#my grandmother was an alcoholic and it seriously messed my dad up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

milkolya · 11 months

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i feel like oversharing on this fine friday morning abt whats going on in my life. if you read this, thank you 💖 i know we tumblr gays are all going Through It at any given moment, and the solidarity has always helped me cope

(TW suicide) (with details)

last week my grandfather on my mothers side killed himself by jumping out the 12th story window of their apartment building in russia. he'd been fighting esophageal cancer for approximately 4 years. he was 70 years old. he definitely had some issues, some trauma or mental health struggles, you know, SOMETHING, that led him to excessive drinking and smoking for the vast majority of his life. like, he wouldnt have had cancer if he actually took care of himself you know? its his vices / coping mechanisms that caused it. and once he started getting treated, he didnt have it in him to change his lifestyle to make the treatments worth anything.... he continued on drinking and smoking and eating sugar by the spoon (another cause of the cancer is poor diet) and even insisted that he would die if he gave up any of those things. id get in trouble if i used the "alcoholic" word around my family but they were watering down his wine behind his back when my parents visited in 2021. like come on. and even at 70, he still outlived all of his siblings, all of which died from alcoholism related causes afaik. he just... he was clearly suffering, and in classic russian fashion, he kept everything bottled up forever, never made any effort to get better, and one day when sitting down to do his bills he decided you know what, i dont want to do this anymore.

thats what happens when you dont address problems!!!!

obviously its heartbreaking but its also incredibly frustrating for me. i was super suicidal as a teenager and my mother did NOT take it seriously, she told me that it was "normal" and everyone experiences it (including her). now in retrospect i understand that she was trying to help me and comfort me, that that thought must have helped her, but like. its not normal... and its pretty fucked up that ive been suicidal, my mother has been suicidal, and now my grandpa (her dad) killed himself. he fucking killed himself!!!! what the fuck!! and i continue to be the ONLY PERSON in my ENTIRE FAMILY who tries to seek help through medication and therapy and just like, at least fucking acknowledge that we have hereditary fucking issues in the form of trauma and mental illness.... its just a mess.

and of course my mother and grandmothers top concern is What If Hes Not In Heaven. cause suicide is a sin. cause thats what we should be focused on ?!?!? sigkapfilwkflamcnwgkqj . it makes me want to scream.

ive just been surrounded by suicide my whole goddamn life and i wish it would end. my close friend attempted when i was 15 and i had no fucking clue what to do. multiple others i was close to at school were struggling with similar thoughts and urges, including myself. we were all desperately trying to hold eachother together, you know? far too much to handle for a bunch of kids. and then i went to uni, and my new friends there had similar issues, and in 2nd year, one of them did kill themself. they took their fathers gun and they shot themself in the head. and did my mother help me feel better? only until i mentioned suicide. once that was out there, there was ZERO sympathy, just judgement, and dismissal of their struggles. which really, really hurt me. because they were trans, and they couldnt handle how harsh this world is towards us, and obviously i really related to that sentiment.

like, i understand my grandpa too. i dont... i dont blame him personally? i dont even really blame my mother personally, when it comes to these kinds of issues. sometimes i will get mad at her about specific interactions but at the end of the day its russian society that made both of them this way. its so deeply ingrained. i just wish i could have helped my grandpa and i wish i could help my mama now but i cant. i can barely help myself.

and ive had to take time off work because i cant fucking focus and i just keep crying all the time and my brain is a foggy mess. and i dont know how to keep going. when will i feel better? i need to get back to work. will i be able to do that??

when my friend died... well, i call them my friend, but we were not close or anything. they were one of my good friend's roommates. we did talk occasionally and were on friendly terms. it just feels wrong to say "acquaintance" or something like that. i didnt process their death in a very timely manner. its weird but common, i think. about 2 years after it happened i started getting triggered by any content with suicide by gun. surprisingly common in media lol. folks love to hold a gun to their head on tv!! (side note: first movie i ever watched with my now fiancee, it was get out and when the guy shoots himself suddenly at the end i had a full blown fucking meltdown lmaooooooo so embarrassing it was like our 3rd date and the night of our first kiss)

idk why it took 2 years for that to start happening, i guess that was just my processing time. and then it took another two years or so to sort that out in therapy and im finally okay again and i can watch stuff with guns and suicide and not freak out. but now im scared of how this thing with my grandpa is going to affect me and how long thats going to last. i just want some peace and quiet :(

if u read all that, thank u. maybe give this a like to let me know. ive been deleting my vent posts a lot lately so idk if i will keep this up. my friends have been lovely and supportive, theres just not much anyone can really say to make it better. so it feels more comfortable to do a massive vent post like this thats optional to engage with. and ive always aired out my personal business on here so it feels right hehe.

#the trauma of Being Russian #akkfkskgkshgj

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stickystarspectrumtroll-ocs · 4 years

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So for awhile in Drama elective at school, we had to just make up a character based off an image and think about who that character might be and just explore that and act it out in a bunch of different activities. We were basically figuring out how to make an OC based off an image and then LARP as that OC, ha ha XD...

I found a picture of this young adult female-presenting person with blue-and-purple hair, dressed in black with a black hat sort of like a bowler hat and dark glasses that like, had this shine/sparkle design or something on them?

So the character I made was a witch. Her name’s Sadie. She lives alone in a cottage or something near a small town. Rides a bicycle. She generally keeps to herself. She has a familiar, he’s a cat who currently goes by Chester but his name changes from time to time.

She’s like 23 years old. She’s been at this whole witchcraft thing for some years. Takes it very seriously. She doesn’t often, like, give magical favors to anycreature in town or anything, she’s more of a keep-the-spirits-pleased, keep-the-universe-in-balance, make-sure-no-magical-entity-destroys-the-world type of magic user.

She started getting into witchcraft at a fairly young age after discovering the spellbooks her grandmother or great-grandmother left (she was a witch too). Sadie didn’t have the happiest childhood by the way. Her dad either died or walked out on the family when she was pretty young, so she was raised by just her mom, and her mom was an alcoholic, which didn’t have the best effect on her OR her kids. Things were kind of a mess. Sadie now says she looks back on her mother’s memory with only disgust and contempt. That’s probably not actually all she feels about her, but...yeah.

She’s pretty stoic and emotionally guarded. She tries to act like she knows what she’s doing all the time. And plenty of the time she does, but like...not ALL the time. She acts older than her years and can actually come off that way a lot, but honestly she’s still pretty young. She doesn’t have EVERYTHING figured out however much she does know and however much she acts like she does. She’s never exactly had an actual friendship in her life. She’s never been very well liked by the folks in town. IF anycreature turns up who does actually want to be around her, she’d probably try to push them away. She’s used to working alone anyway. But maybe pushing them away wouldn’t work and they actually would slowly start to bond and get to be friends.

So anyway, I’ve CONSIDERED adding her to my OC squad posts. But, like C.C. and Jasper, I don’t imagine she’d be there with most of the OCs for much of the time. C.C. and Jasper I imagine would be like cousins and would visit from time to time. Sadie I imagine being more like an aunt, sort of, and she’d never go out of her way to spend time with the other OCs but they would come visit HER once in awhile. Usually just one or two OCs at a time. Maybe when they need someplace to vent about some serious issues in their lives. Sadie doesn’t exactly volunteer for that sort of thing, but she’s not gonna kick them out unless she really really needs to focus on something incredibly important right now. Otherwise, she’ll walk around the room doing her own stuff but she’ll listen. Won’t give the MOST wise advice but like...she’s there to talk to. She’d never say it but she comes to not really mind the company and even to grow a bit fond of them, though she refuses to have anycreature being too loud and crazy in her house.

#information dump #sadie

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lgcdasom · 4 years

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HELLO EVERYONE ! ✖ ◞ guess whooooo - it’s faye, the typist behind both lgcjiao & lgcmiyoung, and i am so excited to introduce y’all to my last muse here at legacy. i tried hard to make this girl different than my other two muses, but also still wanted to have some fun with her. so here we are - introducing lee dasom, the 23 year old newly signed trainee. she basically joined not knowing wtf she was getting sucked into. i’ve placed some little bits of information about her under the cut, but you can fully read up on her on the ABOUT page. and while her plots page is still under construction, i would love to get some interactions going for her. so please give this a LIKE if you’re down to plot and i’ll slide into your dms. there will be a follow up post after this for the events, so keep your eyes peeled for that as well!

CONTACT ME : here, on twitter under foxglves, or on discord at 𝙁𝘼𝙔𝙀.#7009

so pre - dasom: dasom’s mom grew up in the states, born to a trophy wife/socialite mother & a father who passed away when she was young. she came from a pretty wealthy family, grew up with top-notch education, etc. she moves to sk to attend university and there she meets dasom’s father.

cont. without her mother’s approval, dasom’s mom and dad get married quickly after meeting each other. friends and family think they’ll fail, think her father is a deadbeat with no aspirations. but then out pops dasom and she’s suddenly the peacemaker of the family lmao

1997 and up: dasom is an only child, born to a musician father and a mother who taught at a small university. they never really struggled much, her grandmother was always quick to send money their way after dasom came into the picture. she grew up getting anything she asked within reason, but she never really acted like a spoiled brat

dasom’s father is basically a musical genius, and loves to teach his daughter everything he knows. he teaches her the guitar, how to write lyrics, and how to sing songs with him. they basically do it for fun and dasom keeps up the hobby, but she finds her interests later in life.

her father starts up a band named geunal when she’s about 13, and dasom loves to listen to them play. she grows rather close with the other members in the years they’re together and thinks of them like family.

random fact: she worked in a thrift shop in high school, quit when she graduated and had to focus on university/her dance team.

she joins satellite, a competitive dance team, in 2016 and fleshes out her love for dance there. she meets most of her good friends while in the group and still talks to them years later.

goes to university and graduates with a degree in dance.

TW DEATH/ACCIDENT (2018) her grandmother arranges geunal a gig at a musical festival in the states, and it’s literally one of the best things to happen to them. they’re all excited, but dasom decides to fly down a day after everyone else because of a dance competition. unfortunately, there is a plane crash that ends up taking the lives of both of her parents and a band member. dasom takes their passing pretty hard, and immense guilt overtakes her. END TW

after her parents’ deaths, dasom drops dancing because she associates it with her guilt, quits the team and decides to pack up and move in with her grandmother in the states (2019) for awhile. there she just really focuses on herself and her grief and also gives her grandmother comfort during this time.

random fact: she brought her dog, soju, over with her to the states but he’s staying over there until dasom gets her footing back in seoul

dasom arrives back in sk at the end of 2019, and is ready to start her life back up. she’s used some money from her parents’ life insurance/selling the house to rent an apartment. also gets a job as a bartender to make some extra money while she’s trying to figure out what to do with a dance degree she wants nothing to do with.

random fact: as a trainee, her lease hasn’t ended yet so she still technically has the apartment even as a trainee. she stays at the dorms during the week usually, but finds herself at the apartment on the weekends.

she avoids dancing at all costs, but she’s back with her regular group of friends - hanging out and TW ALCOHOL MENTION drinking her problems away at times. END TW

new years comes and a bet is placed - dasom vs some other friend ( possible connection? ), who will get into legacy? she’s drunk when she agrees, but she figures what the hell bc she won’t get in anyway.

jan 2020 - she auditions by singing and playing a bit of the drums. gets in and she’s at a loss bc now wtf is she supposed to do

random fact: she started practicing drums in high school!

she has no idea what to expect when training begins and she hates it. she sticks around solely for curiosity but right when she’s about to call it quits, she finds hope. the announcement of the subsidiaries gives her the hope that maybe she can make her father proud by becoming a producer, or even joining a band.

