather, against the ancient engine of his Ferrari. The tight-wired thing had crapped out not fifteen minutes into their drive to Padua, and the following thirty he had spent greased to the elbows, engine smoke coughed in his face, attempting to tame the overheated arteries back to normal.

Primo's shadow looms over his shoulder. "Is it shot?"

"No, no—she is just a...temperamental thing—"

"Temperamental. It is worse than the door to the old cellars."

Secondo squeaks a gloved hand off the hood. "She's mine," he gristles, leveling a pointed leer at his brother. "You all complain about it, every time you get in the Hellfucking car—but I bought her with my own money, eh? If I want to tinker with the damned thing for the rest of my life, then I'm going to tinker with it."

Beside him, Primo scuffs a breath through his teeth, fanning the unbuttoned collar of his cassock over his neck. "So long as you don't strand us on the side of the road." He pauses, taking in the endless stretch of gravel that cooks beneath their feat, and lifts a wiry brow. "Ah. Have I spoken too soon?"

A crowfoot wrenches over a stubborn gear. The metal squeals.

Countless summers of this. Satan forbid if he'll ever live this one down: the esteemed Monsignor Emeritus and the unpainted head of the Satanic Church, bickering like ravens in the middle of bum-fuck Veneto.

He smears the sweat off his brow.

"You must have named it, with as much pride as you pour into the thing."

"Rosalina."

"Lucifer forbid, you have." Primo kneads a weary touch over his brow. "One can only hope I was kidding."

"Will you shut up."

"Shall I send for Nihil?"

Secondo finally gets the wretched coolant cap back on. "May as well send for the cavalry."

"Terzo, then?"

The thought makes him smear a streak of oil down his cheek.

He can see his younger brother's shit-eating grin already, the tires of his black-glossed coupe scraping to a halt at their feet, a ringed hand dangling out the window. He'd be chewing their ear off about needing full-time nursing care, the entire ride to town.

"I'll wring his neck," Secondo spits, clapping the wrench over the engine. "It just—it needs time to cool off, alright? It's fixed. It'll be fine."

"So you say."

The leather of his gloves sticks to his palms like cling-wrap. He peels them off, with a scowl. "All I'm asking you to do is wait."

"I do believe you're the one whose patience the Olde One is testing, Brother."

Maybe it's the heat, the fields swaying in a green-gold blur, the droning void of the cloudless sky baking down on them like under-proofed dough.

Maybe it's the fact that, since his Ascension, he's hardly had scant minutes he could scrub together to call his own—even the ones snatched in backstage rooms and buried in the sweet fawnings of women's necks.

Maybe it's that even the thought of Terzo having to pick up the pieces, as he himself had been shackled to do throughout the entirety of his quick-lived youth, sets his blood boiling.

His gloves squeak beneath his palm.

"I've done enough waiting," he grumbles, and pushes off from the car.

He feels his brother's fish-pale eyes on him like a brand. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Primo prods, eventually.

The sweat at his neck leaves his fingers tacky. He smears at it, again. "What it means."

It's childish. Not the time, or the place. He knows it—just as well as he knows that Terzo has already been picking up the cracked shards of their lives, for years now: forced to bear the mantle Primo had left behind, with his own donned silks and staff, that Secondo himself had stepped into like a pair of misfitted boots.

A not-father, a near-mother. A patient nurturer. A loving thing.

All traits he'd never been; that Terzo, by his own doomed attempts, had never received.

By the time Copia is handed that mantle, the little rat will have nothing left to care for. Only himself, on the stage of Nihil and Sister's own expectations. Not that he supposes it matters.

Their youngest had rarely come to him for anything, in his earlier days. He must have learned enough, through the quick-tongued jibes of his idiot brother, that there was no living soul to come to: not for advice, for care, for any of it.

Primo, eyes averted, muddles his fingers over his sleeve. "You strand us, and start up with this?"

"Forget it," Secondo grumbles. He grinds his heel into the pebbled dust beneath his feet.

"You brought it up."

"I didn't bring anything up—"

"This is about me, yes?" Silver-blue and moon-white cut through the air between them: linger with hawkish steadiness on the lines that twitch through Secondo's cheek. "Go on. Say it." Primo flicks a bony hand, his mouth thin. "Little else for us to do, it seems."

Secondo narrows his eyes on his boots. Squeezes his tongue into his teeth.

Primo takes the silence for what it's worth. After a moment, he clears his throat. "I did what I had to," he hushes. A breeze chases again through the fields, rustling the long slopes of their silks. "You know that."

Of course he knows that.

"You left us," he cuts back—because he knows that, more.

Primo lifts his eyes. Silent, frigid, as always. "I didn't have a choice."

"You chose to stick me with them."

And he shouldn't care, is the vile thing: that he'd been left in the flamepit of Nihil's and Sister's verbal jousts; the remaining Elder to their Church-bolstered strategies and financial debts, their global visions for a house already cracked at the foundation. Left to be the Shield to Terzo's cat-eyed staring, too perceptive from the shadows, trapped since birth in a shell far too small for the soul of him. To fill the unwilling Could-Be to the fire-haired thing Sister had carried through their chapel doors, like a child birthed from the ritual slabs of Olde—unexplained, unknown, voiceless as a demon.

