#all that happened was grandma and i just thought everything was absolutely hysterical | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hhjs · 4 years ago

Text

love or lack thereof.

pairing — felix x reader

genre / trope — angst, fluff / exes with benefits.

word count — 7.7k

warnings — suggestive, heavy implications, swearing, some making out but no actual r rated stuff but i will say this is suitable for 18 and up audiences.

note — this is unedited, subject to change. spare me lol

There are two sides to every person. The side that you want people to see and the side that you keep to yourself.

You think you've come to discover all those aspects of Lee Felix. Given that he's sweet, unassuming and inexplicably kind to the naked eye but you know, the rising anger in you knows he's only ever been cruel to you.

"Move," you seethe, he moves to let you in but you unintentionally knock your shoulder against his. There's people on the subway, and you hate the way Felix's innocent gaze finds yours for a second and it makes you look like the bad guy.

You feel the disapproving glare of a grandma who has a crumpled catalogue about seasonal pie recipes on her lap, as if she can't believe how much of a cunt you were being to an absolute stranger.

A roll of eyes follows, fishing for your ear phones, if only they knew.

Seeing your ex boyfriend outside of your casual deal hits you with the force of a punch to the gut. But you hid it exceptionally well. Arrogantly jutting your chin upwards. Whilst he cowers beside you, having supposedly caught your sour mood.

To think you had spent an hour with him in a bedroom just formerly...is rather strange. You've been sleeping with him for the past few months now and where it had begun is slightly mysterious to you — was it Chan's birthday party or a clubbing gone wrong one night stand just after Felix had come back to town....? You aren't entirely sure.

Albeit the arrangement is ingrained in your head — what you have with him is a secret strictly kept from your friends who otherwise if even caught air of a mere conversation between you two would invite an influx of queries. This is simple, physical, you don't have time for a relationship, let alone one with him and to mend how utterly lonely you are with someone who hasn't already seen you naked, someone who you couldn't blindly trust, is too much work.

Even though Felix is indubitably affected by your unwavering indifference, something he wasn't used to when you were together because of how giving you were to sate his utterly needy tendencies. Now he feels himself clawing at your hardened exterior in search of just those affections to no actual avail —hurt crossing his eyes when you sneak out of bed without saying goodbye, when days pass and you don't call or text and most importantly, when you're in public and you can't be bothered to spare him as much as a glance. To you, it's nothing more and nothing less. You make it a necessity to keep reminding him.

See you liked to pretend you're a resilient person. That in your heart you really do forgive people and move on.

But he is an exception.

"Did you eat?" He perks up, his voice is small. Careful.

You keep your stoic expression, looking ahead. "No."

Then he blinks, like he usually does when he doesn't understand why you act the way you do. Impolite, communicating only in monosyllables.

Do you really hate him that much?

There's a hoodie pulled over his black hair, longer along the neck,headphones dangling from his neck and his backpack in his hand, he hopes when he holds onto the same railing as you are, that your fingers should brush just a little.

Despite the way you adamantly ignore him, Felix opens his mouth to utter a passing inquiry. Your jaw clenches. And you desperately begin to scan the city map plastered inside to navigate passengers to their destinations.

"Can we...do you want to get something to eat..." He swallows, "together?"

As if he's crazy for even making such a proposition, you look at him once but from the corner of your eye and he thinks that's a lot considering how often you look past him, through him, never at him. You shake your head, giving him a warning stare.

Across from you, his reflection is frowning at your negative response. Still staring at you with a marveling gleam in his eyes, how much you've changed over the past two years just as he has....still takes him by surprise. Suddenly and unexpectedly, his eyes flicker to yours and he finds you staring at his image against the glassed doors. And like a deer caught in headlights, your heart drops to the depths of your stomach.

The announcement above falls deaf to your ears as you exit in a blind rush of sheer panic. Ignoring the biting cold and unfamiliar station. Your stop is still quite far. Maybe you'd have to take the taxi... or walk.

But in the face of all those hassles you sense yourself feeling incredibly relieved...because frankly, you think, you could go to hell and back if gets you away from him.

—

"So you came to tell me you're just gonna give up? Is that it?"

Felix carefully glances at you through his lashes, silently pursing his lips as to convey the answer.

You stare at the speckles of light kissing up his freckled cheeks, his big beaming eyes, a slightly low bridge but rounded tip of his nose paired with a small upturned mouth.

You can't believe you won't see him again.

Whenever he'd catch a break, he'd take the 2 hour bus to town and come see you, meet you and those once in six months meetings alone, to you, compensated for his lengthy absence.

So it couldn't be the distance, you thought, if that were the case he'd have dumped you when he moved to the capital for university.

Felix just doesn't want to be with you anymore.

"You don't get it...." He closes his eyes, as if he doesn't want to see himself saying what he is about to say, you almost don't get the resistance in his tone. The subtle drop of his Adam's apple. "I don't want to hurt you." He starts, "Just think about this rationally... we're so young, what if I find someone else there?"

Someone...else?

Is it that easy to dispose of you? Aren't you enough?

How foolish of you to only ever think of him.

It felt like Felix was kicking you where knew would hurt the most.

Your sardonic laugh is cracked, garbled and it's so fucking embarrassing that you're crying in the middle of a fast food joint, your fries have gone cold. Had you known seeing him this time would be vastly different from usual, you wouldn't have ordered at all. Why didn't he tell you before? Why had he insisted on catching you unawares?

But then again...this isn't about you at all. This is about Lee Felix. This is about him reducing your worth to make room for himself.

Ultimately, you understand, what is worse than not being loved back is being loved by someone who doesn't love you as much as you do them.

"Well I won't stand in your way then,"

You clear your throat,

"Fuck..." you rub your temple, the sadist in you coughing up hysterical laughs. The ache inside your heart at this point has turned into physical pain, cracks fissuring out against its surface and gnawing at the flesh like its being torn apart at the seams.

You should've seen this coming.

Everyone told you and told you you could only drag on an opposites attract sort of relationship for so long before you start to realise how incompatible you are.

Felix has the audacity to reach over and place his fingertips on your knuckles,his eyes are sad, overflowing with pity. It makes you feel small, the way he looks at you, small, sad and abandoned.

What tips you over the edge, however, is how calm he seems, as if he had been precisely planning to dump you for days and months and years while you continue to make a fool out of yourself never have forseen his decision.

There are tears running down your cheeks, abusing your vision with a vicious sting. You bring your sleeve to collect the needless moisture in a sudden rise of temper that is oh so typical of you.

You snatch your hand away from his touch.

"Don't touch me." You say, the simple comment transfers pain to Felix's eyes, mouth parting in silent words. You want to scream at him, you want to shake him by the collar and tell say something, just say anything at all and I will forgive you. Goddamnit.

In a perfect world, you think, a world where things happened exactly the way they should, you wouldn't have said, instead,

"And don't you fucking dare come back here...ever again."

And...in that very perfect world, he would've listened.

—

Felix thinks he could, dare he say, love everything about you. Even though you most certainly deserve someone who hasn't hurt you the way he has.

Now it's funny actually, how the tables have turned...back then, he wasn't sure about you and now you aren't about him.

Felix doesn't really blame you though...because he knows he asked for it.

Your presence in his life has somehow become an absolute necessity to say the least. And ironically enough, while he had so confidently pushed you to let go of him, he realises he had been holding onto you all along.

Now what was he saying...again?

Right. Felix loves everything about you.

But what he loves most...is the way your hand instinctively finds his heart when you're kissing. It's just a simple movement of your fingers splaying against his chest, the warmth of them seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He doesn't even know why it means so much to him.

His hand drops from your ass to the back of your thighs to situate you closer to his chest. He moans into the kiss when your teeth comes to scrape against his bottom lip, your ministrations are typically rough and speedy but he is seemingly far too absorbed by the exhilarating feeling coursing throughout his entire form — it's not just blatant lust, he knows, but a much deeper understanding that he is inexplicably gladdened by the fact that he's touching you and you're touching him.

A shaky breath leaves Felix's parted lips as he cranes his neck to allow your lingering kisses to shift along his angular jaw.

Then without quite meaning to, his vision focuses on the table clock that reads it's well past midnight...you had run late tonight for reasons you neglected to disclose. Now that he really focuses, a strong musky fragrance akin to unfamiliar men's cologne wafts up his nostrils.

It couldn't be....

As Felix's suspicions run deeper, he restlessly begins to search up every aspect of his surroundings as best as he can in the limited provision of light. There is a large coat discarded on his bed, one he hasn't seen you wear before...then again it might not be yours at all...

You notice how he's stopped responding to you, so you pause, leaning back, still on his lap. "Is something the matter?"

Felix swallows, blinking up innocently at you. This deal is simple, isn't it? He knew what he was getting into the first time you got together and the second and the third and so on, so why had the possibility of you getting involved with someone else even bother him then?

Both of you knew why.

And what's worse is that Felix is sensitive by nature, never truly succeeding to hide his emotions, especially intense ones when faced with them. So he is hyper aware of the fact that what he is feeling in the moment is not jealousy, it's neither anger nor resentment but a deep seated insecurity that he will lose you.

Again.

"Were you...with someone?"

As expected, your hands resign from cupping his face, you avoid looking at him.

"What?"

Felix clears his throat, his accent thicker, voice heavy from disuse. He thinks about something being with you in the same way only he has...and it causes a dull ache inside his chest.

He rests his head back against the sofa and shrugs lazily. As if to prove a point, as if to say did he touch you here? his fingers ride up your t shirt, gently cupping your ribs, he tries not to look too satisfied when you quiver under the touch.

Still you lift yourself up and the sudden lack of contact almost makes him whine.

You stand before him. A hand at your hip.

"Why are you acting like this?" You say and he notes you sound more... curious than annoyed. Though what frustrates him is that you hadn't answered his question. "I thought I made myself clear...there are rules we agreed upon."

Oh he knows — no staying over, no personal questions, no jealousy.

Felix purses his lips. The downside of your forwardness, the same utterly admirable trait he finds really fucking hot, the one that conditions you to tell Minho off when he hogs all of Felix's brownies though the latter himself is too much of a pushover to say anything, the same one which had in times of recurring doubtfulness assured him of your strong feelings towards him, is that you say whatever comes to mind without sparing anyone's feelings.

"I'm just asking, [........]," he lies, trying to control the pain from projecting itself onto his voice. It hurts to see the way you jump to defend yourself around him, as though you're scared he'll hurt you again. The lack of faith you have him, after all this time, causes him hurt. "Why are you getting so upset...."

Felix is gentle. Communicating his feelings through his actions rather than words, cooly, slowly. And you are the exact opposite — there is an immediacy in your conveyance, a roughness. You mean what you say and you say what you mean so you think everyone does too. Which is why, he concludes, his present actions are insufficient to remove the seeds of resentment he'd left in the wake of his bitter utterances when you broke up.

But Felix was only 18 then, a kid completely unaware of his overwhelming need to have you in his life....what matters is, he's trying...he really is, to recover from his mistakes......shouldn't that least matter?

Thinking the slight inhibition in his tone is just a figment of your imagination and that he is simply and indifferently inquiring you, you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. Then you drop down on the bed, feeling for his remote.

You sniff through your nose and against your better judgement say, "I went out with an acquaintance,"

On weekends Chan usually wasn't home, you could come over. This is the routine, it has been for some time now...so, you've come to know Felix's room more intimately than your own, the walls are a deep blue, like the kind of blue out of a Holly Warburton painting. There's an old Coldplay poster on the back of his door and X-Men action figures from eons ago lined on the edges of his bookshelf.

You know where everything goes when though it's dark. But that doesn't mean anything.

It shouldn't.

"A acquaintance who gave you their coat midwinter...you must be close,"

You ignore his pointed comment, he ignores the way your eyes light up when you talk about this acquaintance.

"He's nice." You say, "He walked me to the station and everything."

A happy hum comes in response.

Because when was the last time you talked to him as freely as you are?

Felix plops down on his stomach beside you, elevating his form on his elbows. His fingers come to brush loose strands out of your eyes. Your gaze meets his for the second time that week. Slower. As if you hadn't minded looking him this time. He feels his heart being tugged at all possible angles.

Then, because he can't stop himself — he leans down and kisses you, tentative and indolent, like he has all the time in the world, like all he wants to do is kiss. Don't get him wrong...you've done downright unspeakable things with him, to him...but nothing mediates his adoration for you without the employment of speech like these little chaste...purposeless movements. His fingers coming to splay against your neck, thumbing along your throat when you gulp, the tip of your nose brushing against his cheekbone, eyes fluttering shut. They're...they're intimate. Utterly special. He knows you feel it too, from the way you look slightly surprised, searching his face, eyes skimming up any fragment of emotion conveyed in his features. But you don't encourage it, slowly shifting to turn your back as you lay quietly against his chest.

"Let me stay here tonight," you say, "I'm tired."

"Okay,"

Felix thinks you've broken not one, but two rules now. He hadn't expected you to answer. He hadn't expected you to get into bed with no intention of departing either.

Though he doesn't hold it against you, this is what he wants, for you to open up to him again...after all. These changes can't be bad changes, even if they are little, it's still progress...right?

—

You wet your fingers, dipping the moistened muscle against the clay mold. All around you is not as eerily quite as it is in your apartment, footsteps thrumming against hardwood floor, kiddish humming from the kitchen, the smell of sugar in the air, you've never worked outside of your home station and well...in class. You thought of yourself as a self sufficient individualist, you liked to believe that you didn't enjoy other people's company like you did your own, with the exception of your roommate. But that's only since you aren't close enough for her to disturb you.

Yet with Soomi moved out for good, the place felt...odd to stay by yourself.

So you found yourself spending more and more time at Felix's. It's nice to have a place to crash in every now and then, the sex is great and when you get hungry after, you don't have to think twice about scouring the fridge.

You don't know why you put off spending time aside from sleeping together at all, more time spent didn't necessarily add to your deal or subtract from it....because the action itself doesn't really mean anything. Everyone gets tired of being alone at some point. That's a universal fact.

Initially, you told yourself your presence was a consequence of Chan catching you two in the shower one night...so now that the cat's out of the bag, you two figured his place could become the only premise you didn't have to play pretend in. You both knew the elder would be more than willing to keep the younger's secret even if he didn't exactly approve of it.

With the increased frequency of your visits, bits and pieces of you remain dispersed all throughout the apartment, your body wash in his bathroom, your underwear in his laundry, the smell of you in his sheets, on his clothes. You had relaxed yourself through the periphery of his life and he had small glimpses of yours, habits and flaws, unknowingly...or knowingly....whatever. — Felix could only thank God that Chan had found out, in spite of the revelation itself putting you both in a compromising position.

With time, he starts to keep a few secrets from you too, here and there, knowing that if you knew you will stop doing it altogether. He can't have that...

You throw a leg around his hip when you're fast asleep, flinging an arm not a second later to cage him in your warm embrace. Felix likes the way your chest rises and falls against his back, how your breath tickles his skin and your mouth parts against his shoulder blade. Sometimes he stays awake and waits for you to do it, then when you do, he grins so hard his face hurts a little. Felix likes being the little spoon.

"Are you listening?"

His vision narrows down to the sight of you holding out your palms in the air, there's wet clay on them, as well on your cheek and legs, between them your pottery wheel is halted to desuetude, there's old newspapers layering the floorboard to prevent staining.

"Sorry...," he smiles sheepishly, "What did you say?"

It's your turn to shift your gaze to your feet. Felix thinks it's highly uncharacteristic, the way you seem almost...shy?

"Can you..." You eye the mug mounted on his study desk, he catches onto your request easily, "I'm thirsty—"

"Yeah yeah hold on... careful," Felix chirps, carefully guiding the rim to your lips to make sure it doesn't spill. He uses the tip of his thumb to wipe the corner of your mouth, you flinch first but then whilst the mild shock subsides, simply stare up at him as the pad of his thumb brushes against your skin. "There you go..." he trails, eyes bright with care.

You feel like a child being doted on, the mere emotion plunging you back to when you were 5 and had crushes on boys who shared skittles with you.

"Thanks."

Felix's ears perk up at the courtesy, you were never one to express yourself easily and when you did, every time, he felt inexplicably delighted.

The apples of your cheeks feel hot for some reason, by putting yourselves in in these small situations, you keep confusing him, you know, because you keep confusing yourself too.

You come out again that night but this time Bang Chan is shifting around in the kitchen. He hardly sleeps, you observe, but probably refusing to come out because he wanted to avoid bumping into you.

Chan doesn't seem to like you very much. Probably. You don't blame him. Before you came along, Felix and he spent more time together, now you had become a constant in his life without will.

You have to listen twice to realise he's speaking with you. Not an invisible being behind you.