OOC NOTE: i have no idea what path i’m putting her on in the future, i’m just letting this muse lead me and see where it takes us!

PERSONALITY NOTES: overall, dasom is pretty laid-back. she’s not overly serious or critical in anyway, and is rather confident in her musically abilities. dancing is still a sore spot for her, which is awkward as a trainee, but she mainly just half asses it in the dancing classes and pushes through it.

cont. she loves to party but she’s really a homebody; you’re not hanging with her on the weekends with her crew if you aren’t close/relatively familiar. she’s still dealing with a lot of grief but she feels like she should be over it. she allowed herself an entire year to mourn, and she feels like she should be back to normal now. but it’s not obviously and it’s taking a toll on her mentally. but she doesn’t really share this with anyone.

cont. her cousin is @lgcallie btw!! she will literally beat ur ass if you mess with her. seriously.

cont. her attitude as a trainee is she really keeps to herself? can come off cold or standoffish but she’s very loving when you get close to her. she loves to laugh and have fun, will basically enjoy anyone who isn’t a complete asshole or dimwit.

yay that’s it ;; thank you so much for reading all of this if you did, here’s a heart ♡

#✖･ﾟ ━━ OUT OF CHEESE .#{ * sorry this is soooo long but I LOVE HER #the beginning is mostly about her past #skip towards the end for the more current/personality bits if you want! }#{ * this might have spelling errors but ITS OKAY }

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prevdustinhendrsn · 6 years

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she’s the sunshine in the rain

mike wheeler/el hopper 3.8k - read on ao3 requested by anonymous from this list: 90. ‘remember when we were little?’ + 97. ‘your life was my life’s best part’

Mike’s only here because he still can’t get over her.

This morning, he knew where he’d be right now. He’d be sitting at his mother’s shiny mahogany table in the dining room, surrounded by a hundred relatives all drinking some form of alcohol and complaining about the elections and the economy and asking Mike the most boring questions about his future. He knew it when he left his apartment, when he made the two-hour drive home, when he stood at the front door with rainwater dripping off the porch eaves and down his neck. He knew that it would not be pleasant, easy, or even manageable. He’s only here because, despite the disappointment of the last two Thanksgivings, maybe things will be different this time if he sees her.

His first Thanksgiving without her wasn’t unbearable, just because they had only been apart for a month and he was still holding onto the hope that they could piece things back together after a break. When his cousin asked where his girlfriend was, he just mumbled something about them figuring things out. Then came the second Thanksgiving. He was a mess at that point. His grades were slipping, his coworkers complained about him, he barely went out with Dustin and Lucas and Will. Everything was – is – bleak and colorless without her. She took all the sunshine with her and left grey skies over him.

Now he’s here, at his third Thanksgiving since starting college, three years and a month after they broke up. He’s still miserable, still lonely, still thinking of her every minute of every hour of every day, but his feelings are number and he’s better at hiding it.

He shifts in his uncomfortable stiff-backed seat at the table. Several extensions have been tacked onto it to make room for all the relatives and in-laws, cousins once-removed and forgotten godmothers, the oldest – his dad’s great-grandfather – and the youngest – his niece’s daughter. Cutlery clangs and glasses clink, toddlers whine at the kids’ table, the radio sings in the background because nobody has had the common sense to turn it off yet. Cousin Beth and uncle Nicki are having an argument about humane animal treatment on one end of the table, two octaves away from a fistfight. Every one of his relatives has an opinion, their voices made obnoxiously loud by both the wine in their glasses and their infallible belief that since they’re older than Mike (even his twenty-five-year-old cousin) they can’t possibly be wrong. He pokes halfheartedly at his turkey and gravy, wishing desperately he were anywhere but here.

“How’s the love life, Michael? Any lucky ladies out there?” Aunt Caroline asks in her raspy two-packs-a-day voice, the glass in her hand promptly returning to her lips every fifteen seconds.

Mike’s heart curls in on itself and he’s momentarily saved from answering by great-uncle Leonard’s impatient huff that really sounds more like a wheeze as he scoops another helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Quit calling him Michael, Caroline. You’re making him sound as old as me.”

“It’s a proper name for an upstanding young man! Karen knew what she was doing.”

“Do you want him to have gray hair at eighteen years old? You’re eighteen, right kid?”

“Twenty-one, actually, but, um, it’s fine,” Mike says quickly, setting his fork down before Leonard and Caroline get into a cage match over the peas. God knows they would if they still had the build for it. “Michael is fine.” It’s really not, but like hell he’s going to say that at Thanksgiving dinner with his mom three seats away. His only saving grace tonight is Nancy, sitting directly across the table from him, her hair curled and lips colored an elegant red. She’s the one thing keeping him from walking right out the front door. Judging by the pleasantly neutral expression she’s had on her face all evening, he can see it’s just as painful for her to be here as it is for him, if not more so. Lying all day is exhausting.

She subtly raises her eyebrows at him and he realizes Caroline, sitting next to Nancy, has asked him a question that he still hasn’t answered.

Yes, there’s a girl, a girl too good to be true who I just can’t seem to let go but she isn’t here and she hasn’t been here for three years and I miss her so much and I want to talk to her and I need to talk to her but she’s too far away.

His El. She lives on the street behind him. She’s probably there right now. They’ve haven’t had a full conversation since their last.

“No,” he says past the tightness in his throat. “There’s no one.”

“Shame. You should ask Beth if she’s got any friends she could set you up with. Time’s a’wasting, you know. Twenty-one, you said? You’re practically dead already. Here, drink some of this. You’re legal so you might as well. Anyways, you should be getting a move on with life, Michael. You want to settle down quick with a good, fertile woman. Child-bearing hips, you know? Get those kids out quick and early so that you can start building a steady career. My first husband was the worst, absolutely horrible, he never had any idea what the hell he was doing…”

Mike nods, carefully setting down the wine she poured for him before he can shatter it. With any luck, if he nods and hums and agrees enough at all the right times, she’ll eventually get distracted by Beth and Nicki’s slowly escalating argument.

Get over yourself. El isn’t yours anymore. She’s not here.

Something taps his ankle and he looks up to see Nancy, a question in her eyes. He shrugs. She chews on her lip and Mike watches her glance around the table, searching for something. A way out, he guesses. A moment later she finds it and pushes her chair back, standing up with her empty plate in hand. “Is everyone ready for dessert?” she asks cheerfully.

The arguments and catch-up conversations around the table are briefly replaced with a loud chorus of approval, and as the noise resumes, Nancy glares meaningfully at Mike and jerks her head towards the kitchen. He doesn’t need to be told twice; obliging Caroline’s and his grandmother’s requests for more drinks just because he doesn’t have the energy to make an excuse not to, he takes their glasses and follows Nancy as fast as he can.

The kitchen is gloriously empty, his relatives’ voices reduced to an indecipherable chatter. Nancy tosses her plate into the sink with less care than usual and she blows out a heavy breath, letting the edge of the counter dig into her palms as she leans against it. Her poised façade is gone.

“This sucks,” she says after a moment. Mike nods, setting down the wineglasses and crossing to lean against the counter opposite her.

“Yeah.”

“They’re such…” She trails off, shaking her head. Mike, on the other hand, has no qualms about name-calling, especially not his relatives.

“Close-minded pricks?” he suggests. She snorts.

“Yeah. That.”

He hurts for his sister, he really does. Lying about the existence of the other parts of you hurts and tricks your heart into feeling much lonelier than it really is. That’s what he’s been doing with El for the past three years, except he’s not sure if he’s still allowed to say she’s a part of him anymore. “I’m sorry you can’t tell them,” he says.

She shrugs. “It’s not like I’m looking for their approval or something. But everything is so much easier with Steve and Jonathan around.”

“Why don’t you just tell them? I mean, if their opinion doesn’t matter, then…”

“Because that’s too much of a pain in my ass to deal with tonight. Can you even imagine? I’m tired of defending my life and my loves and my choices to everyone, Mike. Me and Jonathan and Steve are happy with what we have, and it’s nobody else’s business unless we want it to be.”

“Oh. Right. Um, sorry.”

Nancy’s lips quirk upwards in a no need gesture and they fall silent. Mike drags his finger along the bottom edge of a heavily decorated cake sitting next to him and licks the frosting off as Nancy rolls her eyes. She drums her dark red fingernails on the granite countertop, scrutinizing him.

“What’s wrong, Mike? Is it still her?”

Mike falters, letting his hand fall back to the counter. “Aunt Caroline?” he says to his shoes.

“Seriously.”

He heaves a sigh, looking up at Nancy’s concerned eyes. “Yeah. Of course it is. It’s been three years and it’s still her, Nancy. Did you think something would be different?”

“Have you talked to her at all?”

“Not really.”

“So…you’re just…done? Just like that?”

“Looks like it,” he says flatly. Nancy sighs.

“Mike, you two were…you just were. I don’t understand how it ended like it did.”

He shrugs. “I was going to college and she wasn’t and I was just dragging her down because she needed to figure out who she was without me. That’s how it ended.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you still love her?”

“Of course I still love her. She’s it for me, Nancy. I’ll never love anyone else.”

It’s out before he can think about it, and the truth of it all hurts so much he’s suddenly afraid he’s going to collapse. El. Amazing, intelligent, clever, beautiful, telekinetic El. Not his anymore.

“I just want to see her,” he whispers, staring desperately at his sister, tears burning behind his eyes. “I just want to see her again.”

Sympathy crosses Nancy’s face for just a beat, quickly replaced with resolve for his sake. She strides across the kitchen to pull him into a hug. Despite the fact that he’s a whole head taller than her, he presses his face into her shoulder, welcoming the comfort.

“Then go see her,” she says, running a hand up and down his back. “You know she’s home. At least tell her happy Thanksgiving.”

Mike sniffles, half of him praying that nobody will walk in and the other half setting off warning bells about all the possible ways this could go wrong.

Just see her. You don’t even have to talk to her. Just walk by her house and maybe you’ll see her through the window and you’ll see her smile and that will be enough. It’ll be enough for now.

He manages to slip out the door just as Nancy carries in the desserts to draw everyone’s attention. The stark autumn air hits him like a brick wall, dark clouds roiling overhead, ready to spill. He runs, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the wind. Don’t think about it. Just run. Go.

All he sees is asphalt moving beneath his feet and before he knows it, he’s on her street. He stops at the end of it, breathing hard. It’s just as familiar to him as his own – perhaps even more so, since he consciously made an effort to avoid his house as much as possible in his teens. Five houses away from him sits the two-storied Hopper-Byers home, the lights shining warm yellow through all the windows. He looks instinctively to hers, the far right on the second floor. When they were sixteen, Dustin begrudgingly helped him hide a ladder in the scraggly bushes that separate the house from the neighbors. Hopper found it a week later, so El stayed up four nights in a row honing her powers so that by the fifth night, she could levitate Mike straight up from the ground to the windowsill without breaking a sweat. There was a lot of smothered laughter and purple bruises during those trial and error nights, but Mike would never trade them for anything.

A cold raindrop on his cheek refocuses his attention. The clouds above him are dark and ready to pour; the heady scent of promised thunder and lightning is thick in the air. He starts forward again. His heart increases its frantic beat with every step he takes, but the house is getting closer, closer, and he knows she’s there because he can feel it, he could always feel her.

He passes the windows that look into the dining room and stumbles to a stop again, his throat locking up at what he sees. It’s all of them, sitting around the table, cast in a cheery golden glow with laughter on their faces. Joyce, Will, and Jonathan, Hopper and his parents, and – her. Mike’s hands go numb. She’s leaning halfway out of her chair, wearing a loose yellow sweater, passing a bowl of mashed potatoes to her dad. Her soft pink lips spread into a smile at someone’s joke, and it’s that smile, angelic and full of love, that pulls on Mike’s heartstrings. She really is it for him. He’s never moving on. He can’t.