Secondo had been seventeen the day Primo donned the stage. Terzo, on the cusp of twelve. Copia, hardly old enough to tie his shoes.

By the time Terzo was fourteen, Secondo had buried himself in his Cardinal duties, already neck-deep in Nihil's grousings about the next iterations of the tours—and Copia had decided, against every point of reason, to view his storm cloud of a little brother as the needed Something.

"You didn't see how they were with them," Secondo gravels on: the frustration stuffed into a bottle, tight as he can manage—because through all of it, for all his stifled attempts, he hadn't been with them. But he should have been. Primo should have been. "What it did to the imbecile."

Primo huffs. "Terzo's always been reckless," he whispers.

An understatement, if there ever was one.

Even as a boy, the little menace been a magnet to Secondo's own vices—ones he'd caught his little brother exploring, red-handed, on more nights than he cared to remember.

He'd tried to give himself some grace about it. It was a folly, he'd reasoned, to beat inherited habits out of one's blood. They were all Nihil's sons, after all. Most of them.

Secondo shifts his jaw: a silent scrape of teeth. "He needed you," he grits back.

No part of him can admit the truth festering beneath that. Primo, mouth ticked, sees it nonetheless.

"So did you."

The heat wails on them.

For a breath, it's only the humid air, and the crickets, and the buzzing of gnats, and his pulse battering like a drum in his ears.

"Dino," Primo mutters, muted and still. The sound crawls under his skin like a tapeworm.

"I don't need to talk about this." Secondo swats his hand. "What's done is done—nothing to do about it, now."

His brother draws in a slow breath. Pinches it through his teeth. "Listen."

"You listen, eh?"

"I know you...blame yourself."

The gravel scrapes beneath his heel. Secondo rounds over his shoulder, sizes up the man across from him like a moth flickering around the lamplight of his mind; like a snake that's just slithered from the weeds.

"You want to pass off a diagnosis, now?" he sneers, and coughs out a breath of disbelief. "What else is next, eh? I am the image of the All-Father, sleeping around too much? Drowning my sorrows in the off-hours? A puppet in these goddamned robes?" He presses another step closer. "I hear the talk," he hisses, "and it swings both ways, Brother. Now—hearing about blame, from you? That's rich."

Primo lifts his chin, prim as a royal. "Calm down," he orders him.

Secondo bristles like a beast. "Who started this, eh?"

That, apparently, does him in. His brother cuts his hands through the air, stalks a grumbling path down the thistled old road. "Seven Circles—"

"Ah, yes—suppose that now you're off your throne, you are the pinnacle of wisdom," Secondo barks after him. "Always jabbering on and on about the duties, and the upholdings of the Cloth, and your goddamned crown above it—"

Across the way, Primo spits a huff. "Well. Now you are Papa—and I am here, yes? So you have what you wanted, apparently. Regality, titles, those two out of your hair—"

"That's not what I meant—"

"But what you are saying!"

Primo pins him with a hard glare. The wind and the heat have made a mess of him. He fiddles with the loose ends of his hair, distractedly: reties the knot at his nape, with a scowl. "I know, alright?" he mumbles through it. "I lived it, too. You think I knew what I was doing, having you and the little one at my heels?"

He shakes his head for a moment, hands pitted at his waist, and stares down the empty road. A fly buzzes incessantly past Secondo's ear.

"I was young, Dino," Primo sighs on. "We all were." His words turn stony, steel-edged. "But it is one thing, not to know how—and it is another, not to try."

A fire scorches in his throat. "So you are saying I did not try, eh?"

Primo lifts his brows. "You tell me."

He feels tension coil in his hand: flexes it out, like an old wound. Secondo glowers at the silver sheen of his car, bright as a bullet in the blinding sun. Looks away from the young-eyed reflection bubbling within it.

"You were strong," he grumbles, at last. "We both were. Those other two—"

"Copia was a child."

"Terzo was a child." His nails bite at his palm. "A weak one, at that."

A beat passes, two, before a chill sinks through his brother's stare: two beads of ice in a black-cloaked tower, standing like an apparition against the field's green. It cuts through Secondo like a knife, and festers like an infection.

"For that boy to endure the Sight he was gifted," Primo says carefully, "and not lose his mind from it, is a feat above us all. He's the strongest of any of us, for that alone—beside the fact he was there for Copia, after all of it."

"And that he was in the cigarette boxes, by fourteen?" Secondo scoffs. "Hell—the liquor cabinets? The clubs?"

"Weren't you?"

Shame burns in his skin. It clots any further poison from spewing off his tongue: turns him awkward, silent, fidgeting, his arms notching over his chest like a brace. He takes a hard breath beneath them. Flares it out, like dragon-smoke.

He hears his brother loiter on the gravel. Hears his fingers wrestling with the thick lines of his collar, again. His steps crunching back into his radius.

"I had my vices, too," Primo rasps, quietly. "I was raised in Nihil's touring vans, Dino—you think I'm not without my faults?"

Secondo pinches his fingers into his bicep. "At least you raised us."

"But I—Hell's sake. I shouldn't have had to." Primo's hand lifts, squeezes tight on his elbow. Loosens into a slow nudge. "And neither should you have."

At one time, his brother had towered over him. His sandy hair, bound to run gray. His bean-poled limbs and perpetually cold fingers; his voice that carried Nihil's smoke-pocked wheeze, even from his teenage days.