"What?"

"I said..." His tone dropped dangerously low, he looks annoyed at something. "Listen I don't care what you're doing but don't hurt him." He's wearing a black t shirt and a pair of pajama shorts with cartoon wolves littered all across the baby blue fabric. He's trying to appear intimidating. It's not really working.

You stifle a laugh.

Frankly had you not known how deeply he cared for Felix, you'd not have cared about his advice. Or warning....?

"Fine," you respond, watching as the tension visibly left his body with one bating breath. "I hope this isn't about me stealing your yoghurt though."

"It's a little about stealing my yoghurt," he jokes, you think he's one of those people who'd apologise if you punched them in the face and spat in their drink. It's interesting...

Chan laughs a little. His eyes sparking with amusement for the first time of all the times he's looked at you. Did he trust your word that much?

—

"He talks about you a lot you know,"

You nearly spit out your drink. Seungmin isn't exactly the densest guy you know. Far from it exactly and he isn't discreet either. So your first instinct is to think he knows something.

You watch Felix from a distance, a solo cup in hand, he's laughing at something Hyunjin said, there's a crinkle along the bridge of his nose and his upper lip curls upwards to reveal his teeth. In reality, in everyone's eyes, your lives are separate. They walk on eggshells around you still...you assure yourself there's no way anyone could've guessed.

So you play dumb, glugging the whiskey into your cup. It spills around the edges, landing on the semi-lit neon counter.

"Who?"

Seungmin blinks at you. An unreadable expression on his face.

"Jisung." He says, "Who else?"

You feel yourself getting less excited, the breath you were unconsciously holding passing your entire form. Jisung is the newest addition to your life, a performing arts student who offered to portrait model for a project you'd been given in class. He's cute, forward, which you like a lot. And you notice whilst using him for inspiration, that he looks at you just as attentively as you had at him.

Only for different reasons.

Jisung asks for your number. You say yes. Half-heartedly. Though at the forefront of your mind you keep comparing everyone to the guy you go home to ever so often, you pick out their flaws and their perfections and you think to yourself he isn't like this, he is like this.

"Yeah?" You pose, sipping and wincing. "What did he say?"

"Just the usual stuff...." Seungmin tilts his head, he's not drinking tonight because he has an exam tomorrow. You think it's a little funny that he's carrying around water in a solo cup. "But I can tell he has the hots for you,"

You laugh this time. That's no surprise to you. "Well he's not so bad himself."

Seungmin narrows his eyes, shooting you a suspicious look.

"Of course you'd say that...." He taunts, "Heard you guys hung out...how was that by the way?"

"It was alright. Sort of just...happened. We bumped into each other and he offered to buy me dinner."

"And you...said yes?"

You give him a blank look, sarcasm dripping from your monotonous sentences, how else would you have spent time together?

"No, I didn't, Seungmin,"

The owner of the name rolls his eyes at your satirical comment, "No need to be mean, I'm just a little surprised is all."

"Surprised?"

You raise an eyebrow, Felix is still in your line of sight, it looks like he's stalling, waiting for your conversation to end so you could leave. He glances at you a few times and you quickly text him a 5 more minutes. "Why's that?"

"Cause every time you start to have feelings for someone, you take one step forward and ten steps back," he points out, "Think about it...you haven't been in like an....actual relationship after...well, you know," he postulates.

You glare at Seungmin, your pride somewhat injured.

"Hey! I've....dated."

"No....you slept around with people, that's not the same as dating." He retorts.

You snort.

Wouldn't you know.

Minho changes an upbeat pop song to something mellow. It's in a foreign language...maybe Spanish, you understand nothing but you don't have to to know it's a sad tune, the lyrics coming together in a melancholic harmony. Your eyes drift away, you feel your attention falter.

It was not unknown for you to have absolute control over your life, be it living your days by strict routine or building such a sturdy pretentious armour around yourself so that your organic self remained unscathed underneath. You had learnt the hard way that being yourself in front of other people would only bring you hurt...but if no one really knew you, no one could hurt you.

This game of hide and seek had become such a long standing practise in your life that it disconnected who you are from who you pretended to be. And every time the extent of your actual desires, monsters much beyond your control rose to the surface, they brought you shame, disgust.

You found those pretences withering away, the shell of protection around you falling apart whenever the thought of Felix crossed your mind. — his heavy noise of content against your neck, his fingers curling into your sheets, his open mouthed kiss against the arch of your hipbone, everything and anything...you had again, despite all your abrasions, become madly consumed by him.

And you must admit to yourself that you are becoming quite ridiculous because of it.

In this strange moment, you realise you almost need Felix to harp on about you even though you specifically asked him to keep all that you have a secret. You want his friends to come scurrying to you to start telling you that he cares so much he can't keep his mouth shut, to be so enamoured with you that his innermost feelings become painfully apparent, that it's utterly stupid of you to not see how he feels about you.

That's not how it goes though. Stuff like that only happens in movies.

Felix responds, texting, "Take all the time you need." Surprised, you steal a glimpse of him, but only when Seungmin isn't looking. You didn't know what you expected, something more crude, that would give away that he was jumping on the balls of his feet to only get into your pants, that would remind you that Felix is nothing but your fuck buddy. You find that you always look for reasons to resent him....because if you did, it meant that you didn't have to acknowledge how you're still in love with him.

You knew what you were in for. And hoping, wanting something more....is no more than wishful thinking.

Felix smiles at you, a genial smile, a simple curve along the corner of his lips which conveys patience, but also something deeper, like...understanding.

Again no matter how much you pushed him away he seemed to find his way back to you in some fashion, just to convey that your union is not all as black and white as you told yourself it was.

You down the entire drink in one swig. Seungmin makes a face at you, the kind he makes when you stick your fries in ice cream for shits and giggles,

"Well....we broke up a long time ago," You hiss at the awful taste stinging your throat, sounding slightly angry. You can't believe it matters still, but when you've been clutching onto something for too long, be it a painful emotion or a memory...you start to think it's the locus of your life, an integral part of you. It terrifies you to think who you'd become without it — vulnerable, malleable, sensitive.

You can't do that again.

The last few weeks, regardless of how good they were, didn't change a thing.

It couldn't. You wouldn't let it.

Seungmin is right, you think, you are taking ten steps back. Just not in the context he thought.

"There's no reason I shouldn't start now."

—

Turns out there is a reason.

Jisung asks you out the next day. He's so friendly that you feel overwhelmed. At all times of the day, he dresses like a frat boy out on his morning jog. A nike running shirt and loose fitted trousers, a baseball cap worn the other way around...it's a little silly.

You don't mind it, having the kind of apathy you would have towards someone you don't know very well.

Everything with him feels new, awkward. But also slightly exciting. He talks too much when he's nervous and you notice that he's almost always nervous because of your personality, as though he can't really put a finger on you and doesn't know what to do about it. Besides...he’s not a horrible kisser either, you muse, he just doesn’t know what you want.

Yet whenever you heard yourself thinking those compliments, you couldn't help but feel utterly guilty, a strangely deep seated feeling that you were doing something wrong.

Why did you feel this way....

Felix isn't your boyfriend anymore. You don't owe him any form of loyalty. You knew that. You're someone who sticks to their gut feelings and your gut had decided that something about seeing Jisung didn't feel right and not just because of Felix, but because you're not interested in a relationship just yet. And you're sure he could tell you aren't, he shouldn't quite expect a call back anytime soon.

"I had a nice time," you say, because it's true. He took you out for ice cream and bought you candy floss when you stared at it for too long.

When Jisung doesn't respond for a hot minute, you follow his trail of vision, which instead of focusing on you, has shifted to the semi-lit backdrop of your apartment. He's too obvious.

"Do...you want to come in?"

He flounders a little at your suggestion, embarrassed. "Would that be alright?....if I did...."

"That depends, are you gonna kill me?"

You say with a straight face. No matter much Jisung prodded at your exterior, you wouldn't budge, like you usually hadn't. Unravelling isn't really your thing so....he can't tell if you're kidding or not.

"No...?"

You snort, "Why do you sound so unsure?"

Jisung's face has grown impossibly red, he could feel his ears burning in indescribable shame. You just have this air about you that makes you incredibly hard to read and it's really attractive.

"I....I didn't..."

You keep your voice, steady, calm, "Relax," "I'm just screwing with you," you say, stepping aside for him to enter, "Make yourself at home."

—

You suppose you were born to study the arts.

You never could consider yourself a studious being. When you were in school, you remember falling behind in classes where the arduous process of revising was required, say mathematics or the sciences even.

Though that realisation hadn't come to you naturally.

Your parents wouldn't take kindly to you not taking up a "well paying" profession and you fell victim to the constant barrage of criticisms, of mockery which ultimately conditioned you to think some part of you, a large part just wasn't good enough.

And with Felix gone....

You were at your worst.

The two years you spent without him were the hardest, a set of years that obliged you to protect yourself from all the hurt around you, inside you. And while the security that you provided yourself is undoubtedly necessary for well...anyone, the process itself had its wicked way of rendering you unspeakably lonely.

You agreed to apply as an engineering major to gain your parents' approval and then transferred to the arts department by the time you'd successfully moved out. You haven't spoken to them ever since...and it hurt you more than you would deign to admit.

When your mum drops over for a surprise visit and chances upon your ex-boyfriend loitering about in your kitchen, fixing up midnight munchies, she takes a natural guess that you've gotten back together. (Which you think is far more agreeable than the truth. Knowing your mother, a staunch supporter of your relationship with him, she wouldn't take lightly to your arrangement.) And before you know it, you're all having dinner.

Felix makes an effort to dress up well, discarding his usual hoodies and joggers for a more formal look, you suspect it has something to do with the fact that you haven't attended any casual settings with him since you broke up.

Cutlery clinks against ceramic, coming down with a semi-loud thump as you try to swallow the enormous lump in your throat. Your mum makes a passing jab at you, saying how you had settled for a much "easier" major than say architecture or philosophy, she bitterly mentioned that everything worked out in the end. After all, your choice is a "much fitting" field of study for someone of your caliber, backhandedly insinuating that you're far too stupid to pursue anything else.

What inspires hilarity is how those insults still affected you. In front of Felix, you act like these few years have brought the fighter out in you and here you are trying to blink away the onslaught of tears prickling your vision. It feels like someone stripped you off your skin, off your flesh and picked out all your shortcomings for him to see.

You expect him to stay quiet, you expect him to think of you as the utterly shameful, selfish being you tell yourself you are,

But Felix's fingers find your shaky knuckles under the table where they rest on your knee, he implants the weight of them in a reassuring squeeze. "Well I think it's great," he says instead, smiling cheerfully at your mum. To which she, for the lack of support, sheepishly beams at him, "Not many people have the drive to do what they want to do. Or know what they want to do...take it from me, Missus [.....]" He laughs nonchalantly, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention upon hearing the lovely sound. You always liked his laugh, the sound rippling against your naked skin, thick baritone when he'd just woken up and a kiddish falsetto when he's extremely happy.

You wonder when you started paying so much attention.

Felix glances at you, lingering for a long minute."I bet it took a lot of guts."

You feel your chest constrict with a sudden surge of emotion from the mere look, you can't remember if the Felix you knew in the past, or anyone for that matter, had ever beamed at you with such pride.

You wonder what he'd think if he knew about Jisung, why you had neglected to tell him at all....you knew, because this little moment is precious to you and you had no reason to tarnish it. Not when you had time.

You tilt your head, using your free hand to hastily find the back of his neck, drawing closer to him with little strength. The more he realised what you're doing, the more excited he got. See he found your newly introduced public display of affection immensely attractive, though obviously embarassed by the sudden motion...

You can do crazy things sometimes. Really crazy things. In public and he has never opposed to such exhilarating things, be it in restrooms or even in a similar setting when you were dating, there was a certain thrill to it which drove him to the brink of insanity. Felix would silently implode your attention when you were alone and when you were out in the open, in whichever way he was to receive it, the way which insinuated you were his was the best of them all. All that was fine though...because it was just the two of you.

But now...in this indecent time, he wishes he could hear what you're thinking.

Had... had you gone completely mad?! Your mum is looking!

Your face is stoic, Felix's mouth parts, then you reach over and kiss him shamelessly.

Over the years, all the things that have caused you pain were things you had endured on your own, in his absence. This realisation alone invites a heavy conviction inside you.

Because you know it just as well as he does, no matter how sincere he is to you — you don't need Felix. Not really.

But you want him.

—

You do a stupid thing. A stupid endearing thing and Felix's heart beats like it would jump out of his mouth if he opened it.

It was meant to be a secret, what you two have, a matter of uncomplicated lust which didn't require the attention of anyone because it initially or so you put it, wasn't important enough.

Then you charge to him, he supposes it has a little to do with the person who was blatantly flirting him in the middle of Changbin's Halloween party, he doesn't care though.

You don't like embarrassing yourself, so he doesn't actually expect you to wear a black cat hairband matching his white ears and feline tail. Felix wants to think it means something, how despite the coos and the caas, the giant wave of surprise washing over your friends, you interlace your fingers within his and kiss his cheek.

He doesn't what that makes the two of you now... but he would give you all the time in the world to figure that out if it meant you could be his again.

—

You trace your fingers against outline of his face. Splatters of moist moonlight kissing the high rise of his cheeks, dusting along the long fringe of lashes which cast shadows along his skin, his freckles are like dots of bronze dispersed on his skin. He's beautiful like this.

"You're thinking too much," he says with his eyes closed, smiling a little. "Don't think so much."

You laugh. "Or what, huh?"

Felix cracks an eye open, his grin big, kiddish. "I was hoping you'd say that," he rubs the tip of his nose against your collarbone, he snuggles closer to your chest. What you hadn't expected was how he shifted his entire weight onto you, lying entirely atop you as though he were a starfish.

You couldn't stop laughing at the motion, it's so cheesy and gross...you love it.

—

Here's something you don't know — Jisung tells his friends everything, about making out with you and taking you out...everything. News travels fast. Faster than you anticipated. Despite wanting to divulge the matter, you were too taken by the recent shifts in your feelings to confess to your little interaction. You had told yourself again and again — a little later, just a little later and I’ll tell him.

It could be too late now.

The entire campus knew of your little rendezvous, shooting you curious looks... it's not until Minho comes up to verify the floating rumours do you all but sprint to Felix's place. You think of Chan's trusting eyes, of don't hurt him, of laughing in the intimacy of your bedroom and swiping your fingers down his spine like you were trying to commit the undulating design to memory.

You're not sure where it all began.

but you don't want it to end.

Felix doesn't answer your calls or your messages. When he buzzes you up, just from his gait, just from the resigned look in his eyes, you know he knows.

You watch as he listlessly leaves you to enter, walking before you without saying as much as a word.

You grab Felix’s elbow, making him stop in his tracks. He looks at your fingers wrapping around the muscle, shrugging you off easily. It’s just a small gesture but its impact is so large...that you feel your heart break into a million pieces.

You had never seen Felix being so quiet, even when he was down, he found a manner to radiate a form of optimistic energy which baffled you. You can’t believe how much you could have possibly hurt him.

“I can explain.” you gulp, “We went out on one date. It wasn’t because I liked him, I know it’s stupid and...I should’ve told you. I’m sorry, that's not an excuse, but you have to trust me when I say it didn’t...it doesn’t mean anything to me—”

“Did you sleep with him?”

With his back turned away, he still isn’t looking at you, speaking to you with a surprisingly stable tone.

“No.”

Felix takes a shuddering breath, one which expresses the small relief of knowing that Jisung hadn’t seen, touched you, felt you in the way that he only had, but there’s still so much more he wants to know.

“Did he make you laugh?”

It’s a silly question, he realises belatedly but he can’t help it. Some part of him, a large part, thinks he’d be more hurt if you made someone happy and they made you happy than if you fucked them.

You shake your head even though he can’t see you. “He didn’t.”

Your fingers again reach for his, wrapping your index into his thumb. You slowly move your hands to his middle, clutching him close to your chest, chin hooking into his shoulder, suddenly...you feel him melt into the embrace. Felix’s voice falters for the first time, small trembles against you. You’re willing to answer all his queries if it could put his mind at ease. You put your heart on hold for too long.

"Do you hate me...?" He sniffles.

You blink....did you?

Felix had changed, like you, he had matured, the past version of him you had so stubbornly ingrained in your endless inner monologue is not the one you grew all too familiar with...

Familiarity does breed contempt, does it not? Well you think the line between love and contempt is untraceable, melded together as a mysterious whole. After all those years, you were still angry, still filled to the brim with contempt for him and more importantly, yourself because you still love him much more than you'd like to admit. After all you've been through. After all this time. The need to love him ultimately encompassed every other emotion which posed itself as a hindrance.