Every time he closes his eyes for the next few months, he’ll see this image of her, just like all the other times: when they ran into each other in the grocery store, at Christmas when their families exchanged casseroles and pleasantries, on that one spring day when she was levitating Max up to pick apples and Mike happened to be walking by with Lucas. Hey Mike, she had said to him, her voice soft and amiable, one hand outstretched behind her to keep Max aloft. Her nose didn’t even bleed anymore. Hey, El is what he had said back, barely allowing himself to breathe to make sure his voice was steady. And nothing happened, and his heart shattered all over again.

He’s seen her now. He can walk away and not make things any worse. But it’s just not enough, not like he thought it’d be. It’s never enough. These small glances across gaping distances are not enough to put himself back together. He needs all of her, because he loves her, he loves her, he loves her so much and he doesn’t like who he is when she’s not with him. His heart aches and yearns towards her, but the pain he felt when they fell apart anchors his feet to the concrete, and then – she looks out the window.

Oh.

He loves her eyes. They’re magic. They slow time.

He watches his name fall off her lips, and her family hasn’t yet noticed, and he mouths hi. She stares at him, and then he finds the will to move, dashing up the driveway and onto the porch.

He raises his hand to knock but the door opens before he can. She stands there, a head shorter than him, her curly hair tucked behind her ears and her cheeks steadily growing pinker from the sudden gust of cold air.

“Mike,” she says in a rush, at the same time he breathes, “El.”

He hasn’t been this close to her in a long time. Not enough. Closer.

“What are you doing here?” she asks quietly, her curious eyes still roaming his face like she can’t quite believe he’s standing here.

“Um, well, I just – I don’t know, actually. I – El…” He takes a deep breath. “I just wanted to see you. And talk to you. Just for a minute, unless you don’t –“

She shakes her head, and he steps backwards as she comes out onto the porch, gently closing the door behind her. “No, let’s talk. Please.”

They sit on the porch swing with the rusty chains and peeling white paint, a bitter foot of space between them.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says after a moment. El nods, staring out at the street.

“Happy Thanksgiving. How’s your family?”

“They’re fine, I guess. Yours?”

“Good.” El glances at him with a sad, knowing smile on the corner of her lips. “But you didn’t come here to talk about family.”

He shakes his head and she turns back to the street. The rain has begun to pour, thrumming on the roof and sliding off the eaves into the flowerboxes below. Belatedly Mike realizes they’ve started swinging back and forth ever so slowly, yet he isn’t pushing them with his foot and since Hopper accidentally hung the swing too high, El can’t reach the ground when she’s sitting on it.

“Are you doing that?”

She nods. To his surprise, a dark red spot of blood trickles down from her nose. “Sorry. I do it out of habit.”

“No, no, it’s fine, but – you have a nosebleed.”

“It happens, sometimes,” she says unconcernedly, pulling a tissue out of her pocket and dabbing away the blood.

“I thought you didn’t get them anymore. Not since you were sixteen, right?”

“Well, I get them now.”

Her voice is edged with a warning not to push any farther so Mike relents. For a long minute they watch the rain from their sheltered spot, and he can’t help but look over at her every few seconds. He could never stop doing that, not even when they were together. It wasn’t just because he loved watching her, but also because some part of him was always afraid that he’d blink and she would disappear again.

“Remember when we were little, when we did this?” she asks. Mike frowns.

“Sitting on the porch swing? Of course I remember that.” There’s not a moment with you I don’t remember, he thinks, heart aching. Not a good time, not a bad time, not any of it.

“No. Well, yes, but I meant this.”

He follows her line of sight down to the space between them, where his fingers have been absently wearing at a marking in the wood there. He lifts his hand and a dull three-year-old pang resounds in his chest. Roughly etched into the old wood is a faded, clichéd MW + EH, carved while she drank lemonade and then kissed his cheek with sticky lips.

“We weren’t that little,” Mike says, looking up at her. “We were fifteen.”

“Still.” She stares down at the mark, a faint smile on her lips.

“That was a long time ago,” he murmurs.

“Yeah. It was.”

His eyes fall to her lap, where her small hands twist around and around each other in the folds of her skirt. Hands that are calloused and gentle when they play with his hair and are always decorated in pink nail polish. Hands that can split mountains in two and lay waste to interdimensional monsters, hands that can build and destroy and hurt and love. Hands that he’s held since he was thirteen, that he wants to reach over and hold right now even though he can’t.

“El,” he starts, the tightness in his throat forcing him to pause. El looks up at him, and the grey rain falling in sheets behind her is a perfectly melancholic echo to the sadness in her eyes. He takes a deep breath. “I love you. I love you more than you’ll ever know, more than I’ve ever loved anyone else. And I don’t think it’s possible for me to stop loving you, really. I’ve missed you so much these past few years, because…you’re just a part of me. But if this is how you want it to be…I mean, if you’re happier this way, not being with me, then…I need you to let me know. I’m okay with that, because I want you to be happy, but you have to tell me.”

She furiously brushes away a tear that escaped her brimming eyes. “I’m not happy, Mike.”

“You’re…not?”

She shakes her head. “I miss you. I miss you all the time. I thought it was for the best, you know, at first, because we both thought we wanted it, but I’ve never been more alone and I didn’t know how to ask you if…” She trails off, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “Your life was the best part of mine, Mike. My nose started bleeding again after you left because when I use my powers, I think of everything I love. But when I thought of you, I just…couldn’t do it anymore. I don’t know how to be me when you’re not here. You’re more than my best friend, you’re…mine.”

You’re mine. Mike blinks at her, unaccustomed to the fireworks his heart is setting off. He feels like he’s flying but hasn’t realized his feet have left the ground yet. Your life was the best part of mine.

He swallows. “So…it’s okay if I hold your hand?”

She laughs through her tears, nodding, and he swears her smile is just like sunshine breaking through the thunderheads above them. When she leans over to kiss him, meeting her halfway is second nature. His El. Her kiss is sweet, always sweet, deep and gentle and full of stars, just like her, and she places her hands over his on her cheeks to make sure he won’t let go.

How did he live without her?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. She shakes her head.

“My fault.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Our fault,” she concedes with a small laugh. He opens his eyes and she’s looking at him, so much joy and love in her eyes, the happiest he’s seen her in three years.

“What were we even thinking, El?”

In response she kisses him again, and again, and again. “I missed you,” she says, punctuating it with another kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “Three years was stupid. I’m not supposed to be stupid.”

“God, I love you.” He wraps his arms around her tight, burying his face in her hair. He doesn’t have any words that could convey what she means to him. He just got his other half back – how do you put that into words? “Promise me,” he says eventually, knowing she’ll hear the rest of it. Promise me we won’t be that stupid again. Promise me you’ll never leave me again. Promise me I’ll never lose you. Promise me you’ll always stay by my side. Promise me you’ll love me no matter what, because I promise you I will.

“Promise.”

By the time Mike feels calm enough to speak again, the rain has subsided to a sprinkle, thunder cracking in the distance. He glances at the front door, which has miraculously stayed shut through their whole reunion.

“Can I stay here for the rest of dinner?” he asks her. “I hate my family.”

She giggles, nodding into his chest. “Yes. You can even stay the night if you want.”

“Your dad might make me sleep on the floor in the living room.”

“No, Joyce wouldn’t let him.”

He breathes deeply, holding her tight to him. She’s warm in his arms against the cold stormy air.

“I love you, El.”

“I love you too.”

@calprnia @you-wont-lose-me @summer-in-hawkins @elizabthturner @formerlyjannafaye @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @mikewheeler @el-and-hop @michael-hearteyes-wheeler

#SURPRISE #EMO MIKE STRIKES AGAIN #i actually wrote something for the first time in forever #if you guys want to be added/removed from my improvised taglist please let me know #i feel like my title game is slipping #stranger things #mileven #mike wheeler #eleven #anna puts words together

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pixiealtaira · 6 years

Text

Becoming We

Hummel Holidays prompt 15 - traditions

Pairing- Kadam.

Summery: Kurt wants this relationship to last.

Adam considered laughing when Kurt sat him down in September for the first annual “Hummel and Crawford” relationship maintenance and planning meeting.

Until Kurt spoke about it, then Adam smiled and kissed him on the top of his head and asked when Kurt would like to have it. How could he have any other reaction after “I think I love you and I want this to last a long time and one of the most dangerous things about relationships is navigating expectations, especially around holidays. I need this, Adam. I need to know what is important to you and you should know what is important to me. I don’t want to mess up.”

Kurt chose a Sunday Morning over a huge meal. Kurt had spent the night and got up early and when Adam got out the table was covered with food…and notebooks and calendars and pencils and boxes of tissues.

“I guess mostly we need to talk about holidays and traditions,” Kurt started out. “I mean, if we ever moved in together, we’d have to have one to set household rules. So maybe we should have relationship house rule rules?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm…well, at home they were things like ‘if you break it you replace it or at least tell someone about it and work it off’ and ‘chores done before 10pm, unless a reason is already noted on the calendar or you don’t get paid’. Not sassing too much and no name calling too much and don’t throw things at each other and no pushing, hitting, kicking, shoving or biting. We didn’t start with no biting but Finn bit me when I told him Rachel was a banshee and not allowed to haunt near my room because he couldn’t kick me anymore. I bit him back. I left deeper marks. Curfews and things like that.”

“I thought you became family when you were already 17?” Adam asked.

“We were seniors when that happened.” Kurt replied. “I can’t explain it. Finn made me revert back to being three…maybe even two. Don’t relationships need rules?”

“Well, maybe we could set some….like, If you are running late you should call and tell the other that you are if it will be over 15 minutes.” Adam said. “That way I wouldn’t worry you and you wouldn’t worry me.”

Kurt smiled and relaxed a little in his seat. “And we should decide how to do clean up for dinner. I mean, I feel bad not helping.”

“How about the cook does dishes but the guest can set and clear the table?” Adam said.

Kurt beamed.

“Do we need more of those yet?” Kurt asked.

“If we realize we do, we can remember to talk to each other and make a list.” Adam said.

Kurt beamed.

“I guess that brings us to Holidays. What do you celebrate and what has to be done?”

“What do you mean?” Adam asked.

“What would you like to do for Valentine’s Day?” Kurt asked.

“Spend some of it with the one I love.” Adam said.

“What type of gift do you need? Chocolates? Flowers? And outfit? Dinner out someplace where meals cost more than 50 bucks and need reservations months in advance? Jewelry?” Kurt asked.

“None of that is needed. Maybe a card would be nice, that I could look at over and over again.” Adam said.

“A card?” Kurt asked.

“I wouldn’t say no to chocolates.” Adam chuckled. “Kurt, close your eyes and tell me YOUR perfect Valentine’s Day.”

“Breakfast with someone I love and who loves me. We have strawberry or cherry and whipped cream filled crepes. We exchange cards. My dad always gave me a small box of Chocolates at breakfast, and when I got old enough I gave him one, too…so an exchange of a box of chocolates picked out just for the one I love. We spend the day texting each other little notes or messages. We spend the evening together, or as much as we can if someone has to work. Dinner would be nice, movies are too crowded.”

“Dinner out at someplace expensive?” Adam asked.

Kurt hummed. “It doesn’t matter.” He said quietly. “I just want to be with who I love.”

“Open your eyes, love.” Adam said. He smiled at Kurt when Kurt looked his way. “None of the rest is important. Time with my loved one is. Could that time be a fancy dinner and dancing? Might be, but not having that won’t break my relationship. Might also be a pub and karaoke, or the Lover’s Charity ball, or dinner at home by candlelight at midnight because my love worked a late shift. If my love can’t afford lavish gifts, I don’t expect anything lavish. I would like a bit of warning for lavish gift giving…as I know you would…as neither of us like getting if we don’t have a gift to give in return.”