Strange, now, that the tables have flipped: Secondo, the mountain out of all of them, inches held over this one's pale-eyed leer. But still, in this moment—as he always had, in those moments before—he feels so small before him.

A compass needle whirling for direction. A child in the path of a giant.

"To come from this Bloodline, and not regret any years lived within it..." Primo chuffs, wrinkling a smile. "I'd consider that a feat of the One beneath. Satan knows Sister has tried to pray for it."

Secondo ticks one brow. "Prayed for it," he burrs. "Bargained us off, just to open the Gate."

"All the more proof, then."

Still, Primo's hand is on his elbow. Still, his eyes linger.

Secondo forces a swallow. "I know," he grumbles.

"You don't know."

"I know."

"Then you need to hear it, again."

His lashes flicker. His brow coils to a knot.

"We are all like this old engine of yours, Brother. We will be tinkering with the parts, until the day it croaks." Primo's eyes soften, skimming away. "And even then," he mutters on, "there may be new uses for it."

Secondo wrinkles his nose. "On your metaphorical ramblings, now?" He shrugs off his touch, the sun hot at his back, and scuffs his way to the driver's door. "If I am the car, what does that make you, huh?"

Primo sighs. He's forgotten the roll of his tools, left like an apron of jewels on a web of machinery. His bony hands tussle them back up. "Who is to say?" he drawls. "The, ah...windows in the old conservatory, perhaps."

"Can't stand you."

Primo claps the hood shut, slanting a wry smirk. "You put me on far too high on a pedestal, little brother, if you think any others feel differently."

"Get your ass in the car."

"It is cooled off?"

"Yes, it is cooled off. Goddamned should be—hour-long detour. Get in."

Primo slumps back into his seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

By the Olde One's blessing, the engine starts: a rickety burst into a lion's purr. Secondo keeps the relief off his face. Slowly, he slopes his hand over the wheel; clicks on the rolling melodramatics of the radio, the dusty burst of the air-conditioning.

Only hot air greets their wrinkled faces.

Primo cants a slow look from his seat.

"One word, and I'll slug you," Secondo growls. He jerks the car into gear, turning them back onto the white stretch of gravel that ribbons before them.

Primo, clicking his tongue, creaks down the window. "Tinkering with it for life, eh?" he muses, flatly.

"What did I just say."

"It is just the truth of the matter, Brother."

Secondo, with more flare than needed, jerks up the volume of the radio. In the corner of his eye, Primo only shakes his silvered head, and smiles.

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #writing #papa emeritus ii #papa ii #secondo #papa emeritus i #papa i #primo #on the family angst train: yet again #when am i not #help i love these two

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daiseukiis · 3 years

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: ̗̀➛ 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐒

𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 ; 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤𝙨

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─꒱ in which we peak into how life is as the in-law of the fushiguro family after marrying megumi。

─꒱ feat. fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji & fushiguro tsumiki

─꒱ warnings ; profanity and slightly suggestive

─꒱ notes ; plz this is too much, for crack rzns toji is alive and well. this is basically the shit that would happen if i was an in law of the fushiguro family but i decided to make it into an x fem!reader instead. ALSO THANKS TO THE ANON FOR GIVING SUCH A TITLE ! should i make this a series ?? 👀

─꒱ 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐒 | episode two

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꒰꒰ before getting married to megumi, you had to go through two people in his life; the real father and the fake excuse of a father.

꒰꒰ of course the latter was easier to handle with compared to the real father, who in fact dotes on you lots after he had witnessed you shoulder throw the nearest bitch who tried to touch you when you were out shopping.

꒰꒰ you and tsumiki are obviously very close after taking the surname fushiguro, taking turns cooking or even cooking together meals for the family. though, toji shortly enters the kitchen and starts eating the food midway.

꒰꒰ there are times when you and tsumiki are out, the men of the family would buy take out because they're too lazy to cook for themselves. you and tsumiki scold them when you get home and tell them they don't get food.

꒰꒰ then there are other times when toji and megumi would just be fighting for,,, whatever reason.

꒰꒰ that usually ends up with tsumiki throwing spatulas and a bunch of other kitchen utensils.

꒰꒰ though there was a time that she had somehow took the knife you were using to cut pork and threw it at them when megumi and toji were arguing in the kitchen.

the sound of a knife is flung in between the father-son duo, it's sharp end digging deep within the wall as the blood from the pork you were cutting it with drips down the grey paint. toji and megumi halt their aggressive words, eyes wide open as they stare at each other before looking at the knife just half a foot between their faces.

"sorry! i didn't mean to throw the knife!" tsumiki quickly moves her feet towards her father and brother to check if they were alright. the two males took a closer look at the night, she even killed a fly in the process.

you stood in your spot to stare at the sight before you. "gumi," you call out to your husband who turns to look back at you. "yeah?"

"your sister scares me."

꒰꒰ the other times to when they argued, toji would bring out his worm and megumi would summon his shikigami

you return home with tsumiki after buying groceries to hear a loud 'demon dog; totality!' from inside the house, and then in less than five seconds the white door which was installed two weeks ago is broken to bits when you witness your father get thrown out by your husband's shikigamis. you and tsumiki stop to watch as toji brings out the worm from his mouth, a pissed megumi walking out from the broken door and yelling curses at your father.