So the opposite of love, the absence of love, you think, isn't hate, it's indifference. An emotion you never felt towards him.

Felix has wedged himself into every aspect of your life, tainted every portion of your routine in his presence and in his absence.

You don't think you'd have it another way.

"You broke my heart," you explain, "I was angry....but I could never hate you for the sake of hating you."

"I can't..." Felix whispers, twisting his body so he could look at you now, “I can’t promise you that it won’t be hard but I'm not—I’m not going anywhere...you know that right?”

You lean your forehead against his, his eyes shifting to your mouth, hands rising to wrap around your neck. You smile.

“I know.” you say, "Me neither."

“I love you...” He says in a small voice, putting his hand against your knuckles. “Do you love me?”

Your eyes soften, cupping his face like this — carefully collecting a lone tear with your thumb before it could touch his cheek. This time there is not a shred of hesitancy, no pause, no pondering before you say,

“I never stopped.”

—

You enter in a blind rush of panic, thinking you might miss your ride, feet knocking together, elbows hitting elbows, bustling all around you and the sudden overwhelming stench of people hit you, it’s not an ideal setting, not at all actually.

But you couldn’t bother to be displeased a second you spent with him. A teenager rolls her eyes at how disgustingly in love you are, elderly couples tutting under their breath...albeit, you don’t fail to notice their subtle smiles, small shake of their heads which attested to the fact that the joy you both radiate is.. absolutely infectious. You stumble with him behind, Felix is laughing breathlessly, bumping into your chest as the train suddenly starts moving, you place a finger on his cheek and he raises his chin to look at you.

“Did you eat?” he repeats, mocking himself, a dialogue from a time which seems an element of the distant past replaced by a love which compensated for every hitch in your relationship. You still argue, still disagree and still make up the same. Felix was right, it isn’t easy.

But when two people love each other as much as you do,

it’s worth trying. With every fibre of your being.

“No.” You laugh, playing along, “But I could, with you.”

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spicymayo1983 · 4 years ago

Text

Hiya. This is part 7. You've experienced joy and massive heartbreak in the span of a week. First your mother and then your father.

Poe has already returned to D'qar, leaving you alone to face unimaginable tragedy.

You're all by yourself with your own ugly, terrifying thoughts.

As you try to pick up the pieces of your life thoughts drift to your relationship with Poe, and the urgent feeling to start a family that both of you have.

But can you survive the events of that week?

Do you want to?

Warnings, angst, grieving, thoughts of self harm, suicide, if this might be triggering to you please don't read, this chapter is dark, not for anyone under 18.

Your father had simply lost the will to live after losing his wife of nearly 40 years and passed away in his sleep of a broken heart.

His body and mind were quite simply tired. What did he have to live for with his soul mate gone?

The last year of your mother's life was difficult as she faced the end stages of her terminal illness. Your father provided her around the clock care. Bathing her, feeding her, basically doing everything.

You hated yourself for not being able to help and placing the burden all on him.

She was lucky to have someone so devoted to her.

Like you and Poe, your parents were two halves of the same soul.

The last week of his life was nothing but unbearable sadness and grief but at least he lived long enough to see you and your soulmate get back together.

The excitement and giddiness of your reunion has been dealt a serious blow, though. Any joy that was in your heart has quickly been extinguished.

You might be carrying a grandchild that will never know the joy of being doted on by grandma and grandpa, there will be noone to walk you down the aisle if you do get married.

You have lost everyone in your family, you are faced with the grim reality of being the final surviving member.

Once again your happiness and accomplishments feel hollow and empty.

You're a self described popular loner. Meaning that you have a lot of acquaintances and people generally like you but no close friends.

What was the point of even existing if there was noone there to share your joy with?

As you plan yet another funeral by yourself Poe and the leader of the red squadron, Garven Dreis, have both been sending holograms that you haven't been answering.

The red leader is likely assuming that you've gone AWOL, you surmise nervously, meaning that there might be people looking for you.

You haven't told anyone that your father died. What was the point? You thought bitterly.

It's just been you, death and your own increasingly dark and harmful thoughts.

The funeral is private with only you in attendance. You had your father cremated and you dug a small hole next to your mother's grave and buried him yourself.

The eulogy? Tears and silence.

You haven't really slept or eaten in days. You are wild eyed and absolutely hysterical from grief. You've gone mute from shock and can't really communicate with anyone.

You look like a walking skeleton due to weight loss. The thought of dying is the only thing that brings a smile to your face.

You clean yourself up, fix your hair and put on nice clothing so when your body is discovered at least you'll be presentable.

As you sit on that little stone bench in the family cemetery you start to think about how and where you want to end it.

You love being in control.

With your final plans in order you head back to the family home and compose your goodbye.

Poe,

I couldn't take it anymore and ended my pain. If you're reading this it's already too late. You can find me at the place where it all started between us.

Love,

Y/n

D'Qar, emergency meeting with General Organa

Poe has been trying to contact you for three days with no response. He's convinced that something terrible has happened to you and he's not wrong.

Finally as a last resort he arranged an emergency meeting with General Organa to explain what has happened, and that he must travel to Yavin 4 again.

"I need to leave, it's a family emergency". Poe explains quickly to Leia, a desperate look appearing on his face.

"You're needed here, I can't grant you any more leave". She replies sharply. "If the first order attacks we'll be crippled without the black squadron".

"Someone I care about is in danger". He explains, the tone of his voice switching from desperation to anger.

"You're staying here and that's an order". Leia replies defiantly.

Poe is absolutely livid at her orders. With a slight smile on his face he looks at her and says with a shake of his head,

"No, I'm going, what are you going to do? Court marshal me? Throw me in prison? The first order will win without me and you know it".

The edge of the rainforest, Yavin 4

You're relaxing on a blanket at the edge of the rainforest. It was the same spot where you lost your innocence to him decades earlier.

It was where you and Poe shared your thoughts, dreams and feelings for each other.

It only seemed fitting that you would end your life there.

As you relax on your back and watch the clouds drift by your eyes wander to the item next to you, on your right.

Your trusty, standard issue blaster pistol.

You sit up quickly, pick it up and begin to examine it with your hands, the memories come flooding back.

Meanwhile at your family farm Poe has landed his X wing nearby and was searching desperately for you or your father.

"Corr? Y/n? Where are you?" He calls out desperately, going from room to room.

Finally he stumbles upon your hastily written suicide note, and realizes that it might be too late.

You haven't done anything, yet. But you are still contemplating.

You are now holding the blaster, mentally and physically you are exhausted and run down.

You can't decide if you need some sleep or if you need to kill yourself, you think with a bitter laugh, the irony of your situation striking you as funny.

Finally, you've made your decision. You close your eyes and place the blaster to your heart.

And then, all of a sudden the blaster goes flying out of your hand and tumbling down the cliff, someone has just used the force to save your life.

You turn around to see who it is, and you instantly burst into tears.

End of chapter 7

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #star wars #star wars smut #fanfiction #fanfic smut #fanfic #romance #tragedy

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into-the-afterlife · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Almost Me Again

Three scenes from V's life, as she learns to work with Johnny Silverhand, figures out what he means to her, and bangs out her feelings for him.

(That last bit wasn't part of the plan.)

‘They’re for my health,’ says V.

Johnny Silverhand holds the pills above her head, dangling them, then snatching them away just as she reaches for them. ‘They make me disappear. Not happening.’

‘You’ll come back,’ V reminds him. ‘I’m not gonna, eventually, but you always will.’

‘That’s defeatist talk,’ Johnny says. ‘That’s corpo talk. Didn’t think you were some bootlicking corpo-slut.’

‘’S the truth.’

Johnny throws the pill bottle from hand to hand. ‘If you really think that’s the truth, why are you fighting me so much for these?’

V’s hands curl into fists, her heart hammering. ‘Listen. I’ll take my evening dose, and you’ll disappear while I sleep, but I’ll skip my morning dose so you can come out during the day. Deal?’

Johnny pauses, then tosses them over. ‘Deal. Fuck, if they told me my forever was gonna be spent with a stick up my ass, I’d have begged them to delete me then and there.’

V flips him the bird as she swallows her pill.

***

‘Order the tequila.’

‘Nah.’ V nods her thanks at the bartender as she picks up her bottle of beer. ‘Need to be sharp tonight, don’t wanna go on the hard stuff.’

‘Always played my best tunes after the real liquor,’ Johnny says.

V takes a gulp of beer. ‘Always played your best tunes according to you. You were so sloshed in the memories I saw that you wouldn’t have been able to tell a C sharp from a D flat.’

‘Since when do you know the difference between a C sharp and a D flat?’

‘Since you camped out in my head,’ V says. ‘Having your memories means having all your music stuff too.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Johnny folds his arms, leaning against the wall. ‘Prove it. Play one of my songs on that guitar, right now.’

V’s eyes settle on the electric guitar he’s pointing out. It’s not one of his antique models, meaning it’ll take its power from her implants; she won’t need to plug it in. The drumbeat of a challenge settles in her stomach, like the moment in a gig just before she starts shooting. She sets down her beer, strides towards it and picks it up.

‘What song?’ she says, flashing a fuck-you grin.

Johnny looks over his sunglasses. ‘Arasaka’s an Ass.’

‘Always were one for the subtle touch.’ She picks it up and holds it the way she’s seen other guitarists – at least, the way she thinks she’s seen them hold it. Which hand goes on the neck? Which strums the strings? Which strings do you strum? She runs her fingers experimentally across the strings, and jumps as the amps let out an unholy screech. The day that’ll be classed as music, the Afterlife will run out of customers.

Across the room, Johnny’s laughing his ass off so hard he’s crying. And V’s laughing too, and nobody else in the bar can see or understand why.

***

V looks out at Night City from her apartment window. From this high up, the place looks almost beautiful; an ever-changing stream of colours and lights, like a BD made for kids.

Johnny materialises and stands beside her. ‘Whatcha thinking?’

‘Why ask when you always know?’

‘I like seeing you squirm when you say it.’

‘Fuck you,’ she says, but there’s no real venom behind it, and the conversation lapses into silence.

‘Fine,’ she says eventually. ‘I’m horny. I’m horny and I don’t wanna die without coming, hard, at least one more time.’

‘So go see a joytoy.’

‘Not gonna cheat on Judy.’

‘Go see Judy, then.’

‘Can’t.’ V pauses. ‘Judy’s too...good. Too pure.’

‘She didn’t seem that pure when she was rubbing her spicy Latina ass all over you.’ Johnny grins like a wolf. ‘Gotta say, I always liked women blonde and brainless, but that feistiness has got something going for it.’

‘Leave that shit in 2020,’ V says, this time with vehemence. ‘Judy doesn’t deserve your racist crap, and from what I’ve seen, Alt was a long way from brainless. Just ’cause you think the world revolves around you and your dick - ’

‘Okay, okay.’ Johnny holds up his hands, mock-backing away from V. ‘Your body, your rules. So what’s the problem with Judy?’

V blows out a breath, but doesn’t push it further. ‘I love her, but...I know I’m gonna die. It’s been this long and I still haven’t found a cure. How much of a chance have I got, really? And the more time I spend with her - ’

‘The more she gets attached?’

‘Yeah.’ V drums her fingernails against the windowsill. ‘That, and...I feel different from her, now. Different from everyone, ever since you showed up. I’ve died and I’ve come back to life, and I’ve found out stuff nobody in Night City is supposed to know – and I’m a merc, you know? I’m a merc, and she’s an artist, and a do-gooder, and an idealist fighting for what’s right, and that’s really fucking hot, but it also makes her...better than me.’

(V doesn’t look Johnny in the eye, for that last part.)

She’s expecting Johnny to laugh, or to confirm her insecurities, but instead there’s a thoughtful pause before he speaks. First time for everything. ‘And you don’t want to make love to someone you love. You want to fuck.’

‘...Yeah.’

Johnny moves closer, leaning right beside her on the windowsill. ‘I could help.’

‘Wait, what?’

‘You heard me.’ He’s neither mocking nor fierce, just looking directly at her. ‘You’re not the only one with an itch that needs scratching, you know.’

‘Whoa, okay, I have seen way too much of you and your itch that needs scratching, so - ’

‘I’m serious.’

V blinks. ‘Is that even possible?’

‘’Course it is. Arasaka knows their market. For every corpo-drone who just wants to bring back grandma, there’ll be five more who want their favourite joytoy within reach twenty-four hours a fucking day.’

‘This has to be the weirdest conversation this city has ever seen.’

‘V, this is Night City,’ Johnny says. ‘There’ll always be weirder.’

At that, V breaks into hysterical, shaky laughter, that to her shock turns into hitching sobs.

‘Hey. Hey. Come here.’ And Johnny’s arms are around her, just like that. The line of his muscles make her think of being trapped, fighting off three Maelstrom goons while three more sneak up behind her, but they’re firm without squeezing her.

She looks up at him, hating that it’s up she has to look, and remembers, despite all her recent sexual encounters being women, how fucking much she likes men. ‘This isn’t some way to flatline me, is it?’

‘I’ve had easier ways to do that, haven’t I?’

Slowly, her hands find his shoulders. ‘No feelings?’

He smiles. ‘Absolutely none.’

V kisses him first. And she hates herself for it, but God, now she can see why Johnny Silverhand had so many groupies. Stubble rasps against her mouth, and he tastes like nicotine and the staleness of a night out come morning. She presses her lips against his, giving as good as she gets, and satisfaction ripples through her when his hips start bucking against hers.

She breaks away, panting. ‘Give it to me.’

Johnny grins oh so slowly. ‘Give you what, exactly?’

‘Your cigarettes,’ V says, deadpan, and is rewarded with his laughter. She reaches for his zipper, but is stopped by his hand encircling her wrist.

‘I’m not gonna be the only one stripping down.’ Johnny’s hair is messed up from her hand roving through it, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. ‘You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.’

‘You’re in my body,’ says V. ‘You already know what I look like.’

‘I don’t, actually,’ Johnny says. ‘Every time you’re in the shower or getting into your bullet vest, I close my eyes.’

‘Huh.’ V’s taken aback. ‘What happened to all the womanising?’

‘I died,’ says Johnny, simply. ‘I died, and I lost Alt, and then I started sharing a body with a woman. Makes you think.’

V lets out a long breath, and lifts her tank top over her head. ‘Well then. Time to make sure you don’t have any more regrets, huh?’

‘Could say the same to you.’

She makes direct eye contact with him as she unhooks her bra. ‘Get in my body some more, then.’

***

‘So is it silver too?’

‘Ha, ha.’

They’re on the couch, their hands burrowing up and down each other’s bodies and clothes, but neither of them are all the way naked yet. V pulls the zip of Johnny’s fly down, enjoying the twitching bulge cupped in her hand and the way Johnny tips his head back as she rubs it.

Then she looks down. ‘Whoa. You were...really not exaggerating, huh?’

He shoots her a self-contented look. ‘Johnny Silverhand always delivers what he promises.’

V reaches for her panties, itching to get them off, but Johnny’s large hands are there before hers. He eases them down, fingers stroking across her thighs, and V moans. Even though he’s been in her body this long, she’s never felt quite so exposed as she does now, with his dark eyes roving across her.

She swings a leg over him, bracing one hand against his muscled chest while the other guides his cock. ‘C’mere.’

As she sinks down on him, they groan together, and V can’t stop herself from thrusting, and she’s blissfully, electrically alive.

***

Johnny reclines on the couch, nude and smoking yet another cigarette. The smoke curls lazily upward. V opens a bottle of water, tipping it back and relishing the cold freshness.

She wipes the droplets from her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘This make me a robot-fucker?’

‘Don’t think it counts if I’m just a construct.’

‘You’re not just a construct,’ she says, too quickly. ‘You’re not just. I – I mean - ’

‘Aw, V, I’m flattered. You bounced on my cock one time and now you’ve got feelings for me?’

‘Fuck you!’ V throws the empty water bottle at him, but of course, it goes right through him.

Johnny takes a last drag of the cigarette and stubs it out on the couch. ‘For the record, you make quite the host.’

‘Glad to hear you’re enjoying eating my brain and taking over my body.’ V meant it to come out light, but there’s a bitter edge to it that she can’t quite erase.

He gets up and crosses over to her. ‘Hey. V. We’ll find a way out of this mess.’

‘And if we don’t?’

‘Then,’ he says, ‘I die for the second time over with better memories than the first. Or I stay right beside you, till the very end.’

#v/johnny #my fic #my writing #fanfic #johnny silverhand #v #female v #cyberpunk 2077 #fanfiction #video games

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nat-roman0ff · 5 years ago

Text

honk honk

the sequel to ’beep beep’ that no one asked for

after a chance encounter and forgetting to get your phone number, shawn sets off on a quest to find you.

words: 2,220

warnings: extreme dumbassery, fender benders, and Instagram.