Kurt smiled. He had tossed a bit of a fit when Adam bought him the steampunk top hat he’d been looking at but hadn’t saved up enough to buy the month before. Adam just shrugged it off and told Kurt he wanted Kurt to have it but he knew the boutique they’d seen it at sold limited pieces and often things didn’t stay long.

“New Year’s Eve?” Kurt asked.

“I’ll go with you to Time’s Square ONCE, if you feel some bizarre need to do so.” Adam said.

“If I wanted to stay home and watch the ball drop on TV?” Kurt asked.

“I’m good with that.” Adam said.

“Host a party where we play card games and board games and sing all night long until the sun rises?” Kurt asked.

“That sounds fun.”

“Even if we didn’t have any alcohol?”

“Have I struck you yet as a big drinker?” Adam asked.

Kurt smiled. “No. You generally get one beer or two when we are out, but only if it’s good beer. I’ve seen you have a cup of wine here or there. We had those daiquiris at that one bar.”

“I don’t care one way or the other, but if we have alcohol we’ll switch to non-alcohol as soon as the ball drops and everyone will stay for another several hours, if not all night.”

Kurt beamed. “Ok, St. Patrick’s Day?”

“I’m not Irish. I can take it or leave it.”

“Easter?”

“Ehh…we need peeps and chocolate covered marshmallow eggs. Blame the Apples for those. The rest…Easter was a Religious holiday in my family and I’m not religious right now.”

“If I wanted an egg hunt and Easter basket?” Kurt said.

“I’d make you an egg hunt and Easter basket. We can also do a Grand Easter Dinner if you’d like, but you’d have to tell me what YOU eat at one.”

Kurt shrugged. “Really, the only thing that was a must was deviled eggs made from the eggs we had dyed.”

Adam smiled. “We can dye eggs and you can make me your best deviled eggs for Easter.”

“Birthdays?” Kurt asked.

“Whatever we want to do.” Adam said. “I do love birthday gifts though. My favorite was you asking me to coffee.”

Kurt laughed. ”Seriously, though, what type of things do you like for your birthday?”

“One year we went to a show in London. One year my mum bought me a new suit. Once I got a new bike. I’ve received books or clothes or movies. There isn’t a set recipe for Birthday gift giving. Unless it’s an American thing I’m missing.”

Kurt sighed. “I have a feeling I just know too many people with extreme expectations.”

“To quickly cover it, there isn’t really anything from home I celebrate here, although last year I did find a bonfire to attend in November for Guy Fawke’s night. Also…I’ll go along with whatever is important to you for your American Holidays. Just tell me when and where to be and what is needed.”

Kurt laughed. “I might just stick you with the Turkey with that attitude.”

“Bring it on, love.” Adam said. “I’ve never made one yet, but I could certainly try.”

Kurt nodded. “I guess that leaves Halloween and Christmas time.”

“I appreciate a good Halloween party. I’m a theater lover, darling, we live for dressing up. As for Christmas, my mum had a rule of gift giving we all followed. A game or toy, something we needed and something we’d wanted really bad, something to watch, two new books…one that was fiction and one that wasn’t, and clothing. Always socks, underclothing, and a knitted jumper. Father Christmas brought new outerwear, sweets and coins, and something for hobbies. Often he also brought new outdoor items, like a sled or skates…or tickets to a museum or something that we could do over the holiday. For us kids, we had to give each other gifts. Right now we have to spend more than 15 but less than 100. On Boxing day we went to my grandmother’s and had a huge family party there where we exchanged gifts…small things like puzzles or comics or marbles or such…Aunt Emily’s family always got each person a cookie tin and filled it. My father’s family gathered for twelfth night and we exchanged gifts then…there it is was always hobby related. Neither of those days are big here. I send my mum a box to take to each gathering.”

“What about Christmas Eve?” Kurt asked.

“We hung stockings and went to bed. Father Christmas prefers mince pies and mulled wine. Currently, I wake up, open my box from my mum which has Father Christmas gifts and a stuffed stocking, eat breakfast, and open anything from other people. Then I do whatever for the rest of the day. How about you?”

“I did an Advent Calendar…we actually did about three. I had one for activities so things would get done. I started that when I was nine. My mom made one when her and my dad got married. It hung on the wall and you put little things on it each day. Then I had a treat one. Most years my dad would fill it, some years I filled it myself…like last year and senior year. I lit advent candles. Dad did them when he was little, but not when he got bigger. My mum didn’t do them growing up as they were too tied with religion. When they got married they started the candles up again. She used the themes…love, hope, peace, joy…but not the religious aspects of it. On the love week we focused on finding love and spreading love in our lives, on peace week we focused on finding peace and balance, on joy we focused on sharing and finding joy, on hope we focused on goals and looking to the future. I still do that, but only by myself and not where anyone can see me. We also burned Christmas smelling candles all month long...and had a candle in the window. We did a solstice thing. I bake all month long. I go see the Nutcracker…doesn’t matter where. I’ve been to some spectacular small company shows. We listened to Christmas music all the time and watch Christmas shows…there is a list. We opened a gift Christmas Eve…pajamas and a book. The rest we opened Christmas day, Santa left a full stocking and presents…but Santa didn’t leave big things. My dad shops much like your mom, but probably a bit less. Dad was big on experiences. He left a lot of family things under the tree, things we could do together. He always gave a ‘memory’ gift. The day after Christmas we always went shopping. I get one or two memory ornaments each year; we had the tree in the living room and a memory tree. When my mom was alive we just had the one tree, but it made Dad sad, so we had two for a long time. After he married Carole that all changed. Everything changed. Because we did it all wrong.”

“Wrong?” Adam asked.

“Yeah, because it was just me and my dad for so long, so we got everything wrong about Christmas and even Thanksgiving.” Kurt said.

“Wrong according to who?”

“Carole and Finn, Rachel, Quinn and Blaine and Santana.” Kurt said.

“I don’t understand. How can you get it wrong?” Adam asked. “And isn’t Rachel Jewish?”

“Well, if you have multiple trees they all have to be properly themed and coordinated. You must have only baking days…you cannot bake all month. If you bake all the time it is not special and therefore can’t be holiday baking. Advent calendars cheapen the holiday, as do anything else like that. Candles are either pretentious or just for poor people…I’m not sure which one. Christmas Music will get too old too quickly if listened to in the house, so must be reserved for in the car. Solstice is only for devil worshipers…”

Adam snorted and Kurt stopped and looked at him.

“I’m sorry but just because your traditions were different didn’t mean yours were wrong. I know you realize this in your head…you said you still do several of them. So how did you end up managing?”

“We did things Carole and Finn’s way or not at all.” Kurt said. “In the loft we did things Rachel and Santana’s way or not at all…mostly Rachel’s way.”

“Tell me about it more.”

Kurt sighed. “Christmas to Finn and Rachel was about what they got. They wanted big things and lots of them. Newest, biggest, best. Finn told his mom what he wanted and he expected it under the tree. Rachel gave people lists and she was to have received it all. Santa brought big things…like TVs and such. To Finn. Carole let Finn open whatever he wanted that was under the tree from Christmas Eve day on…if he got bored. Even things not to him were fair game because things under the tree were supposed to just be to Finn, as it had been that way since he was little and he couldn’t be expected to look at tags when excited. Rachel was the same way. Everything under a tree where Rachel lived was obviously to her. The trees had to be themed and everything on them had to ‘go together’. Carole bought new stuff every year and gave what she had used to her Aunt to do with whatever she liked. There were to be colored balls and lights and maybe a few other things but not much, except that first year when she decided since she had Dad who could afford it she could do her dream of purple and pink Victorian. That involved lots of lace and fake roses and satin cones filled with treats and dolls and shoes and old fashioned hat boxes and tassels and puffs and it was horrid. She also spent like 800 bucks on it and then went and tossed half it out. I was allowed to bake just five days in December. Finn could not see the advent stuff at all…and dad could not put it together for me, it wouldn’t be fair to Finn.”

Adam moved over to Kurt and pulled him up and off the chair and then sat down and pulled Kurt into his lap.

“I want a relationship that is even, darling. I don’t want you to do everything MY way and I will not do everything just YOUR way. We will find OUR way and do it together. Sometimes OUR way might be doing things your way, because it works best. Sometimes we might do things my way, because it works best. But we will figure it out together and it will be what is best for us.”

“Even my night time ritual?” Kurt asked.

“When I stay over do you do your nighttime ritual the same as when I don’t and do you regret it if you change it?”

Kurt leaned his head on Adam’s shoulder. “I do everything I normally do, but I do it with you there with me talking to me and I talk to you. It is a great sharing time.”

“So…we do it OUR way…a way that works for both of us.” Adam said.

“I’m being silly about this aren’t I?” Kurt asked.

“No. I don’t think so. You had a relationship start up and because of that had to give up traditions and listen to how wrong you had been about them. To me it sounded like many you were told off about had been things you shared with your mom. That hurt and left scars, even if you got over the initial hurt.”

“And then there was Blaine.” Kurt said.

Adam hugged him tight. “Yeah, and you haven’t even talked about that.”

“He never got me anything. I never got a Christmas gift from him…or graduation gift or birthday gift or Valentine’s gift. However, I always had to buy him gifts and give them to him. If I didn’t get the right thing or give it at the right time or with the right amount of flair…it was an issue.”

“It was all about him, then. Not surprising…everything always was.” Adam said. “I want us to be about US…both of us. We’ll work traditions out as we go. They will change as our circumstances change. We will make it a mash-up of epic awesomeness, though. Especially doing it together. Now, tell me more about your advent treats…”

Kurt launched into descriptions of different ways he’d done his advent treat calendar and his activity calendar as Adam held him. Adam made note on Kurt’s papers and thought about all the ways he could bring some of the traditions Kurt had not been able to enjoy back into Kurt’s life…and what to introduce him to from his traditions. He was looking forward to mending some old wounds.

#glee fanfic #hummelholidays #Kurt Hummel #Adam Crawford

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onewfantaesy · 6 years

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Prince au: Taemin has come into the crown at his 21st birthday. During his youth, he was a wilder child and only wanted to be normal. So he rebelled any time he could and in the end it causes problems. The people doubted him for being wreckless and wild, drinking/fighting and sleeping around. The men felt he was too scrawny and "pretty" to rule as king. But he makes it, the people think he's finally mature and accept him. Then turns out he's got a 6 year old kid. he was 16. Problems again.

Taemin was the nation’s Party Prince. From the time he was in middle school until just recently, he was rumored to have parties in the basement of his father’s palace, smoking weed and drinking alcohol with his friends when he was home alone. There were pictures of him, sixteen and drunk well below the legal drinking age, being escorted out of clubs with a wild look on his face. Videos of him dancing much too promiscuously for a teenage prince who should have been brought up knowing better than that, rocking his hips, biting his lips, his eyes half-lidded and dazed and clearly out of his mind. Kissing super models and commoner girls and throwing money at strippers. He was the Wild One, the Bad Boy, the Prince Gone Wild that all the mothers told their girls to watch out for.

He was the royal that the men of the kingdom made fun of. He was the boy who danced to club songs, danced like a girl, swayed his hips and messed up his hair on purpose; he wasn’t their version of a man. In their minds, he would never be King. He wasn’t strong enough.

But then Taemin, the Wreckless Wonder, became King on his twenty-first birthday. His father had died when he was very young, his grandmother was too old and stepped down from her place as Queen, and Taemin was thrust into a role he wasn’t really ready for. It was as if one moment he was out drinking with party girls and humping night club goers, and the next morning he was pushed out onto a balcony in a cape and a crown while a scepter and jewel was placed into his hands, an oath forced from his lips and his grandmother waving a sword from one of his shoulders to the next, naming him King.