"who's turn is it to pay for the door?" you ask, blinking your lashes as you hear tsumiki sigh. "i'm pretty sure it's tou-chan's turn to pay."

꒰꒰ a lot of things break in the house often.

꒰꒰ in return, they pay for it and do the chores. though tsumiki threatened them.

꒰꒰ somehow you question why toji and megumi would be afraid if tsumiki were ever to get mad, then you're reminded about the time she threw a knife with accuracy to stop them from fighting.

꒰꒰ sometimes it's just hard to spend quality time with your husband at home when toji is around because he will purposely find ways to annoy megumi.

꒰꒰ you have gotten used to waking up two in the morning to get a midnight snack in the kitchen and witness toji come home in blood.

꒰꒰ that saying, you have also gotten used waking up two in the morning for a cup of water to witness both toji and megumi cooperating to tie up some person who tried to assassinate either or.

"burglar or assassin?" you nonchalantly ask after walking downstairs and pouring a cup of water for yourself. you hear megumi say, "came for the old man."

"i see," after finishing your drink you place the cup in the sink to wash tomorrow morning, glancing once more back to the two fushiguros that stood in front of a cursed user tied up on the floor as one or tojj's weapons were at their neck. you nod, waving your hand. "goodnight."

"i'll be in bed soon, bunny." megumi announces as he tightens the rope around the hands of the intruder, you flash a smile their way, waving your hand and making your way up the stairs. "alright, night tou-chan."

"yeah, sleep well, y/n." you grin at yourself when toji bid you night, though at the same time the said man had to stuff a cloth in the intruders mouth when megumi was instructed to stab the hand when he screamed, continuing on with their interrogation before disposal.

꒰꒰ you and tsumiki one way or another can always drag both toji and megumi out to go shopping, using them as your personal bag carriers.

꒰꒰ when you're lucky toji pays for it all. he actually loves spoiling his daughters but he would never say that.

꒰꒰ toji is constantly asking you and megumi when you'll have kids, saying that it would be good money if they got the cursed technique. it always angers megumi when he says it that, but you know that's just toji's way of showing that he wants grandchildren.

꒰꒰ on that topic when you're left in the house with toji, he'd casually ask you if megumi is fucking you hard enough and why you're not pregnant yet.

꒰꒰ you spit your water at his face that time.

꒰꒰ other times toji would invite you to a horse stadium and watch horse racing with him. but this one time you saw a t-rex costume race on the tv and quickly called toji over

"i bet five thousand yen on t-rex twelve." you point to the tv where they were broadcasting about fifteen people having a race in a t-rex costume in a horse racing stadium. toji looks plainfully at you, "you're disowned as daughter in law."

but you'd still see the small smile on his face as you hear laughing and snickering from tsumiki and megumi in the back.

tagging ; @inumakiful @to-move-on-means-to-grow @hq128 @erensslut @churochuu @haru-senji

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !

DO NOT REPOST 、 MODIFY 、 CLAIM WORK OR LAYOUT AS YOURS.

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imtryingmybeskar · 2 years

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Day Fourteen of Steph's Christmas writing challenge.

I REALLY wanted to try to get this done. So here is a tiny little thing with Jack. Warning for swearing and mild allusions to smut. I wrote this very quickly on my phone and it's not my best work 😬

Jack Daniels X GN! Reader. Word count: 420

Silly Dancing

So..... turkey's in the oven. Potatoes are prepped and ready to go. The vegetables are cooking. The gravy is simmering. We have wine and cheese and crackers and table decorations. Christmas playlist made and playing. Stuffing! Oh fuck! The stuffing!

Your thoughts stumbled over themselves in your panic. Who could forget stuffing at Christmas?! It was integral to the table. You began hastily pulling ingredients out of cupboards and were reaching for your mixing bowl when you heard his bass, Southern honeyed tones throughout the house.

"Honey, I'm home!" A hearty chuckle. Then, "I'm sorry, that's so clichéd. How about "Sweetheart, I've arrived?" "

"Hi Jack," you answered frantically.

He entered the kitchen, a worry creasing his brow.

"What's wrong, sugar? You sound all...tense." He dropped his voice on the last word, and ordinarily it would have shot straight to your abdomen, warming you through and sparking a desire for his voice closer, whispering sweet filth into your ear. Right now, it just made you more stressed.

"I forgot to make the stuffing!" you wailed. "And it's such an important part of Christmas and I don't know if it will cook in time and now I'm worried I've ruined the dinner and-"

"Honey, honey, honey," he soothed. "It's okay. It will all be okay. I'll help you make whatever you need to make. But first..." He held out his hands to you invitingly. "Dance with me?"

"Jack-"

"Uh-uh," he interrupted. "Dance with me. The stuffing needs to be made with love. Not stress and panic. And I can help you de-stress." A beautifully wicked grin spread across his face. "I can help you de-stress in a lot of ways. But maybe like this for now, hmmm?"

It was impossible to resist. Those arms, that smile, that broad chest he wanted to pull you against. Those eyes. You went to him and allowed him to take you into his embrace, settling your head on his shoulder and letting him lead you in a slow waltzing step, which was totally out of time for the upbeat Christmas song currently playing. He twirled you, catching you offguard and making you trip over your feet as you fell, giggling into his chest. He tilted your chin up so you could meet his gaze, his impossibly dark eyes capturing you within their depths.