“Brian, please stop laughing, this is serious.”

Shawn rolls his eyes and smacks the gum in his mouth as his best friend of fourteen years laughs hysterically on the other side of the phone.

“Bro,” Brian hiccups between breaths, “this total stranger helped you find your car which you are an idiot for losing, by the way, and you’re like suddenly convinced she’s the one? You’ve completely lost it.”

“I’m not though!” Shawn defends, “She’s just...different.”

Brian sighs, “yeah aren’t they all.”

“Not like that!”

Brian clicks his tongue, “well what’s her name? Can you find her on Instagram or something?”

“I don’t know her first name.”

There’s a pregnant pause, “you really are a fucking idiot.”

“I know she drives a shitty Camry! And she’s a personal shopper.”

Shawn can hear Brian smack his forehead through the phone, “well then start back at the beginning.”

Shawn gulps and Brian answers.

“The mall, moron. Go back tomorrow around the same time and see if you can find her.”

Shawn lets out the breath he’s been holding onto since he watched you pull away, “Brian, you’re a genius!”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.”

Your day started pretty normally; gym, coffee shop, pick up dry cleaning. You hadn’t been able to get Shawn out of your head for days now, and you hoped he made it back home to Toronto for family time.

You thought about sending him an Instagram DM, but figured he probably got thousands a day and your measly little “remember me?” would go unnoticed in the sea of messages. He was also Shawn fucking Mendes, who had women richer and much more interesting at his disposal, what’d he want with you?

It was hard not to think about it, with his stupid face popping up everywhere and his stupid songs coming onto the radio. But you did your best to rid Shawn from your headspace.

So, it had been a normal day until your best friend called you, completely frantic.

“CHECK HIS INSTAGRAM OH MY GOD!” She yells before you can even answer with a hello.

“Huh?” You say, fumbling with the keys in your hand, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“Shawn!” She yells, blasting your ear drum, “he posted about you on Instagram!”

Your heart stops beating for a split second when you drop your keys and all the bags to the ground to pull up his page. His latest post was put up an hour ago, and is a simple selfie with the following caption:

Hey, I hope you follow me otherwise this would be really embarrassing. I feel like an idiot for not getting your phone number when we met and I really want to see you again. I waited for you where we met the last few days for hours on end but I never saw you. I hope you’re still around. If you do see this, pack an overnight bag and your passport and go to where we first met at 4:30 pm today. I did promise you a date, after all. - Shawn

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking God.”

“It’s crazy!” Your friend says, “the power of the internet, huh? So what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know! Why do I need an overnight bag?”

“Bitch,” you friend starts, “if you do not go and meet him I will completely disown you.”

“Well when you put it that way -“

“Shut up,” she laughs, “you haven’t been able to stop talking about this guy and now he’s trying to find you? Modern romance at its finest. Love!”

You roll your eyes, “fine! I’ll go meet him. Let me go so I can pack a bag.”

“Alright, love you, tell me everything when you get back.”

Shawn checks his phone six times before shoving it into his pocket. He’d sent Jake to go pick you up at the parking garage while he finished up the last second arrangements. He’d chewed his nail beds to shit with nerves and prayed you’d seen his message and actually wanted to show up.

You’d managed to shove two extra outfits and a couple of essentials into a bag, secured your passport and made it to the garage with fifteen minutes to spare. You stood at the elevator waiting, adjusting the straps of your bag over and over, not that it was ever going to feel comfortable with the nerves you were feeling. This was the craziest thing you’d ever done. Where were you going? Where was he taking you?

Home. Shawn thinks.

One of the best pieces of advice he’d gotten when the fame started becoming just a little too much to bare was not to find home in a place but in people. Home wasn’t a smelly tour bus, or hotel rooms and it certainly wasn’t Los Angeles.

He saw a little bit of home in you. Even if it was just a neighboring window, for now.

It’s about five minutes past 4:30 when a black SUV pulls up beside you. The passenger window rolls down and a burly bald man looks over from the drivers seat.

“Hey are you here for Shawn?”

You gulp and nod, “you know him?”

He smiles a trusting smile and laughs, “unfortunately. I’m Jake, come on in the kid’s got a surprise for you.”

You crawl into the front seat, unsure to trust the man but hey, what’s the worst that could happen?

A lot of things now that you were thinking about it.

Jake isn’t a man of many words. He asks your name and you make small talk about your lives. You find out he’s a Taurus and his favorite book is Of Mice and Men. You tell him about your studies at university and your grandma’s famous shortbread recipe (which he makes you promise you’ll make for him), and he makes the short drive to the airport relatively painless.

He takes you to a different section of LAX, one that you’ve never been to before. There’s a small fleet of private jets scattered across the tarmac and a small, relatively empty terminal. Jake shows you inside, where the only person waiting for you is Shawn, tapping away mindlessly on his phone, his left knee bouncing up and down.

“I found someone for you,” Jake starts and Shawn’s head immediately perks up.

His hand clutches his chest and he walks up to you with bright, yet tired, honey eyes, “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this - ”

You press your index finger to his lips to shush him, replacing them with your lips when he stops talking.

At least that’s how Shawn pictured it happening.

In reality, it’s quarter past five and you hadn’t shown up yet, Brian was feigning sleep in the passenger’s seat of the Range Rover, and Shawn had about two ounces of patience left in him.

“She probably didn’t feel anything at all. Was probably happy to get rid of me when we found the car, this is stupid,” Shawn grumbles as he sits on the hood of the SUV.

Brian mimics playing the violin, “no shit, Sherlock. Not everyone is entranced by your,” he waves his hands in the air, “aura and, like, wicked cool hair.”

Shawn rolls his eyes, “it just felt normal. I haven’t felt that in forever.”

“My heart is breaking for you,” his best friend deadpans.

He shoots Brian a glare through the windshield.

Discouraged, Shawn jumps down off the hood and gets back into the car. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been waiting upstairs for nearly an hour now, on the level where you actually met. The boy’s attention to detail was not all quite there.

You debated giving up, he probably backed out, realized you were some nobody and he was like the universe’s biggest pop star at the moment. You felt stupid and played for getting your hopes up. You hate your friend for talking you into this and you hate Shawn for making it so damn public. The Instagram post has racked up over a million likes by now and countless comments and the whole thing makes you kind of queasy. This is so, so stupid and you can’t believe you’re caught up in it all.

Aggravated, pissed off and a teensy weensy bit hurt, you look at the packed overnight bag beside you, turn the car on and pull out of your parking spot.

The garage is busy this time of day, and you silently murder Shawn ten times over in your head for making you meet him at this time, and then not even having the audacity to show up. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens as you’re bumper to bumper with the car in front and behind you, car screaming as it idles.

“Why the fuck is everyone leaving at the same time!” Shawn shouts from behind the wheel one floor above you.

Brian rolls his eyes at his friend for the umpteenth time today, “because normal people work nine to five and it’s...five twenty right now.”

Shawn throws his head back against the headrest and groans, “I hate everything.”

“Oh come on, life isn’t that bad. So you got stood up by a girl who you’ve spent a total of three hours with. You don’t even know her name! No loss. Move on, man.”

Shawn doesn’t want Brian to be right, he wants him to be so wrong. He wants to believe that you’ve just hit a spot of traffic, or that you don’t have Instagram or anything. You can’t fake what happened between you two, even if he didn’t quite know what that is yet. It was the first time he’s laughed, first time he’s fucking forgotten who he was for half a second. And in the best way. He wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for a pap or a fan to spot him a click a picture, he was just Shawn and you were just...well, you.

He sighs, “I guess you’re right.”

He’s not.

Your brakes creak as you ride around the corner, a line of cars trying to slide out in front of you from the upper floor. As always the respectful driver, you let one person in, but three slip in front and you’re left stomping on your breaks and screaming obscenities.

“Dude you have to stop being such a pussy, just pull out in front of them!” Brian instructs as Shawn taps the brakes.

He scoffs, “absolutely not, I’m not getting my car all dented up just because you decided not to go to the bathroom before we left.”

Brian pouts and folds his arms across his chest, “I didn’t have to go before,” he grumbles to himself.

Just as you hit the gas to lurch forward before someone else can sneak in front of your car, you feel a bump against the back end of your vehicle.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” You scream to yourself.

By now cars are honking since you aren’t moving, you manage to pull off to the side and the guilty vehicle that hit you pulls up alongside, tinted windows up and in full effect.

LA dickwad.

The passenger’s side door opens and a young man pops out that you don’t recognize, and turning the corner behind the car comes Shawn.

“You hit my car! And you’re...here?”

Shawn looks awestruck at you, “did you see my post?!”

“Yes!” You squawk, “of course I saw it why the hell else would I be here? Where have you been? You’re late, and you dented my car!”

“Late?” He scoffs, “I was perfectly on time, you’re the one who is late. I was on my way out.”

“Ditto!”

Brian looks at you, to your car and then back to Shawn as he puts it together, “ohhh I get it now. Crappy car, weird sense of arousing fear while in her presence, that’s the girl.”

“My car is not crappy!” You snip.

Brian goes to say something but Shawn shakes his head at his friend.

“So you came?” Shawn’s voice is light, and his eyes are wide.

You roll yours, “yes of course I did! Where were you?”

He points up.

You bury your hands in your face, “wrong floor, idiot.”

Shawn’s face scrunches and you can pinpoint the second the lightbulb goes off in his head, “FUCK.”

“Yeah, fuck is right, dumbass.”

Brian snorts.

Shawn steps forward and puts his hands on either side of your pouting face, “well can I at least finally get your name and phone number?”

You nod between his massive palms, “yeah, you’re going to need it when I file an insurance claim against you for denting my car.”

He laughs and releases you, “still want to go on a date with me?”

You teeter back and forth on your heels, knowing you’re going to say yes but also wanting to watch Shawn sweat a bit, “maybe, I don’t know…”

“Don’t make me hit the other side of your car -”

“I’m kidding, I’d be very happy to still go on a date with you. Just leave Sir Louis out of it,” you smile, “where are we going?”

Brian puffs up his chest and steps in between the both of you, “we’re going to Canada, baby!”

#yeah there's gonna be a part 3 lmao #shawn mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff

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im-not-a-joke · 5 years ago

Note

Mmh... All the field

the whole- the whole field....

thank you for asking, this is going to be one long post

Alisons: Sexuality?

asexual, unlabeled/queer romantic

Amaranth: Pronouns/Gender?

they/them or he/him, nonbinary

Amaryllis: Birthday?

february 4th

Anemone: Favorite flower?

bleeding heart

Angelonia: Favorite t.v. show?

steven universe

Arum-Lily: What’s the farthest you’d go for a stranger?

probably offer a place to sleep overnight

Aster: What’s one of your favorite quotes?

“Do you think God stays in heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he’s created?”

Aubrieta: Favorite drink?

strawberry lemonade

Baby’s Breath: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

my gf? yes, absolutely.

Balsam Fir: Have you ever been in love?

i’d like to think so, yes

Baneberries: Favorite song?

currently “better than me” by the brobecks

Basket of Gold: Describe your family.

a mess, i have three siblings, and two of them are currently living at home, we also have two large dogs

Beebalm: Do you have a best friend? Who is it?

yes! my best friend anna, and her brother bryan!

Begonia: Favorite color?

purple

Bellflower: Favorite animal?

mantis shrimp

Bergenia: Are you a morning or night person?

night person

Black-Eyed Susan: If you could be any animal for a day, what would it be?

dog, i want the constant love and affection

Bloodroots: When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

first a botanist, then a geologist

Bluemink: What are your thoughts on children?

i want to adopt some someday! sometimes they suck, but i want to be there for someone who doesn’t have a family to lean on.

Blazing Stars: What are you afraid of? Is there a reason why?

abandonment, because i’m annoying

Borage: Give a random fact about your childhood.

i shared a room with my little brother until i was like 12.

Bugleherb: How would you spend your last day on Earth?

visiting all the people i love most, all of my friends, my gf, i’d call my sister

Buttercup: Relationship Status?

taken!

Camelia: If you could visit anywhere, where would you want to go?

france

Candytufts: When do you feel most loved?

when people take the time out of their day to talk to me

Canna: Do you have any tattoos?

nope, i do want some someday, though

Canterbury Bells: Do you have any piercings?

yes! i got my ears pierced twice because it ripped my earlobe the first time

California Poppy: Height?

~5′8″

Cardinal Flower: Do you believe in ghosts?

yes, and if i die before any of my friends, i’m coming back to haunt them

Carnation: What are you currently wearing?

a floral tank top, my favorite sleeveless cardigan, and jean shorts

Catnip: Have you ever slept with a nightlight?

yes, my little brother was afraid of the dark and insisted on having a nightlight on

Chives: Who was the last person you hugged?

my mom

Chrysanthemum: Who’s the last person you kissed?

my gf

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font?

architect’s daughter

Columbine: Are you tired?

yes, very

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to?

tomorrow i get to leave the house all day to drive across the state and it’s going to be a lot of fun

Coneflower: Dream job?

language teacher! either english to people who don’t speak it or german/french to english speakers

Crane’s-Bill: Introvert or extrovert?

introvert. i’m on tumblr all day

Crocus: Have you ever been in love?

yeah, i think so

Crown Imperial: What’s the farthest you would go for someone you care about?

i’d actually die for multiple people in my life

Cyclamen: Did you have a favorite stuffed animal as a child? What was it?

yes! a stuffed white dog with a plaid scarf and matching antlers! my friend got it for me because it reminded her of my big white dog.

Daffodil: What’s your zodiac sign?

aquarius

Dahlia: Have you done anything worth remembering?

once i came 3rd in my age group for a 5k i ran

Daisy: What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment?

i successfully kept a frail axolotl alive for an entire summer

Daylily: What would you do if your parents didn’t like your partner(s)?

i dont care what my parents think about stuff like that, they cant tell my who i am or am not allowed to date

Dendrobium: Who is the last person that you said “I love you” to?

@byler-obsessed literally like, maybe 15 minutes ago as of writing this

False Goat’s Beard: What is something you are good at?

i’d like to think i’m decent at singing

Foxgloves: What’s something you’re bad at?

staying awake during the day

Freesia: What are three good things that have happened in the past month?

i saw my gf for the first time in months! i came out to the girls team for xc! i spent a lot of time with one of my closest irl friends!

Garden Cosmos: How was your day today?

decent, i had coach practice, which was nice

Gardenia: Are you happy with where you’re at in your life?

yeah, i’d say i’m pretty happy where i am

Gladiolus: What is something you hope to do in the next year or two?

learn guitar

Glory-of-the-Snow: What are ten things that make you happy/you’re grateful to have in your life?

my best friends anna and bryan, my older brother, the girls on the team, my ukulele, my therapist, my dogs, the creek in my back yard, my grandma’s amish apple dumpling recipe, random internet memes, books

Heliotropium: What helps you calm down when you feel stressed?

listening to my spotify playlist

Hellebore: How do you show affection?

reassurance and/or talking about things that i enjoy, i’m really insecure so if i’m talking about something i like, that’s me trusting you.

Hoary Stock: What are you proudest of?

the mental health progress i’ve made

Hollyhock: Describe your ideal day.

i lay in bed until like 11, then, i spend the rest of the day out with my friends, we get sushi for dinner and stay up until like 3am

Hyacinth: What do you like to do in your free time?

be on tumblr

Hydrangea: How long have you known your best friend? How did you meet them?

i met them both in 6th grade, anna nad i were in the same science class and i met bryan at lunch, he didn’t talk to me for at least the first half of the year.

Irises: Who can you talk to about (almost) everything?

bryan, he always knows just what to say, and knows that he doesn’t have to fix my problems to be a good friend.

Laceleaf: How many friends do you have?

like, 13?

Lantanas: What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?

my friend once told me that they couldn’t tell if i was a boy or girl upon first meeting me and it made my day.

Larkspur: What do you think of yourself?

i’m a mess, an anxious, depressed, gay mess

Lavender: What’s your favorite thing about yourself?

my hair, it’s really fluffy and soft, and just about light enough to dye bright colors

Leather Flower: What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?

my chest, it’s always been a huge part of my dysphoria and i want it gone please

Lilac: What’s something you liked to do as a child?

i would play dress up with my dog, he had to suffer through wearing all my old dresses, but he got treats so it was ok

Lily: Who was your best friend when you were a kid?

my friend ry, we met in second grade, we’re still on and off friends, currently off

Lily of the Incas: What is something you still feel guilty for?

in 5th grade i used the word “suck” in class and got yelled at

Lily of the Nile: What is something you feel guilty for that you shouldn’t feel guilty about?

see above answer

Lupine: What does your name mean? Why is that your name?

carson: christian. it’s my name because i like how it sounds, and anna really liked it too, she picked it for me.