Despite his track record, Taemin takes his role as King very seriously. He stops partying, stops going out to clubs, even stops drinking as much as he used to. He buries himself in his work, doesn’t give himself time to even think about drinking or drugs or partying. For a few blessed months, he’s scandal free. He has nothing but good press. But then the school year starts, and it’s all over the media about how King Taemin is bringing a small tiny kindergartener to his first day of school.

Taemin walked hand-in-hand with little Key, holding onto the boy’s backpack while they walked with a bodyguard up to the kindergarten. Most media kept their distance, afraid of getting too close to the King, but there were the fair few who were close enough to hear the exchange of:

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

“But you’ll have so much fun, bubby; you love school.”

Taemin, in all his well-groomed glory, was walking this chubby-cheeked, angelic little five-year-old to kindergarten, calling him bubby, holding his hand, being called Daddy. It was all over the news before lunch.

Taemin didn’t want to make a big deal about his son starting school. The headmaster of course knew that Key was the King’s son, was a Prince, but Taemin stood outside with all the other parents, knelt down next to his little boy when Key got upset, hugged him tight and kissed his cheek, and carried his backpack and lunch pale for him. And his backpack wasn’t some stuffy satchel like Taemin had when he was a child, but had a cartoon character on it (Key’s favorite), and his lunch pale matched, and his uniform was just messy enough to make him look like any other child that was attending the school. If Taemin wasn’t so popular, everyone would have guessed he was any other parent walking their child to their first day of school.

Except Taemin was 21, and Key was 5, and Taemin had clearly been a Teen Dad, and that was certainly Taemin’s first official scandal as King.

When Taemin picked Key up at the end of the day, the boy refused to walk on his own. He was upset, and tired, and he absolutely insisted, “Daddy, carry me.”

So Taemin walked home, carrying Key in his arms, Key’s backpack slung over his shoulder and the lunch pale tied to one of the backpack’s straps. The bodygaurd walked with them, and both adults asked Key about his first day, if he had fun, if he made any friends. Taemin kissed Key’s head and smiled and fixed his hair.

“Daddy’s so proud of you,” Taemin was heard saying. “Teacher said you were a very good boy today.”

“I’m always good,” Key said.

Taemin laughed, looked to the bodyguard with a smirk, and then tickled the back of Key’s neck.

“Always good my ass,” Taemin teased. Many people were in an uproar about King Taemin cursing to a child.

But what the public didn’t see was Key laughing maniacally at Taemin’s words, digging his face in Taemin’s neck, and squeezing his hands around Taemin’s hair. They didn’t see Key smile at Taemin and kiss his cheek and leave a big, sloppy wet splotch on it for Taemin to scrunch his nose up at. They didn’t see Taemin wipe his slobber-covered cheek on Key’s face, or the laugh that Taemin let out when Key rubbed their noses together.

After a week of speculation and pictures of Taemin taking Key to school, there was finally an announcement from the palace. It involved an official picture of King Taemin with the newly revealed Prince Kibum, fondly known as Key. It was announced that Prince Kibum turned five-years-old that September and just started kindergarten, and that he was in fact King Taemin’s biological son.

It wasn’t said, but the Queen had forced a paternity test when Key was born, when his mother insisted that Taemin was the father and that the royal family needed to take her baby in because of it. Taemin was definitely the father, no doubt about it, and Taemin had been the only parent Key had known from then on. The mother wanted nothing to do with him, had insisted that the royal family be the only ones to care for him.

Taemin had been devastated. He had been sixteen, had been in love with the mother of his child, or at least as “in love” as a teenager could be. But she had been eighteen, it hadn’t technically been legal for them to even be together sexually, and she was lucky she wasn’t thrown in jail for “seducing” the underage prince. She had been ordered to stay away from both Taemin and the child, and while Taemin fully took on the responsibility of raising his son, he had been heart broken that the mother had been ordered away from him.

And Queen Boa, for as lovely and loving as she was to the common people, had practically ostracized both Taemin and Key from the rest of the royal family after Key’s birth. They were given body guards and butlers and maids and a palace to live in, but Taemin had always been the one to make sure his son had a home. Both Taemin’s parents had died when he was young, when he was just ten-years-old, and he had been put into his grandparents’ care. But Queen Boa and her husband were too busy to raise a small child, Taemin was often left unattended at his father’s former estate. The Prince was left alone with nothing but butlers and maids and chefs and chauffeurs, but they weren’t family, they were servants, and for as much as they tried to be the family Taemin lost, it wasn’t the same. Taemin wanted to make sure his son had a family, and if that meant Taemin had to be both mother and father, then so be it. Taemin changed diapers and sang lullabies and played with race cars and dolls. Taemin did everything he asked Key’s nannies to help with. He couldn’t do it all on his own, not at such a young age when the Queen was still demanding he go to school, but he made sure he could do everything any other parent would have to do.

When people started putting together the age Taemin had to have been when Key was born, all hell broke loose. Taemin’s reign as King was questioned, because if a boy could go knock up a girl with such little care or thought, how could he rule a kingdom? And who was the boy’s mother?

When the mother started making a fuss, hell froze over. She was saying that she wanted to see her son, she wanted something to do with his life, wanted to be part of Key’s life. But Taemin said that she all but thrust Key onto him when the boy was born, had given up all rights before the Queen asked her to, and that she had no right to barge into their son’s life now that he was a known Prince.

Taemin was getting shit on from the press and people for his past party boy tendencies, but everyone was very honest about how good of a father he was being. He wasn’t exposing his kid to all the bullshit that was happening, and he was making sure that Key was having fun at kindergarten, and that told the public everything they needed to know about their former party boy prince.

Taemin was a King now, but before that, he was a father, and he took both roles very seriously.

#taemin #key #shinee #wantonewsbabies #it's amazing how decent this is considering how much wine i've had #there's gonna be more there has to be more obvi #gonna be more cute taekey fatherson moments #party prince au

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licieoic · 7 years

Text

Time to level with you all

I’m going to talk about the situation in which I am living right now. It’s a long talk, but I hope you will read it. If you are interested in seeing future content from me - whether it’s my fan art or my writing that you follow me for - then please read on.

My mother found out just before Christmas that my dad hasn’t paid the mortgage in 6 months. The bank sold the loan to a collection agency who is proceeding with foreclosure because they aren’t returning my dad’s phone calls. This means we could be homeless anywhere from three months to three years from now, depending on how long everything takes.

Those few of you who know me on Facebook as well as here, please don’t say anything about this there. My mom is such a private person, she’d be humiliated if she knew I was talking about this.

Honestly, mom and I are horrified by how irresponsible this is. Half a year he didn’t pay $1200 per month. So... Where did the money go? The few friends my mother told then asked all the sensible questions - Is he cheating on you? Is he doing hardcore drugs? Does he gamble?

We don’t really know since my dad is a pathological liar, we can’t trust anything he says, but none of those explanations really fit with my dad’s behavior. Mostly he just drinks alcohol when he’s not supposed to, but could he seriously spend that much on booze?

See, we have no way of tracking my dad’s spending. He takes his money in cash back from groceries or from the ATM and just spends cash. We see the money’s gnoe, but not where it goes. We’ve asked him why there’s no money because we’ve seen what he claims on his taxes (and there should be enough to support the three of us!) and he just shrugs and claims he doesn’t know or doesn’t remember. We can’t force him to tell the truth.

If we lose the house, my mom and I will have to auction off what we can of the house and move down to California with my older brother. Mom and I will be miserable in the desert, as we do not tolerate heat well, it makes us very ill, (there are other things as well but the weather is the biggest issue) but he’s the only family member we have willing to take in a disabled 35 yr old who can’t work and a retirement age lady who shouldn’t be working anymore. My dad will probably prevail upon my grandmother, to stay in her guest room until he figures something else out. She’ll hate it, but I seriously doubt either of his sisters would take him in. And they do NOT want me and mom living with them either. He’d probably be fine living in a damn van. In fact, that’s what he should do, if he doesn’t want to pay things like mortgages. He doesn’t deserve a family if he's willing to put their security at risk.

Sorry, I’m really upset. Because right now, I can’t do anything to change the situation. I would love to be able to buy a little house for me and mom and tell her it’s alright, we’ve got one another, but I don’t have the money to do that. I don’t even own any collateral for a loan in order to move.

I have those links at the bottom of every art post for Ko-Fi and Patreon and I so appreciate those of you who have donated to me getting a scooter. It means the world to me that you believe my art is worthy of your hard earned money. But if this happens... I probably won’t have time to paint. And then I don’t know how long I will have to be offline. And then I won’t have subscribers because I won’t be generating any content. This whole situation is so messed up! I’m writing this at 3am because I’m so damn worried and stressed I can’t sleep.

Here’s what I ask, if you read this far... Please buy my books. If you can’t right now, please reblog this link. Reblog this post. Likes are always appreciated, but reblogs means more people will see it. Exposure is what I need if my books are going to become popular.

My books are the only thing I have to generate any kind of income. (I have a Zazzle store, but it’s just a few dollars a month in income.) We’ve all seen books take off. We’ve seen improbable books get popular for weird reasons, doesn’t happen all the time, but we just passed the season of miracles and I’m still praying for mine.

Please buy my books. Please share my books. Share so more people know.

If you have bought my books, please read them and, I hope, enjoy them. I hope they give you all the feels they did in fic form and more! And if you could, please review the books, on any social platform you subscribe to. Reviews are so important to future readers and future publishers, plus some websites will usually feature a book with enough reviews.

If you know me... then you know that this is very difficult for me. It used to be so easy for me to be vulnerable, but then I got my heart smashed too many times. But I am being completely honest and completely vulnerable here. I don’t have much to offer at the moment. At least, not much that the world is willing to pay for. My books are the only thing I have to offer the world right now. I can’t even properly work on the sequel because of my back problems. (Back problems which will only be made worse by a move to California. *sigh*)

Since my books are all I have, they are what I need to work. Please help me spread the word about them. I’ll keep you all posted one way or another.

#licie in real life #licie laine #please buy my books #please reblog

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amandajoyce118 · 6 years

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Why I’m Not Mad At Those Agents Of SHIELD Season 5 “Deaths”

During season five of Agents of SHIELD, I noticed that the end of the season saw a lot of outraged fans, fans who called out the writers on social media for stories they didn’t like, fans who were devastated by different plot points. Through it all, I was… fine. I joked that I had reached a new state of SHIELD zen or something. Nothing that anyone else complained about being emotionally manipulative for the audience seemed to phase me. After a couple of weeks of thinking about why the season finale in particular didn’t phase me or leave me angry with the writers, I decided to examine why the three big character “deaths” in the finale didn’t upset me as much as they have others.

Spoilers, obviously, follow, if you haven’t yet watched season five. I’m also going to get a little personal to explain how I feel about the roles each of these deaths fill, so… you’ve been warned.

I wrote this out as my own personal info dump, and I considered not posting it at all because I don’t usually share personal stories on tumblr, but after writing so much, I figured, I might as well. Maybe it will be interesting to someone else.

Let me start off by saying we have three “typical” deaths in the finale. You have the surprise death (Fitz), the one you know is coming even though you don’t physically see it (Coulson), and the hero who lives long enough to see himself become the villain (Talbot).

Let’s go ahead and start with the easiest one for most audience members to stomach, not to downplay it for those who hate the idea of his absence: Coulson.

The audience has, for one thing, already seen Coulson cheat death multiple times. Coulson is also the oldest and highest ranking member of the team we see. It’s a natural progression for him to move on from this job and experience life outside of SHIELD. Coulson leaving the team - whether by death or by choice - is a turning point in the story. It allows the next generation of agents to step up. It allows the story to focus on more characters. It is, in short, the circle of life.