"I love you sugar," he said. "And stuffing or no stuffing, this is going to be the best Christmas ever." He paused and winked cheekily at you. "But let's go with stuffing, hmmm?"

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16

Day Fifteen

#stephsxmaswritingchallenge2021 #jack daniels x gn! reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels fluff

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taeyamayang · 3 years

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WHERE IT ENDS

a/n: these thoughts have been lingering in my mind for days so i thought of writing it

PAIRING: tsukishima kei x reader

GENRE: angst | cusp of break-up

for most home is a place; perhaps, a four-bricked wall and a high ceiling refined by a teardrop crystal chandelier or a humble cottage by the field coupled with herbivorous aroma from the fresh greens. for some home is a memory; the sound of the fire crackling brings them back to their first campfire trip or the soft knocks of the rain on the window pane reminds them of hot chocolate and toasted marshmallows in grandma's house.

but for you, home is a bit gauche and aloof. home dresses in his usual rectangular specs and notable frown. his hair hued with light-toned blonde complimenting his pair of golden dust eyes. home is where you come back to after a long day. his long yet lean arms around your waist and the sound of his low humming breaths softly promises you a better tomorrow. home was simple. he neither asked for anything grand nor expected you to be finer than anyone else. home accepted you for you are.

but like any other people's home, it deteriorates. holes in the ceilings start to show and the greenery starts to wither. the crackling sound from the fire jumbles your memoryㅡwas it from the bonfire or the fireplace? likewise, deceiving your sensesㅡdid grandma's toasted marshmallows had chocolates or peanut butter? home was once certain and definite but now it wavers your mind.

the screeching sound from the fork catches your attention. the fork weakly twists and turns around his plate barely looping around the pasta. maybe he did not like the dinner you cooked for him but you know him all too well like the back of your hand to know that he has always been a fan of your homecooked meals. the only reason for him to dislike the dish is perhaps, by any chance, your food started to taste bland as the silence grew between the two of you.

he eats the last bite of pasta before placing the utensils on top of the plate. he pats the corner of his lips using a paper towel with one hand. he pushes himself up from the table. the back of his thighs hit the wooden seat making the feet of the chair scrape against the tiled floor subsequently creating a shrieking sound that resonates within the room.

"thanks for the meal. the food is great," he says all of a sudden catching you off guard. your eyes held his. "as always." he finishes his sentence with a whisper. you flash him a brief unrecognizable smile before nodding your head. he walks past your direction leaving you alone at the dining table.

memories of shared laughs over meals engulf your head like a plague making you furrow your eyebrows at the unwanted nostalgia. why can't the of you stay just the way you are? you never dealt with dire problems. you two worked together harmoniously like consonance notes in a music sheet. your friends deemed the two of you as the perfect couple. the perfect epitome of first love never dies, and it doesn't. your love is still there keeping your senses alive, your heart pumping, and your mind functioning. but love alone can't keep happiness.

"tsukki." your voice utters the words out of your mouth without the awareness of your consciousness. your pupils dilate as he turns his head toward you. your eyes bounce from one eye to the other, unable to formulate coherent sentences. his left eyebrow slightly pivots upward when he senses your internal delay. "nothing." you say, brushing him off.

"you should stay," he mutters after a few seconds. he breaks off the eye contact. maybe he has reached the quota for the amount of decent mutual gaze for newly pronounced exes considering it has only been exactly fifteen hours since the final words were said. "i mean, stay in the house. i can fix the lease for you. don't move out," he trails swallowing the last word. "please."

home was once yours. the love that once kept you sane begins to swallow you alive. your shared memories with him are enough to be grateful for?

bullshit.

at the back of your mind you know you want more. you want to be greedy for once and pull him back to your embrace. you want to tell him that everyone goes through phases like this and this is just another hurdle you both need to overcome. you want to tell him to sleep next to you tonight and nuzzle in his warm hug. hopefully, the sunrise will clear his mind. but you don't.

instead, you swallow the growing lump in your throat and blink away the threatening tears from your lids. the last thing you want from him is to pretend happiness by showing you fake smiles just please you. and so, defeatedly, you nod at his request.

"tsukki, i remember what i was supposed to say a while ago." your eyes that were once glued to the floor met his'. you smile at him, genuinely, as you let out a soft exhale. he hums at you in question. his lips curved up into a smile mirroring your expression. "i love you." the words came out in a gentle moan.

"i love you, too." your chest contracts as the words lay dormant between the two of you. silence lingers for a few seconds before his feet lead him upstairs where he packs his things, leaving you alone as you heave for air. tears stream down your cheeks continuously painting your face in sorrow as broken pieces of you shattered across the floor. your arms hug your torso in an attempt to stop your trembling shoulder while your nails dug onto your palms leaving crescent moons on your skin. teeth clawing on your bottom lip as you stifle your cries.

this is where it ends.

this how home becomes a stranger.

this is me venting out my feelings,, thanks for reading~

and no, i didn't break-up with someone lmaoo

Masterlist

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq headcanons #hq oneshots #hq tsukishima #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima oneshot #tsukishima x reader #haikyu angst #where it ends

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hunsuks · 4 years

Text

Vapor. | gonhun

pairings: gonhun (main), gonbae, hunhee.

genre: angst, dreams

word count: 1,827

a/n: i've always wanted to write something out of this plot and i finally found the perfect pair! the characters were originally switched up (like byounggon as seunghun and vice versa) but something made me feel like it would be better the other way around so if i missed some mistake from switching their names, please forgive me because i did it after i had someone read it for me. 🥺💛

p.s this is not a songfic but these songs fit this fic so much so you can also listen to them while reading.