Marigold: Where did you grow up? Tell us about it.

white, suburban ohio. all the kids had cliques by the second day of kindergarten, and if you were knew, you generally had a pretty good chance of being picked up by the popular kids.

Morning Glory: What was your bedroom like growing up?

i had bunkbeds with my little brother, i slept on the bottom.

Mugworts: What was it like for you as a teenager? Did you enjoy your teenage years?

so far, not really. i’m just mentally ill and closeted, it’s not great

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom.

she likes to dye her hair crazy colors, and she used to be a beekeeper, even though she’s allergic to bee stings.

Onions: Tell about your dad.

he rides his bike almost every day, and supports my mom in whatever she does

Orchid: Tell about your grandparents.

on my mom’s side, the kindest boomers i’ve ever met, my grandpa used to take us on “adventures” to the park and just watch us play

on my dad’s side: my grandpa loves seeing us but doesn’t get out much, my grandma laughs hysterically at every family gathering, and has all the best amish recipes

Pansy: What was your most memorable birthday? What made it be so memorable?

when i turned 13, i went ice skating for the first time and fell and sprained my wrist

Peony: What was your first job?

mowing lawns

Petunia: If you’re in a relationship, how did you meet your partner(s)? If you’re not in a relationship, how did you meet your crush/how do you hope to meet your future partner(s), if you want any?

we had mutual friends and slowly ended up being close, we were in school plays and track together.

Pincushion: How do you deal with pain?

i bite down on my finger to simultaneously distract myself, focus on something else, and hold myself back

Pink: Where is home?

my best friends’ living room at 1 am, with the golden girls playing in the background

Plantain Lilies: If you could go back in time, what is one thing you would stop/change?

i’d go back and stop current president from becoming president

Prairie Gentian: Who is someone you look up to? Describe them.

my sister, she has always been driven and passionate and talented, and she makes everything seem effortless and still gives it her all.

Primrose: Describe your ideal life.

me and my spouse and my kids amd my dogs all live in a decently spacious house in europe, my job is stable and i love my work, my students think i’m cool and come to me if they need help, i am doing well.

Rhodendron: What is something you used to believe in as a child?

i used to believe that the smoke from fireworks was where clouds came from

Ricinus: Who’s the most important in your life?

my best friends

Rose: What’s your favorite sound?

the sound of rain on my roof at night

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

when my sister, dad, and i all climbed to the top of a mountain in california

Sage: What’s your least favorite memory?

throwing up in the car on the way home for visiting my sister in new york

Snapdragon: At this moment, what do you want?

a hug from anna

St. John’s Wort: Is it easy or difficult for you to express how you feel about things?

it’s hard because i don’t trust people

Sunflower: What is something you don’t want to imagine life without?

the internet

Sweet Pea: How much sleep did you get last night?

like 5.5 hours

Tickseed: What’s your main reason to get up every morning?

to run, it makes me feel better and i love cross country

Touch-Me-Not: How do you feel about your current job?

lmao i dont have one

Transvaal Daisy: What’s your favorite item of clothing?

my binder!

Tropical White Morning Glory: Describe your aesthetic.

the record player song but a boy

Tulip: What would be the best present to get you?

a list of reasons why you deal with me/things you like about me

Vervain: What’s stressing you out most right now?

the fact that this is taking a lot longer than anticipated and i don’t want people to think i’m ignoring their asks

Wisteria: How many books have you read in the past few months? What were they called?

actual books? only 2, Catcher in the Rye and the Night Circus

Wolf’s Bane: Where do you want to be in life this time next year?

out with my friends

Yarrow: Do you know what vore is?

yes, and i regret it

Zinnia: Give a random fact about yourself.

i’m double jointed in my left pinky

#fuck dude this took forever #long post #carson rambles

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carrotcouple · 6 years ago

Text

Blue Skies and Eternity (AO3)

Yoon is a fox God that is losing followers, losing his powers and losing hope. Yona is a first year high school student desperate to get out of the little town she lives in. An unexpected meeting and argument tangles their fates together forever.

{Previous Chapter}

Yoon pulled himself up from the wooden floor. He hadn’t bothered with laying out his futon. Yoon had told Iksoo he needed time and Iksoo had nodded, threading fingers through Yoon’s hair like Yoon was a child. Well, Yoon didn’t mind it if it was coming from Iksoo. Grandma Hana had been one of Yoon’s few remaining loyal followers. It came as a big blow. Yoon hadn’t been able to help her. He had only made her suffer more. If he had been smart, instead of trying to keep her alive, he should have eased her passing. But no, Yoon had been selfish. He had been desperate not to lose another follower.

“What kind of God am I?” Yoon muttered.

Yoon rubbed his eyes. They ached. Yoon had kept himself from crying through mere willpower, but that didn’t mean his eyes hadn’t stung through the entire of the yesterday. Yoon pushed himself up and walked out of the shrine. The front had already been swept, meaning that Iksoo had already been up and about. Yoon sighed. He didn’t know how to discourage his priest to refrain from doing some of his duties with his arm broken.

He didn’t know how to tell Iksoo he was better off just leaving Yoon.

Yoon walked towards the back of the shrine where his personal garden was, filled with trees, a little stream and those stupid flowers that he had bled all over the day before. There were birds in the trees and Yoon thought it had been a while since he had seen any on the shrine grounds. The apple trees looked horrible and Yoon was once again reminded of Grandma Hana.

“I think this appearance suits you. I don’t know who you are, but I think this appearance gives off the feeling of someone who loves.”

Yoon groaned, dropping into a crouch and covering his face with his hands. Grandma Hana had lived for so long and she had seen him once. Just once in her whole life. She had been newly married then and Yoon had been going through town and then had seen her apples. He had been pleased and she had seen him. Yoon assumed she had been desperate at the time, which was why she had seen him, but he had never figured out otherwise. She had given him apples.

Yoon pulled his hands away from his face and started. The flowers in front of him looked gorgeous, luscious and alive. Yoon jumped to his feet. They looked nothing like their droopy selves from the day before.

These were the flowers he had bled all over!

There was still hope! Yoon could still do something as the God of the land!

Excitedly, Yoon scrambled towards the trees. What if he bled all over their roots? Or at least the soil covering the roots? He could also maybe walk through town, dripping blood all over the place. It would revitalize the town. He could save his land, he could protect them and have them smile more. He didn’t need Geuntae’s help or even Mizari’s. Now the mainland Gods wouldn’t attempt to take over their territory.

“Yoon?” Yoon heard Iksoo’s voice and he quickly ducked behind a tree. He couldn’t do what he was thinking with Iksoo around. Iksoo would die of a heart attack, but not before crying all over Yoon and telling him to please stop.

“Here!” Yoon called.

“Checking the gardens and trees again?” Iksoo asked, hurrying towards Yoon. Yoon’s eyes widened and he darted out of his spot behind the tree and caught Iksoo just as he tripped over a loose rock and fell.

“And I tell you not to come in this direction unless you’re being careful,” Yoon said sternly.

“I was going to go into town again today to put up more flyers and...check up on when Grandma Hana’s funeral is,” Iksoo said.

“Oh,” Yoon said, feeling his stomach twist.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Iksoo asked.

“I was selfish, Iksoo…” Yoon looked away. “I was so selfish and so desperate. I just didn’t want to lose her. I didn’t want to lose another follower. I’m a God of Medicine! I should understand when the God of Death comes for a human! But instead I was so desperate to keep her alive for just a little while longer so that I wouldn’t lose another follower. I made her suffer instead of helping her feel less pain to ease her passing.” Yoon sighed. “I’m a pathetic God,”

“I’ve always wondered who helps Gods when they need help,” Iksoo’s voice was gentle and soft. “At first I thought that other Gods helped. But I’ve slowly come to understand that Gods cannot truly help other Gods. It’s humans that can help Gods. When a God needs help, humans must come in and play their part. Grandma Hana was someone who would have usually helped you. To you, she was your salvation. I understand it must have been terrifying for you to have to watch her slip away from you. And it’s true it was not the right decision to try to make her stay with you, but I think in desperate times, you are allowed to turn to humans. I think you can be forgiven for trying to save yourself.”

When did Iksoo start to sound so wise? He had grown up and Yoon hadn’t even seen it happened. It seemed like mere days ago he was a child with scrapes and bruises that sniffled in distress even as he held out golden pears to Yoon eagerly and Yoon wiped his face with his sleeve in exasperation while telling him that he shouldn’t let his master see him like that. And now Iksoo was comforting him with words that sounded too true.

“Don’t you have to go to town?” Yoon asked, trying to change the subject. He wasn’t ready to admit that he needed Iksoo’s help, or any human’s help for that matter of fact.

Iksoo pulled away and Yoon saw the disappointment on his face.

“Yes, actually. I will see you when I return,” Iksoo got up, bowed slightly in Yoon’s direction and started scrambling away quickly.

“Slowly! Or you’ll hurt yourself!” Yoon shouted after him.

He heard a faint call in reply and Yoon realized the priest was already trying to go down the stairs.

“Honestly,” Yoon shook his head. “Now,” Yoon turned back to the trees. “I have some bleeding to do.”

------o------

“Hm?” Masu blinked and turned to see Mizari uncurl from his furs, an interested smile on his face. If Masu wasn’t used to those smiles by now, a chill would have gone down his spine. Kija was clearly still not used to them and he lightly dropped the teacup he was holding. Luckily, it was not too far away from the table and only made a loud noise. There were no cracks. “I smell something horribly delicious,”

“Are you hungry?” Masu asked, turned and linking his hands together under his sleeves. Mizari turned two brilliantly green colored eyes on him.

“You can’t get this for me unfortunately,” Mizari grinned, his sharp teeth splitting his face nearly in half. “I smell kitsune blood. And it smells oh-so-very delicious. I wonder if I should have gobbled him up when he was visiting,”

“Is there something wrong?” Kija asked.

“Oh,” Mizari’s eyes focused on Kija and Masu felt a kind of pity flare in him. Mizari would never eat any of his priests, he was sworn to that at least and he hadn’t eaten any humans in several decades, so that counted for something. But he still enjoyed teasing Kija. “Kija, you’re going to Yoon’s territory soon, aren’t you?”

“Um...if you mean the exchange program, yes, I am,” Kija blinked and then Mizari started inching closer to them.

“I need you to do something for me,” Mizari said.

“Sure?” Kija said nervously as Mizari encircled him and laid his head on Kija’s shoulder. Masu considered telling Mizari to politely back off, but his health wasn’t getting any better. The sooner Kija got used to Mizari, the better.

“Yoon is so, so much fun to tease. Especially because he’s like a prickly porcupine but he’s so soft inside. He would be absolutely delicious. It seems he’s relying on extreme methods. I want you to report to me everything you observe about him when you get there. Understood?” Mizari asked.

“I understand,” Kija said.

“Mizari,” Masu said warningly.

“Ah, of course, if you ever think you’re in danger from him, you may back off. But I doubt you will be. That one is notoriously well known for having never laid even one nail on a human.” Mizari chuckled.

“Alright,” Kija nodded.

------o------

Bleeding all over the town had turned out to be not as difficult as Yoon thought it would be. He thought Iksoo would instantly notice the blood and pop out of some pothole and be upon Yoon in hysterics. Yoon just had to avoid people he knew had sharper eyes and just walk through town, dripping blood on the side of the streets. No one would notice the yokai blood and animals would steer clear of it, knowing what it was.

His task was meant to be a quick one, so that he could return home before Iksoo did. He had taken a little longer than he intended, but still managed to return home before Iksoo could return from his daily town runs. Yoon didn’t have to stay around for Iksoo. To be honest, he was free to roam around and Iksoo had absolutely no say in it. But, Yoon had to keep an eye on Iksoo since he had a broken arm now. And Iksoo was stressed with the festival preparations.

Yoon was just starting to check the meager prayers left at the shrine when someone entered the shrine grounds. He turned around to see a girl with long black hair and sharp blue eyes climb up the stairs. She was wearing a school uniform and was holding a school bag. Instantly Yoon was reminded of the red haired girl and he felt uncomfortable.

“Calm down, it’s just a student,” he told himself as he watched her look around the shrine. And then her eyes met his.

“You’re not Iksoo,” she said.

Yoon’s eyes widened.

“Of course I’m not,” Yoon snapped.

“I don’t even think you belong in town,” she said.

“That’s what you think,” Yoon spat. She drank in his appearance and Yoon moved his injured hand behind himself. Her gaze lingered a little too long on the top of his head.

“Are you even human?” she asked skeptically.

“You tell me, little girl,” Yoon said, baring his teeth.

“Apparently not,” she didn’t seem the least bothered by the fact. Yoon stared at her for a bit and then concluded that she was desperate.

“Do you need something?” Yoon asked.

“Are you Iksoo?” she shot at him.

“No, but I have more right to this shrine than he does,” Yoon frowned.

“I’m here for the part time shrine maiden thing,” she shrugged.

“You don’t seem very interested,” Yoon commented.

“Not really, but I need the money and random work experience. My friend on the other hand is very excited. She will be on her way soon.” She held out Iksoo’s handwritten flyer towards Yoon. Yoon sniffed at her warily before taking the flyer from her. “Since you’re the big guy here, tell me, am I accepted?” she asked, giving him a lazy look.

“Which family are you from?” Yoon asked.

“The Ahn family,” she said.

“You’re accepted,” Yoon said. The Ahn family made donations to shrine maintenance without fail every year. They also had a long history of well brought up children that knew custom well. Yoon thought this black haired girl in front of him would suit the part of shrine maiden very well.

“My friend should be here in a bit. I’m not going to work here without her,” the girl thought that now was a good time to mention that.

“Who’s your friend?” Yoon asked.

“Ah, her name is-” The girl started.

“Lili!” An ear splitting female voice that Yoon knew well interrupted the girl.

“Yoon!” Iksoo’s equally loud scream followed.

The red haired girl and Iksoo dashed up the stairs and before Yoon could even tell what was happening, both of them were in his face and Iksoo had grabbed one of his shoulders and was shaking him violently.

“Yoon! What did you do?” Iksoo wailed.

“Why is your blood all over town?” The girl shrieked.

“Yona, you’re late,” the black haired girl said.

Yoon was going to have a headache.

#sunny writes #blue skies and eternity #akatsuki no yona #yona of the dawn #yoonyona #yoon #yona #iksoo #an lili #mizari #kija #thank you eternally to mal who let me use the name she had given kija's dad #in one of her fics #this is getting fun #whoopie #as always #i recommend reading this on ao3 #so that you'll see the tags and know what you're getting into

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mmkelleywrites · 7 years ago

Text

The Children of the Lake

My daughter Dharma is six. She’s rowdy and fearless. Dauntless, even. Since she’s been old enough to walk, she’s been drawn to the water. There’s one particular spot in the lake that she’s always been drawn to. We live in the woods on the edge of Lake Michigan. It’s a tiny, self sufficient commune that hardly anyone cares to know about. My great grandmother started her family here and we’re still here with a handful of others.

Ever since the first time I took her down the bent trunk path with us, she’s been fascinated by that little corner cove of the lake. She would sit on the shore and stare intently at the still water of the early morning while I went through the motions of leaving a food offering, singing an old song and making sure the candles were all burning.

My great grandmother started the tradition of leaving food, flowers and singing a song on the shore of the lake. She passed it down to my grandmother, then my mother, and eventually to me before passing. Every detail was specific and she was particular about execution.

In preparation, we gather fireflies, flowers and raspberries. We fast for three days, so that they do not smell food on us and become jealous. On the night of the offering, everything is carried to a particular cove in old wooden bowls. A cove that has a flat rock laying across two stumps at the edge of the murky water.

We wait for the fireflies to signal their lovers. Then we smear the fluorescence of their bellies on our faces. Squiggles to a child, wards and runes to an adult. They tell the drowned that the bearer is both there to help, but also not to be trifled with.

Then the bowls are laid out. There's a pestle-like rock on the makeshift table, it's used to mash and mix the offerings in a third bowl. A splash of bourbon is added to help placate their restlessness. Once those preparations are completed, the candles are lit and the song is sung.

“They need us,” grandma would remind me when my offering was disappointing or my song half hearted, “their mothers drowned them here. Their spirits need comfort.”

I was never into the whole spiritual aspect, though I did find the monthly chore to be cathartic. After we lost my great grandmother, it became my fondest memory and a tribute to her memory. It's been at least fifteen years since she passed, and I still make an offering at the lake shore right after the full moon.

