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ptersparkers · 4 years

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the art of eating pussy (5)

summary: upon realizing you lack skills in the bedroom when a touron asks you out on a date, you turn to jj, a self-proclaimed sexual deviant, for help.

warnings: smut, y’all.

notes: i haven’t been in the right headspace to right recently and wanted to give my reads something of quality and substance, not something to rush just for satisfaction. behold, chapter five.

co-authored and co-written with @storiesbymads. SHOW MY WIFE SOME LOVE.

add yourself to my taglist + series masterlist

JJ’s hung up.

You’d been spending less time at the Chateau in favor of spending time with Trent since it was the last week that he’d be on the island. His mind was racing, conflicted with the thoughts of your mouth on Trent and his lips on your neck. The night of the party had been the worst moment of the week and his jaw hurt from clenching by the time he ended up crashing out on John B’s couch. JJ always drank to forget and that night wasn’t an exception.

He knew it wasn’t just about sex with you anymore. It wasn’t about the opportunity for him to get off by the hand of someone else. It wasn’t about him taking advantage of you. There was nothing complicated about the two of you in the bedroom.

But outside of the bedroom, JJ’s head was spinning every time you said goodbye or forced him out the door because your parents were home. He didn’t have to think when he was with you; JJ knew what you wanted and knew what to expect. He knew that his time alone with you was the product of these lessons but that didn’t mean he had to think of this time as anything but passionate. When his tongue wasn’t down your throat, he was thinking about the tight feeling in his chest that left him wondering what was going to happen once you told him it was over because he didn’t want this to end.

JJ hadn’t thought about the lessons ending until he saw you tucked underneath Trent’s arm at the party. This whole situation wasn’t friends with benefits and he knew it, which is why it messed with his head so much. Yes, there was the whole “no strings attached” ordeal, but this wasn’t just one of you calling the other for sex. This was much more complicated. You were one of JJ’s best friends but the only difference is you’d seen him naked, intentionally.

His thoughts are preoccupied with the idea that once the lessons end, you might still be with Trent despite him no longer being on the island. JJ would have to go back to being just friends and he’d have to pretend that he never saw you naked. He’d have to pretend he didn’t revel in the thought of you trembling beneath him. The other Pogues, to his knowledge, had no idea that the both of you were fooling around and he didn’t know if it was something he wanted to disclose. On one hand, he wanted a second opinion on whether or not this was something healthy. On the other hand, he knew what they would say; that JJ didn’t care about catching feelings and it was unlikely that he would consider succumbing to being a boyfriend. He knew he’d expressed his disdain for relationships in the past, but now he wasn’t so sure.

You ended up skipping out on the last two beach sessions in favor of Trent. Pope had decided to stay behind on the sand with JJ while Sarah, Kiara, and John B. enjoyed themselves under the warmth of the sun and the contrasting coolness of the ocean waves. Pope could sense something was amiss when JJ was the first to propose having a relaxing afternoon and hadn’t shown up with his surfboard tucked underneath his arm.

“Something’s up,” Pope stated. “Something’s been up for a while and I didn’t want to say anything about it until I knew for sure, but something’s definitely up.” JJ shook his head.

“It’s nothing.” Pope nudged JJ with his shoulder.

“C’mon, man. You don’t want to surf, your mind is a million miles from where you are, and not to mention, this entire week you’ve been moody.”

“I’m not moody,” JJ muttered with a scowl, flicking at a clump of sand near his foot. Pope’s mouth formed a knowing smile. JJ sighed. “Okay, I’ve been moody.”

“What’s up? Is it your dad again?”

“No,” JJ replied softly. “I just think life is bullshit.”

“We all think life is bullshit.”

“Feelings are bullshit.” Pope’s ears perked with interest.

“Feelings?” JJ looked at Pope before looking back at the view in front of him, watching as Kiara had playfully splashed Sarah with ocean water. He wished he could feel that carefree.

“They suck,” he began. “I think it’s stupid that people are allowed to feel something for people and not know if they feel the same.”

“Are you talking about someone?” JJ paused.

“No,” he replied.

“Okay...” Pope trailed off. JJ sighed once more.

“What I’m trying to say, is, I wish we weren’t cursed with not knowing where the lines are blurred and I wish we could all say how we feel without consequence.”

Pope sensed that JJ was trying to speak metaphorically and project his emotions on a secondary situation. He nodded, trying to follow the blond’s train of thought. He pursed his lips as JJ spoke and wanted to understand what he was saying to the fullest extent, but the boy decided to let JJ talk.

“Have you ever thought about getting off this island?” JJ asked after a few moments of silence.

“What kind of question is that?” Pope asked, laughing. “Of course I do.”

“But really,” said JJ. “Not just getting off and seeing what it’s like. I mean, like, what you’re gonna be doing in twenty years and the people who are going to be in your life.”

“Sometimes,” Pope replied with a casual shrug. “I try to take things one day at a time. I never want to overwhelm myself.”

“Lucky you,” JJ muttered. “I see myself off of this stupid fucking island by the time I’m thirty. I don’t want to live in a place where I feel trapped and can’t say what I want to fucking say.”

“I want to be able to forget about the Kooks,” Pope chimed in. JJ nodded. “I kinda want to live in San Francisco.”

“I’d probably live in Europe or something,” JJ said. “Don’t know where but I’d want to experience life as far away from North Carolina as possible.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Pope asked. He knew he wasn’t.

“Yeah, man,” JJ replied. “Just got a lot of things on my mind.”

The idea of fooling around with anyone that wasn’t you hadn’t crossed JJ’s mind. He’d been to Boneyard keggers since the lessons began but the notion of flirting and bringing a girl back to the Chateau was way off his radar. The Pogues didn’t take much notice but JJ wondered if they knew something was amiss or if they’d say something about it if they did. If he was able to realize he hadn’t slept with anyone since he began “teaching” you, then they might have. JJ knew their worlds didn’t revolve around him, and the boy was still as goofy and troublesome as ever, but there was a seeded doubt that made him awkward whenever he was around his friends if you happened to be there.

It wasn’t that his stomach felt queasy or that his heart was racing. He’d be lying to himself if he admitted that. His head was clear when it came to how he felt about you and he wouldn’t hesitate rushing to your house if you called him for another lesson or if you just wanted to kick back with him in your room and jam out to vinyls you pulled out whenever you felt nostalgic. Before, he would never have considered approaching your side of the island but now he didn’t feel as small as he did when he didn’t have a reason to be there. Your parents were familiar with your friends and didn’t mind JJ stopping by, which gave him more of an incentive to visit you when he had had enough of the Chateau and his friends’ loud personalities.

JJ knew his head was clear when it came to how he was feeling. The only part that clouded his judgement was Trent and dealing with the different friendship he’d have with you. He was sure that if the Touron wasn’t in the picture, things would be much easier for him. Trent’s dark and slick hair reminded him of greed and filth. His boisterous personality reminded JJ of everything he never wanted to be and he couldn’t understand why you’d pay attention to him for longer than a quick glance. The Touron was casually cool, the type of person who wanted to say they were able to rub elbows with the socialites of New York City by posting it on his social media accounts. You, on the other hand, were down to earth and courageous about your future potential. He couldn’t fathom why you were so attracted to someone who was your opposite.

Your head had been spinning too. Trent was the perfect gentleman and he hadn’t given you a reason to not trust him. And yet, every moment you spent with him reminded you that you weren’t spending it with JJ. You couldn’t understand why you’d been thinking about his shaggy hair when he wakes up or the way his eyes squint when he laughs a little too hard. Trent was giving you his full and undivided attention, and you always felt guilty when you needed to force yourself back into reality because you had been zoning out, daydreaming of being anywhere else.

But JJ never seemed to be anything other than friendly with you. You opted to disregard how he acted during the lessons, summing that up to pent up sexual frustration and a genuine interest to help you out after years of teasing you. You weren’t completely naive; you knew this was a way for JJ to get himself off, much like it was for you. The only difference between JJ taking advantage of you versus not was the fact that you wanted him to teach you how to make others feel good and how to make yourself feel like a goddess in the bedroom. You weren’t exactly sure why there had been a lack of awkwardness between the both of you despite him being your best friend since birth. There was never a question of doubt from JJ when you asked him to help you learn. There was no laughing when you admitted your lack of knowledge. Perhaps that’s why your initial doubt disappeared the first time he asked you to kiss him.

Trent had apologized for the beach date when he’d gotten startled by strangers parking next to him and promised you he’d make it up to you. He came through on his promise after you got worked up before your dinner date. You arrived at the hotel he was staying at while his father attended an event on the other side of Figure Eight and his hand glided up the side of your dress. Trent wasn’t rough nor was he gentle; he was giving you what you thought you wanted but it didn’t feel as skilled or as tender as when JJ’s fingers were inside of you. With JJ, your orgasm approached as if JJ already knew everything there was to know but Trent took his sweet time making you cum.

You always cursed yourself for letting your mind wander innocuously to JJ when Trent’s lips were on your neck or when his fingers were toying with the hem of your clothing. There wasn’t much going on between you and Trent, sexually, despite him wanting to take it further. You were lucky enough that Trent verbally expressed his willingness to wait, but you wondered if that wait time had an expiration date. You wanted to make sure if it felt right before you were able to deliver on a promise. You knew that your lessons with the blond would come to an end the moment you two had gone all the way, or until you were ready to experience sex without JJ, and you always moved that thought to the back of your mind to avoid thinking about it.

By now, you felt guilty for spending the majority of this week with Trent. Kiara had texted you a few times but understood wanting to spend time with him until he left. As far as you could tell, neither John B. nor Pope cared too much because they were happy their youngest friend was happy with someone. JJ, on the other hand, you couldn’t read. You didn’t understand why it was so difficult for you to reach out to him first or comprehend him, which you were usually good at. Suddenly, you were overthinking the way he talked to you and if he chose to sit next to you or someone else. You were overthinking his lingering gaze either on your thighs or some girl who walked past him with a weird knot in the pit of your stomach.

You kept telling yourself none of that mattered because you had Trent and you were sure you knew how you felt. Trent treated you right, was willing to wait, and never made you feel second best for not being as sexually promiscuous as he was. Yet something was lacking and you couldn’t figure out what it was.

You tried not to think about it on your way to the Chateau. The screen door slammed shut as you walked into the living room to try and save yourself from the downpour of rain. After Trent had dropped you off when his father had called him during the middle of a movie marathon, you opted to see the Pogues and spend some time with them once you realized how many times you had declined their offer to hang out. You saw JJ already sprawled out on the couch, seemingly all by himself.

“John B’s out with Sarah,” he said casually, pushing himself up onto his elbows to give you some room to sit down. You nodded a thank you, crossing your arms over your wet torso in an attempt to warm your shivering body as you sat down. Glancing down at your chest, you silently swore as you noticed your red bra was, in fact, very visible under your white shirt.

“Nice bra,” he chuckled, trying not to ogle too long. JJ hoped his comment didn’t make you feel awkward; he was having a hard time talking to you because he didn’t exactly know where he stood with you.

“Shut up,” you mumbled but you couldn’t help the heat that rose to your cheeks.

“So…” JJ trailed off. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I’ve been good,” you nodded.

“And Trent?” he asked, attempting, and majorly failing, to hide the venom that laced his tongue. You mistook this as annoyance.

“Good,” you said, not wanting to talk about him anymore. JJ cleared his throat, his teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw, as he shifted on the couch so that he was sitting upright and facing you.

“You've been putting my lessons to good use?” he asked. He didn’t know why he’d asked. He had no desire to hear about you with another guy.

“You could say that,” you said. Were you really putting them to good use if you weren’t enjoying yourself with Trent nearly as much as you had been with JJ? You couldn’t tell JJ that Trent’s hands on you just sent your mind spiraling back to him or when Trent’s lips were on yours, it reminded you of that first night you started the whole thing.

“Oh? Does he make you feel good?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Because it’s not worth it if you’re not getting something out of it, too.”

“Uh, well-”

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he asked suddenly. He knew he was asking the question more for himself but he was desperate to have you again. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to show you how a real man treats his girl.

“What?” you were taken aback by the forwardness of his question. You watched as his eyes dilated, flicking back and forth from your lips to your chest.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “You need to be shown what it’s like to be taken care of.”

“But you already-”

“Just let me do this for you,” he snapped. “Please.”

“Okay,” you said before turning your body on the couch to face him. You hadn’t stopped shivering since entering the Chateau not too long ago and your goosebumps increased as you watched JJ move closer to you. He used his right hand to pry your knees apart, positioning himself between them. Your heart rate picked up as he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, the cold air hitting your wet skin when JJ pushed the soaked fabric of your t-shirt up so that it rested just under the hemline of your bra.

“Up,” he mumbled against your lips, the vibrations forcing a soft moan out of you as you broke the kiss to lift your arms above your head. You let out a small laugh when your shirt made a sloshing sound against the ground. It stopped as soon as it started, however, because you felt JJ start applying open-mouthed kisses along your collarbones.

Feeling his body pressed up against yours stirred up all the daydreams you’d had every time you’d gotten intimate with Trent. You’d been in this position before with him, but somehow it felt better without the pretense of a lesson. You were under the guise that this wasn’t just about teaching you what you liked and what you didn’t. Part of you wanted to believe that this was more than a lesson you’d acquire from JJ’s depth of knowledge. JJ’s kisses trailed lower and lower until his teeth started toying with the waistband of your shorts. The throbbing between your legs was growing steadily and you let out a sigh of relief when he finally dipped his fingers into the waistband and tugged the wet shorts down your legs with effort because of the rain, dropping them on the floor with your shirt.

“JJ,” you whimpered as he took his time moving down your body. He slipped his hands under your knees so that he could place them on his shoulders delicately before he laid out on the couch with his face centimeters away from your nearly bare pussy.

He let out a soft laugh in disbelief at how incredibly soaked you already were. It was practically coating your thighs at this point and your cunt was aching in anticipation for his touch. All JJ could think about is how you let another man see you from this point of view, which was enough to give rise to JJ’s ego. His mission was to make you feel so good that you’d think of him the next time Trent put his hands down your pants; he wanted you to remember this moment and know what it was like to be eaten out by someone who was determined to make you orgasm like a holy grail.

JJ’s jealousy didn’t cause him to act rashly and dominate the situation. He started by pressing fluttering kisses to the side of your knee, his eyes flickering up to see you watching him intently. JJ began by tenderly kissing the inside of your thighs, making comments about how soft you are and how you smelled so sweet. He does all he can to make you squirm underneath his touch, loving that your gaze didn’t leave him even if you tried. JJ pressed a kiss to the waistband of your underwear and you whimpered at the thought of him being so close to you in a way that was more intimate than before.

He chuckled when he heard you whimper again and moved his mouth to kiss along your clothed entrance. You knew JJ’s game all too well and you knew he’d take his time teasing you until you were begging for it. It took a while to come to this conclusion, but you figured out that you enjoyed the slow pace before the big finish. JJ had taught you that when you reached an orgasm, it was less about the other party getting off by getting you off. The point of your orgasm was to make you feel like a queen in the bedroom, not like a used toy to get someone else off.

So when JJ used the pad of his index finger to move your underwear aside and toy with your cunt, you didn’t bother begging for his mouth. Instead, you closed your eyes and relished in the feeling of his warm hands on you. JJ looked pleased at your reaction and wanted to make this moment last for as long as he could. His finger moved in slow circles before hitting a sensitive nerve that caused your hips to rise, to which JJ laughed and pinned you down in the cushions.

JJ pressed two delicate kisses on your entrance. His mouth was being coated in your slick and he licked his lips, closing his eyes to savor the way you tasted. His body inched forward in an attempt to be as close to you as possible before licking a stripe with his tongue pressed flat against you, causing you to let out a deep moan in satisfaction.

JJ’s tongue worked like magic, as if he already knew all of your weak spots and was discovering the different sounds you could make by his tongue. His hands were gripping your thighs and his eyes would look at his meal before back up at you, and you had taken the liberty to use your hands to tug on his hair when he had hit a pleasure point.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered against you to himself, proud of how loud and unapologetic you were being. He swore that if the Pogues had walked in the door, he’d stop eating your pussy and show them how pretty you looked underneath him. But he knew they would all be at Kiara’s until the storm passed.

His motions were delicate until he recalled the thought of you and Trent together in bed. His tongue began to dart in and out of you at a faster speed with every increasing thought. Giving Trent a handjob. Trent stripping you out of your bra and underwear. His fingers inside of you. His tongue down your throat. His cock in your mouth. His cock in your - JJ’s - pussy. He knew he was irrational and wrong to think that last thought, but in this moment, your pussy was his for the taking and he was going to make your orgasm like your life depended on it.

JJ’s grip on your thighs became tighter and you felt locked underneath him. Your toes curled and your hips bucked at the pressure and pace at which JJ was eating you out. His head was moving like he was catching every last drop of your wetness before going back for some more. JJ had taken the liberty to lift his head and spit on your entrance before diving back in, his tongue so deep inside of you that you almost considered asking him to use his cock instead.

“JJ,” you muttered, tugging on his hair.

“Just cum, baby,” he urged. “I’m ready for you.”

You obliged and it didn’t take you that long to release. JJ lapped the white pearls that were spilling out of you and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head as he realized this was the first time he was seeing you, and tasting you, from this angle. JJ’s jaw was becoming sore but he paid no attention as your legs spread wider against the couch and your body moved to the rhythm of his tongue.

When you were coming down from your high, JJ couldn’t have imagined anything hotter than the sight and sound before him, but your fingers reached down to your aching core in oblivion and began toying with your clit as your breathing steadied. JJ watched in awe as your fingers moved in slow, delicate and circular motions, your bottom lip in between your teeth and your eyes shut. His mouth hung open at how totally, completely, and utterly fucked you were in this orgasmic haze and was pulled out of this fantasy when you tugged your hand away and reached for a tissue to clean yourself up.

JJ couldn't think of anything to say and neither could you. You settled on watching a movie in silence.

***

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opalesense · 3 years

Text

the last appointment

zhongli & gn!reader

3.4k words • ~25 min. read

summary: as a studious and credible fortune teller in liyue, you discover something about your last client of the week that completely derails your outlook on life.

warnings: liyue arc spoilers, little bit of existential dread, slight mention of family member’s death

notes: might make more parts to this idk? just kinda wanted to dip my toes into genshin writing for the first time!!

LIFE IN LIYUE HARBOUR seemed to be repetitive and mundane. For the past few years, you would wake up, open your fortune telling shop, analyze the futures of your clients using your geomancy, possibly take a stroll around Liyue when you needed to run errands, and then call it a day. You performed the same routine constantly, sometimes travelling beyond the harbor to collect crystals and magical supplies for your shop, but rarely did anything truly change in your routine. If something was off in the slightest, it was never too exciting to note.

As anyone would have suspected, you were tired of your state of limbo in life. Other vision holders seemed to be going on adventures, travelling with companions and exploring the vast mountains and valleys of Teyvat. Other vision holders seemed to be fighting against evil, helping citizens, and saving the world from imminent dangers. You could even recall a recent event where the Qixing had evacuated the harbor to defeat a terrifying sea monster. The Jade Chamber had been sacrificed for the safety of the people of Liyue, and yet here you were, playing with a bunch of rocks for a living. Despite being able to grasp the glowing Geo vision that held your coat together, you could not grasp why you felt doomed to tend to this shop for the rest of your days.