"It's him."

Byounggon's heart started acting as if it was about to escape and rip his rib cage. For what felt like a myriad of moments passing by around him, he felt his feet glued to the ground. Numb and frozen on his state, he felt white heat drape all over him. His vision started to darken and his hearing started blurring out as well. He was going to pass out anytime soon but he has to follow him. He knows to himself that it's him. The man of his dream. It's Seunghun. The Seunghun who he have always yearned to meet in real life and not only in his deep slumber. The Seunghun that he wanted to hold in his arms not only fifteen minutes after he closed his eyes. He have waited all his life for this day to come. He can't let him go.

—

This world felt as if nothing could tear them apart. Not even the storm. Nothing. This world felt like the complete opposite of Byounggon's reality. In this world, he felt secured. He felt real happiness. He was euphoric. Because he was holding the dearest man of his life. He held him softly, with great caution but at the same time, so tight that it seemed like Seunghun would slip away in a blink of an eye.

Because he would. He was just a dream who would disappear like vapor the moment Byounggon opens his eyes.

For a moment and for the first time in Byounggon's life, he didn't ever want to wake up from a dream. Seunghun was his most beautiful nightmare; because he never had Seunghun in his reality.

The first time Byounggon started having vivid dreams, he woke up feeling like he never slept at all. He felt more exhausted than he should be from sleeping for almost half a day. He oddly felt like he was carrying a weight in his chest that he felt like sobbing it out and crying his eyes out would help him breathe but it doesn't. His dreams vividly, continuously, ran inside his head.

He never met this man, yet he was the most beautiful man he's ever seen in his life. He felt like it was pathetic to cry over someone he only saw in his dreams. But he never had dreams as clear as this. He can remember every detail from Seunghun's face. He can remember Seunghun's name.

He shook his head and went to wash his face with cold water only to face his restless self in the mirror.

"Are you this pathetic now?" he cursed to himself.

The insomnia he's been having for the past months after a traumatic good bye with Jinyoung left him restless. For the past months, he couldn't remember dreaming at all. He can't even remember if he was ever asleep. Still, he refused to be medicated leaving him no choice but watch the sun rise each day. This was the longest sleep he's ever had ever since that night Jinyoung said he couldn't do it anymore. And it constantly pains him. Even at this moment. The memories of that night tried to intrude in between the flashes of his dream.

He felt like he's carrying a piece of that world in his dream with him even in this world; with his soul. It felt too real to forget. Everything reminds him of Seunghun.

How can I even remember his name? I never met him, not even once as far as I can remember.

In his dreams, they were perfect. As perfect as what every couple in this world would admire to be.

—

"Welcome home, my love." Seunghun whispered to his ear as he breathed in Seunghun's neck, inhaling what oddly seemed to be a familiar scent. This is what home smells like. His heart have never felt this warm. There were no worries in his head while his arms were tightly wrapped around Seunghun's body while they were standing in the middle of an empty living room. The only worry going on in his head right now is the boxes that they are about to unpack and the furniture that they had to put in places within the day.

"Welcome home..." He answered as Seunghun placed a peck on his forehead and shuffled his hair.

Byounggon was aware that he was dreaming. But it felt too good to resist. He would like to watch this. Oddly, he would like to see what happens next with this beautiful boy with him.

'Don't open your eyes yet Byounggon, don't.' he thought to himself within his dreams.

"So this is what it feels like? We're really living together now. You can't let go of me now." Seunghun chuckled as he held Byounggon's hand, tight.

'I wish I can't.' Byounggon thought to himself as his gaze wandered around Seunghun's face, indulging every detail that he can, every detail that he wants to remember even if he woke up.

"I will never let go. You know that." Byounggon said as if he really meant it. Because that's how it felt like. He felt like those words came out straight from his heart to a stranger in front of him; even though he didn't feel like one at all.

They began to unpack all the stuff that they could do for the day. As enough as having the TV and the sofa in the living room and having the bed set in their now shared room. Byounggon vividly remembers every little detail. Even from the moment Seunghun accidentally hit his toe in the corner of the table and how he burned his tongue from the ramyeon that they cooked for dinner.

He have never laughed this much in a while. He was aware. It felt like he was living someone else's life but at the same time it felt so right to hold Seunghun's hand that fits perfectly with his, to kiss Seunghun's lips that felt like his was meant to meet. It was too surreal. He never encountered something that's too good to be true ever in his life.

—

And his life went on and so did the vivid dreams. Byounggon have never felt so excited to go home and sleep each day. It felt like he was living his life everyday just to sleep again; just to meet Seunghun in his dreams again.

He never told anyone about this. He was scared that everybody will tell him that he's crazy for having dreams that felt like a drama with consecutive episodes every night. He started getting convinced that he's living another life in another universe, a world wherein everything is perfect with Seunghun.