When I was 11, my grandfather was diagnosed with esophageal cancer. He was forced to retire (for the second time) because the treatments, and later the surgery, made him too weak to hold down a job. Over time, despite eventually being termed “cancer free,” his illness took his appetite and his energy. We knew it was only a matter of time before he died. His death when I was 12 was expected, well earned after a long life, and marked a turning point for his wife and kids. My grandmother sold the house they’d lived in for more than 30 years and bought a smaller place. His sons had to step out of the shadow of a man who had been a member of the Coast Guard. My mother reconciled with her mother after not speaking for years.

Was it sad? Of course. But it was also a relief that he wasn’t having to hold up a body that was wearing down. It was expected, and his death was just another part of life. That’s very much how Coulson’s impending death feels to me, and why I was pretty quick to accept that the writers didn’t need to end the season by saving him. There are plenty of fans who don’t want to see the show go on without Coulson, and I get that he’s their favorite, but he’s also one person in the ensemble, and there are more stories to tell.

That brings me to Talbot.

Talbot began his time on the show as a threat, but not really a threat. He was comic relief, the guy who says outlandish things, but who doesn’t necessarily mean any harm by them. He was meant to be fun, but underneath all of that, there’s a bit of a menacing edge to him. He was never a bad guy though. Not until Hydra messed with his head and he got ahold of the gravitonium. Daisy launching him into space was a last resort to make sure the use of his abilities didn’t end the world.

Talbot’s arc actually reminds me a lot of Daisy’s season three Hive storyline. Instead of being addicted to Hive’s connection though, Talbot is addicted to the gravitonium. He wants more and more of it in order to increase his power levels. Granted, he’s not doing this to feel good, but because he thinks he’s making himself into a worthy hero, so there is a major difference there. The biggest aspect of the story that made me suspect there was no redeeming Talbot at this point in the series though is that the “big bad” of the final batches of episodes doesn’t make it out alive on Agents of SHIELD. It’s rare for the season to end with the previous threat still looming because the writers like to close off at least one story arc. They can’t leave everything with a loose end or just abandon everything. They have to choose.

Now, when I was a kid, my mom was engaged to a guy for a few years. Their initial relationship was great. He was charming, funny, the life of the party. He was also an alcoholic and an addict who was abusive when he was under the influence of, well, anything. When I was 12, the month before my grandfather died, he also died. Unexpectedly, yes, but his life had been spiraling for so long that it also wasn’t entirely unexpected. He overdosed. His death, like Talbot’s, was like the end of an out of control storyline that had reached its breaking point.

So, I could understand Talbot’s death, even if I had hoped for a different outcome for him.

Now, Fitz’s death is, of course, the one that’s the most controversial of them all, it seems. There’s a lot of anger at that particular plot point, and I get it.

We’ve been set up this entire arc to believe that Elena, Jemma, and Fitz aren’t going to face death. After all, the three of them live long enough to be tortured by the Kree and start a family, respectively. Their safety is (relatively) built into the storyline. They might be able to be seriously injured, but death? Out of the question. Of course, this storyline was also all about breaking a time loop, so there had to be changes to what we thought we knew would happen.

I’ve seen lots of fans argue that it isn’t fair, that Mack and Polly were already safe, that Fitz’s death shouldn’t take their place. I agree. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Life, and more often, death, isn’t fair. Shit happens. Sometimes, we’re prepared for it, like Fitz knowing that Mack and Polly didn’t make it to the Lighthouse in the original timeline, and preventing that. Sometimes, we’re not, like Fitz finding himself impaled by a building as a result. I mean, I could argue that this is, for all intents and purposes, Fitz being proven right about you not really being able to change the future: a tragic death is still going to happen in the timeline, no matter how hard you try to stop it. But I don’t think that was the case here. I think this was a reminder that this group of people has actually been relatively safe from mortality for a few seasons now. They live and work in a dangerous world, and this is the consequence.

Mortality can rob of us our favorites at any time.

Which brings me to my final story of death. Not the final death I’ve experienced, but the final story I’m going to share with you in regards to this particular trio. When I was 12, before my grandfather died, before my mother’s fiance died, my father went in for what was supposed to be a routine surgery. And I never got to speak to him again.

My parents divorced when I was four, and I wasn’t exactly a daddy’s girl. We weren’t close, but I still went to visit him on holidays and summers. My dad introduced me to comic books and science fiction and a lot of the things that I adore as an adult. But when I was 12, he had surgery on his heart, checked out of the hospital because everything went as expected, and then still felt off. He went back for a checkup, and they decided to keep him overnight for observation, just in case. His heart stopped. And no one knew right away because the nurses on his floor were all with other patients. He was temporarily put on life support when he was discovered, but ultimately, there was no brain activity. He died.

It was unexpected and scary and I hated it. And I wanted to blame the nurses on his floor, but how could I when they were all doing their jobs? Surgeries that are called “routine” are supposed to be simple, ones that have been done a thousand times, like Fitz saving a friend has happened countless times. But there’s always a danger to them, complications that could arise, just like Fitz doing his job is always dangerous.

So, yes, this death was surprising on the one hand, but not on the other. I get it. I accepted it. A writer wants to make you feel something in their work. And it’s not always going to be warm and fuzzy smiles. And I remembered that, unlike in my life, this wasn’t entirely the end for Fitz.

It’s important to note that all three of these major “death” storylines feature a silver lining of hope. Not only has Jed Whedon remarked in interviews that there could be a way to bring Talbot back to the show, that launching him into space doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dead and gone, but the original Fitz is still out there, and Coulson gets a chance to have time for life instead of work.

Sure, Coulson could lose his life at any time. And sure, there are plenty of fans who are upset that he didn’t get a cure. But Coulson got to choose. Something Daisy didn’t get to do when it came to getting her powers back. Coulson is going out on his own terms. And he gets to do it in Tahiti with the woman he’s loved for a very long time, but been too stubborn to admit it. He finally gets a break from being the world’s shield. Not many people get to choose how they go. It’s a nice “end” for someone who spent most of his professional life following the rules of a secret organization before learning that sometimes, you couldn’t trust the system. Also, Clark Gregg was supposed to meet with the producers about appearing in some episodes in season six, and he’s back in the movies. He’s not completely gone. Fans can rest easy.

Some people have referenced Fitz being out in space as lazy writing, as in, “oh, look, this means nothing because double Fitzes!” Something isn’t lazy writing just because you disagree with it. I think that’s something that fandoms in general have forgotten as the social media culture has grown with television/movies/books over the last decade. Any time a large contingent of fans disagrees with a storyline, they decide it’s written poorly and everyone who doesn’t think the same as they do is simply uneducated. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion whether you agree with it or not, but to call something lazy writing just because you didn’t like it is, well, a lazy response.

This plot point is actually the opposite of lazy writing. Lazy writing is having a gifted individual who can ice their body over left at the bottom of the ocean without ever mentioning him again even though ice floats instead of sinks. Lazy writing is never addressing the fact that an Inhuman is going through his second terrigenesis at the bottom of the ocean as well. Or, you know, that there’s a member of the Inhuman royal family on Earth in your same cinematic universe who survives in water. So many ocean related things that never intersect simply because the writers have pushed them aside. Maybe season six will be Agents Of SHIELD: Submerged. But I digress.

This particular plot point does something Agents of SHIELD doesn’t usually do for a few seasons: it circles back to resolve a plot point writers would otherwise expect fans to forget. If this had happened in an earlier season of the show, Fitz out in space would probably have been abandoned for a few years before the writers remembered they left him out there. It also solves the problem of what happens to Fitz decades from now when he wakes up in space and the future he thought he was going to actually didn’t exist. He now has a future, thanks to Jemma deciding they’re going to find him and wake him up. The time loop has already been broken. The Kasius family is not taking over the remnants of Earth. Fitz would have woken up alone, orbiting a planet where there was no one for him to find with just Enoch for company.

If the writers choose to do it, this plot point also allows the writers to take a proactive approach to mental health in the next batch of episodes. Fitz’s friends now understand just how badly his memories of the Doctor affect him. He doesn’t just have those memories. He hears the Doctor’s voice in his head. He’s been living on his own for six months in a military prison, stretching his mind nearly to its limit to find a way to get to his friends. He was already nearing his breaking point then. The stress of trying to save the world, heal a rift in space time, and go against Daisy’s wishes to do it all caused him to suffer that psychotic break. That exact same set of circumstances doesn’t exist anymore. But similar ones still can. This time, the team knows Fitz is both their old Fitz and the Doctor. They can help him instead of just label him as unfit and lock him up. Again, that’s if the show decides to go there. They might not. But I feel like we haven’t seen the last of this whole situation. This Fitz isn’t going to be magically “healed” just because he didn’t do the whole time travel thing.

When I was a kid, my grandmother always said that tragedies occur in threes, and that’s been true as long as I can remember. This season finale reminded me very much of that in my life. I think my reaction as “zen” is more a result of me being able to see the events mirrored in a completely different way than anyone else can. I’ve been there and seen them all happen already. So none of them are cheap, lazy, or given to characters less deserving than others. They all made perfect sense to me.

(As a side note: I feel the need to point out that these three deaths are also all white males, bucking the TV trend of killing off women and people of color for shock value. It’s actually a nice change.)

I realize that this is incredibly long winded, and I highly doubt everyone is going to take the time to read this. So, if you did, thanks for following me down the rabbit hole of death and writing.

#agents of shield #aos season 5 #aos spoilers #real life #long post #i wrote a thing

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trueloverpg · 6 years

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FULL NAME: Sebastian Smythe

ROLE IN MUSICAL: Rob

BIRTHDAY: Jan 14th

SEXUAL/ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Homosexual & panromantic

AGE: Twenty-five ( 25 )

HOMETOWN: Leicester, MA

YOU’RE THE ONLY LOVE I’VE EVER KNOWN →

If anyone asked Sebastian, he would insist her grew up in France. When the truth is, that is only half true. He did spend part of his life in France, being raised by his grandparents while his parents focused on their careers, only remembering him when it was convenient. Therefore, bringing him back when it was time to show off their happy little family. Truth be told for him, he was happy, when he was in France. His grandparents gave him a long leash to hang himself with, and always helped him clean up his messes afterwards. They gave him music, dance, and singing lessons to hone the talent they saw in him. And Sebastian wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

When he got older he was brought back to the states, his father insisting that it was time to get serious about his options for later in life. Except, Sebastian knew what he wanted. He wanted to perform, he loved it. His dad, however, wouldn’t hear of it and made Sebastian start taking his studies seriously. He was only allowed to perform if he maintained no less than a 3.8 gpa. Which he did.

Him coming out to his father was a different story. The tight smile his father got Sebastian knew wasn’t good. He wasn’t happy with it, however he used it which disgusted Sebastian, causing him to want to act out and drink. During events he used Sebastian as a point of topic and a point of argument. “Oh, my son is gay and he doesn’t have any trouble at school. Homophobia is a thing of the past.” Sebastian scoffed and started drinking, taking a bottle of the nearest alcohol from behind the bar when no one was looking and sneaking off with it. He doesn’t remember his first time for much except that he was definitely drunk, and definitely sure that he had no idea what he was doing.

When the time came for college, Sebastian did what was expected of him. He went to Harvard, like his father did. Being a legacy basically guaranteed him entrance. Nepotism sometimes had it’s perks, he supposed. Harvard was an amazing school. He studied pre-law with plans to go into law, just like his father. And he felt exhausted, and hated what he was doing. He begged his father for a year off before he took the LSATs. He reasoned that he just wanted to have a year of fun before he settled down and promised he would. It took a lot of convincing, and he managed to get his mother on his side, and his father finally budged after Sebastian’s grandmother died. He knew that she wouldn’t want him to smother his son like he was, and knew that she was pissed at him for doing so until her last day, so he relented but told Sebastian that as soon as the year was up he was studying and taking the LSATs.