You didn’t know where or how to “start” your life. The small, inherited establishment from your late aunt was located in the small alley of Chihu Rock, practically out of sight from most of the foot traffic in the harbor. Not many people came to visit, though your name was still decently known. In fact, most of your appointments were simply previous clients from your aunt, regulars that relied on her readings for years and believed you were the next best thing after she passed. Especially considering you were the first vision holder in your family, it made your credibility even stronger.

You still remember how you got your vision. The morning after your aunt had passed, the elemental gift somehow made its way into your hand as if the timing was meant to be perfect. You didn’t celebrate such a special and momentous occasion with pride or joy. Your face stiff with tears, you instead reflected on why you received your vision at that moment in the first place. With the shop doors closed upstairs, you gripped your vision and did what you felt needed to be done. With your family’s legacy and tradition on the line, adventuring like other vision wielders was not a priority at the time.

But after years alone of research, a social life consisting only of interacting with customers, and a constant state of grieving the experiences you could’ve had in your youth, you were now in your late twenties and closing the shop for the day. Your last appointment was either extremely late or not showing up at all and you were tired of working today, just like every other day. Regret gripped you tightly as you wondered how you managed to get yourself in such a boring, slow burning loop.

That is until the shop door opened, eliciting a gasp from you at the sudden noise, shattering the previous thought. You accidentally dropped the basket of cor lapis you were refilling and immediately knelt down to pick up the precious pieces that thankfully hadn’t cracked on the way down.

“Hello, [Y/N],” the tall figure practically glided through the doorway, “My deepest apologies for being late.”

He closed the door behind him, “...and for startling you, it seems.”

You sighed, checking for any scratches on the gems and sighed again with relief based on the good results. You grinned to hide the fact you had just been in deep thought. “It’s quite alright, Mr. Zhongli. It’s kind of you to stop by at the very least, even if you’re late.”

Mr. Zhongli was one of your aunt’s longtime clients. Since you were a child, your aunt had always described Mr. Zhongli as a complex yet thoughtful man that had always shown kindness to your family for many years. When Mr. Zhongli learned of your aunt’s death and began to receive readings from you instead, you quickly realized what your aunt meant by calling him complex. Mr. Zhongli was truly a tough nut to crack in every single reading, his sessions taking longer than most other cases. That is why Mr. Zhongli would always offer to take the last spot of the day at the end of every week as to not trouble any of your other clients.

As you took a few of the best cor lapis from the basket, you could see Mr. Zhongli’s acts of kindness and thoughtfulness unfold in front of you. He seemed to carry what was now clearly a gift basket at closer inspection.

“This gift is for you,” Mr. Zhongli took a few steps forward to set the basket on a countertop. “I brought you your favorites. Slow cooked bamboo shoot soup, qingxin, glaze lilies, and all the crystals I could find… needless to say, let this be a token of my appreciation for your patience and hard work from our last few sessions. I know I am not the easiest to read, but you truly have a talent.”

You were speechless at the gesture as your eyes sunk into the intricate detail of the handwoven basket and decorated items inside. No one had ever done something so kind for you in so long. It was astonishing enough that he remembered your favorite soup that you mentioned only once a few months ago, let alone your favorite flowers and crystals as well. “Thank you so much, Mr. Zhongli! I’m at a loss for words – this is so thoughtful of you!”

“I even brought you that Rex Incognito series you had mentioned, although, I am not sure why you would need to read the series when I am fully capable of educating you on the history of Rex Lapis myself,” he flaunted, taking his seat on the cushioned chair in front of the reading table.

“Now, Mr. Zhongli...” you picked out some prithiva topaz from another basket, following the usual protocol you had with such a personalized, frequent client like him. The required materials for his readings were imprinted into your memory like carvings in stone. “You know I don’t want to burden you with my curiosity. And with such an intriguing topic like Rex Lapis... once I start asking questions I’m afraid I will not stop.”

“I have all the time in the world,” he got comfortable in his seat as you sat yourself across from him, “I truly think it would benefit you to discuss the history of Rex Lapis with a learned scholar such as myself. We can even have some tea as we discuss.”

You chuckled at his eagerness. He seemed more forward than usual. “You are too kind, Mr. Zhongli. Perhaps I’ll take that offer someday, but at least let me put those books to good use first. Maybe I won’t need to bombard you with questions if I’m already well briefed on the subject.”

He sighed happily. “You make a good point. And you will enjoy them, I’m sure.”

You settled into your seat as you arranged the crystals between the two of you. “The usual for tonight?”

“Yes, please.”

Your hands meticulously placed the last crystal in its spot on the surface. You closed your eyes and hovered your hands above the rocks, clearing your mind to make way for the usual reading: a reflection on the past, any significant events of the present to focus on, and some insight into the future. You held this hand gesture for awhile, letting the energy from the rocks lift into the air and envelop your gloved palms. When you felt there was enough energy to work with, you opened your eyes to reveal the manifestation of his thoughts in front of you, able to take its physical form using the powers from your glowing vision.

No one had ever taught your this skill, not even your aunt. If you had to bloat your own ego, one could say you invented this Geo fortune telling process yourself. The process indeed came to you naturally, a true display of pure talent.

You slowly lifted your hands to allow the visual manifestation to settle on the table among the gems so Mr. Zhongli could watch his reading unfold in front of him as well.

“Let us analyze the past first,” he spoke, already knowing the routine without you needing to ask him where to start. You slowly waved your hands as if you were digging a hole in sand on a beach, the manifestation displaying ambiguous patterns that wouldn’t make sense to any commoner’s eyes but could be interpreted easily by yours.

Two pairs of focused eyes fixated on the picture as you spoke your mind out loud. “You have recently given up something extremely important to you, it seems. I see you handing over something… small, physically, yet unbelievably significant and personal. I can’t tell what it is exactly, only that it glows like the sun with its energy. But you have handed this important object over to a very... evil... figure?” you cocked your eyebrow, confused. “You seem to be brooding over the fact that its aura is dark with malicious intentions.” You hesitated, “Well, that can’t be right, can it?”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, that is indeed what happened recently. But it had to be done.”

“Didn’t we talk about a similar situation in a previous reading? If I remember correctly, I thought I had advised you to not give up whatever that object was.”

“I am aware of the consequences that will follow. Especially with your future guidance, I’m sure the events following this one questionable decision will unfold in a better way soon enough.”

“I will always be here to help you, Mr. Zhongli. But please be careful in the future with these decisions. The importance of this object seems to be off the charts.”

He nodded. “It is as you say. Please, have faith in me now. I cannot change what happened in the past, after all.”

You hovered over this image of the sacrifice. You couldn’t make out what this object was, no matter how close you tried to inspect it. It had the likings of a chess piece, but surely this wasn’t simply a chess piece, was it?

“Let us move on, if that is alright with you,” his low voice cut the silence.

You wiped the image from your mind and waved your hands again, as if you were slowly putting the sand back into the hole you dug before. If the last image wasn’t enough bad news, this new one that formed was even more painful to witness.

“You have been grieving your losses very recently,” you said gently. “Your mind is currently weighed down by your past. I see you looking out at the sea in deep thought. There are flashes of…”

You stopped as you inspected the graphic images that suddenly appeared beyond your hands. You gasped at the terrifying horrors.

“What is it?” the low voice tried to search for understanding of what you were seeing. Even though the image was clearly laid out in front of him, it was still too ambiguous to tell when he lacked your years of experience.

“There are flashes of war,” your breath stifled as you watched his thoughts splayed out in images of lifeless bodies and destruction. “Very graphic details of war and death. Mr. Zhongli, I believe this image of suffering has been weighing over your mind like an anchor in the sea.”

He paused to process your comparison. “That is... a very good way to put it.”

“Though, I believe that despite the sorrow that emanates in this image, you are in a state of relief and tranquility. It seems you are grieving, but you are simultaneously at peace,” you hesitated again, “Yet I wonder what these graphic images of war are meant to represent. Surely we are not in an actual war, are we? Perhaps you are at war with your past, wanting to move on but haunted by your memories?”

Mr. Zhongli unfortunately knew the images you were seeing were, in fact, real events he had experienced in his life time and the truth was that lately he had been reminiscing on these events. Mortal life is kind to humans for them to be blissfully unaware and carefree of these harsh realities, he internally commented.

He still put your analysis into thought, though.

“I am haunted, indeed. I have been attempting to come to terms with my troubled past, just as you advised me only a few weeks ago. I have tried to follow your guidance, and although they resurface what I have been trying to repress, I believe I am coming to peace with what happened.”

You grinned. “That is very good to hear, Mr. Zhongli. I believe you are currently making good progress when it comes to moving on. Just remember that it is okay to remember your sorrow. Let your emotions pass through you instead of repressing them or rushing to move on. It is okay to take your time and let the thoughts bubble inside of you for awhile.”

He closed his eyes as you continued, letting your advice seep in. You continued. “Imagine the stillness of the sea. Many creatures and lost remnants take their place in the depths of the waters, but on the surface we see constantly moving yet serene waves wash over what is hidden below. Your memories are there to stay, Mr. Zhongli. But your present self, the surface of the water, can peacefully coexist with whatever is hiding deep within. Let these thoughts weigh you down momentarily, but rest assured, you will find balance and acceptance in due time.”

His eyes fluttered open as he reflected over your words. You always seemed to know what to say. “Your words have truly resonated with me, [Y/N]. And you are absolutely correct. I have been fighting these memories to avoid the pain, but it had not dawned on me that sorrow is... what I am meant to feel, not push away. I suppose your advice has put my mind at a bit more ease, and I suppose I am focusing too much on when I will be able to move on rather than allowing my thoughts to coexist for a moment.”

“Now you’re getting it,” you grinned with the relief that washed over his face.

“Shall we move on?” he offered.

You got to work on the last segment of the reading. If manifesting the other images didn’t take long enough, reading one’s future always took the longest. Interpreting an event that hasn’t happened yet always made you a bit nervous with your words. You never wanted to let a client down with an inaccurate reading.

On the contrary, this reading, despite taking quite awhile to appear on the surface on the table, was very clear.

“That is undoubtedly an image of me,” your eyes glazed over the facial features of the person in the manifestation. “I apologize for the delay, Mr. Zhongli, I must have accidentally let my thoughts seep into yours–“

“Do not fret, I believe this is accurate,” he interrupted. “Keep going.”

Your perplexed expression remained as you continued the reading. “I am admittedly stumped. There is nothing left in this image. I suppose it is simply me standing in what looks like some ruins. I am holding a staff, or some kind of long object.” You paused to think out loud. “Why am I in your reading? What could this possibly mean?”

Mr. Zhongli chuckled as you thought out loud. “Perhaps this is a good time to tell you why you are in my thoughts.”

“I’d love to hear it, I have never appeared in someone’s reading in my last decade and a half of experience. This is quite unique.”

He folded his hands in his lap, “For some reason, I have had this strange vision of training you. I’m not sure why, since you don’t seem like the fighting type, but there is some voice inside me that is telling me you are destined for something great and i need to take some part in it. What do you think, now that you see this vision as well?”

Your eyebrows rose in shock. “Training me? I guess this does relate to something I have been pondering as of late. I do not want to lay out my troubles on you though, my job is to interpret your life, not mine.”

“Our lives have clearly intertwined in this vision,” he insisted, “Please do not hold back for my sake. I have the time.”

You thought for a moment. How could you form the words without seeming too selfish? How could you maintain professionalism by talking about your personal problems?

“I am not the fighting type, Mr. Zhongli. Though, lately I have been quite depressed about the fact that I am not doing as much with my vision as other vision holders are. My life is uninteresting. The truth is that I am a simple fortune teller that plays with rocks. I hope you can understand why I am failing to interpret this reading,” you apologized. “It’s because this doesn’t seem characteristic of me at all. And with all due respect, after giving you readings for years, I would have never guessed you were versed in combat to train me!”

He chuckled. “I respectfully disagree. To tell you the truth, your talents surpass the abilities of many other vision holders. Not everyone can read thoughts or tell the future. Now that I mention it, I know of one talented astrologist in Mondstadt, but think about that. You are one in hundreds of thousands in Teyvat,” he reassured. “You did not receive your vision for no reason and I truly believe you are destined for something big. I regret not being able to realize this before.”

“How are you so sure of this? I would love to believe you, but I’m afraid I am not destined for much, really. Again, I am simply a fortune teller. What could I possibly do for Liyue other than read some rocks?”

He sighed and connected his palms with yours, interrupting the reading and wiping the manifestation off the table. The hovering crystals dropped onto the surface, making you gasp at the sudden sound.

“I am not who you think I am,” his amber eyes finally met yours for the first time this evening, which sent a chill down your spine. “Promise me you will not fret, for what I am about to show you may shock you.”

“What do you mean? What are you doing, Mr. Zhongli?” you slightly panicked as he firmly grasped your hands.

Suddenly, the room was engulfed in golden light that emitted from the seat across from you. Scattered, distorted images of a mystical dragon, a devastating war, and seven seats in Celestia flashed across your eyes as you stared at the beams of light. Death seemed to swallow you, but not take you. The baskets of crystals around the room shook with the surge of energy. The world seemed to destroy itself then remake itself over and over again within fleeting moments. These thousands of years of memories made your body tremble. It all happened within fleeting moments, and after a few seconds of your senses being overwhelmed, you finally pulled yourself together and connected the dots.

His expanded knowledge of Liyue’s history. The sudden gift of your vision immediately after your aunt passed. Grieving his losses and having flooded thoughts of war and death. Offering combat training. Remembering your favorites the same way he would remember Liyue’s customs and traditions. His glowing amber eyes alone.

Mr. Zhongli was the God of Contracts and overseer of Liyue. Rex Lapis, a being that lived for millennia, sat in the seat across from you. He had been posing as a mere mortal for years, taking readings as if he were any normal customer. The realization shook you to your core as you sat there bewildered, grateful, and horrified at the same time.

He let go of your hands after seeing that the information successfully processed in your mind. He saw something in you that was yet to be awakened, where the sky was the limit under your own expectations. This daydream of his was no simple vision – it was a calling. Internally, whether you agreed to it or not, he vowed that he would not leave your life until your true destiny was fulfilled.

He would see this vow fulfilled by offering you a contract that would change the course of your life forever.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #rex lapis #mine #boom #genshin impact x reader

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 3 years

Text

Lunch- Jasper Badun x OC

Jasper Badun x Angela Young

Description: Jasper takes Angela to lunch, where they learn something interesting about each other.

Word Count: 2.3k

“The full moon's bright. And starlight filled the evening,” came Elton John’s smooth chorus from the radio hanging on the wall of 2nd Time Around. It would have brought a smile to Angela’s face if that hadn’t been the sixth time she heard it in the past two hours. Artie had recently purchased Elton John’s latest album ��Captain Fantastic and the Dirt Brown Cowboy” and he brought it into the shop so Angela could listen to it as well. Only problem is their radio seemed to be having problems with it, that song after every other one. At first Angela thought it was just a hiccup, but this was starting to get ridiculous.

“Artie, it’s playing that song again,” she complained, leaning against the counter.

“Hitting it seems to help,” came her boss’s voice from the back room, where he was putting price tags on some new stock. “There’s no one here, just hit it until it skips.” Angela looked around, noting that he was right about both things. She was glad that the store was empty, ever since Cruella revealed that Artie and Angela worked for her at the party she threw, people were more eager to visit their shop. Today was Sunday, no one usually shops on Sundays so today was the first day that Artie and Angela could relax and sort of restock.

Still, that didn’t make her want to do this any less. The girl groaned internally and grabbed the stepladder, setting it up under where the radio hung on the wall. She carefully climbed the steps until she was face to face with that stupid machine and began hitting it in an attempt to make it work properly, trying to ignore the blaring music going straight into her ears.

“We wrote it and I played it, Something happened it's so strange this feeling, Naive notions that were childish,” Elton continued to sing, successfully covering up the sound of bells jingling, signaling that someone had walked in.

“Just skip already you stupid radio,” she grumbled, annoyed. The radio didn’t care about the insult, continuing to play that infernal song.

“Simple tunes that tried to hide it, But when it comes, We all fall in love sometimes.” She groaned loudly, getting ready to hit the machine again when a voice came from behind her.

“I don’t know, I actually found that song quite good,” Jasper spoke, hands going into the pockets of his jacket casually. Angela nearly fell off the ladder, having not heard him enter the store, then faced him.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” she greeted, climbing down the ladder and straightening out her dress. “Welcome to 2nd Time Around. I’m Angela, or Angel as in: sent from above.” She gestures to her body with a bright smile.

“That was cute,” Jasper commented with a small smile. “Did Artie come up with that one for you?” Angela nodded.

“I felt a bit left out since he had that ‘Art, as in: work of’ line so he helped me out,” she explained, moving the ladder. “What can I help you with? We just got new stock from Dior, Chanel, and even Saint Laurent. From casual looks for lunch or suits for going out on the town, we have it all,” she explained, gesturing to several racks around them. Jasper let her do her whole spiel, knowing how much she loved coming up with stuff like that, before shaking his head.

“Well I didn’t originally come here for clothes but it seems that your customer service has changed my mind,” he said, making her giggle. “That can come later though. It’s nearly time for your lunch break so I figured I’d take you out to lunch.” Angela smiled internally, touched that he remembered such mundane things in her schedule.

“Well, let me just go click out and I’ll be ready,” she responded happily. He nodded and waited patiently as she walked to the back room, informing Artie that she was going on her lunch break, before clocking out and grabbing her coat. She slipped it on as she walked out.

“Wow, nice coat,” Jasper complimented, making her blush.

“Well thank you, I designed it myself.” She spread her arms out and turned to show him the entire thing.

“Beautiful,” he spoke softly before holding out his hand. “Ready to go?” She took his hand with a nod then called a bye to Artie as they walked out.

“So, how has it been living at ‘Hell Hall’?” She asked as they began walking down the sidewalk. Of course Artie and Angela stopped by Cruella’s new estate for work, but that’s just what it was. Jasper and Horace didn’t like to interrupt the dressmakers while they were working. There was a fashion show coming up so they had to get everything done as soon as possible. With all the chaos at the shop and at Hell Hall, the new couple had no time to see each other. It was surprising to Angela that her boyfriend had come by in fact. This was the first time in a week and a half that they truly got to see each other, and Angela wanted to make that time count. Jasper wrapped the arm closest to her around her shoulders and his other hand went into his coat pocket while hers went into her jacket’s pockets.

“Strange,” he answered honestly. “I lived in that cramped house for 23 years, I had the chance to get used to it. Now, I could get an entire floor of this huge mansion to myself if I just say the word. And yes, Cruella has tried.”

“You’re not used to having so much space,” Angela clarified. The man nodded.

“Exactly. Horace and Estella were always within arm’s reach in case something happened,” he continued. “Now it takes a commute to find either of them. I just- I don’t know…I kind of wish things were how they were. Before I got Estella the job at Liberty, before Estella became Cruella.” He looked at his girlfriend once he finished his rant. She hummed then gave him a patient smile.