He was scared that if he told someone about it, he might suddenly stop seeing Seunghun in his dreams.

He knows that if he ever told someone about it, they would tell him to look for him in this world, but that was what he was most scared of. To meet him in this world. To meet this stranger in this world.

Until one day, there was no way to escape from his fears anymore.

He knew that this day would come. Somehow he wished that this reality was the dream instead.

The Seunghun in his dream is standing in front him. He have never felt this sure in his life. He scanned every detail from his face as Seunghun looked down at the book that he was holding. And he knows, deep in his heart that every detail hits home within him. A stranger never felt this familiar to him. Just like the first he met his Seunghun in his dreams, he never felt like a stranger at all.

"It's him."

'Does he know me? What if he doesn't know me? What if he does? Would I tell him that I know him? Does he dream the same dreams as me? What if he thinks I'm crazy?' Myriad of thoughts spiraled around Byounggon's head. He felt as if he was going to collapse.

'Of course I'm crazy.'

Seunghun is just a table and books away from him in his favorite bookstore. Never did he ever think that this is where he'll finally meet Seunghun.

For what felt like years of standing across him, Seunghun finally closes the book he was holding and started heading to the cashier.

Unconsciously, Byounggon's voice cracked as he slipped Seunghun's name out of his mouth way too loud without thinking.

A millisecond felt like an hour.

Thump. Thump.

He gripped the table to support himself, he knows he's going to fall soon.

Thump. Thump.

Did he hear me? Why is everyone looking at me?

Thump. Thump.

Is he going to turn?

Thump.

And he did.

Byounggon never thought he'll meet those glistening eyes ever in his life; in this world. But this is the reality. He tried to pinch himself multiple times but it was even harder to differentiate what's real and what's not. He was trying to convince himself that perhaps, this is the dream.

Seunghun's expression was hard to read. He was not shocked. Not confused either. Byounggon does not know how to identify what it says. Neither does he know how to tell how he's feeling right at that moment, he just wanted to run away but at the same time, feel Seunghun's warmth.

Seunghun's expression was suddenly bright. It was as if he was not the man Byounggon was looking at a few seconds? minutes? a million thoughts ago.

That smile. The smile that tells him that he's finally home. His comfort. His rest. His safe haven. He's looking at it right now. But more vivid. Realer.

"Seunghun-ah..." said someone softly from behind Byounggon.

And this time, it tears his heart rather than making it warm, because he was not the reason behind it.

He knew what was gonna come. He felt like he was gonna throw up but he watched a fairly tall boy walk to Seunghun from his behind and wrapped his arms around Seunghun's waist.

"I'm done choosing a book Yong-ah. Look."

#cix #fiction #angst #dreams #lee byounggon #kim seunghun #bae jinyoung #kim yonghee #yoon hyunsuk #au #fanfic #Spotify

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thekwanderer · 4 years

Text

November 28 2019

Allison and I wake up just after six this morning. Our only plans are breakfast at 9 and our flight to Goa at 2:40 pm. It takes us a full ten minutes to realize that the power is off in the hotel room. The front desk answers before the first ring finishes and the frantic attendant informs me that the power will be back soon. Allison is hoping to work out, but the elevators are down so we decide it is best to wait until the power seems stable. Electricity comes and goes over the course of the next hour. Around 7:15, the electricity has been on for ten minutes and Allison takes her chances in the elevator. The internet must be on a different circuit because it stays up the whole time. I stay in bed and am able to find and stream the second half of the Celtics/Nets game!

I make a reservation for our group to eat breakfast at the restaurant on top of the building. At nine, we meet at the restaurant and have a relaxed breakfast. The meal is nice, but the breakfast at our first hotel outclassed it in my opinion. The options are essentially the same, but the dosas, bacon, and tea are all a disappointment after what I had come to expect. The view from our table is limited so we go to the balcony after the meal. New Delhi is a very green city. From our vantage, the city appears to be a sea of trees with only the occasional 5 story building rising from the canopy. The roof is occupied by a fleet of pigeons and two large birds of prey circle around the towers of our hotel. Between the birds, monkeys , dogs, and cows the streets of New Delhi teem with life both human and animal.

Allison and I pack our bags and meet the rest of our party in the lobby at eleven. Patrick, Stephanie, Allison, and I play a round of a game called exploding kittens while we wait for Debbie and Richard. Around noon, we call Uber's and start the trek to the airport. Allison and I split one with Debbie and Richard, while Patrick and Stephanie take their own. The drive is uneventful but the streets are as hectic a usual. Riding in New Delhi was overwhelming at first but now I am getting used to the constant noise and weaving involved in every trip.

Our driver pulls up to terminal three and we unload our bags without incident. Anna has arrived before us and tells us that there is a way to pay to expedite the bag check. We head towards the door to find that they check tickets even before entering the terminal. Our tickets are digital, so we head to the door with our phones out. The line is short but when we get to the front, the guard tells Allison that her ticket is no good. It takes a moment to realize that we have our tickets for the flight back from Goa rather than the ones there! Debbie bought the tickets, so she needs to access them on her phone but doesn't have internet. Allison lets Debbie tether her phone to get online, but the entire time we are at the front of the line and doing our best to let people by us. Finally Debbie pulls up the tickets and airdrops them to each of us. The tension drops and we queue back up. The guard checks the first ticket and calmly informs us that we are at the wrong terminal, that we need terminal 1, and that we need to get out of the line so the next person can get through. We scramble out of line and I spot a kiosk that will print our boarding passes. With paper in hand, I ask an Indigo (our airline) employee if our flight is from terminal 3 but no luck. The printing of the pass did not magically change our gate. Panic starts to build as we search for someone with English good enough to explain how we can get to terminal one.