I asked my mother once why she had the same birthmark as her mother. She gazed down at her navel and her breath left her chest. It seemed like a talk she'd been dreading for longer than she'd known me.

“We're special, Becca,” she said as she pointed to her left cheek, “All the women in our family end up with this mark eventually.”

“Isn't it a birthmark?” I questioned.

“No, baby. We aren't born with this, but I have it. Granny Geneva had it, too.”

“What's it mean? How do we get it?” My young mind couldn't wrap itself around the idea.

Mom shrugged and thought for a moment, “Granny Geneva said it marks the sight. It's in our blood, it just waits until you need it, or it needs you.”

I must have looked puzzled in that long silence. I started to speak, but my mother hushed me. She smiled kindly and spoke softly, “No more, we can talk more after it happens. You'll understand it then, right now it's just useless words in your head.”

I waited and waited, but my mark never came. After awhile I figured it was just her version of a Bible story for our hippie dippie pagan traditions. Eventually the task fell to me, tending to the spirits of the lake. After Dharma was born, my mother would look after her while I gave our sympathy to the lake babies. Eventually though she wasn't in a condition to watch her while I was out in the wilderness.

Naturally, sometimes I had to bring Dharma with me. I would generally leave her up at the trail, within earshot, and be done around the time she lost interest in being there. One day, I was a little slow, she was a done a little early. She wandered down to the water before I even noticed.

I heard the sound of rocks being thrown into water, only, it sounded like I was hearing it from underwater myself. I looked over my shoulder first. No Dharma. I scoured the shoreline from the altar. There she was, hanging off a rock, staring into the dark water. Between the moon and the candles, I could faintly see dozens of little faces in the water peering back up to her.

I scrambled down the steep bank to her, loose rocks skidded with me onto the smooth rock outcrop. I grabbed her shoulder and jerked her back. My eyes hadn’t lied, I could see them plain as day under the water’s glassy surface. Definitely human, but the skin was blue and pulled too tight across the skull. The whites of their eyes were green with algae. They pressed their hands and faces against the water, like something in a horror film trying to climb through a mirror.

The cold, still surface of the water held them back, though. They clawed at it with pruny, sharp fingers, muffled splashing sounds coming up from the lake. Some of them motioned to Dharma, as if to say, “Come on in! The water’s fiiiine!” She struggled against me, trying to join them. I leaned out over the ledge and barked the most powerful “No!” I could muster.

Their murky green eyes collectively widened. They turned and quickly returned to the muddy bottom. I caught a glance of curved slits like gills on the sides of their necks when they turned to retreat. I think my wards drove the point home, I could see the glow from the fireflies bellies in the water. I finished the ritual quickly and carried her home. She was absolutely entranced, determined to join those things. I fought into the night to keep her away from the lake.

“What’d you see in the water, sunshine bear?”

“When?” she asked, puzzled.

“Last night,” I pressed, “You kept trying to go to the lake.”

She looked at even more confused and shrugged, “I don’t remember being there.”

The next full moon rolled around faster than I’d have liked. I waited for Dharma to go to sleep before departing for my work. I floated through the ritual with muscle memory. The same one I’d performed hundreds of times. At the end, my stomach knotted and unease punched me in the gut. My eyes darted back and forth along the shore and further out into the dark. I couldn’t see them, but I felt like they were watching.

The sound of a knife across glass screeched through the woods. Small blue hands, scraping their razor like nails against the water’s still surface from below. The faces started coming close enough to the surface to see. They snarled green and black teeth at me, inching towards the shore. They jammed against the junction of the water and the gravelly shore, their heads deforming and squeezing into the tight space, those green eyes never leaving me. Their scraping and digging deformed the shore, making a pit at the water’s edge that let more of them pile in closer to me. I noticed the fading light of the firefly belly on my nose and ran.

I returned in the light the next day. The pit was still dug out right at the water’s edge. Claw marks were dug into the shore leading up to the altar. The bowl on the stone slab was licked so clean it was sparkling. I needed help.

“They aren’t human.” I blurted out to my mother.

“What?” she asked with a wavering voice.

“The things in the water, those aren’t human kids!”

She groaned to herself before answering, “They used to be, Bec. Over the years the spirits twisted, changed. They turned more… fishlike. Mom- your grandmother- thought it was the oppressive loneliness in the depths that made them that way.”

“Can I keep them in the water?”

“They’re just restless, they’ll be fine” she sighed.

“They wanted Dharma to come in with them!” I cried.

“It will be okay, just keep her from the water.”

The sound of knives being drug across the sheet metal roof of our little hippie hut. Knives tapping on the solar panels that gave us some modern amenities. On the windows. Scraping the outside of the mud and rock walls of our home. I ducked out and slowly peeked out of the corner of the window.

They shambled on feet that weren’t quite feet, but weren’t quite flippers. Long toes, webbed deeper than a human’s, yet still recognizable as vaguely human. My heart nearly flew from my chest as one of them flung itself into the window by my face. It laughed hysterically, like a child watching cartoons for the first time. We covered the windows with curtains, blocked the entrances the best we could and hid until morning.

Guests arrived that morning. Not a lot, just a single couple looking to unplug for the weekend. We ran them through the usual routine. Organic gardening, tending the bees, and checking our limb lines for catfish. I was vigilant while we checked for catfish. One of the lines didn’t want to come up to the surface. I put on work gloves and pulled with all of my might. Eventually with some help from our guests, it started coming up. I started to worry that we may have fished up one of those things. In the end all that we had was a boot that was probably stuck on a submerged log. They didn’t notice the cuts in the glass, doors or walls of the commune’s structures. But I did.

Their stay had been uneventful. A few days in I’d decided to go check on the cove, to see if there’d been anymore activity. It was like watching a cheap slasher flick. There they went, galloping completely naked in the dark into the lake. I wanted to yell for them, but I figured everything had been calm so they must have gone back to sleep. I started back down the trail when I heard a scream.

“Stop grabbing my foot and trim your nails!” the girl shrieked.

The man’s voice carried across the water, “I didn’t grab your feet.”

He started to scream, but it was interrupted by his head being submerged. She started screaming again and flailed her arms in a flurry of water droplets trying to get to the shore as fast as she could. The man burst through the water’s surface and similarly battled his way sloppily to the beach. I ran down to check on them. He was oddly calm; she was hysterical, for lack of a better word. His left leg was gone from the knee down. The flesh was tattered, tendons trailed across the beach from it like streamers.

“Lets get him back to the commune, we can help him better there and get CareFlight out to get him.”

I looked to the water to make sure we were clear. There they were, those green eyes staring at me as a handful of them tore into the limb like a turkey leg. They were at first taken aback by the sight of me up close. Then I realized I wasn’t warded.

“Lets go!” I barked as I grabbed his shoulders.

She stumbled and helped support his hips. Those things were crawling and scratching at the shore again, like they were trying to dig out of the water. When we were back within shouting distance of the commune, she collapsed. I nearly dropped him onto her and yelled for help. She had a nasty gash on her leg that’d been bleeding pretty bad, too.

He survived. Neither of them saw the children. Shortly after they arrived at the hospital animal control showed up and searched for the presumed alligator that attacked the two of them. They searched into the afternoon the following day by boat. When they pulled their boat out, they didn’t notice the gashes in the wooden hull.

After animal control was gone, we started hearing a noise around dusk. It was something halfway between a frog’s croak and man yawning. It quickly formed into a melody, with more voices joining in the longer it went. The melody itself was haunting; it seemed to suck us into its rises and falls. The only thing I can relate the tone to is children singing the words to a song they don't actually know.

Something burned inside of me and I shook free of the stupor. I ran out, shaking everyone out of it. They were shambling absentmindedly to the lake. Dharma. I couldn’t find Dharma. I already knew. I knew who the song was for, maybe she was why they had been so active. I ran for the trail; she’d go to the cove with the altar.

She waddled down the trail. I shook her. I yelled her name. I even tried scooping her up, but she just wiggled and slid out of my arms without a minute acknowledgment of my presence. I ran in front of her. There they were on the shore, in the water, everywhere. They grinned with their black and green teeth as they sang louder.

“Cut the shit!” I yelled.

They ignored me, then I realized why. I was unprotected. Dharma was getting close to the shore. I ran up and punched one of them. Wet, squishy. It didn’t even flinch. I ran back again, this time trying to push Dharma back up the gravelly shore. She pushed me towards the water, unphased as the cacophony urged her on.

I looked over my shoulder, and there was a shadow just under the surface. It was something much bigger than a child. Awestruck, I turned around and tried to make out what it was, but it was too far out for me to make out any detail. It inched towards the shore. As it got closer I could see it pushing up against the surface of the water. The sound of glass splintering echoed across the flat surface of the lake.

My body started to panic, my brain couldn’t process what was happening. The thing that surfaced reminded me of a manatee at first. Scarred, with barnacles dug into its flesh. But it had hair on its head, matted and long, tangled with plant matter. Its face was vaguely human, its voice gruff and distorted as it called out from the middle of the cove.

“Come join us, my new child…”

I learned, in that moment, what it meant to have a fire inside of you. I screamed with pure, unadulterated rage. A bright green light washed over the cove, lighting up the water, the shore, and the things that were trying to take my Dharma. They recoiled back, but the big thing in the water stood its ground. I roared again; this time the green light crumbled some of the childish things that were too near me. My reflection in the water told me all I needed to know. The firefly wards burned bright green on my face. A burning V had overtaken my left cheek and ran over my left eye.

“I said *fuck off*!” I wailed, sending a green shockwave that disintegrated more of the singing things. A tree’s trunk cracked behind me from the force.

Then they all went silent and slipped into the water without so much as a splash. I checked my other side. There was Dharma, right at the edge of the water.

Her toes touched the glass like surface. The cold, dark water shocked her into awareness.

I tried to reach for her. I grabbed a handful of her curly locks. I saw those scaley, half-fin, half-human little hands shoot up and grab her ankle. They ripped her from this world.

Not a sound, not a splash. Just gone. Gone into the abyss.

I collapsed, a thick wad of her curls in my hand. The manatee creature still where it was. It gave me a nod of acknowledgment. Then it grinned and gave me a wink before swishing back to the depths of the lake.

I still perform the ritual. I don’t hurry anymore; the runes are there when they need to be. I stay and I watch. I watch little Dharma come up and partake the offering. She isn’t changing into one of them yet. I think it’s because I’m keeping her from being lonely. This V on my cheek hasn’t faded, so I guess it was finally my time.

#horror #short story #fiction #witch #creepypasta #nosleep #scary #creepy

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unfolded73 · 7 years ago

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Since you're taking prompts, maybe a future fic when little Swan-Jones somehow learns a thing or two about dad's past and Killian has to figure out a way to explain it in a way his kid will understand. (I know this is probably random, but it seems like something you would write really well based on other stories of yours I've read.)

My first thought was, I’ve already written this! (A Sad, Sad Place Without You) But I very quickly realized that there are more angles to tell this kind of story from, and no shortage of things for Maureen to find out about. Plus, I was able to use a tiny orphaned snippet of a Charming/Maureen conversation that I didn’t know what to do with, which makes me happy.

FYI, Maureen is my invented Swan-Jones daughter who predates the canon pregnancy, so some of the stories about her are consistent with S7 and some aren’t. Rated G, ~2300 words.

David found Maureen on the swing he’d hung from a big, old tree on the property years ago. She’d kicked off her sneakers, and despite the chilly air was swinging back and forth barefoot, leaning back so that her hair dragged through the dirt, her fists clutching the weathered rope.

“I wondered where you’d gotten to,” he said, and at the sound of his voice, his ten-year-old granddaughter pulled herself upright, slowing with a drag of her heels against the ground. She was dirt from head to toe, as usual.

“I wanted to swing,” she said.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the tree, “I’m glad you’re getting some use out of it. Neal’s too old for it now.”

Maureen narrowed her eyes. “That’s stupid. There’s no reason to grow out of swinging.”

“You make a compelling point.” He crossed his arms. “In any case, your parents will be here to pick you up soon, so you should probably come back up to the house and get cleaned up.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed back with her legs and started swinging again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It must be something, Mo.” He flinched. “Sorry, Maureen.” She’d announced at her tenth birthday party the previous month that she didn’t like her nickname anymore, and wouldn’t answer to it or to any of the other pet names Killian had for her.

She scowled, stopping her momentum again with her bare feet. “My dad killed people, you know.”

David took a startled step back at that non-sequitur. “What are you talking about?” he asked cautiously, not knowing exactly what she knew.

“I used to think being a pirate meant sailing around where you wanted, maybe stealing gold from people who didn’t deserve so much gold.” She screwed up her face, and David could tell she was near tears. “But he was a villain. He hurt people.”

Still uncertain if this was a conclusion she’d drawn about pirates in general or if she’d gleaned specific information about her father, David spoke carefully. “Your father only became a pirate because an evil king caused the death of his brother--”

“I know that story,” she interrupted. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do really bad stuff though.”

David walked over and knelt on the ground in front of Maureen, gripping the ropes of the swing in his hands. “I know, sweetheart, but your father has been a good man for a very long time. A hero. A man I’m proud is part of my family.”

“Heroes aren’t supposed to kill people.”

A sudden image of his own wife after she’d killed Cora, more distraught than he’d ever seen her, flashed in David’s mind. Heroes aren’t supposed to kill people.

“Did something happen, Maureen? What’s got you thinking about this all of a sudden?”

She scuffed her feet in the dirt, kicking some of it onto David’s blue jeans. “I heard them talking.”

“Who?”

“Mom and Dad. I heard him say he killed his father.”

And mine, David thought traitorously. He’d forgiven Killian long ago for that, but it still struck him at odd times, that his closest buddy, his daughter’s true love, the father of this wonderful girl in front of him was responsible for such a life-altering crime from so long ago.

“I heard him tell Mom that he’d dreamed again of the night he killed his father. They didn’t know I was listening. And I just started to think about pirates, and I realized he probably killed other people too. I don’t know why I never thought of that before.”

“Because he’s your dad,” David said. “Killian’s father was not a good man. He abandoned his own children when Killian was no older than you are now. I know it’s hard to understand--”

Maureen didn’t seem to even hear him and was working herself up into hysterics. “He lived for a really long time as a pirate, he told me. Two hundred years. How can he make up for being a villain by being a hero now? There isn’t enough time!”

David reached out and stroked her cheek, catching one of her tears on his thumb. “It doesn’t work that way. Your dad doesn’t have to balance out the years when he was a villain with the same number of years as a hero before his slate is clean. What matters is that he’s a good man now, and because of that, we forgive him for things that happened in his past. It’s an act of generosity to forgive someone who’s worked to be a better person. An act of grace.”

Brow furrowed, Maureen tried to puzzle that out. “When did you forgive him?”

David thought about that, uncertain how to answer. It had been a gradual thing that happened in stages, with a few rough patches between where they’d started and where they were now, but that wasn’t what Maureen wanted to hear. “Have you ever heard the story of Queen Elsa?”

She nodded.

“When Queen Elsa came to town, she was afraid that the people here had done something to hurt her sister Anna, and it made it difficult for her to control her powers.”

“Ice powers?” Maureen asked quickly, and he could see a spark of excitement in her eyes underneath the worry.

“Yes, ice powers. So for a little while, your mom was in danger, because she was trapped with Elsa, and it was very, very cold.” He took a deep breath. “I was with your dad, and he fought so hard to get her out of that ice. I think he would have chipped at the ice with his hook until he collapsed from exhaustion. That was when I realized how much he loved your mom, and I guess I forgave him then.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was true enough for the sake of what he was trying to communicate. It was certainly one of many times that he’d seen the man’s love for Emma shining out like a beacon in the dark of night.

“And once someone’s forgiven, the bad stuff they did doesn’t matter?” she asked, wiping at the tears on her face and hopelessly smearing her cheeks with more dirt.

“I wouldn’t say it doesn’t matter, but… you move on from it. Maybe you don’t forget. Just like your dad has never forgotten the things he’s done. But you turn the page, and you live on.” He thought about Rumple and Killian, Regina and Zelena. So many people in his life had been granted forgiveness for so much. Perhaps they didn’t deserve it, but in the end, what would it have benefited anyone to hold grudges? How would it have done anything but keep those people back from achieving the good they’d achieved?

Maureen hopped off of the swing, and he pulled her into a hug. “Just know that there are few people in this world that I trust more than your father to protect the people we love. And that’s been true for many years. Okay?”

She nodded against his chest, sniffling. “Okay.”

“All right, young miss, let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Maureen picked up her shoes and ran toward the farmhouse while David followed after her at a more sedate pace.