“Things like this take some getting used to Jas. You’re a creature of habit, of course you’re not going to get comfortable right away. And that’s okay, I know that Cruella and Horace understand. And about Cruella, she’s always been there from what I understand. She was going to come out no matter what, it was only a matter of time when. She was like a ticking time bomb, but we all still love her either way. That’s what matters, right?” Jasper sighed, he had a love/hate relationship with her logical thought process.

“Besides,” she added. “If you hadn’t gotten her the job at Liberty, she wouldn’t have met Artie and I. Then you would never have met me.” That was enough for Jasper to look at her once more with his usual adorkable smile.

“You’re right. I’d rather die than to never have met you,” he muttered sincerely. Angela smiled and stretched just enough to kiss his jawline.

After walking a few more minutes Jasper finally opened the door of a small restaurant in a shopping strip for her and led her inside. Lunch went by rather quickly, and before they realized, the check had been placed in front of them. Angela went to grab it but Jasper handed the money to their waiter without hesitation. Their waiter thanked them and walked away to put it up, leaving Angela to jokingly glare at her boyfriend.

“Jasper I could have paid, you know,” Angela scolded softly.

“I wanted to wait for us to go on a date so that I could be the one to pay for it, Angela. Like a gentleman, you know. I have the chance to do that now, so please let me.” The girl quieted immediately. She hadn’t thought about that. Rather than responding, she only thanked him and switched the conversation, much to his relief.

“Well, I still have twenty minutes left of my lunch break. What do you say to a small stroll?” She questioned as they stood in unison.

“Sounds great love,” he responded, taking her hand and walking out. They walked a few minutes until they ended up in front of what both of them recognized as Liberty, where a worker was setting up the new display case.

“Oh man, this reminds me of a few months back before I met you guys,” Angela reminisced with a smile. “I was passing by here on my way to work and there was a girl who got drunk and messed up the display case with trash. Man, did the manager look mad.” She laughed, harkening back to that day.

It had seemed like a normal day, since Angela lived so close to 2nd Time Around she usually just walked there everyday. She remembered how hot it was, so she wore short overalls on top of a yellow shirt. On her way there, she passed by the Liberty store, but paused when she noticed a few people crowding the display. That, of course, piqued her interest and she pushed her way to the front, apologizing every few seconds.

There was a woman with red hair who seemed to be asleep on the floor of the display case, empty trash bag in one hand and an almost empty bottle of what looked like whiskey in the other. The man beside her stepped forward and knocked on the window, jolting her awake.

“Why’d you go and sleep in a window?” Someone on the other side of the knocking man questioned dumbly. Oh, Angela had to show this to Artie. Carefully, she took her camera out of her bag and snapped a few pictures shortly before the manager walked out and grabbed her. Angela took the time to check her watch, and her eyes widened. She was going to be late! Before anyone could do anything else a car came screeching to a halt just outside the store, making everyone turn around. And, that was Angela’s cue to leave. She began pushing past people, knocking someone over almost immediately.

“Ah! Bloody hell!” The man groaned out upon hitting the ground.

“Sorry!” She called apologetically, though she didn’t turn back as she ran the rest of the way to work.

While she reminisced, Jasper stopped in his steps, thinking back to when Estella had done that.

“Wait, were you wearing denim overalls that day?” He questioned. Angela was confused by this, but quickly understood where he was getting at and looked at him with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re the guy that I ran into after the Baroness arrived!” She exclaimed.

“You’re the one who snapped a picture of Estella then fell into me!” He responded in the same tone with a toothy grin.

“Did we seriously meet before we actually met?” She asked with amused disbelief. Jasper shook his head, feeling the same way as her by the looks of it.

“I cannot believe this,” he chuckled as they continued their walk.

“I still have the picture of that,” Angela mentioned. “It’s in my camera roll, I haven’t gotten the film developed though.”

“You know what, I can and will personally go with you to get it developed. That would be wonderful blackmail.” The girl shook her head at that.

“You’re bad,” she answered, though she couldn’t help but smile.

“I guess so.” They walked back to the shop, making pleasant conversation. That stopped when they stepped inside and saw Artie talking to someone very familiar.

“Hello Cruella,” Angela greeted chirpily, unlinking her arm from Jasper’s. “I didn’t know you were coming by. Lots of surprises today.” She took her coat off and began walking to the back room.

“Thought I’d come see how 2nd Time Around was doing now that you guys have publicity. Artie tells me you two have been working overtime,” Cruella responded, resting on her cane. “You could have told me, I wouldn’t have worked you to the bone after work every night.”

“Yes, almost two hundred customers a day,” Artie added. Jasper’s eyes widened as Angela walked back out.

“Two hundred? How are you two still alive?”

“Lots of determination,” Artie responded simply.

“And our new coffee machine,” Angela added, leaning against the counter. Jasper rubbed her back soothingly.

“Well, you guys are closed on Mondays, right? Why don’t you two come over, we’ll have a small sleepover and you guys can sleep in luxury. No offense.” Angela pursed her lips.

“None taken. I think.” Cruella’s usual smirk settled on her face once more.

“Great. I’m sure Jasper doesn’t mind driving down here once you close. Until then I have a few more stops to make. Come on Jasper.” She began walking out, pausing in the doorway to wait for him.

“Come back soon,” Angela spoke softly.

“Of course,” he responded with a sincere smile. “I still have some shopping to do and I heard there was a very cute worker here.”

“I would say that you’re referring to me, but I think that would ruin the moment, huh?” Artie joked, making the others laugh. Jasper shook his head amusedly and leaned down a bit to give Angela a quick kiss goodbye then began following his friend. The two waved as they watched them walk out, then they heard Elton John’s voice ring out once again.

“Wise men say, It looks like rain today,” the same song started for the seventh time.

“Want me to have a go at it?” Artie questioned knowingly.

“No,” Angela shook her head, surprising Artie though she couldn’t see it as her eyes were still trained on the door her boyfriend just left though. “It’s starting to come around for me.”

#Cruella 2021 #cruella #jasper badun #jasper badun x oc #jasper badun fanfiction #jasper badun fanfic #jasper badun imagine

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jungwon-crush · 3 years

Text

(2) home - enhypen

youtube

(listening to the song while reading the chapter is recommended~)

in a long straight path, there lined eight houses, every two faced each other. this was what i considered my neighborhood.

the houses looked completely worn out. there were still leftover hopscotch marks in the grubby street that separated the houses, and several cracks lined the outer front walls of the homes.

i hastily ran out of one of those houses, and onto the narrow roadway. i was in a bit of a hurry - i decided to wash myself before going to sunghoon's place because the field made me feel sticky, which means i took an extra amount of time to get ready.

as i left my terrace, i heard gates clambering to my right side.

"oh, you're late too." niki pointed out as i approached him.

"didn't know you were going to eat at sunghoon's as well."

"sunoo ran out of food," niki crankily replied, "and everyone else is having dinner there anyway, so why not? it's free carbonara, might as well take the chance because sunghoon never shares anything unless his mom forces him to."

i gasped, "the others are there too-"

"hell yeah! goo goo ga ga hoon waaaah go cry about it! we're all going to drain your food supply tonight!" niki said as he childishly hopped up and down.

"niki, please don't be too happy. there will be three people slaughtering us tonight." i shivered at the thought while we both started to walk towards sunghoon's house at the end of the pavement.

jake, heeseung, and jungwon hate waiting for people in order to eat. they're literally a foodie trio, they get grumpy when they can't have their meals right away. they also tend to blame their hysteria on the people they're waiting for. the word blame is an understatement, heeseung takes food a bit too seriously for a twenty year old.

usually, they just go ahead if they get impatient.

however, sunghoon's flight-attendant mom is supposedly back home tonight. our parents have created this sort of rule that we have to eat all-together. this rule stems from when seven year old me threw a tantrum when i found out that the boys ate fried chicken without me, so we've been kind of following it for most of our lives because the elders get upset if one of us has a temper.

niki added, "actually, four people will have ideas that involve murdering us tonight. well honestly- only three for me. four for you."

i stopped in my tracks, "what the hell are you on about?"

"jay doesn't like when others take his stuff and wear it without his permission.."

clothes. niki was referring to my clothing. i looked down just to realize that i was wearing an oversized t-shirt that had 'park 02' printed on it. it was jay's custom tee from high school.

was i in such a rush that i didn't even register that i put on jay's shirt that i had secretly stolen?

"niki- you dumbass! why would you tell me this now? we just reached sunghoon's!" i yelled at the lanky being while i harshly slapped his abdomen.

"oh so i'm the dumbass? that's what you get for being an idiot, i can't believe you're a senior!" he yelled back at me.

i rolled my eyes and hit him one more time in the gut before taking position behind him as we slipped into the entrance of sunghoon's humble abode.

"using me as a shield won't do you any help." niki sneered while he opened the front door.

i wretchedly threw my head back and followed niki's back into the wood-paneled parlor. a chatter of voices could already be heard.

we moved past a set of stairs, and eventually winded up where the dining room was.

six people, who were previously facing each other and conversing, turned towards the direction niki and were coming from. they were seated at an old-fashion table with eight cushioned chairs. four individuals were settled on the side of the table that could see the room's entrance, while two people had their back facing niki and i as we arrived.

i scanned the room and surprisingly, nobody wore an irked look.

"byeol! looking good!" a puppy-like boy grinned. at that, i made my way towards him and teasingly pulled at his dark hair. jungwon, who sat beside him, elbowed his arm and mumbled something that sounded similar to "jake, focus on your food".

sunoo gleefully waved his hands then patted the seats beside him, gesturing for niki and i to sit there. the two of us shuffled and took our seats.

i found myself directly next to sunoo, with niki at the left end of the table facing heeseung.

i wrapped my arms around sunoo, he returned my actions and drew nearer to me which made our cheeks squish against each other. i creaked, "sunoo, my only source of sunshine! how are you? it's been a while."

"it has been way too long! i have been suffering lately- because of this moron called sunghoon! for the past hour he has been talking about how he received five confessions today even though it's only the second week of him attending college. my ears are so close to falling off!" sunoo wailed dramatically.

i hugged him tighter and jokingly sniffled, "i'm so sorry, sunoo... i can't imagine what you've been going through."

while i was comforting the poor boy, a hoarse voice sarcastically rang out, "i apologize for sharing my experience of being a really attractive, warm-hearted, and extremely smart person."

i let go of the hug and looked at the being past sunoo, "you don't need to ask for forgiveness. i think we all know that you don't have any three of those qualities, so what's the point in saying sorry?"

sunghoon just scowled as a response.

heeseung snickered at our exchange before his expression became serious, "start eating, byeol. the vegetables are gonna get cold."

i titled my head in confusion. wait what? i internally thought, did he just say vegetables?

i peered at the middle of the table, where an empty bowl with remaining white sauce stood alongside a plate filled with greens.

"you guys ate without-"

"yeah, byeol. you and niki were an hour late.. what did you expect-"

i cut jungwon off, "you were the one who told me there was gonna be carbonara! and now there's none? you could have made sure that heeseung and jake wouldn't hog it all for themselves!"

jungwon bit his lower lip guiltily, "i tried... but you know how they are."

niki shook his head as he grabbed the salad, "disappointed, but not surprised."

he put some vegetables onto my plate, then took the leftovers for himself. i began to bitterly munch it while making weird faces.

"i swear they're no older than six." jay whined. "also, byeol, is that not my shirt you're wearing?" he continued.

"now now jay, it is not the time to get mad at byeol. she 's already irritated, so she'll bite back even more." heeseung advised as if he was talking about an animal.

jay annoyingly pointed at me, "you're not getting away with this type of stuff next time."

i glanced at heeseung and gave him a quick thankful look. he gave a small smile back.

"considering you guys went ahead, is your mom not here, hoon?" niki probed.

"she's out running errands, won't be back until 10." sunghoon answered.

from there, the usual night-time conversation started. we discussed about the coffee shop heeseung was running, lutton high rumours, and how jake was unexpectedly doing well with girls in college too?

"did you know that i got invited to 3 dinner dates today? hoon's not the only one attracting ladies in the university of lutton." jake smirked.

"you should have went to one then." sunoo and i retorted at the same time. we playfully nudged each other.

"well, i was going to! until i heard that byeol was joining us for dinner tonight, she hasn't eaten with us for the past week!" jake countered.

jungwon's eyes flickered to mine while i told half of the truth, "sorry, i've been tired from school recently."

niki's eyes went wide, "oh right! you're still in the photography club? i heard hwang intak's the president this year!"

"who's hwang intak?" sunghoon strangely asked. he was rarely curious about others apart from us.

jungwon and jake's ears perked up at the question as well.

"lutton high's new it boy, also known as your replacement. except he's like ten times more friendly than you." sunoo taunted.

"yeah, right." sunghoon scoffed.

jay began to clap his hands and wheeze, "i thought the girls there would be heartbroken when sunghoon graduated. they move on quickly!"

"he's actually really nice though," i insisted, "during our club meetings, he always allows me to do homework before taking pictures. he even offers to help sometimes even though he's in a different section. i wonder why."

jungwon interrupted, "he's probably one of those overly kind people."

i shrugged, " i guess? i'm the only senior in the club apart from him, so he probably understands how i feel overwhelmed with assignments and stuff-"

"or," niki interjected, "he's into byeol!"

jungwon flashed a glare at niki.

niki responded with a face that said, "what?"

heeseung pondered out loud, "that may be true, i did something similar with the girl i liked when i was part of the student council."

sunoo's mouth was agape, "ahhhhhh! that explains why he comes into our class and studies with byeol sometimes during our free periods! it all makes sense!"

"who in their right mind would actually be interested in the lunatic?" sunghoon remarked.

"you've got to admit that she occasionally looks cute."

sunghoon's ears tinged red, "jake..." he paused, "n-no i don't think that she's-"

"i'm just saying!" jake hollered as he pushed back his hair.

"can everyone shut up for a second? you guys are being overdramatic. school just started last week- how can he like me in a span of fourteen days?" i exhaustedly let out, ignoring jake's comment.

"you never know how someone truly feels byeol, you never know.." niki uttered.

i slapped his knee aggressively, "what do you know about love, niki?"

"trust me, i know more than you." he replied, his eyes fixed on something behind me.

i let out a final huff of annoyance. i always question how i managed to survive eighteen years with these brats.

"shoot, it's already 9:30! i'm gonna go to bed, i have early morning classes tomorrow. and so do you jake." jay got out of his seat and waved his hand at us as he left the room.

"tsch, i guess i'll get going too." jake said as he started bidding goodbyes. when he got to me, he pinched my cheeks hardly and ran out of the room with a cheeky smile before i could chase after him.

i rubbed the area where he pinched, whispering exaggerated cries of how much it hurt.

"i think it's time we all go, it's getting late. you guys still have school tomorrow, and i have to open up the café." heeseung stood up and clapped everyones shoulders.

"don't stay for too long!" he finally said as he exited.

niki ridiculed, "yes, father heeseung!"

"hey, is anyone going to watch the game tomorrow?" sunoo inquired. there was only five of us remaining. "i don't want to go alone."

"i have to go, the photography club needs to take pictures of the game." i nodded

sunoo put his two hands into a prayer position, "oh, thank the lord!"

"i'm coming too, a few of my classmates are players." niki said as he was beginning to leave, "jungwon and sunghoon, you guys should come along too, since you two are so curious about photography club president intak."

after saying that, the younger boy immediately took his leave. he didn't wait for any comments, he just yelled, "see you, tomorrow!" before he slammed the doorway.

sunghoon pointed out, "i think he left straight away because jungwon had a knife ready in his hand."

"no doubt about it, hoon." i said as i looked at an annoyed jungwon who was gripping his utensil in a very uncivil way.

"i'll come, unlike those biophysics majors, i don't have any classes tomorrow."

sunoo hooted, "good! that's good, hoon! how about you, wonnie?"

jungwon sighed, "fine. now we're done here. i'll walk you home, byeol."

sunghoon chimed, "walk her home? she lives down the street..."

jungwon pretended that he didn't hear sunghoon and moved over to me. he tried pulling me out of my place while i held onto sunoo's arm, "i'll go home only if sunoo's sleeping over! my dad's at the city again!"

"i'll stay at your house tonight, byeol! don't worry."

i let jungwon pull me up, while sunoo followed suit.

"your dad's not here again?"

"i just said that, hoon." i put my arms around sunoo and jungwon and started leading us out of the house.

"just know you can come over anytime- like always!" he called out in an uneasy tone from the dining area.

"noted!" i yelled back before sunoo closed the door behind us.

"my legs are tired, can someone carry me?" i immaturely begged.

"really? they're worn out from sitting down for two hours?" jungwon declared.

"let the girl be! you can piggyback on wonnie, byeol." sunoo beamed while ushering me to get on jungwon's back.

regardless of his displeasure, jungwon crouched down.

i jumped onto the rear part of his figure and wrapped my arms around his neck. he jumped a little as he made his posture straight again, "i actually need to stop babying you."

"i'm pretty sure you said that yesterday too." sunoo chuckled as we plodded back to my house.

taglist: @wonwobbles

a/n: this chapter is pretty long compared to the first one, so im a little proud of it! i wanted to show how byeol banters with the others and how their characters react to certain stuff to show their personality!!! heheheheh

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fishmongeringstudies · 3 years

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the year i turned twenty i stopped waiting for someone to save my life and started eating more vegetables

in the winter of 2018 i got a root canal done on the molar in the upper left-hand corner of my mouth. it had been on the verge of death for a while now; two years prior to that a visiting government-sponsored school dentist had taken a look at it, frowned, and then spent the next two hours wheedling all the rot out of that tiny black hole with a drill. unfortunately the solution he imposed was both extremely painful and temporary, and so two years after the initial incident i found myself once again at the dentist's (this time at a clinic; school dentists don't like to deal with the extra-gritty stuff and are not paid enough to do so). they stuck a needle in my gum, numbed three-quarters of my mouth, then drilled a hole through the center of my tooth and ripped the withering shred of nerve-tissue right out of it.

my dentist helpfully explained all of the above to me during our consultation session in the same office in which he would rip the top half of my tooth off a week later. he was a balding, smiling man whose speech did not, unlike many medical professionals i had met over the years, have an edge of condescension to it. i liked him. i would have liked him more were he not planning to essentially castrated my tooth.

several weeks later i went to another dentist who specialized in helping people in post-root canal limbo, and she stuck a shiny metal crown on what was left of my molar. we then scheduled a series of check-ups to ensure that the crown had not flown off its liege while i attacked an ice cube or something similarly bad for my teeth and mental health, which stretched on for so long that she became, more or less, my primary dental care physician. at first the check-ups were a month apart. then two. time passed. her hair grew longer and our conversations less awkward; she was beautiful and snarky and looked like she would shoot god without hesitation if he stepped into range of her gun. she wore her hair short, red tinged with gold, in a pixie-cut that fell over half of one eye. for a while i thought i was in love with her.

'do you floss?' she asked me on my second check-up.

'no,' i said.