Sebastian went to New York quickly and jumped at the chance to try out for play after play, musical after musical, just wanting to use his talents for his grandmother’s sake. Before he didn’t know what he wanted to do, but doing this in memory of what he loved so much when he was younger just gave him all the more reason to do it. He comes off very cold and closed off towards people. But, he figured, what was the point in opening up to people anyway if they are just going to let you down or use it to their advantage anyway.

#taken #sebastian #tm #glee rpg

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megabrocklesner1world-blog · 5 years

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Damaged Claims, Damaged Engagements, and Broken Spirits

The method of a tainted glass window starts with getting shards of broken glass and surrounding them to suit like bits of a puzzle. The bits of glass putting there without shape or form may possibly seem like only a stack of broken glass, but to the artist oahu is the start of a lovely work of art, anything that will have indicating and be admired by several, and that is how God sees people, as a thing of splendor waiting to take form for your world to see and admire His handy work.

When God talked to Jeremiah He informed him to arise and go down seriously to the potter's home and there He would announce His phrases to him. When Jeremiah attained the potter's home he found the potter creating anything on the wheel. The vessel that has been being manufactured from clay was ruined or another means of expressing this, is so it was broken, or not right, messed up like our lives have already been occasionally, so the potter remade it in to another vessel and it happy the potter. Then the term of God came to Jeremiah expressing, "Can I not, O home of Israel, deal with you since the potter does?" declares the LORD. "See like the clay in the potter's give, so are you currently in My give ".

Irrespective of how broken Best Saudi Arabian brokers our lives may seem or what we might have inked in our past, God can and can correct it, He's our potter and only since the potter requires what is not right and reforms it, God can do exactly the same with us. God uses broken pieces to generate points of splendor, He designs people and conforms our lives to suit His can when we let it, God claimed "Can I not, O home of Israel, deal with you since the potter does?" God was expressing, you may well be broken at the moment, but when you'll surrender to Me, I can shape you and cause you to in to a thing of beauty.

Some of our lives include broken family's, broken associations, and a broken past. My life include all of the above. I never could have dreamed that God could shape me in to anything different than the mess that I was. Despair had absorbed my life for so a long time, frustration and loathe was my companion, my life was like the start of a tainted glass window, a stack of shard glass.

As a young child I was abused by my father. He had a really critical problem with alcoholism and I was on the obtaining end of his anger. My grandmother and grandfather increased me and tried to shelter me from his drunken rage, but residing next door made points hard for them. When my dad could come house drunk my grandfather could take me and mind to the wooded area near our house till my dad was passed out. After the demise of my grandfather in 1973 it believed as though my life was over. The one who I realized as a dad, my defender, my world, was today removed, and the punishment became significantly worse.

Over time my fathers punishment became tougher and as a teen he actually tried to take my life several times. The rage from my dad became part of me, I was getting into fights and getting out my rage on the others just how my dad vented his onto me. I became broken and the older I became the more broken I became, my life was chaos and I hated my life, I hated the world, and I was ticked at God for my childhood.

Then a grasp artist by the name of Jesus, took those broken pieces and started surrounding them, He took all of the broken bits of my past and started bringing them together to create that by which He needed me to become. Similar to the beginning procedure for the tainted glass window, I had to be broken. The broken process is really a uncomfortable process but also a required process, The brokenness allows the grasp artist to change or toss the bits of our lives that do not fit into His function of art. The pride, the home center-ness, the frustration, the loathe, was some of the things that needs to be removed in reshaping of our lives.

When an artist paints a photo or produces a tainted glass window, It is created in ways that shows a story. The brokenness of our past is exactly the same with God our grasp artist, He requires those broken bits of our past and places them together in ways that shows our story. A grasp artist can cause anything out of nothing, they have a vision that no-one else can easily see, and God features a vision and a plan for the lives that only They can see.

Moses had to be broken before God could contact him to supply His folks from bondage. Moses grew up in your home of Pharaoh, increased by Pharaoh's girl as her very own boy, and taught being an Egyptian., he existed a fortunate life. Moses gone from living of freedom inside your home of Pharaoh, to a living of hiding and tending to the travel of his father-in-law in the area of Midian. The man who was simply after a King has been broken and God from the brokenness, will take forth a Prophet and a leader, that will free his folks from years of bondage and cause them to the area of promise.

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raptorginger · 6 years

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Chemistry & Conservation: Chapter 11 - Conversations, or We Could Be Happy

Rey knew he’d see the scars. How could he not as he was the one washing her. That had been on purpose. She washed him and he washed her. She didn’t like talking about it, but it was going to come out eventually, especially if they spent as much time naked together as Rey was hoping, and she wanted it over with. He’d been honest with her about his past, his struggles with his parents and his uncle. The pressure others put on him. His panic attacks. She wanted to share her past with him too. It was a freeing feeling, she mused, wanting to share her past pain with another person. Finn was aware of a bit of it, had pieced some things together, but had never had the full story.

“Rey, what is this?” Ren asked, his voice both concerned and angry at whoever had done this to her. He ran his fingers over the silvery marks that were scattered across her back.

Rey shook her head. “Not now. After,” Rey said, turning her face up to the warm spray. Ren reached around her, pulling her close.

“I can’t rinse off all the soap if you do that,” Rey laughed after a moment.

“I like you soapy,” Ren said, kissing her neck teasingly.

Rey elbowed him gently in the stomach. Ren let go, tickling her sides as he did so. Rey turned and laughed, trying to push him.

Eventually, she got all the soap off, and they both got out. Rey threw him a towel, and they went about drying themselves off. Rey wrapped the towel around her and went to the small linen closet. She pawed around a shelf where she kept extra toiletries. Finding what she was hunting, she tossed it to Ren. He caught it reflexively. It was a brand new toothbrush.

“I keep the ones they give me at the dentist,” Rey said.

“Practical,” Ren said, tearing open the package. They went about brushing their teeth, drying each others hair. Rey took Ren’s towel as he went back into the bedroom, putting on his clothes from last night. Rey walked out to find him sitting on the bed, watching her. She blushed as she made her way to her dresser, naked.

“You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, Rey,” Ren told her.

She threw him a chastising look over her shoulder as she pulled on clean underwear. She fastened her comfy Saturday bra and sought out her favorite baggy sweats and a fitted tank top. She chose to forego the zip up hoodie.

Ren thought she’d never looked more beautiful. Her hair was still a mess from the shower, her sweats riding low and her tank top riding high enough to show a bit of her taut midriff.

“God, Rey,” Ren breathed.

Rey quirked an eyebrow. “What?” she asked, picking up some clothes and throwing them in the hamper.

“You’re beautiful.”

She looked away, blushing again. Ren pushed himself off the mattress, pulling her into a brief kiss.

Rey looked him in the eye. “You’re not so bad looking either,” she said, reaching up and running her fingers through his damp hair.

Ren broke into a broad grin. He’d always considered himself awkward and unappealing. But the way Rey was looking at him now, well, it made him feel like she might just be right.

Rey’s stomach decided to grumble just then, making them both laugh.

“Come on,” Rey said. “Kitchen’s this way.”

“I know,” Ren replied. “I found it last night.”

Rey went about making a pot of coffee while Ren declared he was making eggs and toast. He was much better at cooking eggs that she was, Rey had to admit. Every time she tried to make fried eggs, they ended up scrambled. He could even crack eggs one handed, a skill Rey seriously envied.

They were sitting at Rey’s dining room table dipping their toast into perfectly runny egg yolk when there was a knock at the door followed by a clicking of the lock.

“Does your landlady always just barge in like that?” Ren asked. “Because you might want to do something about that for the future,” Ren continued, a devilish gleam in his eye.

Rey gave him a light smack on the arm as Mrs. Lao poked her head in the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Lao,” Rey said cheerfully.

“Good morning Miss Kitty Kat,” Mrs. Lao replied in her stern grandmother voice. “This young man brought you home in quite a state last night!” she said, pointing to Ren.

“I’m sorry to have woken you, Mrs. Lao,” Ren said apologetically.

Mrs. Lao waved her hands. “I just wanted to make sure he didn’t try and take advantage of you!”

“Excuse me,” Ren said, getting up to get a glass of water. Rey had turned a spectacular shade of red, and he was in danger of laughing his ass off.

“No no no, Mrs. Lao! He was a perfect gentleman.”

“Good,” Mrs. Lao replied succinctly. “You,” she declared pointing at Ren again, “You treat my Rey nice Mr. Ren Solo!”

“I have no intention of doing otherwise, Mrs. Lao,” Ren said gravely.

She nodded and shut Rey’s door.

“My mom would like her,” Ren said.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lao is really protective. I’ve lived here since I moved almost six years ago, and she thinks of me like a granddaughter.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s nice to know you have someone looking out for you.”

“You have no idea,” Rey replied, her eyes growing dark.

Taking the cue, Ren picked up their empty plates, rinsing them in the large farm style sink before putting them in the dishwasher. Rey had moved to the couch, stretched out across its length. Rey bent her knees so he could sit beside her, hugging them close to her chest.

“Rey, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready to,” Ren said gently.

Rey shook her head. “I want to tell you. It’s just hard.”

Ren nodded, remaining quiet, letting her sort herself out.

Rey decided the best way to go about it was to be straightforward, emotionless. “My parents died when I was seven. They were alcoholics, among other vices. My dad was a beater, my mom was a yeller. After they died, their dealer, Plutt, took me before Social Services found out. He made me tag along with his runners, and I was beaten bloody when I refused. I should have left then, but I couldn’t. I was frozen. It wasn’t until I woke up in the middle of the night and saw Plutt with his pants around his ankles standing next to my sleeping mat that I fought back and bolted. I kept an iron frying pan next to my mat, under some blankets. I swung at him and knocked him over so I could hit him in the head. I grabbed whatever I could and ran. I was eight.

“I made my way to another city, getting rides in the backs of trucks from nice farmers on their way to markets or wherever. One particularly nice man, a Mr. Jinn, drove me most of the way once I got out of Niima. He dropped me off at the outskirts, and I never saw him again. I borrowed his last name. I lived on the street until I was ten. Finn found me on his way home from school one day. He gave me his extra sandwich from lunch. He came back later with his father, Mitch, and mother, Marie, who brought me some dinner. They asked me to come with them, but I wouldn’t. They brought me food for a couple weeks, getting me to trust them. Winter came, but I still wouldn’t go. One day, they found me unconscious and took me to their home. I guess I was non-verbal at that point, and I reminded them of a feral cat when I woke up. Since they couldn’t get a name out of me, they called me Kitty. Finn still calls me that. And Mrs. Lao because she heard Finn call me that once and it stuck.

“I came around in time, started talking again, told them my name. I felt more comfortable around Finn’s mom, and she would take me with her when she went to teach at the university in town, since I was afraid to go to school alone. It was there that I guess they decided to have me tested by the university. Finn’s mom taught an advanced math class, and I did better than half the students on the tests and assignments. She’d given me the extras to doodle on, but I would complete them instead. She’d start getting assignments from colleagues and giving me those.

“After about a year, a team determined I had the critical thinking and analytical skills necessary, and they brought me in under a special program. I’m sure it was just a coincidence that it was good PR for the university. I graduated when I was sixteen and went right into my master’s program there, conservation and medieval studies with some chemistry classes thrown in. I completed both at eighteen, and got my doctorate in chemistry one month shy of twenty-three. I came here when I was twenty-one to finish.”