~*~

“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

Killian looked up from his book, seeing Emma in the doorway by their bed, slipping her phone back in her pocket. He sat in the wingback chair he’d positioned next to the large ocean-facing windows of their bedroom years ago. It had become his favorite place to sit of late to enjoy the salt-tinged breeze, even as the temperatures were dropping and it was becoming less pleasant to leave the windows open.

“Hey, is Mo still in the shower?” she asked.

“Aye,” he said, tilting his head toward their bathroom. Their daughter had recently switched from baths to showers, but annoyingly she insisted on using their bathroom instead of the one next to her room. That bathroom creeps me out, she said, although Killian could find absolutely nothing to justify such a statement.

“We’re going to need to talk to her. Dad said she overheard us talking about Brennan last night.” Emma refused to honor the man who’d fathered Killian with the title, choosing to refer to him by his name. She may have never known the man, but it didn’t stop her from despising him.

Killian’s heart plummeted. “Dammit.”

“That’s not all. I guess it got her thinking about pirates and villainy and murder and I don’t even know what all, but she was upset. Dad did his best to comfort her and it sounds like he did a bang-up job, but we’re going to need to talk to her.” She stepped up next to the chair and combed her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp.

“I knew this day would come eventually,” he sighed. “I just wish I knew what to say. There’s nothing to justify some of the things I did.”

Emma continued to stroke his hair. “Do you want me to be here, or should I let you talk to her by yourself?”

He looked up at her gratefully for thinking to ask. “I think I’d rather talk to her by myself unless you think that would do more damage.”

“Of course it won’t.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

His daughter appeared from the steam-filled bathroom a few minutes later, wearing baggy, plaid pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, her hair a wet and uncombed riot. She had a drawer full of pink and purple nightgowns and girly pajamas -- gifts from her Grandma Snow that she had never worn.

“Would you like me to comb your hair, love?” he asked gently, seeking any sign of her emotional state on her face. He expected Maureen to say no (these days she wanted to do everything herself), but she nodded.

Killian reached over and grabbed Emma’s brush off the dresser, beckoning his daughter closer with his hook. Without a word, she positioned herself with her back to him, and he sat forward in the chair and began to gently work the tangles out from the bottom, his hook pressed above where he was brushing to keep from pulling at Maureen’s scalp.

“I fear I’ve made an error with you, darling, telling you so many exciting stories about being a pirate and leaving out the less savory aspects of my former life,” he said, clearing his throat around the lump that was already forming. The last thing in the world that he wanted was for any of his past mistakes to cause his daughter pain. He’d die a thousand deaths to spare her that if he could.

Maureen’s shoulders tensed but she said nothing.

“I can’t lie to you; I was a villain, and I made many mistakes in service of seeking vengeance against someone who had wronged me.”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” she supplied. She didn’t know Rumple; he and Belle and Gideon had left Storybrooke to travel the realms before Maureen had been born. And of course, Maureen had asked Emma years ago why her father had only one hand. Emma had told as sanitized a version of the story as she could, just as he had once done the same when Maureen learned that he’d died. Too many terrible tales haunted their pasts, he thought.

“I hated my father. He abandoned me and Liam when we were boys, leaving us indentured to a ship--”

“What’s ‘indentured’?” she asked.

He sighed. “It’s almost like being a slave, but the difference is there is a chance to buy your way to freedom, although it’s very difficult.”

Maureen whirled around. “You were a slave?”

“Not exactly, darling, but near enough.” He coaxed her to turn around again so he could continue working on her hair. “I never forgave my father for that, although perhaps I should have. So when the chance arose and killing him would get me closer to my goal, I accepted a devil’s bargain and I orphaned your other uncle Liam.” He left Regina’s involvement out. He didn’t know when or if she might return to Storybrooke, but he didn’t want to bias his daughter against someone who was an integral part of the family. “He was a bad man, but it was a mistake and I regret it.” Most of the tangles gone, he ran the brush down the length of Maureen’s hair. “I regret many things that I’ve done, and I work every day to be a man worthy of this family. Worthy of being your father.”

“You are,” she said in a small, trembling voice. Setting the brush aside, he coaxed her onto his lap so that he could hold her. She didn’t fit the way she used to, all long limbs and angles, and he shuddered to imagine the woman she would start to bloom into in only a few short years. His days of holding her like this were numbered.

“I apologize that my past deeds have made you upset. And I apologize that I wasn’t more honest with you.” Her wet hair was cold against his cheek, and he turned and pressed his lips to her head.

“It’s okay, Dad.”

“I love you, Mo.”

“Maureen,” she corrected, but there was no heat in it, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“Maureen,” he responded, hugging her back, his eyes squeezing shut against tears that threatened to spill over.

“I’m glad you’re a good man now.”

“Me too, love.”

#maureen swan jones fic #daddy killian fic #grandpa charming fic #cs ff #captain swan ff #my fic #my prompt fic #once-uponacaptain

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ddaddsprompts · 7 years ago

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hi there! love your blog! so regarding that last ask of the dads reacting to dadsona being an actor, how would the dads AND their kids react at watching a super tragic movie that dadsona is in? (like super sad terminal illness or something)

tw; “death” by terminal illness

‘I know this is hard, Princess. I’m so sorry.’ You whispered, grasping on to your “daughter”’s hand as she cried into it. An amazing actress for a girl her age. With her skill combines with yours, [Dad] could feel his heart slowly break as the little girl begged you not to leave her. ‘Daddy! Please don’t leave me, you can still get better!’ She sobbed. ‘Mommy’s working really hard and…and…’ ‘Princess, I’m sorry. Daddy will be watching you from above, alright? He’ll be with grandma and grandpa and we’ll all be looking over you.’ ‘No! I want you to stay, please!’ The girl cried. ‘Daddy, don’t go…’ ‘I love you very much, remember that.’ You whispered and slowly drifted away on screen, the music playing a soft but sad piano tune as the young girl cried out and folded herself over your body, sobbing her heart out. Craig; Words could not describe the pain he felt as he watched your eyes droop and your grip on the small hand weaken and fall to your side. The pang in his hard grew stronger as he saw the girl scream and beg you to wake up, feeling tears begin to line his eyes. ‘Woah, Y/N’s a great actor, aren’t they, Dad?’ Hazel commented, looking up at her father to see him starting to choke up. ‘Dad! Are you crying?!’ Briar also took notice of her dad’s state and quickly paused the movie, grabbing a handful of tissues. ‘Dad! Don’t be upset, it’s just a movie, silly!’The girls giggled at their father’s state over a movie. He wasn’t really the type to cry over cheesy tragic films, as he was well aware that it was all fiction, but something about you being the one passing away probably hit a heart string there. Craig chuckled too as he wiped his eyes. ‘Ah, sorry. Maybe they’re a little too good at acting, don’t you think, girls?’ He disposed of the tissues and plopped back down on the sofa. ‘Just in case, hand me that tissue box, huh? Might need it a little later.’ River burbled beside them, unaware what was happening but was just happy to be there.Hugo; The words, the actions, the tears, as an admirer of the arts, Hugo was totally speechless as he watched your nearly flawless acting make the illusion that he was truly watching you disappear from reality, leaving this tiny young girl absolutely heartbroken. Hugo appeared to be a calm man but that scene hit him so hard tears actually began to fall from his eyes. His son, who was sitting beside him, noticed his father was crying. Ernest sighed, paused the movie and walked to the bathroom, coming back with a bunch of tissues. ‘Here.’ He grumbled, avoiding Hugo’s eyes. ‘Y/N’s pretty good at acting, and uh, yeah.’ ‘Thanks.’ Hugo smiled and brushed away the remaining tears. His heart still hurt from that scene but he pushed on, pressing the play button on the remote to continue the movie. Ernest stared at his dad for a bit. He was pretty emotional inside, he was aware of that. But he’d hardly see him cry unless he called him Dad, and even then it was tears of giddiness and joy. When was the last time Hugo had cried from true sadness, Ernest wondered. Gripping onto the tissue in his hoodie pocket, he made sure Hugo wasn’t looking before he wiped away his own tears. Sure, Ernest might be a tough kid but damn, that scene hit him pretty hard.Robert; There were times when Robert was really fascinated with your acting skills when you both messed around with fake stories at the bar, deceiving many. It was quite entertaining, but he wasn’t laughing as he watched your character close his eyes and pass away. It felt real, almost too real. Robert uncomfortably shifted in his seat, nervously chuckling beside Val. ‘Yeesh, Y/N, uh, really learned from the best, huh?’ He coughed, trying to hide his inner turmoil. His heart was racing, the scene looking nearly all too familiar. Val looked equally uncomfortable, but decided to be a bit more open about it. ‘Pops, do you wanna, uh, skip this scene? You don’t look too well.’ She reached for the remote. Robert thought for a while and nodded, which signaled Val to press the fast forward button. The scene seemed to last forever, along with an additional funeral scene which made Robert more uncomfortable. Once the movie ended, Val made sure to dial you up so you could reassure Robert that it was just a movie and that everything was alright.Joseph; ‘Oh, my.’ Was all Joseph could say as he watched your body go limp and your face go blank, accompanied with the little girl going hysterical. He was speechless. Absolutely speechless as the sad music kicked in and he slowly felt his heart break in his chest. He knew it wasn’t real, but Joseph still felt touched by your amazing acting skills that a little part of him thought of it to be real. The kids were bored around the start of the movie, snoozing on the couch and looking around the room, wondering when it was time to leave. But now, they seemed a little more invested into the story, especially the twins. ‘Daddy, is Y/N really dead?’ Christian whispered, tugging onto Joseph’s sleeve. Christian usually had this quiet, silently intimidating aura, but at that moment he looked like a curious and slightly scared young boy, proving that your talent could touch even people like his son. Joseph smiled and ruffled his head. ‘No, sport. Y/N’s just acting for the movie, that’s all.’ The boy nodded, settling back beside his twin as the family continued the movie.Mat; Don’t get it wrong; Mat loved how passionate and good you were at acting. He was so inspired by your talent for the art that he would often admire you from across the counter as you practiced your lines at the Coffee Spoon. But he was not prepared for a wave of total heartache, seeing you in a hospital bed, slowly drifting from reality. The second your eyes closed, Mat’s chest lurched and he suddenly felt tears in his eyes. The lines of reality and fiction blurred and somewhere in his mind, he thought it was real, that you had just passed away and left him to be alone again- ‘Dad!’ Carmensita gasped and immediately stopped the movie, grabbing all the tissues she could and balanced a cup of water in her full hands. ‘Dad, are you alright?!’ The shouts of his surprised daughter shook Mat into reality, realizing that the television was off and that he was back in the real world as he wiped his eyes. ‘Oh, sweetie. I-I’m sorry. I just..um..’ ‘Jeez, you scared me! Don’t do that ever again!’ She scolded, sniffling as if she was on the verge of tears too. He put his arm around his daughter. ‘Honey, I’m sorry. You still wanna continue the movie?’ ‘Promise you won’t suddenly start crying like a baby?’ ‘Ehh, maybe?’ ‘Dad!’Damien; He knew that you were exemplary at acting, but he didn’t know you were that talented to the point where even Lucien was shocked at the scene. Once the scene portrayed your death, Damien felt as if someone had just stabbed a knife through his chest and began feeling a lump in his throat. ‘W-Well, now. Y/N has quite a t-talent.’ Damien croaked behind a tissue to keep Lucien from finding out about his tears. But the young man was as sharp as the spikes he wore and turned to his father, revealing his state. ‘Dad, oh my god.’ Lucien sighed and grabbed the tissue box nearby, chuckling as he handed it to him. ‘You do know it isn’t real, right?’ ‘Of course I do, son.’ He blew his nose in demise. ‘It’s just that Y/N makes it seem so real that I simply can’t help myself.’ ‘You’re not wrong about that.’ Lucien mumbled, looking at the distraught little girl as she sobbed over her dead father’s corpse. ‘Definitely not wrong.’Brian; To have such a talented significant other made his heart swell with pride. Whenever you would practice lines for an upcoming film or be too tired from filming to drive home alone, Brian was always there with hot tea, a ride, and an unlimited supply of bear hugs whenever work was too much to handle. Being around you so much meant that he got used to the slightly intimidating movie sets and how you portrayed different characters so easily that it left him in shock. This scene in particular made him frozen to his seat. He couldn’t even put his arm around his daughter and say something along the lines of ‘That’s our Y/N right there, sweetie!’. All he could do was sit and stare as the sad music kicked in and the little girl went into hysterics. The sudden silence from her father made Daisy a bit uncomfortable and she just had to look up to see Brian with a blank face. ‘D-Dad?’ She uttered, crawling a bit closer to him. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Honey, I-I…’ How could he speak? What would he say? It was then he realized that there were tears in his eyes, and he chuckled to himself. ‘Ah, Y/N’s got me again, and they aren’t even here.’ He smiled and snuggled with a slightly confused Daisy. ‘Aren’t they incredible?’-mod coffee cake

#ddadds #brian harding #craig cahn #hugo vega #robert small #joseph christiansen #damien bloodmarch #mat sella