'well.' she broke off a length of dental floss and began to wind it around her fingers. it looked like a death threat and she looked ready to kill, though her eyes were smiling. 'you should.'

for the first year after having an utterly destroyed tooth brought back from the brink of death via a grisly temporary solution that would, at best, buy me one or two decades of peace, i didn't. i didn't floss because when she did it for me in her tiny examination room my gums bled so much it took hours for me to wash the bitter taste of iron out of my mouth. blood is a nice concept and a nicer motif in writing. but it smells awful, and it's worst on the tongue. so i didn't floss my teeth, and i went through life with the kind of casual detached disinterest with which i had approached most things up until then. at my next check-up she asked once again if i had been flossing and i lied that i had. after poking and prodding around in my mouth for a few minutes and taking a scan for good measure she gave me a look and said dryly, 'you haven't been flossing at all, have you.'

disappointing your parents, your favorite high school english teacher, or even your best friend is nothing compared to the sheer embarrassment that comes from knowing your beautiful dentist asked you to do the bare minimum, and you failed to deliver. her voice was arid but we had known each other for long enough by then for me to detect a thin undercurrent of disappointment. i had done it. i had lost the support of the only person in my life who could be counted on to support me. because i paid her for her services. and she was also very funny in a quiet sarcastic way. and she was beautiful.

having had my ego wounded beyond description i resolved to floss from then on and succeeded in dragging my poor aching gums past the bleeding stage to a point where they were merely post-workout sore. then i lost interest and forgot about the white, sterile-smelling clinic that was a fifteen minutes' drive from my house and the little pack of dental floss on the bathroom counter faded into obscurity. two weeks before my next appointment in 2020, an alarm on my phone went off to inform me of the approaching day of judgment. i panicked.

'have you been flossing?' my dentist asked as i lay back in the faded green chair and she put on a pair of new gloves.

'yeah,' i said.

five minutes later, she removed her army of dentistry equipment from my mouth with a satisfied hum. 'i see that you have.' her eyes were smiling. 'your teeth look fine. i'll just clean them a little for you.'

i celebrated impressing my favorite dentistry professional in singapore by forgetting to floss for the next two months. soon after that i got on a plane to america, and then two more for good measure in case i hadn't grown sick of sitting and burning in my own skin already, and then twelve weeks of insanity ensued, the details of which we are surely all acquainted with by now. late nights, walks in the forest, afternoons spent in the sun. mismatched footsteps and strange acquaintances. an elaborate circus act staffed entirely by misguided but well-meaning teenagers. a ring of fire.

two weeks ago i bought a box of dental floss for ninety-nine cents. i think this might be what the anthropologists call 'adulthood'. i was at target with a friend and we were getting toothpaste, which we had both nearly run out of, when i saw the little flat box of dental floss hanging from a hook on the wall. my teeth weren't particularly disgusting (they haven't been, not since i learned how to brush them properly), but they weren't beautiful. it had been a while since i had been on my own mind. for the last three months, others' pain had been my main priority, and now that we had eliminated most of them from the picture, i found myself with more time in the mornings to stare at myself in the mirror and wonder how, exactly, i was doing.

how are you doing? i asked. and the answer was i felt like shit.

while i've stayed in dormitories before for extended periods of time i always got out of doing laundry by either submitting my dirty clothes to an on-campus service which disappeared them into a hole in the fabric of reality and returned them to you a day later, cleaned and folded outside your room so the first time i did laundry by myself in america, a week after arriving on campus, i felt invincible. buying an iced chai from the cafe on a thursday morning and then settling down to work on my laptop until my first class started at noon, i felt like a character in a career advisory ad, like someone who knew where they were going and how they were going to get there. standing in front of the bathroom mirror of my summer dorm, winding a strand of dental floss around my fingers, i felt like i had aged fifteen years in the span of just one, and that just this once, it was for the better.

according to my adult friends, no one ever fully feels or recognizes that they are an adult. adulthood is an ideal that all grown children strive towards the way body-builders aim for more and more muscle mass until there's nothing left of them but a pair of well-toned biceps. there are several industry-approved ways to be an adult, but there are no suggested ways to feel like one. this is part of the gaping maw of inadequacy our generation has fallen into. this afternoon i melted butter in a pan and beat two eggs, milk, salt, and garlic powder together in a bowl. pouring the egg mixture into the pan i began to scrape the edges frantically towards the center with a spatula. the whole process took no longer than two or three minutes. by the end of it my hand was shaking.

according to my adult friends you just wake up one day and start looking for ways to re-organize your pantry and that's when you realize: i'm getting old, aren't i? and i'm getting old, aren't i? twenty's just the start of what a friend recently told me her parents refer to as 'the decade of pain'. but the beginning of something is included in the timeline of its accomplishments, too, and it takes more blind faith to start something than we give ourselves credit for. i have never used a saucepan up until today. in my younger years i often boiled broccoli or cauliflower in a small pot over an electric stove. but the butter, the eggs, the smell of fat sizzling on a pan- this is new to me. this entire life is new to me.

leaving the familiar warmth of your family home, it suddenly occurs to you how fragile life is. how everything your mother has done for you until now has kept you on the path forward, and now you have been given the keys to the basement you have to remember to buy laundry detergent before you run out. it all comes together like this: the humming laundry machines, the hand towels, the fridge full of fruit and cheese. it keeps you alive.

and it's awful. our generation doesn't know what self-care is because we're too busy trying to care for a world which tries, time and again, to kick us off the carousel of life and move on without its ephemeral teenage charges. we are bad at this 'living' thing because we often forget that we are alive at all. look out the window and the world's burning. look into the kitchen, and- quiet. this past year has done nothing to improve the paintings on the wall. we've all known hopelessness. we've all known what it's like to wake up and feel nothing at all.

and yet my flatmate has a new york times cooking subscription that she says we're welcome to borrow if we want to look up a recipe for something like paella, brownies, whatever. the other day she made shrimp scampi and when she knocked on my door and said 'i made food, if you'd like some' i remember thinking living with other people was worth it if you could sit around a table and twirl pasta noodles around your fork in silence. tomorrow i think i'll go to target again and see if i can find more acai. i miss it. i miss singapore's overpriced acai places and their stupid too-high chairs.

and i am living life clumsily, but who cares? a life is a life; all you have to do is live it. the rest can come later, after the dust has settled on the windowsill.

06.09.21

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andrewmoocow · 3 years

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Steven Universe Alternate Future chapter 23: Mister Universe (originally published on August 16, 2021)

AN: Welcome back to the Tearjerking Three of Alternate Future Part 3, and for this installment we go from flashbacks about the budding relationship between Lapis & Peridot to flashbacks about the troubled one Greg has with his parents. Once again, get the tissue boxes out because we're in for a roller coaster.

Synopsis: Concerned for Steven's well-being, Greg takes him on a road trip to his childhood home.

Cast:

Zach Callison as Steven

Tom Scharpling as Greg

Featuring Maurice LaMarche as Thomas DeMayo

Laura Post as Gloria DeMayo

Jemaine Clement as Kerry Moonbeam

And Ron Perlman as ?

"Here you go Scthu-ball, dinner is served." Greg declared to Steven at the beach house one day while preparing some ice cream with a slice of pie in it for him to eat. "Ice cream a la pie!"

"Thanks, Dad." Steven laughed as he took the bowl and ate its contents.

"Are you feeling any better?" Greg asked his son. "Looks like your swelling and glowing has been a no-show for the past few days." Just then, Steven stopped as he scooped up a spoonful of the dessert in front of him. "Y'know, that ice cream won't eat itself."

"Sorry Dad, just thinking about stuff." Steven said.

"What kind of stuff?" Greg asked.

"I've spent so long thinking about whether I really am Mom." Steven replied, trying his best to keep certain recent events from spilling. "Now that I know I've always been me, and also saved the universe by stopping Black Rutile, it's like I have no idea what to do or who me is. I wish I still knew what to do with myself."

"Well, I can relate to that." Greg sympathized with his son's plight. "When I was your age, I didn't know who I was or what I wanted to do with my life."

"So, you didn't always want to be a rock star?" Steven asked while processing this new information.

"No way!" Greg declared as he began to reminisce. "I didn't get my hands on a guitar until I was your age! Before I got the van, I had no idea what was out there beyond my old home, until I hit the road."

"Mom, Dad, I've got news for you." A younger Greg said to his mother and father long ago.

"Is it anything to do with your dropping out of the local community college?" Greg's father Thomas, who was as bald as his son would eventually become with glasses and a mustache, asked crossly.

"Or that van out by the garage?" Thomas's wife Gloria, a svelte middle-aged woman with brown hair in a bun, added curiously.

"Well, that's the thing, you guys." Greg stated. "I'm moving out. I wanna see the world, go out there and see what I can do along the way!"

"Are you serious Gregory?" Thomas raised an eyebrow. "You may be an independent young man now, but how can you possibly sustain yourself?"

"What do you mean independent?" Greg replied sternly to his father. "I mean, curfews and chaperones and all that, I'm not a little kid anymore! I'm 18 now, I can survive on my own without you breathing down my neck!"

Thomas looked about ready to yell at his son for talking back, but his mask of stoicism remained firmly attached before balling up his hands and letting out a loud deep breath, and putting a hand on Greg's shoulder. "Well, if you think you're independent enough my boy," he said. "then go on. Live your life, go out and see the universe or whatever." Thomas then turned and walked away from Greg. "Just be sure to write every so often."

"Wow, talk about less arguing than usual." Greg tilted his head in confusion when his mother took his hand. "Mom?"

"Your father's been trying to keep his temper from getting the better of him." Gloria stated before she started cupping her son's face. "Please Greg, no matter how strict and controlling we are, just remember that we're still your parents after all."

"Okay then." Greg sighed heavily before he picked up a backpack and headed for the front door. "Bye Mom, I love you."

"I love you too Greggy." Gloria smiled.

"Bye Dad." Greg then bid farewell to his father, but he received no answer. "Huh, of course." He groaned before walking out of his house for the last time and getting into his new van. After taking one last look at his front window, Greg pulled the van out of the driveway and set out for parts unknown. That day, Greg DeMayo left home, but maybe one day he could return as Greg Universe.

"You've seen other planets, but what about West Keystone or Charm City?" Greg said to Steven in the present day. "I've spent a lot of my formative years eating rest stop sandwiches and watching the trucks go by."

"So you're saying I just need a change in scenery?" Steven wondered.

"Exactly!" Greg declared and excitedly got up from the couch. "You're never gonna find yourself if you don't start looking! In fact, let's go right now!"

"Wait, really?" Steven asked hurriedly.

"No time, the road is calling!" a starry-eyed Greg announced before the father raced outside. "Can you hear it like I can?!"

"Yeah, I think I do!" Steven called for his dad as he raced after him with the ice cream in hand.

And so, the Universe duo left Beach City by van and set out on the open road, singing a familiar song along the way before they reached a Pepe's Burgers in Jersey.

"Dear old dad, remember when you would sing to me? We could do it again." Steven sang the same duet he and Greg shared from back after he had first met Lapis, albeit a bit shakier than previously. "Dear old dad, remember how I would sit on your shoulders? Well, how about now?"

As the trip continued, Greg continued relaying stories of his boyhood to Steven, awkwardness and all. "So that was the story of my first crush." Greg finished a story about the first girl he fell for at the gas station. "Things got really awkward between us as the years went on, but we decided to stay in the friendzone while she went off with that jock Tony. Hmph, cheerleaders, am I right? You met one during your trip with Spinel to Empire City, didn't you?"

"Yeah, Makoto's doing fine." Steven answered while looking at the Vipers' head cheerleader's social media profile before happening upon the selfie they all took together. "Before we left, she offered to introduce Spinel to the rest of the squad should she ever come back someday."

"Lucky girl!" Greg laughed before the two left the service station.

"Dear old dad, I was wondering why. As I got older, the days kept going on by." Steven continued the song. "Dear old dad, remember this too. In this whole wide world, there's no one like you-ooo-ooo-ooh."

"You-ooo-ooo-ooh." Greg began harmonizing with Steven. "You-ooo-ooo-ooh."

Eventually, Steven and Greg crossed over into a rather quiet neighborhood in Keystone when Greg pointed to a house nearby. "About two blocks away, that's where I played my first gig." He stated. "I wasn't even Mr. Universe yet back then, I was just a kid sneaking out after dark with a guitar to play."

"So where did the Mr. Universe name come from?" Steven asked quietly.

"You know what, how about I show you?" Greg suggested before he drove the van up to one of the houses they were driving along and got out with a determined look on his face. "Good, no one's home."

"Wait, what? Who's house is that?" Steven asked his dad as he seemingly committed a home invasion. "Dad!"

Greg still didn't listen as he jumped over the white picket fence and climbed up a tree with a branch pointing straight to a window, and Steven continued nervously following behind. When Greg opened the window on the end of the branch, he fell through before getting up and peeping out the other side. "This used to be way easier."

"You're rich Dad, it's not like you to steal." Steven cautioned Greg while continuing to follow him through the window into an empty room, where Greg was now looking through a box. "C'mon, let's get out of here before the owner comes home!"

"Just a sec, I'm looking for something." Greg stated.

"Well, what is it?" Steven asked.

"Oh, you'll see!" Greg replied before his son nervously left the room to explore more of the house, worry still present on his face.

"Is no one really home? Maybe I should write them a note." Steven wondered when he happened upon a picture of a mother, a father, and their curiously familiar son while walking down the stairs. "But what can I say?" he continued muttering as he reached the living room. "We're sorry that we have broken into your home, you must be very nice people with excellent taste."

As Steven sat down on the couch, he clutched a bowl of potpourri and gave it a big sniff. "And who enjoy potpourri." He added wistfully. "It's like a snack for your nose." Steven then got up to look at a collection of spoons and an assortment of glass goats beneath them. "Your fancy foreign spoon collection is very impressive, and so are your tiny glass goats." Soon, he finally walked up to a desk and picked up a pen before opening a drawer, hoping to find some paper. "Well, the pen is as good a start as any."

However, instead of paper, Steven discovered a neat stack of letters inside the drawer that seemed to have been sent by Greg. "Letters from Dad, and they're all unopened." Steven observed before looking at who they were sent to, and he made a startling realization.

Racing back to the stairs, Steven took another look at the photo and instantly recognized the nervous-looking son between his parents. "DAD?!"

While Greg continued searching through some boxes for whatever he's looking for, Steven suddenly burst back in with news of his discovery. "Dad, this was your house?!"

"Not exactly." Greg said. "This was my parents' house."

"Then this must be your room!" Steven declared happily. "I thought you said you grew up in a prison, but this place is beautiful!"

"I did kiddo." Greg replied somberly. "You have no idea what years of curfews, chaperones, and meatloaf were like."

"You didn't like meatloaf?" Steven inquired.

"Not every Thursday for twenty years." Greg groaned, sticking out his tongue in disgust. "I can still feel the taste. And did you know how old I was before I finally had my first taco?!"

"I also found these letters in a desk sent by you." Steven brought up the letters he found. "How come they weren't opened?"

"I can think of a few reasons why." Greg answered as he began picturing how his parents felt when he left home.

As Greg began leaving home in his new van, Gloria watched the vehicle drive off before sighing and sitting down with a book. Just then, her husband Thomas came back to the living room with a glass of whiskey in hand.

"You think maybe Gregory left because we were too controlling of him?" Thomas asked his wife as he sat down next to her. "He said he wanted to leave home without us "breathing down his neck" as the young people say."

"Possibly." Gloria nodded in affirmation. "The curfews were inevitable, but I believe the chaperones were a little much. But hey, at least I consider us better parents than mine were."

"That's because we never ended up hitting Greg." Thomas said in contemplation. "But still, maybe we were a different form of abusive towards him. Hopefully we can make it up to him someday."

"I'm not too sure." Gloria replied. "I don't even think he wants to think of us again."

Thomas just responded by bowing his head before taking another sip of whiskey.

"I'm sure it's fine. Besides, check out all your old things!" Steven said enthusiastically before he began to dig through another box and began taking out many of his dad's old things as he named them. "Is this your little hand?" he cooed excitedly while taking out a green handprint. "And your tiny baby boots!" he added as he took out some booties before moving onto a big trophy. "And a wrestling trophy! I didn't know you were a wrestler, maybe we could've been Tiger Millionaire and the King of the Pride."

"I didn't choose to wrestle." Greg stated before his son found a yearbook to look through. "My parents wanted me to be more active, so they kept making me do all these things." He could still remember how nervous he was in the ring and how he won by sheer dumb luck.

"A middle school yearbook!" Steven exclaimed while gazing at Greg's smiling face in the yearbook. "You had braces!" He then snapped a photo of the picture with his phone. "You looked a lot like me when I was younger, only more….human."

Steven looked a little down for a moment before he decided to look through the signatures in the yearbook. "So many people signed this." Steven commented. "Tim wants you to have a great summer, and who's Lauren Hecht? She sure wrote a lot."

"We were on mathletes together." Greg answered dejectedly. "Another one of the millions of things my parents made me do."

"Where are they anyways?" Steven asked his old man.

"Probably at their timeshare in Florida Island, they go there every winter." Greg stated. "They weren't too happy the first time I said I didn't want to go with them."

Just then, Steven dug up another picture of young Greg dressed in graduation attire, along with his hair being buzzed off all over and a dour frown on his face. "Your hair, it's so short!"

"Did you find my graduation photo?" Greg asked worriedly. "They made me cut it because we didn't have enough time, and it was right before a gig."

"Do you have any photos of you on stage?" Steven inquired while continuing to dig through his father's old things.

"Ha, are you kidding?! Everything music-related was off-limits!" Greg declared with a laugh. "Which is why I had to hide my stuff." Soon, he began thinking back to where he had hidden something long ago.

"There's a Starman waiting in the sky, he'd like to come and meet us!" a younger Greg sang along to a glam rock song. "But he thinks he'd blow our minds!"

"Greg, can you come out please?" the voice of Thomas asked while knocking on the door, sending his son into a panic as he hurriedly tried to shut down his music. "What is that you're listening to?"

"It's just a neighbor Dad!" Greg fibbed as he scrambled to take out his CD, but his father took it away just in time.

"Gregory DeMayo." Thomas shook his head in disgust. "Didn't we tell you that we don't allow music in our house, especially the ones all your friends are into? I mean, you know what the news said about what happened to Ozzy Cooper lately."

"I'm sorry Dad, I wasn't paying attention!" Greg apologized to his father.

"We can discuss this later." Thomas stated before handing the disc back to his son and walking out of his room. "Now wash up and come downstairs, it's meatloaf night."

"Again?" Greg muttered disdainfully as soon as his dad was far away enough for him to not overhear. Looking at his CD, Greg put it back in its case before sticking it back in a box with other CDs and hiding the box away in a ventilation shaft, where it would remain for years to come.

Back in the present day, the older Greg continued searching for where he had left that box while Steven had a question to ask. "Who's Ozzy Cooper?"

"Rock star from my day who's gotten in trouble for some less than wholesome things." Greg answered before letting out a mirthless chuckle. "Then again, who hasn't these days?" At last, he found the box and opened the ventilation grate, expressing relief that they haven't been found in the years since he had left. "Yes, this is it! We can get out of here!" he declared while pulling the box out of the shaft and heading for the window. "And leave that stuff behind."