As she finished, Rey realized tears were pouring down her face. The release had felt good, like a weight was off her back.

“For so long, I felt like nothing, even after Mitch and Marie took me in and raised me alongside Finn. Sometimes, it creeps back, the feeling. I wish I could get rid of it, but it’s always there.”

Rey sighed and looked at Ren. He was facing her, his knees pulled up too, like they were bookends on her couch. He was watching her intently, his fingers steepled on his knees. “That was a lot to lay on you. I’m sorry,” Rey said, wiping her eyes. “I push people away. I don’t trust them. For some reason, I trust you. I don’t want to push you away, Ren.”

Ren said nothing at first. He was overcome with anger at the people who’d hurt her and admiration for her perseverance. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound trite. Instead, he leaned forward, one leg on the floor, one stretching out, pulling Rey to him so she was between him and the couch cushions, her head resting on his chest. He held her gently, one hand cradling the back of her skull, the other holding her side. He whispered to her, “You’re not nothing. Not to me, not to anyone. And you couldn’t push me away now, not even if you tried. Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry.”

Rey settled into the space he made for her, resting her arm on his chest, clutching his shirt. She sighed deeply, starting to drift off as he played with her hair. Soon enough, they both fell asleep, not sure where they were going, but content that they’d started off right.

***

Rey felt something cold and wet in her hand. She twitched her fingers, and whatever it was started licking her palm. One eye cracked open, and she found herself staring into BB’s bright brown eyes. The Shiba Inu gave her his trademark silly grin, and jumped, placing his front paws on Ren’s chest in an effort to reach Rey’s face.

Ren was startled awake, inhaling sharply. “What the hell?” he asked sleepily, looking at the dog currently trying to climb onto him to get to Rey.

“Should we come back later or…” Poe asked, amused.

Rey and Ren sat up, scrambling apart. BB was yipping excitedly. Finn, Poe, and Rose were standing in front of them, bemused expressions on their bright faces.

“Does everyone walk into your apartment, Rey?” Ren asked her.

Rubbing her eyes, Rey muttered, “Finn why did I give you a key?”

“For emergencies,” Finn smirked.

“We just wanted to check on you, Love,” Rose said. “We hadn’t heard from you in awhile.”

“I’m fine, you guys. I’ve just been…” Rey wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence.

“Busy?” Finn offered helpfully.

“Yeah,” Rey replied.

“So who’re you?” Poe asked, looking at Ren.

“Uhh, Ren Solo,” Ren said, standing to shake Poe’s hand.

“No shit? You’re in the Chem department right?”

“Yeah. You’re in Engineering?”

“Yeah, man! We all are, actually. Well, except Rey here.”

“And you two are sleeping on the couch together because you’re nap buddies?” Finn asked sarcastically, cutting to the chase.

Rey glared at him. Finn just smiled broadly.

“We’re actually, umm…” Ren replied, looking at Rey.

Rey looked at him, and smiled, reaching for his hand. “Together,” she finished. Ren smiled back.

Rose clapped her hands in front of her face, stifling a ‘squee’ sound.

Poe nudged Finn, “Told you she had a guy.”

Finn rolled his eyes. Looking at Rey, Finn said, “Look, we actually came over to ask if you wanted to get lunch, not interrogate you and your new boyfriend. That was a bonus.”

“You’re welcome to come, Ren! I mean, Doctor Solo,” Rose added brightly.

“Ren. And yeah, I could eat,” Ren shrugged. “Thanks.”

Rey looked from Ren to her longtime friends. The only three people who had stuck with her through the years. She was overcome with a swell of feeling for them. She smiled and said, “Sure, just let me change.” As she walked to her room, BB following at her heels, she wiped away the happy tears that had formed in her eyes.

***

Ren settled in comfortably with Rey’s friends after the interrogation he’d been expecting. They’d sat at the patio at Maz’s that day so BB could join them. Maz even brought BB a bowl of water and a plain burger cut up into pieces.

“Are you that Ren Solo? The chemistry genius and son of Leia Organa-Skywalker and Han Solo?” Yes, I’m THAT Ren Solo.

“Is it true your dad ran a covert rescue op and that’s how he met your mom?” That’s the short version, yes.

“Isn’t your uncle the Chair of the History Department?” Yes.

“You know if you break Rey’s heart or hurt her in anyway, we’ll kill you?” Understood. And I have no intention of doing so.

“Bark!” Pat pat belly rub.

#reylo #reylo fanfic #fanfiction #modern au #reylo modern au #ben solo #ben x rey #rey #university au #professor/professor #multipart #chem & con #the secret's in the the telling

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notallbloodmages · 7 years

Text

The

So, my paternal grandmother called and left a message for the first time in months, here’s all she had to say-

“Hi, Alexa, I just can’t imagine what we did to make you want nothing to do with us. Truly puzzled. (long pause) Anyway, regardless, you’re invited to Thanksgiving at uncle Ryan’s house. Bye.”

It’s just laughable that they have no idea. The last straw was when my father literally told me that I should go to his family christmas even though my other grandmother had just lost her daughter to suicide. How fucking cruel is that?! My mother’s family always bent over backwards to meet the will of pat-ma’s insensitivies. Every holiday had to be at pat-ma’s house, regardless of whether of not everyone else also had only that day off work to spend with their family. Pat-ma gave everyone Christmas money every year, but gave my sister half of what everyone else got because she’s my half-sister. Oh, but in the end we both got nothing because my Dad fucking stole all of it after telling me it was “going into a savings account for [you].” He had set one up for me, but withdrew everything and closed it soon after. I have proof.

And those holidays my sister and I spent there? Holiday my ass. Both my aunt and pat-ma would fucking start asking me stupid questions and when I said I didn’t know, they would yell at me or call me stupid or foolish. When I was 17, when I was 14, when I was TEN FUCKING YEARS OLD. And then my aunt would half-assedly come upstairs to where I’d run off to, and say “why are you crying, not everything is about you ya know.” !?!?! You just fucking made it about me!? Like!? Just roasted a fucking child over some chicken soup?

Pat-ma and co took me to the State Fair once. They had “forgotten” to tell me that I was also spending the weekend with them- because they knew I’d say I didn’t want to come. Really? You want to trick a child into spending time with you and you wonder now why I hate you? I called aunty K while I was in the bathroom and told her I didn’t want to stay with them, and asked her to make something up for me. She called my dad a while later, to not be suspicious, and told her that my great-grandma was in the hospital and wasn’t going to make it much longer. It was a lie that sucked, but we thought maybe pat-ma wouldn’t be an ass about something like that. Of course she would be. Suddenly it was a verbal brawl of not just pat-ma, but four grown-ass adults telling me that I should suck it up and that “g & g wils_____” wouldn’t be around forever. My dudes, we just told you that my 80-year-old relative was dying, and you 55-year-olds are going to try to threaten me with your piece-of-shit lives? I stood by while pat-ma screamed into the phone at my aunt, and then my good grandma. I grabbed my phone from her and ran away at the fair. Aunty K came and got me. The calls from pat-ma and co went on for weeks- I couldn’t make out any of their words but they were screaming at the top of their lungs, grandma was crying, I was crying, it was a fucking mess. All because they decided to trick a 12-year-old into spending time with them. Seriously, you have to know you’re doing something wrong if you know a 12-year-old won’t see you without lying.

A few years later, I was at their camper with them for a weekend. It was the only time I enjoyed spending with them, because it meant I could spend the whole time outside and away from them- along with my cousins. She loves my cousins. Always has. She’s always targetting me for being a fuck-up and doesn’t care that they all became spoiled brats because of her. She’s probably glad, because she trained them to love the monetary gifts that she gives for Christmas and birthdays. Her little trap that she tried to train me with, too. The second day at the camper, I realized I’d forgotten my meds at home. I panicked, because I’d finally started feeling a little better. Unfortunately I couldn’t keep calm, mostly because my dad called me weak and pat-ma said she’d throw them in the garbage anyway. I yelled back, which might have surprised her. I yelled at my dad, too, about being an alcoholic when I was younger. He stormed off, denying that that was true. I see the police records of domestic violence and DUIs in public records, you ass. Pat-ma sat down and looked me dead in the eye, and said that it wasn’t her fault what her children did and that it wasn’t her job to help them out of it either. Holy shit. It literally is, though. At least to try. Your son almost let me fall down the stairs when I was one. He almost killed himself falling asleep in the garage with the car on when I was two. My good grandma decided that instead of just bringing me my meds, she was going to get me too. She yelled at my dad when we left.

When I was 16, they got into a car accident. Pat-ma had flown through the windshield. I didn’t hear about it for weeks after it happened, and when dad told me he asked why I wasn’t calling pat-ma more often. !?!?!!? I hoped that nearly dying herself would make her realize that she needed to be nicer while she still had time left. No, it just made her more bitter and more cruel. She lost two vertebrae, but now after 8 years is somehow mostly back to normal -but a bit shorter. She doesn’t need a cane or constant pain meds or anything. I feel like she healed just to spite everyone.

And last year, my aunt committed suicide. My dad, who was close to her in college, called me crying that he was so sorry. I could tell that he was drunk, too. He said he would call me every day. Pfft. He didn’t call me for weeks. He didn’t come to the funeral, he didn’t offer to help with anything. Pat-ma called to say she was sorry, too, and sent me a card with $50 in it. It was insulting. She thought that was all she had to do, and suddenly I would like her? She called before my dad did, inviting me to Thanksgiving. I said I was spending it with my mom who flew from California for it and she just said, “Oh, well if you change your mind, it’s at Ryans.” If I change my mind? Why??

A week before my birthday, my dad finally called me. No sign of compassion in his voice, no mention of my aunt’s death, no asking how I was doing. I was doing pretty damn bad, thank you very much. He told me the date that he was driving to pat-ma’s for Christmas. I had rehearsed this in my head many times. “I would love to, but I’m going to be spending my holidays with my other Grandma, considering she just lost a child.” The last part came out real hard. He paused before saying, “well, you seem to forget that you have other grandparents who might not be around much longer!” Sorry, he didn’t say it, he yelled it. I hung up. He called me five more times, texted sometimes. I almost replied to a text the next day, but then he said the same thing as he said on the phone. I’ve been blocking all of their numbers ever since.

Doesn’t stop them from trying, though. It’s mostly pat-ma. My dad has tried a few times, my step-mom has tried, and pat-ma even uses a private number sometimes. Only she leaves messages. They range from “I’m confused why you won’t answer the phone” to a minute and a half of breathing to calling me ungrateful praising herself for “all she’s done for me.” Do you know what all of them have in common? There’s no “We miss you.” No “We love you.” Not even a “please call me back.” Just accusations, guilt tripping, and self-praise.

If I ever talk to them again, they’ll be hearing about how many times they made me want to go the same way that aunty did. I’m on better meds now and can think and talk so much clearer. I’m still a cryer when I’m angry but now it’s obvious when I’m angry.

Oh, I also recently learned that they offered my mom a new car and a huge amount of money to stay with my dad after she had me. I learned how many times they said they were ashamed of me being born out of wedlock. Was it ever my dad’s fault? No, it was my mom’s fault for not marrying him. It was my mom’s fault that he stole money from work when he was making more than enough.

I think that deep down (very very deep), my dad might want to be a good person. A good father. There have been times when he seemed to genuinely care. But growing up with pat-ma for a mother? Holy shit, no wonder the rest of the family is so fucked up and hell bent on making everyone as miserable as they are. Maybe once pat-ma dies, I’ll answer my dad. Maybe then we’ll talk. But as long as pat-ma still has her grasp on everyone, it’s not worth the emotional stress to speak to any of them.

#personal #venting #just another week until I start seeing another counselor

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