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myaekingheart · 8 years ago

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I swear, I've been in such a weird mood all night and I hate it. I was fine all day but then my parents came home and just started spewing so much negativity. My mom had a horrible day at work and then she was on the phone with my aunt for a good hour and a half while she was cooking dinner and guzzling wine and they were going off about their problems with work and personal lives and all that shit. And then my dad came home and not that he was being negative or anything-- he was actually in a relatively good mood-- my mom was being dramatic enough for the both of them and then the news was on and they kept commenting on shit like two guys who got arrested for trying to bury a body and the incident in New York City which then got my dad going off on a tangent about how much he loathes marijuana and what it does to people (which I think was what really spiraled me into the bad mood because even though I don't smoke pot, my boyfriend is an avid stoner and hearing my dad say shit like that just reminds me how much shit would hit the fan if he ever found out my boyfriend is a pothead). After that, I feel like my mood has just continued plummetting. My mom was hyperactive like she always is when she drinks so when my uncle went live on facebook at the concert he was at, my mom freaked, had her phone on full volume to watch the thing, then got up off the couch to go into the room but forget the dog was underneath the recliner and nearly crushed him which caused him to jolt over to my direction, nearly knock my TV tray over, and send my water spilling all over the tray and the carpet. Awesome. I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I was once they went to bed. I had a day all to myself but once they came home, it was nothing but chaos and I would've given anything for the nice peace and quiet again. Only problem is that even when they're in bed, that doesn't mean I've escaped from my thoughts. Everything that happened earlier (plus one thing that happened before they came home-- I'm reading Nina LaCour's We Are Okay and it's stirring up a lot of dormant memories of things like grief and loss and depression) got me thinking about all sorts of things and next thing I knew, I was in a depressed slump again overthinking all my trouble points. I can't stop fearing what would happen if my dad found out my boyfriend smoked pot, imagining the scene and just torturing myself with it on repeat. If his roommate and his girlfriend slipped up and had a bong or a pipe in front of my dad and he smelled the marijuana on all of us, he'd throw a fit. He'd scream and tear me away from my boyfriend and hold me back from him and call the police and have all of us arrested, maybe even myself if he thinks I've been smoking it, too. If I slip up or, more likely, my mom does after she's had a few and we're at home, he'll fucking lose it. He'll scream and he'll probably burst into my room and tear it apart figuring if he smokes it then I do, too, and am probably hiding paraphernalia behind his back (which I'm not because I don't smoke). He'd scour my entire room for anything weed-related, though, and probably plan to have me arrested. Once he finds I'm innocent, he'll tell me I can never see my boyfriend ever again, he'll try and get him arrested, he'll cause so much shit, and then he'll do his trademark "storm out of the house and drive around town for an indefinite amount of time leaving my wife and child unsure if I'm even ever coming bacK" routine. He always comes back. By now I should know but I still panic every time he does. He's the reason why I'm so scared of people leaving me when I say or do something they don't like, or we're in an argument. I always think they're gonna do the same thing, just walk out on me. Not only that, but I also keep overthinking death and one death in particular, at that. I'm so angry with myself that even after almost a year, I still find myself feeling disgustingly inadequate compared to my boyfriend's dead ex. He's never given me any reason to think that way but for some reason, I just piece little tidbits of information together and make assumptions that I will never be as good as her. That she will always be the supreme, the ideal, and that I'm just second best, the alternative, the recast of a well-known character who nobody likes as much as the original (*cough cough* Fresh Prince *cough cough*). I hate that I think this way all the time but I don't know how to stop it. I always present myself with so many ridiculous what ifs: What if she had never died? Would they still be together? Would he have gone back to her and lived happily ever after together? What if they never broke up in the first place? What if they weren't meant to break up? What if he still loves her? What if he loved her more than he loves me? What if I'm not good enough as her? Kind as her? Sweet as her? Pretty as her? Fun as her? Loving as her? I almost wrote "smart as her?" but then realized my intelligence is the one thing I don't question here since I already know/just assume I'm smarter than most. Or maybe I'm just overconfident in my intelligence. Whatever. It's better that there's at least one thing I'm not questioning. But either way, all the what ifs outnumber the confidences. I just constantly feel like I'm second best no matter what happens, no matter what anyone says, and I hate myself so much for it. I just always feel like I can never compete with her. It doesn't help that she's dead. Everyone always says only nice things after people die. They never focus on any negative qualities to the point where I begin to question whether she even had any to begin with. Probably not. She was fucking perfect. Meanwhile, the only thing I ever feel confident in saying about myself is that I'm intelligent but even then, sometimes I have some doubts about even that. Sometimes I feel like I need a therapist for all of this, though, I'm so fucking ridiculous. It gets to the point where I find myself sometimes asking "Alright, well we're together now but what's going to happen when we die? When we go to heaven and she's there? Is he going to dump me in the trash can and spend the rest of eternity with her instead? Am I just the earth wife and she's the eternal one waiting for him in heaven? And then leaving me to spend the rest of my spiritual life completely and utterly alone?" It makes absolutely no fucking sense. I'm not even that religious. I gave up on depending on God a long while ago. Very seldom do I pray, pretty much only in desperate moments. I don't go to church, I don't like talking about religion like I don't like talking about politics. A part of me is so cynical that most of the time I just feel content with assuming that once we're gone, we're gone and that it's as simple as that. But then Christianity has been so ingrained into my brain by being raised like that that I involuntarily think about "ghosts" or spirits or whatever-- the souls of the lost-- and what heaven is like if it even really exists. I definitely humor the idea of heaven when I think about my grandpop, at least. I don't want to think about the fact that they threw his corpse into a furnace and that the ashes are now in a little wooden box on my grandma's dresser. I don't want to think about the fact that he's not here anymore and that I can't talk to him anymore or hear him tell me stories about how he used to ride the train with his Cocker Spaniel when he was a kid and get cheese sandwiches and how his dog threw up on the train once and how tickets were only a dime and how he used to work on cars as a Chevy mechanic and how he always knew what tools to use and how to fix everything wrong with a car and the way he'd laugh hysterically every year at Christmastime watching Home Alone and how he loved peanuts and Cheetos and Reese's cups and scotch and Guinness (not necessarily all at the same time) and that he always wanted to go back to Ireland and get a red Corvette-- two things that never happened. When you love someone and you've spent your whole life with them, you don't want to think they're really gone forever and just six feet under or reduced to ash. You want to believe their soul flew off someplace nice and that they're watching over you or by your side or whatever. When it comes to my grandpa, it's hard to think otherwise. When it comes to my boyfriend's ex, it's hard to think at all. I just...I don't know anymore. I don't know what I'm doing or how to feel about anything. I'm so tired of feeling like this. I'm so tired of having her constantly at the back of my mind, trying to separate myself from her but at the same time hating myself for having similarities to her. I remember a time when I even tried to be like her because I'd see my boyfriend talking with her over facebook, giving her attention, and I thought that's what he liked/wanted. I don't regret that phase of my life because it was about more than just that, too, and it was significant to my development as a person, but a lot of it was about that. Maybe that's why I feel the way I do, because I never got closure that he wanted me regardless of whether she was in the picture or not. I went three months without speaking to him, just completely cutting myself off from him, when he was briefly dating another girl because I thought he was happy and didn't want to fuck up anything up between them. By the time we started talking again, I thought something was going to happen between us but then his ex, his major girlfriend (they were together for four years) died and everything went to shit. We didn't speak for months afterward, he shut himself off grieving. We didn't get together until months later-- almost a year after she passed, actually. Meaning that I will never know whether he liked me/wanted me before she died or not. I can guess. I can make assumptions. But I will never know for sure unless, maybe, I ask him, but I don't want to bring it up with him. I don't like bringing it up with him. I don't like him knowing how much this bothers me. I don't like breaking down in tears in front of me over something so irrational and stupid. I don't like going over the same shit again and again, shit I should've gotten over a long time ago. It makes me even angrier with myself, to be completely honest, knowing that these feelings are so hard to shake. I mean, from a rational standpoint I have no reason to feel this way. They broke up, she's passed away, it's history. If he didn't want me, he would've been with me for the past year. But then my mind just always comes up with excuses to trap me in this torturous, harmful state of mind. I'm constantly being pulled in two directions: one being the horrible inadequacy and the other being a desperate craving to be with him, to hold him, to feel him. What's worse is that everything I've been overthinking tonight is related to both of those. I feel inadequate because I can't stop thinking about his ex. I'm so scared my dad is going to find out about the pot and force us to break up, therefore leaving me to never be with him and hold him and hug him and feel him ever again (unless I go behind my dad's back and continue a secret relationship with him once I move out, but that's never good and I don't think I could ever stand to disappoint my dad and slaughter his trust like that, especially since that would only be after he potentially finds out about the weed which would damage his trust in me enough already). But to be completely honest, I think the one thing I hate about all of this more than anything else is the fact that none of this is actually a problem (yet). None of this has happened. It's all in my head. My dad doesn't know about the weed (among other things that are far less terrible because they're not illegal), my boyfriend has not broken up with me or given me any real reason as to why I should feel inadequate or less than compared to his ex. This is all in my head. All of these concerns and fears and anxieties, they're not real. They're not tangible. They're not here. Yet how can something nonexistent be so powerful? How is it that this is all still bothering me so much and leaving me so unhinged and such a disaster? Why can't I just feel okay?

#i honestly hate this so much #someone please give me reassurances #or maybe even a friend to talk to #because i think i need a hug #delete later #ramblings

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thingsyouruinedformestory · 7 years ago

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1. Emma

I’m a romantic at heart and up until my junior year of high school, I thought that my fairy tale ending would be with a guy. Imagine my surprise when my first serious relationship was with a girl. I guess part of me always noticed women, but I thought that I was just admiring their beauty as a fellow woman. Turns out that wasn’t the case at all. Emma was my best friend. We bonded over our love for English, sharing books and creating stories through texts. She was my first love, my first real adventure. Our parents weren’t the most supportive, but we made it work. We fought for our love.

We had been dating for a year when I started working at The Baker’s Brew. A whole year of kisses, of hand-holding, of dinner dates, of movies, of cuddling, of “I love you”s. A whole year, and yet I somehow developed a major crush on you.

I mean, come on. Look at you. You’re the most fit person I know and your strong figure is complimented by your towering height. Your short dark hair always manages to slightly stick up in the front no matter how much product you put in it. Add soft brown eyes and a goofy grin. Oh and don’t get me started on your voice. You have the most distinct booming voice that echoes through the restaurant when you speak and no matter how loud and busy the room gets, I can always hear you clearly. And that’s just the physical attributes. You can come off as an asshole with how egotistic you can be on the surface, but inside, you are sweet, funny, caring, and brilliant. To a high school girl, you are the whole package, almost god-like. When I first started working at The Baker’s Brew, you were always there to give me tips, to encourage me, to tease me when I messed up, and to talk to. There was so much to love about you, but the odds were stacked against us: we were coworkers, you were a few years older than me, and we both happened to be in long-term relationships.

We had been working together for about a month when you felt comfortable enough to complain about your girlfriend to me. You clearly were having issues because as I eventually pointed out to you, you just didn’t love her the way she loved you. At that point, you were staying with her in fear of hurting her. Looking back, I can’t believe you actually told me as much as you did. Then again, I also shared quite a bit about my own relationship issues. Emma was very shy and quiet, and she constantly wanted to monopolize my time, clinging onto me until I could hardly breathe. At first, it was sweet because I thought it meant that she just really cared about me, but after a while, I felt smothered. You were able to deduce my unhappiness from what I shared and you would try to tell me that I should break up with her, that the relationship was unhealthy. I didn’t listen because I wanted to be happy with her. I cared about Emma so much and I just wanted to make things work.

Emma picked up on how much I loved my job very quickly between her coming to visit me during my shift, and when we’d have dinner there as a date night. She would never admit it, but she hated The Baker’s Brew. I could tell that she wasn’t happy with how many hours I worked a week and how close I was with everyone there. However, it was very obvious that she did not like you at all. When you both were in the same room, there was always a long uncomfortable silence. You tried being friendly with her at frist, but she returned your kindness with coldness, you eventually gave up. She stopped calling you by your name to me, instead referring to you as Chris, since you reminded her of the multitude of hot and dreamy Chrises in Hollywood (Hemsworth, Evans, Pine, Pratt, etc.). And whenever she saw us interact, she would watch with disdain written all over her face.

In mid-October, we were polishing silverware together after a busy shift when you told me that you had broken up with your girlfriend. I remember being stunned. In the months that followed, we grew closer every shift, bonding over our conversation while polishing silverware and setting tables. You talked about how you wanted to go back to school so that you could finally escape the food industry. I told you about stupid high school drama and how intimidating applying to colleges was. Emma wanted me to go to college with her, and she had applied to my dream school in hopes that we’d both get in and study English together. You disapproved, trying to warn me that the relationship was not going to work out. I had helped you escape your bad relationship, and now you were trying to help me escape mine. Part of me wonders if you had an agenda. Back then, I didn’t think so. Why would you ever go for me? Now, I’m not so sure. Regardless, our friendship grew and it only seemed to drive a wedge between Emma and I.

My sexuality seemed to be the big thing that ruined my relationship in the end. I had a lot of guy friends and Emma loathed them all because she worried that I would grow bored of her and go back to preferring men. Sure, I’ll admit that it was weird being bisexual when I had never had sex with a guy. Emma and I talked about our future together so much that exploring that side of my sexuality seemed impossible. However, her jealousy became too much. I tried to not let it bother me. When one of my closest guy friends Brendon told me that he was in love with me and kissed me, I immediately pulled away and told him that I loved Emma. I even told Emma what had happened, assuring her that everything was fine. She tried forbidding me from seeing him again, which was completely ridiculous. He was still my friend; I wasn’t about to kick him to the curb, especially since we had smoothed things over. Emma hated that I went against her wishes. She hated that I was pulling away from her. And she hated that I was going to you for advice and for reassurance.

It was spring when you told me that you had started seeing a new girl. You talked about her with a wide grin on your face and flushed cheeks. It killed me that I struggled to be happy for you. Maybe if I had broken up with Emma sooner… No. I can’t think like that.

Everything fell apart in the fall, one year after I had started at The Baker’s Brew and a little over two years after Emma and I started dating. Emma had gotten into my dream school, but I hadn’t, so I committed to a semi-nearby school. Things were tense during the summer as we prepared for our futures, trying to figure out how we’d keep our relationship together when we were apart. Then we started school. At first, I resented the school for not being my first choice, but by the end of the first week, I had fallen in love with my new home. I made new amazing friends. I enjoyed my courses and my professors. And I fell in love with the party scene. Meanwhile, Emma and I struggled to see one another, our texts and calls filled with bitterness when plans fell through. My family hosted a party at the end of September to celebrate me starting college. A lot of my relatives were coming to see me and get the scoop on how college was going. I invited Emma, grateful that we’d finally see one another. My mom and I picked her up from the train station, which happens to be down the street from The Baker’s Brew and my mom suggested lunch there so that I could see the coworkers that I hadn’t seen in a month (I had taken time off so that I could settle into school). You greeted me with a big hug, picking me up and spinning me around. Emma sat down and watched silently as my coworkers crowded me, stealing me away from her once again. Of course, you were our server. Aaron helped you bring out our food and you both lingered at the table for a bit, asking me about how the college parties were. They were eager for me to turn 21 so that they could teach me about alcohol properly, but for now, college provided training wheels. I was hesitant to respond because Emma absolutely hated partying and drinking, but you and Aaron eventually pried it out of me, so she listened to me rave about the houses that hosted what seemed like half the campus, blaring music in a dark room with flashing colored lights and dancing students while trying not to spill their beer. I loved it. Emma did not, to the point where she excused herself and went to the bathroom. I remember being confused by the tears I saw in her eyes, and you pointed them out too. You knew you had caused them by bringing up something you knew would upset her. Did you do it on purpose?

The real breaking point came after we finished eating when Aaron brought out a care package that the staff had put together for me. It was silly and sweet with things like a shot glass, a new journal, and some snacks. Those things went unnoticed at first though, because the first thing we all saw was a big pack of condoms. My mom thought it was hysterical, making a joke about how she didn’t want to be a grandma yet. You and Aaron couldn’t stop laughing. And Emma… well Emma couldn’t say anything as she got up from the booth and returned to the bathroom. I didn’t know what to say. You looked at me with what looked like an apologetic look. Aaron cleared his throat and suggested that you grab the check.

Emma still hadn’t come out of the bathroom when I rose to say goodbye to my coworkers. Aaron apologized, saying that it was meant to be a joke. They didn’t realize that Emma would react that way. And then there was you. You hugged me for a long time, commenting on how weird work had been without me. You joked that the new Friday night busser didn’t come close to comparing to me. I assured you that I’d be back soon. When we finally stepped apart, I saw Emma standing by the door with a displeased look. You wished me good luck with her as I headed for the door. I wonder if she could hear your booming voice from the front.

The car ride to my house was silent, as was the majority of the party. Emma sat beside me refusing to look at me. Eventually, I couldn’t take it and I demanded a conversation. We left the party outside to argue in my bathroom. The condoms were brought up first, and I apologized for that even though it wasn’t my fault. She expressed her concern for me partying and being around new people without her. I said that it was ridiculous that she was so against me drinking and going out to the point where she was in tears over it. Why didn’t she trust me to be careful and faithful to her? She tried to tell me that she would get over the drinking; she just needed time to get used to it. I told her that I didn’t want her to change her opinion on something that she felt so strongly about for my sake. From that, all our issues came out on the table. I was so frustrated that this was the first time we really talked about our problems, and it would turn out to be the only time. She said that she didn’t want to talk about it before because she didn’t want to lose me. Acknowledging our problems meant that they were real.

“Besides, you’re already talking about our problems with someone else,” she accused. “You always go to stupid Chris for everything. You talk to fucking Chris about everything and he always knows what to say to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right before you go to work, we’ll be talking about how you had a bad day or how something had happened with your mom or whatever, but then you’d go to work and when we’d talk after your shift, you’d be fine because you had already talked to Chris.”

“Why does that even matter?”

Emma then told me about this case study she had read about: Person A and B are in a relationship. A and B start having problems, but instead of talking to B about them, A goes and talks to her friend Person C. Person A and C eventually are able to communicate better than A and B, which ruins A and B’s relationship.

“I tried talking to you about things but you’d shut down or get defensive. How are we supposed to have a conversation when I’m the only one making an effort?”

“I didn’t know what to say to you. I never knew what to say to you, but stupid fucking Chris always knew exactly what to say.”

The argument went from you to Brendon to men in general and how she didn’t trust them to just be friends with me to her trying to control me and hold me back to me as we both made big steps toward our futures. Finally I suggested that we should break up. She begged me to reconsider, tears falling and her voice shaking but I knew we were done. So she walked right out of my life. I haven’t spoken to her since.

None of my family understood what happened. The majority of them didn’t know that Emma and I had been dating, especially the older generations since they were very religious and just would not accept it. My mom didn’t know what to say to me. So I texted you. I guess it only proved Emma’s point, but I didn’t know who else to text. You answered right away, asking for details. I said that we had fought, but I left out what she had said about you. I was crying while texting you, and I told you this. This was my first real breakup. I had just ended a two year relationship. You assured me that it’d be okay.

Flash forward a year and a half to a late evening in June when you, Jason, and I were sitting outside your house on the curb of your cul de sac. We were all pretty drunk at that point and talking about our lives. I can’t remember what the context was that exactly brought about the conversation. I was only half-listening as you gave Jason advice on a girl he was crushing on at work. You grabbed my attention when you made a joke about a scenario with you and I making out. That was the first instance of my feelings resurfacing with the blush on my face. I had left my childish crush in the past since you were so happy with your girlfriend. The conversation eventually shifted to me and my past mistakes, which of course included Emma. You ranted about how much you did not like her and how much she despised you. Being drunk, I hesitantly asked if you knew why she hated you. We never had really acknowledged it and I honestly thought you had no idea about my crush. Much to my surprise, you said yes with a small smile on your face. I remember my cheeks burning red with embarrassment. Jason didn’t get it, and I was forced to admit my past feelings for you. I even said that it was a big reason why we had broken up, bringing up the case study Emma had used against me for the first time to you. I’ll never forget the smile that crossed your face right before you said,

“Well good. I’m glad that I was able to end that terrible relationship for you.”

#things you ruined for me #fiction #story #tales from the baker's brew #restaurant #love and hate

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