As Steven put away his father's old stuff, Greg tried to leave his former bedroom the same way he came in, albeit with a bit more difficulty. "Okay, one leg at a time."

"Wouldn't it be easier to use the front door?" Steven suggested to his dad, who was already halfway out the window.

"Sorry Schtu-ball, force of habit." Greg sheepishly apologized before squeezing back through the window and walking out of the bedroom with his son. After taking one long, last look at his old room, the man formerly known as Greg DeMayo let out a sigh and closed the door on both the bedroom and his childhood.

The Universes left the house as night fell and when Steven was about to get into the passenger seat of Greg's van, Greg stopped him. "Hold on there Steven." Greg declared, spinning the car keys around his finger before handing them to his son. "This is your journey of self-discovery, so I think you should take the wheel, little buddy."

"But where are we headed next?" Steven asked as he decided to reluctantly get behind the wheel and started the engine.

"That's up to you." Greg answered before the van left the DeMayo household, leaving Greg's old hometown of Showne and making the long journey back to Beach City. "I get where you're coming from Steven. When I was little Gregory DeMayo, I was just going through the motions and doing what everyone else wanted me to do. Until one day, a friend in social studies passed me this." He then held up a CD featuring songs from the artist Kerry Moonbeam that he fished out of the box. "This CD has the song that made me who I am today, so hold onto your butt!"

As soon as Greg inserted the disc into the van radio, Kerry's music began to play. "Looking for your place in the universe, don't you know the universe is looking too?" the song started and Greg began to passionately sing along, but Steven was looking very unnerved. "Looking for its place in you, and now it's coming through."

"Hey-" Steven tried to speak up.

"Not now kiddo, you're gonna love this part!" Greg cut his son off while the song continued. "Welcome to the party Mr. Universe, we're so glad we're a part of you. Meet the rocks and flowers, the seconds and the hours. The splinters, winters, apples, chapels, teardrops, temples, cats and castles. Anything that you can be, the things that you cannot see, are Mr. Universe. Mr. Universe."

"Dad, is this where our name comes from?" Steven asked in a sudden moment of clarity.

"Yes, exactly!" Greg declared excitedly.

"You took it from a song?" Steven reiterated as he slowly started getting angry.

"Once I heard this, everything changed." Greg explained himself. "I suddenly realized that there was so much more that I've yet to discover that I haven't even dreamt about before! The whole world, the universe even, I wanted to get out there and see everything! So I drove off in the van on the open road and never once looked back at old Showne. I never would've known that years of couch surfing and the basement would've led me to your mother and you. But now it's your turn! Where does Mr. Universe make you want to do, Steven?"

"I-I don't know!" Steven exclaimed.

"Maybe you need to hear it again." Greg suggested and began replaying the song.

"Dad, this isn't helping!" Steven sternly declared and shut off the radio. Greg gave his son a frown and turned it back on, but Steven once again turned it off. The father and son duo then had a brief, wordless exchange of turning the radio on and off again, which got Steven angrier until he finally spoke up.

"I don't need this song," Steven declared furiously. "I need, I need what you had!"

"What do you mean?" Greg asked. "I understand if I offended you somehow and I'm sorry, but what's all this flying off the handle for!?"

"I wish I could've grown up in a house like yours!" Steven answered. "I wish I was just a normal human boy with a normal human life where the Gems never came to Earth to begin with!"

"No you don't!" Greg panicked when he realized something. "And where did this whole thing about wishing the Gems never discovered Earth come from?"

"Maybe your parents weren't so bad." Steven talked back, making his father gasp at such a comment. "Maybe they gave you curfews and chaperones and meatloaf for a reason!"

"Steven, you don't know what they were like!" Greg yelled in response.

"They can't be any worse than Mom's family!" Steven rolled his eyes irately. "I went to a different galaxy for them, and this was right here?!"

"Steven, you don't understand!" Greg tried to calm his son down. "I couldn't do anything I wanted growing up, they all saw what I liked or wanted as wrong! Trust me, you're better off than I was!"

"I can't believe I never realized until now." Steven declared while glowing pink yet again and tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "There's a reason Mom loved you! You're just like her!"

"But you grew up with actual freedom!" screamed Greg.

"I grew up in a stupid van!" Steven screamed back as his barely reasonable anger slowly got the better of him. "I never went to school, I didn't go to a doctor until a few days ago, my life is constantly at risk and barely anyone cares anymore!"

"You're a Gem Steven, you're not like other kids!" Greg exclaimed in terror of what could happen with Steven's fury clouding his mind. "Besides, if you were in school or went to a doctor, I'm just worried you'll attract the wrong kinds of attention!"

"I could've done all that stuff," Steven bellowed. "my problem isn't just that I'm a Gem, it's because I'M A UNIVERSE!" On that last word, Steven ripped the steering wheel from the dashboard while stomping on the brake as the van began to swerve out of control.

"STEVEN, WATCH OUT!" Greg's eyes widened in alarm before the vehicle tumbled across the road and crashed on its side on the dirt beside the road.

For the next few moments, Steven lied on the ground unconscious with only his thoughts taunting him about what he's done, along with the very faint voice of his dad coaxing him back to reality.

"She was right, you are a monster." A deep voice echoed within Steven's mind. "What boy would nearly murder his father for trying to talk to him?"

"No, it was an accident, I swear!" Steven responded to the voice.

"I know a liar when I see one." The voice replied. If it had a face, it would've certainly been smirking right now. "You'd rather live a life where the Gems never existed and you were an average human, right?"

Steven kept silent in response, pondering if what the voice said was right, until Greg's voice slowly became louder and louder.

"Steven, Steven!" Greg called out as Steven awakened on the ground to find his dad kneeling by his side. "Oh, thank goodness you're alright! You're lucky you're still in one piece! Me, I think I got a little concussion from the crash, but I think I'll recover."

"What did I do?" Steven groaned in pain from the crash that he caused. "Do you still love me?"

"You just started throwing a tantrum and caused the van to go outta control." Greg answered. "I already called a tow truck to bring us home, but that old hunk o' metal's been through worse. Everything will be okay, we'll get through this together. And, and I'm proud of you."

"What?!" Steven yelled with outrage as he got to his knees. "But I nearly got you killed! Why aren't you punishing me?! Please ground me for this, I'm begging you!"

"Whoa, never realized you were that kinda guy." Greg declared in a daze. "I don't care what you're into, I don't think I'm the one you should be revealing this to."

"That's the concussion talking, right?" Steven asked as the two sat down near the damaged van.

"Yeah, I think that might be mostly it." Greg answered. "But still, I don't think I was ever that brave enough to stand up to my old man like that! I'm glad you're more able to tell me anything because you're having a real hard time recently, I get it. Bismuth can help us get the van fixed when we get home, and-"

As Greg continued talking, Steven refused to listen and instead gazed at the photo of Greg's middle school yearbook picture on his phone. It took some much internal debating, but he then finally decided to delete the picture to express to himself how Greg was slowly becoming dead to him.

Unbeknownst to either father or son, a black, pill-shaped satellite with a white diamond symbol in the midsection hovered far above the highway and began transmitting the information it collected to a faraway cave in the forest outside Beach City.

And just like what we've been doing in some chapters, we end on a rather ominous note relating to a certain Rutile. What could she possibly do with the info the satellite gathered? Who is the Ron Perlman voice in Steven's head, and will he come back someday? At least a few of these questions will be answered in the earth-shattering conclusion to both the Tearjerking Three and Part 3, Fragments. Like I've forebodingly announced back in Enemy of my Enemy, you all know what's coming.

#steven universe #steven universe future #fanfiction #steven universe alternate future #steven quartz universe #greg universe

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helpinghanikan · 4 years

Text

One and Only (SoulMate Au)

X-men x Reader

Sum: Soulmates happen no matter who or what you are.

AN: Picture was found using google, credit to OG making when I find them

Charles Xavier: Meter of how dangerous

Past college age it’s pretty accepted that nobody cares about their soulmate or their meter. The only people that really care are those that are 120% sure they have their soulmate. Even then it’s impossible to be sure until one dies and the others meter slams down to zero like a knife in your heart.

People who still cared about their meter were the absolute worst.

“Look how tough my soulmate is, they could beat your any day!” And this was said by the husband of the wrestler. Saying this with a smug face while you just smiled back.

All you had to do was hold up your wrist and that smug face dropped like a beautiful rock.

The average number of the populations meter was five or below. Less then twenty percent reach over six and less then five reach ten. You are in that five, even from a young age everyone you showed it to assumed you had just drawn over it. More then one teacher forcing you scrub the area with soap to make sure you weren’t lying.

Just like everyone else you stopped caring about the number after college. Instead focusing on your teachings and the new school where you were officially the only non-mutant teacher at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Not thinking about that little number until almost two years, and well over establishment of relationship, later. Rubbing your thumb over the number and looking between it and Xavier still looking over papers.

“Can I see your wrist?” You ask, sitting on the edge of his desk, having gotten bored with waiting for him to pay attention to you.

Still writing with one hand he holds out the other without looking away from his papers. His arm stretches out for you to hold it, rubbing your thumb over little three etched in black. Placing your wrist next to his, the ten next to the three and looking back and forth between them.

“I doubt it will change with you staring at it.” Charles says after a few seconds.

It’s usually not until after marriage that you even consider someone is your soulmate. Avoiding saying it out loud you instead say: “Do you think I’m tough?”

He hesitates and that’s never good.

“You’re tough on the students.” He finally says.

“Yeah, but am I like, fighting tough?” You ask.

He hesitates again. He’s such a jerk.

“The students say you’re tough but good.” He finally says. He’s a lying jerk.

Erik Lehnsherr: meter of how in danger

Since you can remember the little number on your wrist has never gone down below a seven. Rubbing your thumb in soap and water never helped in removing the number, drawing over it with a marker was just sad.

It was your “friend’s fault that you had gone running to the teacher the first time the little marker hit ten. She looked over your shoulder and said, “they’re gonna die” right in your ear. At that young age it probably didn’t occur to them that there was anything wrong. Instead just watching you run to the teacher sobbing. Even so, you didn’t really hang out with them after that.

Also, after that incident long sleeves and bracelets were all the rage. Keep your wrists turned down, keep the thought of your soulmate out of your mind and away from your present. Only checking it once a day, when it stayed high that slowed down to once a week. By high school it was monthly.

By this point in your life it’s stayed at a constant nine, best not to think about it.

Raven/ Mystique: heterochromia

It was a scene out of a bad teen movie. Both you and Raven sitting cross legged on the bed facing each other. She stares into your eyes, flicking back and forth between your natural and the yellow that matched her’s.

“Okay, okay, hold on.” Raven talks like a little girl talking to her new puppy.

She never really had to concentrate to change her appearance. Staring into your eyes, her own changing slightly until it was created into hazel. Based on the smile that decorated her face your eye had changed at the same time.

With her mutation Raven didn’t have the same effect on her eyes as the rest of the world. Her body naturally wanting to be even on both sides, giving the impression that she either had a soulmate who could also change their eyes or didn’t have any at all.

It wasn’t until an off notice that she ever realized she had one.

A mirror is held up next to Raven’s head. Looking at yourself at the same time she could look at you. A giant grin and one too hazel eye looks back at you. Raven laughing at the same time you did.

“Now go back,” You say, a high from excitement.

“Go back to what?” She asks.

“Yellow, go back to what it is natural.” You say. Gently pushing her sitting for as encouragement. “Come on.”

You were probably one of maybe a handful of humans who understands what she was going through. Having to live your same young life with a constant changing face and eyes. Being mocked until reflective sunglasses became a regular piece of your wardrobe.

You were either still too giddy about this interaction or didn’t realize what you had asked. Either way Raven took a second before complying. Her grin wasn’t as wide as it was before, but she still smiled at yours.

Peter Maximoff: Share the same fingerprint

Your leg is bouncing so hard the table is going to vibrate right through the floor. For the first half an hour in here you were left alone. Listening to the metal table bang and tang against the floor until the first officer came in.

“I want a lawyer!” You immediately demand, banging the table once more with the top of your thighs. Practically knocking the whole table over.

“Calm down and sit down.” She says pointing at you with a file, “You’re not under arrest, Ma’am. I just have a few questions.”

Madam officer is nicer then you expected. The usual tactic was for the first officer to come in guns blazing, acting angry as a badger, slamming files and barking orders. It was the second cop that would be the nice one; apologizing for their partner and asking if you were okay. This time you got the kindness without being bullied.

“There have been several break ins at stores and museums in the past few years.” She explains. “Some goods were stolen, and they were all by the same person. A dumb-ass who doesn’t know to wear gloves.”

“I literally just got off the plane, this is my first time in the state.” You immediately say.

“Oh, I know, I know. We’re taking you for this. Unless you were a sprinter in high school.” She says with a closed mouth smile. Holding up a blurred picture that was nothing but a gray smudge in a black and white still. “We just want to know; do you know who your soulmate is?”

Just like the idea of a mother’s instinct there was an assumption that everyone is protective of their soulmates. Even when you don’t know who you were meant to be with there was a serious about them coming to harm.

“No, what was even stolen?” You ask.

She sighs deeply and holds up a list. “Uh, pop, a souvenir bear, the bathroom sign and almost completely cleared the gift shop of any candy.” She says, tossing the paper back down.

“Are you sure you weren’t robbed by a twelve-year-old?” Your arms cross in annoyance.

The officer was toying with her wedding ring. Watching you start to shut down. “We all can’t get lucky with who we’re destined for.

“And we all can’t be lucky in knowing who we’re destined for.” You almost snap back. “Look, I don’t know who he is, I haven’t met them yet. And since I’m not under arrest I bid you a good day.”

“Can you try not to leave the state, we might need you again.” She calls after you.

“Not under arrest, ma’am!” You call back.

Being new in the state you had to call for a car. Sitting perched next to the police sign, a leg swinging back and forth. The wind picks up to a hundred miles in second and dies in another.

A little bear still it’s tags left by your side.

Hank McCoy: Color for the first time

It was a gentle touch that he didn’t notice until glass shattered around your feet. He was too focused on the microscope in front of him to worry about a delivery girl accidentally catching his hand.

It was anybody’s guess what he was looking at. Probably some DNA that was naturally black and white, he wouldn’t see the whole world of new colors until he looked up.

In every movie when the soulmates meet there is a second of silence before they quickly grab each other. More then half of the movie would then be each soulmate trying to describe color to their respective friends and family.

Instead all that came out was; “Sorry, I dropped your-. The sample, fuck, I’m sorry. Hi.”

He was equally as useless. “I can-I’ll make new ones.” He says, both of your looking down to the liquid that was now obviously purple compared tot eh gray it had been before. “I’m Hank,” He finally says.

You go to say your own name, he says it at the same time.

“I’ve read your name tag when you deliver them,” He explains. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself before.”

A small laugh comes out of your mouth. “Could have saved us a lot of time if you did.”

He laughs at the same level. “You weren’t jumping over things to shake my hand either.”

“And take away my chance to break stuff?” You say, gently nudging the broken glass.

Jean Gray: Timer for when your soulmate will die

There is no better feeling then looking down at your wrist and seeing literal years in neon green numbers. They dwindle down by seconds, stare long enough and it goes down into minutes. Nothing to worry about, though. Jean still has years and years, so much so that you don’t bother covering it up with bracelets or sleeves like most do.

It’s such a common fashion choice to cover that wrist you didn’t notice Jean did the same. Keeping a firm hand over her wrist to keep the bracelets from slipping, even though nobody would have seen it.

After you found each other there was no point in asking how much time you had left. A recent poll showed that over eighty percent of people (taking away any factors) would/have lied to their soulmate about how much time they have left. The small percent that did only would because their mate had decades left.

Jean was in that eighty percent. Refusing to say how much time you had left, in turn you refusing to say either. Taking it as a joke instead of anything serious, even though Jean refused to touch you with that side of her.

It was only a few months after finding each other that she started to hang around you more and more. The word “clingy” was even used after a few weeks. Not that it stopped her, instead her making jokes that possibly you were following her and that you just happened to know ahead of time.

Subtle weird behavior is never noticeable until after it’s pointed out. Your mutual friends being kind enough to pull her away for the night. Long enough for you to get away to the store. You loved her, but it was nice to buy some oranges without being hovered over. That your phone kept blowing up did nothing to deter your mission.

It wasn’t uncommon for one of the team to hit you up when they have one too many drinks. Determined to keep you as much in the loop as everyone in the room. If you had answered you’d likely be given narration of a board game gone violent for the rest of your shopping trip. It’d be better to wait until you get back; hear the narration over a nice glass of wine and your woman leaning against you.

It didn’t occur that there’d be another reason until the barrel was staring you down. A distant order to “get down” being heard too late to obey.

Logan/ Wolverine: Red string of fate

People always described that stuff in different ways; a long stretch of light, silk ribbons or actual bolts of sparking lightening. No matter how people described it, they were all red in just as varying colors; some call it wine or blood, one particularly creative bartender called it “like a whore’s lipstick before work.”

Logan had never seen that stuff. Either brushing it off or just not participating in the conversation. For awhile he held his ring finger up to the light, maybe his ribbon was something thinner then dental floss, maybe even thin as hair and barely visible by the strands owner themselves. Eventually he stopped holding up his hand, even later he didn’t even care.

Forty years and three shots of the hard stuff later and he’s finally looking at his hand again. That little line of red wasn’t there a second ago. It wasn’t a ribbon or a string, certainly wasn’t some cool like lightening or floating liquid. Just a small chain, looked like the same width and strength of a necklace chain. In theory he should be able to rip it right off. He could feel it between his fingers and tell each link between each other, even then he tried pulling there was nothing.

It took days before he got the balls to actually follow the damn thing. It was a kid thing to take a year off between college and high school to try and find their destined. Logan was a little late to the game but not like he had anything better to do.

It wasn’t until he reached a hospital that he stopped in his tracks. Little chain of destiny leading right into the exit into the nursery. It only took him a few seconds before audibly going “nope,” and heading back to that bar.

Kurt Wagner: Same injuries

At some point it was easier to pop an Advil and ignore the point in your feet and knees then wonder why they were hurting. The real bitch came when you invisible drug was stabbed right into your neck. More then once falling face first onto your desk in school.

Given that the only cramps you experienced were yours they were a small vengeance. Easily the worst part of the connection were the cramps. Either you were born male and got to experience them without any warning, or you’re born female and get double the dose of them. It’s no wonder business is always booming for pain meds.

#X-men #charles xavier x reader #erik lehnsherr x reader #raven x reader #mystique x reader #Magneto x reader #Professor X x reader #kurt wagner x reader #hank mccoy x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #nightcrawler x reader #beast x reader #soulmate au #soulmate #jean gray x reader

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repeating-sounds · 3 years

Text

Plastic Trees

Arthur wasn't entirely sure where he was. He spent his morning as he usually does, reading the trades over a bowl of shredded wheat, watching the news, and looking at his wife, Edna, who was already focused on the dishes in the sink. Today was a big day. This week’s market was incredibly volatile, and there were some incredibly important stocks to consider. As he went for his fourth sip of coffee, he blinked and felt a strange temperature shift, followed by a completely different setting.