Our panic is spotted by an enterprising taxi driver and he saddles up next to me. He asks where we are trying to go and tells me my options are to take a shuttle, which will take an hour, or pay him 150 rupee (the government price, he assures me) each and he will get us there in 15 minutes. Richard and I are ready to pay the man but our intrepid ladies firmly tell him the only way he can help is to stop talking. Allison calls up Anna and tells her our whole sad story. Anna and Raul tell us that we need to head to the taxi stand and get a prepaid taxi. Meanwhile, the ore taxi drivers watches from twenty feet like a vulture waiting for us to give up. Without a look back, we grab our bags and set off for the taxi stand.

We head downstairs to arrivals and the prepaid taxis. The whole line at the stand is like all the lines in India - messy. It appears that sheer desire and brazenness wins the day here. Fortunately it is not too busy, and I am told the fare will be 300 rupees for four of us and four bags. The man in the booth points to his left after handing me a receipt and I believe that I misinterpret his signal. I think he means for us to talk to he man just to his left outside the booth. This man tells us to follow and takes us an awaiting taxi. He is pushy and constantly trying to grab my bag and the receipt. I am not properly on guard and allow him to get a hold of both! What a rookie mistake! Never let anyone get a hold of anything of yours! We make it to the taxi thankfully and the receipt makes it to the right person, the driver. The man who helped us holds the door open when we get in and refused to close it until we tip him for "helping". Now I realize we were supposed to go approach the drivers directly with the receipt. Worn down, our group produces a 100 rupee note and hand it over with a scowl. He closes the door entirely unperturbed by our disdain.

The ride to terminal one takes a full 15 minutes! The New Delhi airport is apparently very spread out. It takes ten minutes just to see a sign for terminal 1 and in that time I am terribly anxious that something will go wrong or we are somehow headed the wrong way.

Arriving at terminal one, we are anxious to get our bags checked and pass through security. We decide to pay for expedited bag-checking. We skip the line, but it still takes a solid fifteen minutes and three attempted up-sells to get our bags tagged and out of our hands. The security line is short but poorly organized. We find our friend on the other side and also a number of over wedding attendees who are taking the same flight to Goa. The gates are separated from the dining/shopping/waiting area and we are not able to get to the gates until it is close enough to our boarding time.

Once through, we form a gaggle in front of the gate. After queuing up, our tickets are scanned and we head out to a bus which will take us to the plane. The sheer size and inefficiency of the airport is staggering. It seems to me that the concern is strictly making things function, not making them function well.

The scope of the smog becomes apparent when taking off. Within a minute, the city is covered by a blanket of white. As the haze starts to thin, clouds become visible. The tops of dense white clouds emerge like icebergs from the sea of off-white pollution. The air in Goa is supposed to be much cleaner. I am hopeful that we will soon leave the smog behind so that I can see the countryside.

An hours travel from New Delhi, the smog begins to clear and a much dryer and browner landscape comes into soft focus. Landing in Goa, we are told that it is a military airport and we cannot take pictures. When we get off the plane, we see a pretty red sunset, but the air feels many times better than Delhi and we can actually breathe again. Now we are a group of 11 trooping though the airport, and we realize that all of us forgot to book the free shuttle from the airport to the hotel. Our hotel is nice enough to help us find a couple of hired cars to get us there. We didn't realize but the hotel is an hour away from the airport. By this time it is dark and we pile into the car with Debbie and Richard with all of the luggage. I thought I had gotten desensitized to crazy driving from Delhi, but it was still frightening to drive in the dark through Goa. The roads were much windier than Delhi and there was no divide between the lanes going in different directions. Our driver darted out into the lane with oncoming traffic to pass cars and at one point almost came to a complete stop when he realized he couldn't make it between two buses. Debbie and Allison got pretty carsick in the back.

We finally make it to the hotel after an hour. The area looks more like a beachside town with restaurants with open walls and a lot more palm trees and bamboo. This hotel is a Hyatt and familiar. Luckily they do not have a canceled additional room and we are able to untangle our rooms from Debbie and Richard. We go upstairs to freshen up, and walk to dinner. It is an interesting place to walk around because there isn't really a sidewalk to walk on and cars and mopeds don't slow down. In fact some beep and make Allison jump.

We walk to an outdoor restaurant called the fishermans cove where Rahul treats us as per our agreement when we stole his shoe during the wedding. We are just happy to sit and eat whatever was ordered for us. The meal starts with platters of fish and chicken cooked a number of ways. I find the chicken to be scrumptious and even have some butter-garlic shrimp. The entree is a number of curries along with rice and naan. There is some pork vindaloo that stood out with its deep red color and intense heat. This dish is famous in Goa so it was fun to try something from the original place. We then walk back to the hotel and say our good nights as we head to bed.

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