No more Edna, no more shredded wheat, no more stock options. Just a small, dingy office with brochure racks and a toothy-grinned man with a wide tie and a short torso.

It was at this moment that Arthur realized he was dead. There wasn't any major shift in his perspective or knowledge, no changing winds or rising tides; it was almost as if in a dream, where you suddenly are made aware of a concept, an idea, and it feels as real as the tree in front of you. Except then you wake up, and none of it was real, least of all the tree with its waxy leaves and styrofoam bark. If anything, the idea is the only thing that feels real at all.

Except this was no dream. There would be no waking up, no plastic realization of the falsities your mind force-fed you in your fit of sleep. He was stone-cold dead, much to the horror of Edna, who turned around to find her husband of twenty-two years face down in a bowl of milk and grains.

Arthur looked at the walls around him, covered with posters and pictures of people. Happy people. Some stood in front of statues, others near large volcanoes or fluffy clouds. He looked at a brochure nearest to him. It read: Welcome to Hell: We Promise It's As Good As You Make It!

A look of horror spread across the recently deceased’s face. Behind him, a voice breathed out a question.

"Hello Sir, have you had a chance to read our selections?"

Arthur took a second, staring at a poster of a small cat clawing to a tree branch, coaxing the viewer to " hang in there".

"I...I'm in Hell?"

The man with the coffee-stained teeth smiled, leading Arthur towards a desk and a laminated book.

"Well, no. Or yes. It depends. We have lots of options. Would you come have a seat?"

Hot, salty terror washed over Arthur. The high, obsidian spires of an unknown hellscape curled around him like tendrils of a great fire. The crackling screams of millions of tortured souls closed in like a headache until he couldn’t take it anymore. A large, hoofed creature, with wings like a bat and a snout like--

Arthur let out a long breath, a cold sweat on his forehead. The toothy-grinned man held his familiar posture.

“Not to your liking?” He said.

“Not so much,” Arthur gulped.

The man thought for a moment before flipping the page.

“Hmm. Perhaps this one!”

A large, spiraling vortex of color and light washed over Arthur, sending him into a state of spiritual bliss. Orgasmic images of the future, the past, the very foundations of time and space were known to him in this moment. The questions of the universe, answered.

And on and on went Arthur and the Salesman, through worlds of torment and turmoil, sacrifice and satisfaction, through all the fetishes and fantasies of the people of our world, in search of the perfect period on the note of life.

Arthur realized quickly the truths of the afterworlds. This quilt of options was crafted by the needs and wants of his fellow man, all of their dreams in life, come to reality as a result of their last thoughts. In this moment Arthur felt powerful, but in the next he felt a question. It nagged at him in the back of his mind, slowly at first, and then more as he thought. More as he saw. Worlds of horror and hopelessness, of anger and spite. He had one question.

“Excuse me, but I’m a bit confused.”

“What’s that?” Asked the salesman,

“These options all exist because someone lives in them, yes? These places came about as a result of people’s afterlives?”

“Well, yes, you could say that.”

“Then why did they pick them? Why would you want to live in Hell, when Heaven exists alongside it?”

The salesman smiled.

“A fair question. Our aim is to give release in death. Give people what they want. What they’re expecting. A fair amount of people over the course of history have believed wholeheartedly in dark and depressing fantasies. If in your mind, the afterlife should consist of good, evil, and the weight of your heart at the deciding scale, then we give that to you.”

“But they would never pick the worse option, would they?”

“They don’t want the options in the first place. They want reassurance.”

Arthur thought about the implications of this.

“Why do I get the option, then? I consider myself to be...well at least relatively Catholic”

At this, the salesman stood, excited.

“There it is, Arthur! A good question. Your religion, see, is Catholicism, though it’s not your faith. You don’t believe in it, not truly.”

“Now, that’s not quite fair.” Arthur faltered for more of a rebuttal than that.

“And yet, you have strong beliefs. The free market. Consumerism.” A devilish grin swept over his face. “You believe in choice. Beat the system, as they’d say.”

For a moment, Arthur’s life flashed before his eyes. His decisions, politics, beliefs. Is this really the best way to describe his life? Apparently it was. And further, what would he pick? Where would we spend his time?

Before he had a chance to answer this question the Salesman turned another page in his book.

“Arthur, I sense your apprehension, and I for one think you deserve the answers you seek. Would you mind visiting one last location?”

“Sure,” Arthur muttered, lost in thought.

Large, oaken veins coursed mightily up the great bark of an overwhelming tree. Complex branches tangled between themselves, sporting leaves of deep and ancient green. Thick roots pulsated like tendrils, wrapping themselves deep into the soil on which Arthur and the Salesman stood. A vast catalogue of images and feelings wrapped around his brain. They came from the tree; from its leaves and its roots. Arthur couldn’t quite find words to describe the wonder encapsulating his mind and body.

"This is the single greatest testament to the accomplishments of the Homo Sapien. This is what you pride yourself so heavily on."

"What is it?"

"It has many names, many faces, but you would understand it best as human consciousness.”

The images were overwhelming, but started to quantify themselves as things Arthur could grasp.

At first, they were simple. He felt a hot burning, one that made him feel dizzy and warm and fulfilled. It quickly dissipated, leaving him with a dull, grey ache. His head went fuzzy. His knees buckled.

These concepts took greater form, first as colors. He was an infant, with the soft, pink, wonder of how the warmth of other humans feel. He saw his father. He smelled like aftershave and work. His mother looked an angel, with smiling brown eyes. He swam in them.

He watched himself age, his complexion change. His first love, then his first wife, then his daughter. He wept and screamed. He grew weak.

The images changed, less personal now. Visions of death and what lay beyond it entombed him. He saw an infinite spread of hellscapes and ethereal nothingness. He saw all the book had to show him and more.

“These places are like in the book.”

“The very same. These are your options,” The Salesman looked at peace, eyes closed.

“I thought the images of afterlife were from the minds of other people, not my own.”

“Truly, Arthur, is there any difference? The images of others, their beliefs and knowledge is in your mind, your human understanding. As a hatchling turtle or young goat knows the instincts passed down from their ancestors, you too know yours. The instincts of the human race are social, they’re abstract. The human understanding of life is not isolated to your own mind.”

“I thought the options in the book were real places, and now you say they come from inside my head. I don’t understand. Is this real?”

The salesman chuckled.

“Does it matter? If it helps, then no. These places are inside the mind, not cosmically tangible. They are explanations for the mind, so the soul can rest.”

“An explanation of what?”

“Of what it means to die. The human mind knows one thing; existence. You have lived for an eternity, Arthur. 62 years isn’t long for a rock or a planet, but to you, it’s forever. The mind won’t be so easily tricked into shutting itself off. It’s as difficult as teaching a bird not to fly.”

“So all this, this is just an...an escape? Like a dream?”

“Exactly like a dream. You are dying, Arthur, and soon you’ll have nothing left. Your brain has been existing for a very long time, and it needs to rest.”

Arthur could tell that his time here was nearing. He needed to make his decision.

“What are you?” Arthur asked, looking for the first time into the Salesman’s eyes. They were dark, and loving. Full of understanding.

“I am tired. And I must rest. Do you have your answer?”

Arthur did.

Arthur sat at his kitchen table. He spent his morning as he normally does, reading the trades over a bowl of shredded wheat, watching the news, and looking at his wife, Edna, who was working hard scrubbing last night’s lasagna dish. He stood, and walked over to her. He wrapped his hands around her back, kissing her with passion. He was happy.

#writing #amwriting #shortstory #story #death #afterlife #questions #conversation

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yeols-baekhoes · 4 years

Text

Picnic With Kim Namjoon

Rated: F for fluff, DJ for daddy Joon

Picture this: A/U where Namjoon— who has been noticeably distant the last few days— has a surprise for you. A big one.

Graphics:

(baby)

****************•********************•*****************

"Hey, baby?" Came the soft, deep voice from the other side of the wooden door, a knock almost as soft as the man's voice following.

You remain quiet, not only because speaking up had proven to only make your already sore throat even worse, but because at that moment you were avoiding your significant other so that an argument wouldn't occur.

You had been sick for what felt like a century, but really was about a week and a half. Your throat felt like sandpaper, your head had been scalding the past week and your nose stuffed and runny. You knew you were getting better, though, when you woke up this morning sans the fever and runny nose. It felt heavenly after so long of not being able to breathe through your nose properly.

Even though you lived twenty minutes away, you had found yourself taking shelter in Joon's apartment as your parents had left for another work trip.

You usually enjoyed being in Namjoon's company. Ever since you met him almost a decade ago, his friendship had always been your source of comfort when your broken family proved to be otherwise.

It was only until four years back that you had both decided to act on the hidden feelings that had been bottled for years.

But recently, the past few weeks had been strange. Namjoon, always the busy bee, had been extremely distant. It was out of character for him. Yes, he was busy with his projects, but you always understood him. Understood the late nights, the days where he couldn't text you as frequently as he always did. He was chasing his dreams, working damn hard for them, at that. But, he always made sure to at least check in with you so you were aware he was okay. He would still sit with you, gently massaging your aching feet from work, even if it was for a couple of minutes before he ran off. There was always a few minutes of conversation where you would watch as his beautiful eyes lit up and his dimples deepened when he talked about his day or when he watched you speak about yours.

You weren't mad. You could never be mad at your Joon, not when he was finally getting to do everything he had talked about when you were both younger. The things he would smile about as you both sat on the low branch of the tree you both expertly climbed as children. What kind of girlfriend, what kind of best friend, would you be if you did get angry at that?

But your sickness had left you feeling like a child in need of comfort, and you couldn't help but feel upset about how visibly distant Namjoon had been. It was as if he was hiding something from you. It hurt that he wasn't fully trusting you.

When he noticed that you weren't going to respond, the door opened and Namjoon walked in. You looked up from your bag of clothes, looking up at your boyfriend.

"What Namjoon?" You ask, looking away. He knew what he was doing. Coming in here looking like he did, his lips slightly pursed so that his dimples would deepen. He was wearing a simple outfit, a black and white striped t-shirt, blue jeans, and his favorite pair of black high tops.

"I know you're mad at me, but there's no need for that or for you to be packing your clothes." He states. He hated when you called him by his full name when angry. He loved all the nicknames and pet names you had come up with.

You shrug, "I'm not mad at you and I'm taking these home to do laundry."

You hear him sigh and walk closer to you. You feel his arms snake around you, bringing you closer to his front. He knew you loved when he hugged you from behind. It made you smile faintly as his arms tightened around your belly.

"Don't be mad, honey." He whispers softly, his breath fanning across your neck as he brings his body down to reach your neck, where he places a soft kiss.

"You're going to get sick, Nam-" You start, trying to move out of his warm hold. You were annoyed with him, but that didn't mean you wanted him to catch whatever bug it was that you had. Of course he cuts you off, pulling you right back to him.

"I don't care." He turns you around in his arms, looking down at you.

"I do." You say, secretly enjoying how he held you.

He shrugs and chuckles, "Too bad. I want to hold my girlfriend."

You scrunch you're nose as you feel your argument crumble in your mind as he leaves a trail of soft kisses down your neck.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I know I have been distant the past few weeks. I've been dealing with some things and questioning others. I didn't realize until last night that I was distancing myself from you. That's something I never want to do. I'm sorry I made you feel like this." He says, as he looks up again, his big hands cradling your face.

You sigh looking at him. You knew he was sincere. That was something he never lacked. It was so clear in his dark eyes as he looked at you.

"It's okay, Joon. I just want you to remember that I'm here for you, okay? Just tell me whenever you're stressed out instead of pushing me away. That way I can at least try to help you and you won't be going through it alone." You respond, giving in. You touched his cheek softly, caressing the soft skin.

"I know. There's just something I've been thinking about. But I figured it out. So..." He trails off, kissing your cheek.

You giggle, "So?"

"Am I forgiven? Can we cuddle now without you wanting to slap me away?" He jokes, picking you up, his hands under your bottom.

You laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you to the bed, nuzzling into your neck the way he did after a long day. He gently places you down, coming down with you but stopping when he was a few inches away from your face. His strong arms were at each side of your face, caging you in.

"Hey there, gorgeous." He says sweetly, making you smile. His minty breath fanned across your upper lip as he looked down at them when the corners lifted.

"Hi, handsome." You whisper, looking at his full lips. Joon's smile was the first thing you had fallen in love with.

"I really want to kiss you right now." He whispers to you, his mouth centimeters away from yours. You close your eyes as you feel him nearing, his intoxicating cologne clouding your senses, one of his hands sweetly placed on your cheek.

You hum as his mouth goes to your collarbone, lightly biting at the skin before lightly running his tongue across it. "Namjoon, you're going to get sick." You mumble as a light moan escapes.

"I don't care." He states again. As his face nears, you close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of his full, soft lips on yours. Warmth spreads through your entire body as he deepens the kiss. His hand holds your chin as his lips continue to dance with yours. Every time Namjoon kissed you, it felt like the world was stopping around the both of you, but at the same time it felt as if everything was ablaze. The passion you both shared almost inconceivable.

You open your eyes as he pulls back, both your breathing shallow. He smiles and looks down at you, the love you both felt for each other clear in his eyes.

He pecks you once and then twice as his hands come up to tickle your sides. You let out a screaming laugh as his nimble fingers continue their attack on your sides.

"I hate you." You laugh as he chuckles at your discomfort.

"No you don't. You love me." He says, falling onto the space next to you.

You turn to rest your head on his hard chest, "Sometimes." You joke. He chuckles and brings you closer to place a kiss on your hair.

"I have a surprise for you tomorrow. I've been planning it on and off for the last few weeks." He says simply, kicking off his shoes. You get up partly, resting your head on your hands that were on top of his chest. You look down at him, his eyes closed, his face peaceful.

"What surprise?" You ask, tracing the lines of his face. Your lips still stung with the electrifying sweetness of your kiss.

He chuckles, the dimples you love appearing. "It's called a surprise for a reason. It comes from the Medieval Latin word 'superprehendere' or seize; Where it was then translated to the Old French word 'surprendre'."

You rolled your eyes and smiled down at him, he enjoyed sharing his encyclopedic knowledge with you. You loved when he did so. Your boyfriend was truly a man of endless knowledge. Learning came easy to him, he craved it.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" You ask, already knowing the answer.

He shakes his head and pulls you back down to rest on his chest. His hand went to your hair, carefully running his hand through.

His steady heartbeat lulls you, and before you know it, both of you are fast asleep.

••

"Joon, can you at least tell me where we're going so I know how to dress." You tell Namjoon who was currently finishing his shower. You had woken up feeling so much better, the pain the sore throat had caused had lessened exponentially. You dared to say it had disappeared overnight.

You were sitting on the toilet with a towel wrapped around yourself, you had just finished showering and washing your hair.

"I'm not telling you what it is until we get there and you see for yourself." He answers. You could practically feel him smiling through the shower curtain. He was really enjoying this whole keeping it a surprise thing.

"Dress warmly, too. Its just us. Think of it as a casual day out." He adds.

You sigh but get up to get ready, nonetheless. You couldn't help but be excited, though. It had been a few weeks since both of you had a night out. Both of your work got in the way a lot of the times, but of course most days you both slept in the same bed. You didn't mind missing a few date nights, as long as you got to fall asleep in Namjoon's arms at night, got to hear his heartbeat as you slowly fall asleep.

You take a few minutes to get ready in where you pick out a big, fluffy, burgundy sweater and some dark ripped jeans. You finish it off with a pair of black boots. You lightly spray your wrists and neck with the perfume Joon got you as one of your Valentine's Day presents last year. He said it was his favorite scent and it reminded him of you when you were away from each other.

Namjoon comes in minutes after wearing a white woolen turtleneck, black jeans, and his favorite boots. It was a chilly day out, but it would only get chillier as it got later.

You blatantly stare at him as the same feeling you get when he kisses you starts at the pit of your stomach.

"You look so beautiful, baby." He beats you to it, coming to your side. He grabs your hand and makes you do a spin.

It didn't matter if all you had on was a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt with holes in it, or if your hair was all over the place after a night in bed with Joon. He always called you beautiful.

You laugh as he spins, "I was going to say the same thing about you. You clean up nicely, handsome." His hands rest low on your waist as he looks down at you, a bright smile on his lips.

"Stop it." He says bashfully. Even after so many years of knowing him, and four years of being in a relationship, Joon always blushed beet red when you complimented him.

"You're so cute." You giggle, lifting slightly on your toes to kiss his warm, blushing cheek. You had missed doing so.

"So, where are we going?" You say nonchalantly, kissing the exposed skin of his neck. Namjoon softly groans in your ears as you leave a trail of kisses up to his sharp jaw.

"You almost got me there. But good try. Like I said, I'm not telling you until we get there and you see for yourself." He answers, pulling slightly away.

You pout as your impromptu plan to get him to tell you where you were going, fails. He laughs and pecks your bottom lip.

"Don't pout, baby. Come on, I already put everything in the trunk of the car so you won't be able to see anything." He says, grabbing your purse from the ottoman at the foot of the bed and handing it to you.

"Okay, lets go." You say as you notice how excited he was. You decide to stop pestering him and just 'go with the flow' because you just loved that excitement in his eyes, the twinkle of it in his gaze.

You wait next to Namjoon as he locks up the apartment, holding your hand and leading you down the hall when he did so.

"I can't wait until we get there. I hope you like it." He says excitedly. You laugh admiringly at his excitement, "I'm sure whatever it is, I'll genuinely love." You tell him, slightly swinging your hands back and forth as you wait for the elevator to reach your floor.

"I hope so." He answers as he brings your hand up to kiss it.

When you are both seated in Namjoon's car a few minutes later, seatbelts buckled- he never started the car unless everyone had theirs on— is when Joon speaks.

"Road trip." He says, wiggling his eyebrows, looking at you as he turns on the radio and connects his phone to the Bluetooth. You look at him, feeling the excitement bubble in you. You finally were going to spend some needed time with him. No work to worry about, just the two of you.

You smile at him as he grabs your hand, placing it on his lap as he drove with the other.

Even though it was chilly out, the day was beautiful. All blue skies with a few scattered clouds. There was a comfortable silence in the car as a song played on the radio. It was something about your relationship you appreciated. That there could be absolute silence and neither of you felt the need to disrupt it because it was so peaceful and both of you were comfortable to just sit in each other's presence.

The thing about being Namjoon's girlfriend was that even in completely silence, he would unknowingly do little things to show he was attentive to you. The way he caressed your hand, the way he'd harmonize whatever you were disastrously singing along to, the way he'd look at you or lean over to kiss your cheek at a stop sign or light.

You sighed happily, softly rubbing your thumb on Namjoon's, feeling the chilly but soothing wind come in through the opened windows and playing with your hair, 'Frequency' by Jhené Aiko filling the car.

You went through her entire new album 'Chilombo', before you spoke up. "It's beautiful out here." You say. You had never traveled this way before, there was no need to. A while ago, wooden areas had covered both sides of the highway, deep rooted trees that had been there longer than you could imagine. All greens, oranges, and reds. But now, the woods had broken and you were driving in between green hills, a big orange and grey flat top rock in the distance.

"I knew you would like it. Me and the guys found this area a month ago. Remember when we went camping?" He asked, quickly looking at you.

You hum, remembering the very eventful camping trip the boys- Joon's best friends- and Joon had talked about for weeks after they had gotten home.

"Well, I told you we got kind of lost. But it was more like incredibly lost. You know how Yoongi and Hoseok get when they're together. Everyone was super distracted so we ended up around here and just decided to camp in the area." He explained, tapping his long fingers on the steering wheel as the car went around a bend.

Every time the boys were together, it was as if the world was ending and it was their last time together. Especially when they started their 'crackhead' behavior, as everyone whoever met them described. You had been with them for years so you had come to get used to their energy, even look forward to it.

You shake your head and laugh, imagining just how distracted they were with Yoongi, Hoseok, and Teahyung probably screaming the whole way, Jimin and Jungkook teasing each other, and Jin and Joon unintentionally acting like they were in a marriage and fathers to the rest of the group.

"We're almost there by the way." He says smiling. "It's just a little ways down."

You smile excitedly, looking around to see if you saw anything that would help you decipher where you were going. But you couldn't see anything but luscious hills and rocks and sky.

You wait until he starts slowing down the car, parking it on the side of the road in front of a hill with a pathway leading up into a wooded area.

"Oh, I see what's going on. You're going to kill me and dump my body." You say jokingly, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He looks at you, his face completely serious, "How did you know?" Your smile falters a bit before he laughs at the same time you do.

"Haha, good one." You say blandly, shoving his shoulder.

"Come on. I can't wait until you see this." He says, getting out and walking to the back of the car and opening the trunk. You follow behind.

"What are you getting out?" You ask, trying to look over his broad shoulders. You noticed him taking things out of a white cooler and into a brown picnic basket.

You realize what he was doing and stop, a warmness filling your chest. You remember a few months ago, you had been sitting in Joon's backyard watching a movie on the home made theatre Joon, the boys, and you had built days before with a white sheet and a projector, when you had expressed to him that you had never been to a picnic after he had asked you.

You couldn't imagine he had remembered something you thought had been an insignificant comment on your part.

"Oh, Joon. You remembered." You whisper.

He turns around and smiles, nodding down at you. You quickly close the space between the both of you, hugging him to your body. His warmth envelops you as he chuckles into your hair.

"Come on, I want you to see something." He says, grabbing hold of a thick blanket and putting it on top of the basket, the handles keeping it in place.

He grabs your hand and leads you to the path. It's a bit steep but you manage to both get up easily with each other's help. The area is slightly wooded and looks undisturbed except for the fresh feet prints on the path.

You walk for a few minutes, admiring the life around you. The blue sky peaks through the trees and birds call to each other, chase each other like lovers. You walk across a small bridge, a bustling stream under, splashing the wood of the bridge. You step over rocks and discarded tree limbs bigger than any you have ever seen. Then you came to a break in the trees. You couldn't see what was the through it, but you could see light and hear something that sounded very familiar. Like a big body of water crashing against rocks.

"Okay we're near, close your eyes and don't peek." He requested, taking back the blanket you had taken from him to help with the load.

You grin and close my eyes, opening one to see what he was doing. "No peeking." He quipped.

"Okay, okay. What if I fall?" You question, putting your left hand over your eyes as he take your right with his.

"I won't let you get hurt." He promises. Of course you knew that. Namjoon has kept you safe long before you even developed any romantic feelings for him. But it was fun to tease him a bit.

"Okay, there's a rock in front of you, just sidestep it. To your left." He informs you, slightly tugging you so you wouldn't trip.

"Good, baby." He says, a kiss landing on your cheek.

"Namjoon, I smell the sea." You say as soon as the salty smell of the ocean hits your nose. It was a smell you had loved since you were little. You loved the ocean, the sand. The feeling of being in another world altogether when you spent a day in the beach.

Your boyfriend hums beside you, "Do you now?"

You can almost taste the sea when Namjoon stops walking. "Okay. Wait, let me set everything up. Don't peek." He says before running off. You hear him stop a few yards away.

"Don't peek." He yells from his place. You laugh, "I promise I'm not peeking."

"I can't wait for you to see this. The guys and I discovered it and it reminded me of you." He says as you hear him shake the blanket.

"How did it remind you of me?" You ask genuinely, itching to remove your hand and open your eyes.

"You'll see." He answers a few seconds later, the rustling of plastic and containers being popped open reaching your ears.

"Okay, open them." You jump slightly as his voice comes from right next to you, closer than you thought he had been.

Namjoon grabs your hand as your eyes open and you blink away the blurriness. You gasp as you take on the view. You'd never seen something so beautiful in your entire life. It was almost as if your brain couldn't fully comprehend that what laid in front of you, was in fact real.

"It reminded me of how equally beautiful you are, if not more." He whispers your ear, placing a soft kiss there.

"Namjoon-I can't-" You stop speaking as your breath gets stuck in your throat. In front of you was the ocean at the bottom of a cliff. That was what you had heard crashing against rocks, what you had smelled. The blue sky met the water in the horizon, until you couldn't decipher which one was which. The sea was empty, no boat in sight. It looked peaceful. How was it that something that could be so destructive, also be so beautiful?

You were standing in a field just as alluring. It was full of tall flowers, little dandelions, lilies. It was a field of whites and golds and greens. You loved the way the weeds and wildflowers grew freely in the area. It truly seemed as if you were the only ones who had discovered it.

A few yards away, Joon had prepared and set the picnic. The white blanket with little black floral detailing was spread in the only flattened section of the field. It was surrounded by even more wildflowers. On top of the blanket was an assortment of food, two glass bottles of your favorite drink and two wine cups. There was a small radio playing a soft song that matched the ambience.

It felt like you were in another world. A world far away from civilization, where Namjoon and you were the only ones.

"You like it?" Namjoon's deep voice meets your ears.

You look at him, your eyes wide, your mouth agape. "Like it, Namjoon? I love it. Thank you." You look at him and smile, watching his dimples rise as he smiles back.

"Come on." He says, leading you to the blanket.

It felt like for the next few hours you could do nothing besides eat, smile, laugh, or jokingly shove Namjoon. You were happy. So happy that you had almost completely forgotten that a few days ago he had been distant. You reminded yourself to ask him about it.

Namjoon had taken a break from reading to you his new adventure, a book called The Amazons: Lives & Legends of Warrior Women Across the Ancient World by Adrienne Mayor, your head resting on his lap fully immersed in what he had been reading, when you decided to ask.

"Joon?" You say, playing with a loose thread in his jeans. "Yes, babygirl?" He answers, his eyes closed as his head faced the sky.

You smile at his pet name. You would never let anyone but the man above you call you such names. You loved when it came from him.

"Yesterday you said had been questioning some things and that's why you were distant. What have you been questioning?" You ask. You feel him tense under you. It makes you sit up. A plethora of scenarios going through your head. What if something was wrong with him? What if he was questioning your relationship?

"I've been meaning to talk about this with you for a long time. Don't look like that baby, it's nothing bad." He says pulling you to his side.

"Come on, let's go for a bit of a walk." He adds, getting up and holding his hand out to pull you up.

You take his warm hand and walk where he was leading you. Closer to the sea.

(A/N: Play the next song now and listen to it as you imagine yourself sitting in the cliff from the fifth picture with Namjoon, the sea under you, the sky full of the colors that come with the sunset)

You walked across the field and closer to the edge where you both sat down looking over at the view. It was truly stunning. The ocean lapped peacefully at the rocks under you. The sun had begun to set a few minutes ago so the sky was bleached a harmony of pinks, blues, and oranges. Behind you both, the radio had started to play Instagram by Dean. You felt truly at peace. You had the person you loved most in the world next to you, sharing this magical moment with you.

You look next to you, hoping to see Namjoon as transfixed with the scene as you were. But he seemed tense, frightened even.

"What's wrong, Joon?" You ask him, caressing his cheek.

"We've been together for so long. You know my heart belonged to you from the moment I came back from Korea five years ago. But it belonged to you way before that, even when we were friends. Do you remember how my mom would say we were meant to meet, that it was our destiny?" He asked, turning his whole body to look at you.

You nod, there was something in the air, something that was telling you not to speak, to listen.

The time when Joon went to Korea for three years was the moment you realized that you didn't see him just as a best friend, the feelings that had been locked inside you wanted to do nothing but kiss Namjoon, make him happy, spend your days with him. You realized that your heart had left with him. Had been ripped out of your chest the moment you saw that plane take off. The moment you realized that it wasn't a vacation, that he was really staying oversees, your feelings became clear then. You loved Namjoon. You were in love with him, with everything about him.

When they were in the airport, Namjoon's mother had seen how distraught you both were. She was a spiritual woman who believed in spirits, auras, etc. She had told you both that your destinies were intertwined, starting when you both met, tied together, for all eternity. For some time Namjoon and you thought it was just a mother trying to console her child and a girl she had seen grow up.

"She was right. I can feel it. I know you can, too. I can see it in the way you look at me, the way you care for me. I can see it in your selfless actions, the way you support my dreams even though sometimes you can't see me for days. I feel it in the way I can't imagine myself with someone that isn't you. I can't imagine ever ending what we have, waking up to someone who isn't you or even sharing my bed with someone besides you. I can't see myself laughing with anyone else while they cook breakfast, I can't see myself reading my books to someone else. I can't imagine myself making love to anyone else. I can't see myself growing old with someone who isn't you, love.

But that's the thing. It's not just that I can't. I won't. I won't love anyone else as much as I love you. I won't spend the rest of my life with someone who isn't you. This decision was easy for me to make, I knew as soon as it came to my head that I was going to ask you. But I was scared. Then I noticed my fears were making me do the opposite of what I wanted to do and grow distant from you. But I'm sure now. This is what I want. What I need." He finishes. Your eyes water at the sincerity and raw emotion in his voice.

You understood everything he said because you felt the same way. When you thought of the future, Namjoon was always by your side. It didn't matter how far into the future it was- five years, ten, or twenty years- he was always there at your side, smiling with those dimples that you would never give up seeing.

"What-?" You mutter, wanting to ask him what he meant by all of this, already having a clue, already feeling the excitement and pure love surround your heart, but he cuts you off.

"Marry me, love." He continues, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little, black velvet box. "Spend the rest of your life with me."

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Celebrating Too Late

“Shh,” Nick said, his finger to his lips as he walked down the hallway beside his seven-year-old daughter, Mattie. She was carrying a tray with a plate laden down with piping hot scrambled eggs, fresh, crisp bacon, and toast with strawberry jam. Nicole carried a bouquet of red and yellow tulips and daisies. Lee clutched a card that was nearly as big as he was. Baby RJ was settled on his Dada’s hip, tugging on Nick’s ponytail and trying to get his glasses.

Nick carefully pushed the bedroom door open, glad to find Matt already sitting up in the bed next to their wife. Lee skipped around his Dada’s legs and went straight for his Papa, tossing the oversized card on the floor and reaching for Matt.

“C’mon, little guy,” Matt whispered, leaning over the edge of the bed for the card. He looked up at his brother, grinning as he nudged his wife gently in the shoulder. “Y/N? It’s time to wake up, Mama.”

***

Matt’s voice drew me out of a dream. The moment I found consciousness again, I lost every detail of it. Instead, I took in the details of the room around me. Matt sat in the bed beside me, hair mussed from sleep, Lee in his lap, a gigantic card sitting on his legs. Nick stood at the side of the bed, RJ on his hip, looking adorably handsome in his glasses. Mattie and Nicole were still in their PJs, one with a tray of food, the other with a bouquet of flowers.

“Happy birthday to you…” Nick began, the girls joining in with Matt. Lee tried to sing, but he didn’t know the words and he kept getting distracted by Matt wiggling his toes beneath the blanket. When the song was over, Nick helped Mattie put the tray on my lap.

“Happy birthday, Mommy,” Mattie said with a big smile. “Dad and I made breakfast for you.”

Nicole held up the flowers, grinning proudly. “Me and Papa got fwowers.” I took the bouquet and held it up to my nose, breathing in the scent of the tulips and daisies.

“Lee and RJ helped with the card,” Matt said from beside me, bouncing our son on his knee. “Well, Lee picked it out. RJ just tried to eat the corner.”

I smiled, even as tears blurred my vision. “You guys didn’t have to do this,” I sniffled as Matt and Lee ripped the baby blue envelope open. The card was a foot-and-a-half tall and almost a foot wide, dark blue with shades of light blue and gold on the front. Today’s Kind of a Big Deal it read. Matt got it open despite Lee’s “help.” On the inside, it said So are YOU, surrounded by handwritten messages from my husbands and my kids. Matt’s looping script took up half of the inside flap, Nick’s spiky scrawl the other half. Mattie had written a birthday message in her careful seven-year-old handwriting just above a drawing of Bandit, Ranger, and Oreo that Nicole had done. Lee had scribbled a circle, RJ jagged lines.

The tears flowed down my face as I read the messages of love and devotion from Matt and Nick. I wiped my eyes and smiled at them all. “This is the best birthday,” I said. Matt took the card and Nick picked up the bouquet, saying something about putting it in a vase, as I started in on breakfast. “Oh, this bacon is perfect.”

Mattie grinned up at Nick, proud to have helped make my birthday breakfast.

***

The sun was bright overhead later that afternoon. RJ napped in my mother-in-law’s arms, full from his recent feeding. Matt was in the pool with Mattie and Nicole. He stayed close to Nicole in her ballerina floaties and watched Mattie do flips and handstands. Our girl was like a fish. She’d started swimming when she was two and never stopped. Lee was keeping my father-in-law busy at the playset. I leaned against the side of the house, watching Nick man the grill.

Barefoot, in a tank top and swim trunks, Nick flipped burgers and hot dogs. He closed the lid of the grill and looked back, smiling at me then looking past me. “Where is he? I can keep these warm, but they’re gonna be burnt by the time he shows up.”

While we’d invited my mother, sister, and her husband and kids, they lived in Georgia now and it was harder for them to visit than before. Neither of Matt and Nick’s siblings could make it to the cookout, but they’d also invited Kenny, who was flying back from Winnipeg and was stopping over in California for a visit.

“It’s Kenny,” I said, resting my palm on the small of Nick’s back. “He’s not going to care.”

Nick waved the spatula in my direction. “But I care… Nick Jackson does not serve burnt food from his grill.”

Matt Sr. laughed from the playset, where he was pushing Lee on a swing. “He gets that from me, Y/N,” he said with pride.

***

Kenny showed up fifteen minutes later, wholly apologetic and bearing an armload of gifts. The moment Nicole saw him, she splashed desperately, begging her Papa to get her out of the pool, wailing “Unca Kenny!” at the top of her lungs. Joyce took the gifts while I tossed him a towel just in time to catch a sopping wet Nicole.

“Hey, Nik,” Kenny said, a broad smile on his face. He wrapped her in the towel and held her up on his hip, not caring that his shirt was sodden. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Ken.” I looked him over, hoping that he was on the tail end of something happy rather than something sad.

He carried Nicole over to the grill, fist-bumping Nick as he got close. “Are those burgers a little crisp?”

Nick swatted at Kenny with the dish towel over his shoulder. “Shut your mouth. That’s almost as bad as Y/N cursing Lee to be a Laker’s fan.”

“She didn’t!” Kenny gasped dramatically, winking before he walked around to the head of the pool, where Matt and Mattie were racing from one end of the pool to the other. Of course, Matt gave our daughter a giant head start, but she was such a good swimmer that I was pretty sure one day soon, she wouldn’t need it.

“Food’s ready,” Nick said, propping the spatula on a platter full of perfectly grilled burgers and hot dogs. He clapped his hands twice and let out a whistle. “Let’s do it, Jacksons!”

Mattie pulled herself out of the pool, taking the towel Matt held out. Nicole wriggled in Kenny’s hold, leaning toward Nick. Matt Sr. got Lee out from the baby swing and followed behind as he toddled over toward us. Bringing up the rear was Matt, who slipped by me into the house after dropping a kiss on my forehead.

One by one, everyone got their food. Mattie wanted a double cheeseburger. Nicole wanted a hot dog with mustard and chili. Lee ended up with a cut up hot dog and half a hamburger patty with ketchup. Kenny, my in-laws, and Nick loaded up their own plates. Between the two of them, Kenny and Nick had four hamburgers and three hotdogs. I made a plate for Matt and another for myself.

“Table it,” Nick said firmly. Mattie lead the way to the picnic tables we’d set out on the concrete patio. Once the kids were sitting down, Nick and I brought over drinks and sippy cups. Matt Sr. said grace, and still Matt was in the house.

I turned to go check on him, only to see him walking out of the kitchen with a sheet cake in his hands. They’d put two candles on the top, the number ones that read my age. As soon as Matt started over, Joyce started singing Happy birthday. The cake made its way to the end of the picnic table and sat it down in front of me. I blinked back tears.

I looked up to see Joyce taking pictures, standing back far enough to get shots of everyone around the table. Matt and Nick stood on either side of me, beaming happily as I leaned over to blow out the candles. As soon as the flames were out, Nick plucked one of the candles from the cake and held it up to me to lick the icing off the bottom. I never got to it.

I was suddenly gathered up, carried between the two of them toward the pool.

“Don’t you dare! Nick! Matt! Don’t!” I squealed, kicking and trying to get away from them. “Don’t!”

They grinned at one another, leaned in and pressed kisses against my cheeks. “Happy birthday, Mama,” Matt said.

“Remember we love you, Sunshine,” Nick added.

Before I knew it, I was being flipped head over heels into the pool. I hit the water feet and butt first, spluttering and coughing as I wiped my eyes. As soon as I could see, I saw my husbands standing on the edge of the pool, crouched down, each one reaching an arm for me. I didn’t even think twice. I took their hands, planted my feet against the side of the pool, and pulled. They both hit the water headfirst.

“Remember I love you, boys,” I said saucily, heaving myself up to the side.

***

Lee and RJ were in the playpen, both having fallen asleep from the excitement of the pool party. Nicole was still with Kenny, listening to him talk with Matt Sr. as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Mattie had spent the last twenty minutes looking longingly at the cake.

Joyce sliced it up, passing plates down the table. I’d taken a few of the dishes into the kitchen to load the dishwasher, hoping to cut down on the cleanup time. When I came back out there were three plates waiting at the end of the table. I smiled when I realized it was my absolute favorite—red velvet with buttercream icing.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Nick said from my side. He gathered me close and kissed me gently.

Matt slipped up on the other side, dropping little kisses on the side of my neck. “Another year, and you’re still to good for us, Mama.”

I looked up, intending to tell them both how wonderful they were. Instead, I caught sight of them staring at each other, communicating in that silent, synchronized way of theirs. The wheels were turning in their heads, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was. All I knew was it meant something horrible for me.

Nick’s hand twitched, and I glanced down. His fingers were inching toward the piece of cake nearby. Ah, I thought. Turnabout is fair play.

I reached behind me, digging my fingers into the slice of cake until I had two handfuls of cake. “Boys?” I said it as sweetly as I could, forcing myself to look innocent. “Have some cake.”

My hands snapped up, smashing the cake into their faces, smushing it along their cheeks and their foreheads. They gasped, reaching up to wipe icing out of their eyes.

“Oh, you’ve done it now, Mama,” Matt growled, sprinting after me.

Tag List

@mox-made-me-do-it @not-that-kinda-gurl08 @lilred91 @imagineall-the-fandoms

#celebrating too late #too late tales #the too late tales #nick jackson #nick jackson fanfiction #matt jackson #matt jackson fanfiction #young bucks #young bucks fanfiction #nick x reader #matt x reader #matt x reader x nick #polyamory #polyamorous relationships

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arshinquarantine · 3 years

Text

online shopping

To be honest, I don't really care for online shopping. A million little neurons fire off in my brain when I give someone money and they give me an object instantly. Who I was with, how I looked when I first tried it on, what I felt when I first tasted it, how much of a bargain it was, the feel of seams on my fingers or the weight of deckled pages in my hands, the caution I threw to the winds or the impulse that I permitted to seize me all combine in a few seconds to inject one simple emotion into my simple brain: buying shit feels good. Until recently, online shopping was utterly devoid of any positive emotion for me. I don't like computers, and they particularly irk me when they ask me to punch my credit card number or (worse) save it. I don't like waiting for boxes to arrive or dealing with going to the post office to pick them up or the endless amounts of recycling I'm going to have to do. I also absolutely do not have the time or the will or the discipline to return roughly half of what I buy because I'm picky and women's sizing for anything is a hot mess, so piles of unwanted shit pile up in my tiny apartment taking up valuable real estate. So I generally go out of my way to avoid the whole business of it all.

For the first few months of the quarantine, I lived like a purist, buying only what I absolutely needed to online. Unfortunately for me, I was living in an unfurnished apartment (the sum total of the furniture I owned was a mattress, a shitty dollar walmart desk, and a shittier dollar walmart chair) so I actually needed to buy a lot of stuff and I dragged my feet miserably through it all. It took me weeks to pick out basic white Crate & Barrel plates for my kitchen, another few months before I committed to a bookshelf that held only about a third of the books I own, and far too long to buy a bed frame. The worst crime of all was my sofa; when I think about how many months I lived with only my mattress or my floor to sit on, I genuinely wonder how far my propensity for masochism can truly go. Ordering my groceries online was simply out of the question, I remained staunchly devoted to buying them in store even when I had to wait 40 minutes in line for my turn.

Soon, the early alarming but novel weeks of covid gave way to the later mundane, claustrophobic ones. After a few weeks of regularly working out, I realized that there was no world for me to emerge into with my newer, hotter body. The comfort I got from my group chats and zoom hangouts soon petered out, and I returned to cooking my usual 20 minute weeknight meals. Stuck in a new apartment, in a new city, without a car (I can't even drive so this is actually moot tbh) my world quietly shrunk to the 600 odd square feet of hastily, partially furnished space I could call my own (now shared with a sibling) and a few blocks in either direction. I wore the same clothes, called the same people, walked the same walk, shopped at the same Shoppers, made the same complaints and wallowed in the same worries, and then I woke up and I did it all over again.

And then I decided that it was time for something new, and I've been searching for newness ever since. A "resurfacing" night cream that promised to make my skin brighter. A houndstooth blazer from an online vintage store that fit like it was tailored for me. A monstera plant that unfurled leaf after leaf under my distracted care before I finally succeeded in killing it. A bluetooth speaker to fill my home with the sound of qawwalis my dad taught me to love. The boxes would arrive days, sometimes weeks after I make the actual purchase, feeling more like a gift from an unknown benefactor than something I furtively paid for. I used to dislike online shopping for its delayed gratification, but soon began to covet it for exactly that reason, like the steady cadence of a few minutes of excitement made me feel like I was accomplishing the impossible task of feeling an emotion. A cheap rug. An expensive sofa. Baking equipment. Painting equipment. Exercise equipment. Books about best friendship, books about love, about a dying earth and dying mothers, set in Syria and Detroit, Naples and Busan, some devoured, some discarded, all read in hot pursuit of staving off how utterly dead I felt on the inside. Each box that landed on my doorstep neatly filled a hole in my life, a void that never seemed to shrink.

It felt reckless and frivolous—childish even—to allow myself to keep getting things that would make me happy. It contradicted everything I wanted to believe about myself: that I was unaffected by anything money could buy, able to achieve complete inner peace by simply "thinking good thoughts", and minimalist to my core. How positively pathetic of me, I'd think, to need a "thing" or an "item" to be able to feel happiness. Even as I searched within myself for gratitude at my good fortune, my good health, I often came up empty, and the answers to all my questions seemed for lie, for however brief a moment, in whatever Instagram thought I should buy that week, silently delivered in recyclable packaging, with a return label and a promise of brief delight.

Most people my age, my peers haven't lived through an event as seismic as this. The idea that life being irreversibly changed even after this, that it already has changed feels alien to me, a square peg trying to jam itself into the round hold where my brain used to be. Life as it used to be feels right around the corner, just a week away, just a month away, just a season away, and soon, I tell myself, I will get back the normalcy of buying four americanos in three hours to keep my internet access at the cafe I've been working at, the fun in an afternoon spent mindlessly window shopping, the stupid joy in dancing the night away in a sweet and sticky club, the relief in resting my head against the shoulder of a friend, the discomfort of getting on the subway at rush hour, the ordeal of a 15 hour flight home to see my little sister.

I lost family members this year, and I spend my weekends flitting between my numb grief and a website that sells silk pyjama sets. Sometimes, I don't speak to my father for days, afraid that he might see right through my false cheer. Sending him pictures of the first snow, my meals and paintings seems enough to me. Lately I've been waking up from dreams that range from bad to fully qualified nightmares about my mom's health. I haven't seen her in nineteen months. I ruminate over where I want to live, if I want children, who I want them with, new questions that have cropped up and firmly planted themselves on my brain. I find myself rejecting the companionship of the friends on my phone. I want them here in Toronto, so we can laugh at the past, and marvel at the present, our warm bodies pressed against one another. And I crave the thrill of deep conversation with new people who remain interesting to me for only as long as I know nothing about them. Loneliness seems to run like a thread throughout everyone's twenties, I suppose, and I'm unable to tease out where the disorientation of being 24 ends and the isolation of living in a pandemic begins. But tangled up, they are stronger together and frighten me everyday, and I surround myself with boxes and yet more boxes to ward them off.

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theangelicpyro · 3 years

Text

The Prime Suspect

Detective C.C. Tinsley is stuck. The investigation into the local serial killer is going nowhere, and more often then not he finds himself drinking to avoid the stinging pain of failure. Ryan is doing his best to help, but the discussions they have usually consist of Tinsley humoring him, while relaxing for the slightest bit in front of the only person who doesn't blame him.

It's almost been a year since the first murder, and sometimes, Shane just wishes he was never transferred here. Sometimes, he wishes he was never here at all.

Nine.

The body count.

The number that had taken to haunting his mind as it steadily rose while the months passed by.

Detective C.C. Tinsley sighed, dropping his head in his hands after going over his clues. For the… millionth time. It was expected really, considering that almost a year had passed with absolutely no suspects. The town had lost faith in his ability long ago, after the two- and three-year-old's died.

They were the first of many. Too many. Such young souls, not even given the chance to truly live before their threads had been cut.

It was already November. Close to his only friend’s birthday, now that he thought about it. Ryan had seemed more skittish than usual; he’d have to check up on him soon. Tinsley wished he could solve the cases before the birthday arrived, if only so he could actually celebrate with nothing weighing him down.

He sighed again, this time rolling his long-since empty glass around his hand at the reminder of what he was supposed to have figured out almost eleven months ago. It was jarring, going from the quiet routine of a small place, to the terror of knowing a murderer is on the loose. The calm before the storm, he mused.

Standing up, he began pacing, his unfortunate downstairs neighbors far too used to it by now. What could he do? Was he just too incompetent at his job? Would he even be able to prevent another death?

He paused, startled only by the realization that he had to meet up with someone soon today to discuss potential suspects, not that it ever made a difference. They had never had any leads, and it always ended in empty promises of figuring out the killer before the next gathering. Glancing down at his clothes, he thought it might be good to freshen up beforehand.

It really wasn't a bad idea, he decided, finally looking in the mirror. Hair matted, prominent and permanent eyebags, and a hunched, hurting back from poring over his notes everyday.

After washing up and grabbing his coat off the rack, he headed out.

Ryan didn't live too far away; a pleasant walk one might say, plus Tinsley was far past the point of caring if he got murdered on his stroll there.

He wasn’t, and managed to make it there unscathed.

Ryan answered the door, oddly nervous. Well, more so than he had been in the past.

“Tinsley? There’s, there’s something I really have to tell you.” His voice grew more panicked with every word, his hands shaking while he closed the door behind the detective. “So I’ve been doing some, some research on numbers and, and I think I figured it out. The pattern.”

Ryan pulled his friend towards the back of his apartment, grip tight and knuckles white, showing him the stereotypical wall of the ages, pictures, and drawings, all tied together with red strings. There were books piled up all around, a computer with far too many tabs open, and notes pinned to every surface.

Tinsley was first concerned for his friend’s mental wellbeing, it’s barely been a week since I’ve seen him last and he already seems to have lost his mind , then began inspecting all what he had collected.

“Nine murders, with seemingly no connection. I looked them up in order on a whim and they’re all, they’re all prime numbers. Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three....” He drew in a sharp breath, before turning to the detective with a fearful look in his eyes. “The next number is… twenty-nine.”

“...How old are you, Ryan?”

“I’m, I’m about to be twenty-nine.”

“Shit!” The detective cursed under his breath, ignoring the tell-tale burning sensation of tears prickling at his eyes.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I.”

“No you’re not! Not if I can help it!” Tinsley burst out, grasping Ryan’s shoulders as he looked into the other’s eyes. The two stood there a moment, the wannabe detective having lost his fear for a sense of emptiness while the true one tried to calm down.

“When’d you figured this out? The potential pattern.” He hissed internally at the pessimistic voice in his head saying it wasn’t just a possibility.

“Not too, not too long ago. The start of this week.”

“And you didn’t tell me immediately? Ryan, buddy, your life is on the line, you can’t afford to withhold this type of stuff!”

“I was in shock. Still in shock.” He corrected, hands trembling as he tried to sit and sit still, fidgeting under the piercingly worried stare.

Tinsley took a deep breath, then cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s… I can’t say that it’ll be okay, but… I will do my best to protect you, even if I have to die for you. I’ve already disappointed the town, but I never want to do the same to you.”

Ryan immediately backpedaled, though the strange hint of a smile was lost on the detective. “No! You’re the only person in this place that even has a chance of solving these murders, please don’t waste your life on me!” He paused, shifting his tone.

“You’re more important than you’ll ever know, never forget that.”

***

It was today. The day his only friend in this stupid place turned the age that seemed to be next in terms of the recent serial killer’s modus operandi.

C.C. Tinsley was stressed. More than stressed. Panicking? That was a better word for it.

He couldn’t afford to fail, not again. Not with so much at stake. He’d insisted on standing guard outside Ryan’s apartment, occasionally checking in but mostly staying out. It wasn’t until he heard the door open, unaware of the board smacking him upside the head, that effectively knocked him out.

The next thing he knew was the pain of duct tape, a splinter from the chair he was stuck to, and the crazed grin of someone far gone, for far too long.

“Did you really think I was going to die? Poor little ‘Ryan Bergara,’ the guy afraid of his own shadow? The guy that consequently doesn’t exist?” He crouched, smiling sweetly at the man he’d been stringing along like a puppet since the beginning.

“You know, there was a reason I told you the pattern. Wanna guess?” Tinsley glared, but said nothing. Not like he could anyway, due to the duct tape over his mouth. ‘Ryan’ pouted, but continued anyway.

“Mere. Curiosity. That’s it! I always thought, I know so much about crimes and how to get away with them, why not take a crack at it for myself? I figured my best introduction to the world would be seemingly random but violent deaths, ranging from as young as two to a young adult of twenty-three!” He took a bow, pretending as if there was an audience applauding him and his ‘accomplishments.’

“And you wanna know the best part? I succeeded!”

Detective Tinsley scowled, struggling in his bonds, attempting to kick his captor but only managing to knock over the chair he was taped to.

Ryan glanced boredly at the display of the man he defeated, the one currently writhing on the stone cold floor. “If you still think you’ll escape, you’re very naive, Mr. Tinsley.”

The killer suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree, and pulled out his phone. Beginning to cackle, he looked like a madman ready to lose it at any second. Calming down, he shifted personas into the one Tinsley knew best, the one that was apparently just a ruse. He ran around the room then quickly dialed a short number, breathing heavily from the exercise. “He-Hello? Police? I’d, I’d like to report an attempted murder… I barely got away, but we all know the killer well. It’s… It’s our very own town detective, Mr. Tinsley.” He smirked, watching the pieces of his game fall into place while Tinsley’s face fell, then his eyes were practically screaming his anger. “I, I don’t know where I am, no… Can’t you try to find him before getting me? I’d feel safer if he was caught and behind bars… Okay, th-thank you.” The call disconnected, and unimaginable fury rolled off the newly-pronounced scapegoat in waves. Ryan merely beamed, succeeding in only angering his victim further.

They sat in silence for a while, if you ignored the grunts of rage and various shuffling coming from the detective, still on the floor. Eventually, Ryan decided to take the duct tape off, if only to hear someone else talk than the voices in his head.

Immediately biting his hand, Tinsley tore through the skin in an attempt to escape. All that did however, was annoy the person who could easily kill him. He sighed, tugging on his hand before giving up. “Is this really all you can do? Come on, I could have sworn I told you that I have congenital insensitivity to pain. It’s the reason for all my fevers.” Ryan pointed to the now bleeding hand. “I can’t feel this, sorry to burst your bubble dear.”

Tinsley spat out the hand, glaring at its owner. “You’re insane, and I will stop you.”

“That’s rich, coming from the man stuck to a chair. And are you sure I’m the insane one? You’re the one stuck in your mind.” He burst out laughing, wheezing a bit before talking again. “I’m just kidding, I bet you wish this was only a dream!”

Waltzing around the fallen chair, Ryan petulantly sulked over the stubbornly quiet investigator. “You know, the point of taking off the tape was to hear you groan about my win and your loss, yadda yadda ya. And that’s not happening, so it wasn’t even worth it! Gosh, all that effort wasted…” He pulled out the roll of duct tape, tore off a piece, then went over to put it on his ‘friend.’

Tinsley flew into action, pulling out his wrists that had sweat so much the duct tape didn’t even stick anymore, and punched the other man straight into the nose, breaking it instantly. Ryan got up easily, bleeding profusely but undeterred from stopping now.

Unfortunately that one punch was all he could do, as his legs were still attached to the chair. Even with his arms free, he still had fallen over in his original plan of escape, limiting him severely.

The sound of sirens startled the both of them.

Ryan glanced over to the window, surprised at his rather awful complexion, and the police cars pulled up outside the building. Then he sighed. “I really thought we’d have more time to play together. Alas, my destiny awaits!” Walking towards the entrance, he winked at the detective. “I had so much fun! Can’t wait for next time, my dear Mr. Tinsley!”

Throwing open the door dramatically, he wore a face not unlike that of a cheshire cat. “I’ll surrender now.” He said simply, looking over his shoulder to get one last glimpse of his confused captive. The small group of officers first headed past him, but all he did was say a few words before their weapons were pointed on him.

“You have the right to remain silent-”

“Anything I say can and will be used against me in the court of law, I know, I know. Just get it over with.” He held his hands out together, wrist side up, while the police kept reading out the Miranda Rights and cuffed him.

One of the members on the force went inside cautiously, and took in the sight of the downed detective, before taking out his knife and began freeing him from the tape.

“It, it wasn’t me,” He gasped, nodding towards the true culprit.

“We know.” Said the officer grimly, watching the proceedings of the arrest.

“I’m sorry, I was caught in his trap from the beginning, but he’s the one responsible. For the murders. I was just too blind to see it behind the facade he carefully crafted. Dammit, I gave him the information we had all this time because he was like a kid wanting to be a police officer when he grew up, and helping me out with so much research.” Tinsley dropped his head in his hands.

“I never thought he would be capable of something as sickening as being a serial killer.”

***

The next morning, Shane Madej, codename ‘C.C. Tinsley,’ turned in his badge. “Not fit for the job,” he said. “I don’t deserve it when I barely scraped through those cases.”

Ryan Bergara was put on trial, and his punishment was the death penalty. They say he was smiling all the way up until he met his end.

So, what’s next?

This small town suffered a total of 10 losses, if you count Mr. Bergara’s contribution. None do.

Mr. Tinsley moved to a place he was used to, a place where he fulfilled his need to have the hustle and bustle of a large city always able to be heard, lest the maniacal laughter and sharp pain of betrayal dig deep into his heart and ring throughout his head, teasing him in the voice of the person long since dead.

The nightmares still haunt him when he sleeps.

He wastes his life away, staying awake for as long as he possibly can to avoid them.

(It never works.)

One day, he simply…

Drops.

Dead to the world, dead to the dead.

It’s quite a shame, considering he’d been dead for far longer than that.

#shane madej #ryan bergara #buzzfeed unsolved #oneshot #murder mystery #angst #bittersweet #serial killer #shaniac #boogara #detective cc tinsley #not a happy ending

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panharmonium · 4 years

Text

just some thinky thoughts about fandom platforms and community that i didn’t know what to do with, so i wrote them down.

[tl;dr - tumblr is weird, pan misses (certain aspects of) Ye Olde Days]

tumblr is such a weird platform.

like. i love my blog as a personal repository of stuff i enjoy, and i’m definitely thrilled to have met the people i’ve met on here - some of them have even become my friends outside the internet, and that’s been absolutely lovely. but in terms of actual functionality when it comes to trying to engage in a fandom...it’s still weird.

i know people will probably get tired of all the “BACK IN MY DAY” fandom analysis posts that float around on this website, but even having been here for years now, it is still really hard for me to adjust to a place that makes it so impossible to find any kind of actual fandom community spaces.

for me, i didn’t even start using tumblr until i was in my mid-twenties, and that was only because tumblr was where most people from LJ had migrated. i’d been Doing Fandom for over a decade prior to that, on other platforms (fandom specific sites/archives and then LJ), so i ended up here kind of out of necessity - the great fandom migration was already mostly complete, by the time i moved.

so i got here, and i got settled, but fandom on tumblr has been so different from fandom as i experienced it anywhere else, and that’s not the fault of any of its users; it’s just an inevitable function of the way this site is structured.

it is SO HARD for us to connect with people on here!

just, as an example from my own more recent life - i’ve been doing a lot of merlin stuff lately, right? that’s where my head is at and that’s what i’m having the most fun with and i would love to be more interactive with people about it, like - to have folks to geek out with about it, you know, to do the things that fandom is for - and if i were on, say, livejournal, back in the day, i would know where to go to do those things. there would be specific spaces built for just that purpose. LJ comms were places where everybody who was interested in a particular thing could go for the express purpose of posting and discussing and interacting about that thing! people still maintained their own personal blogs, but they also belonged to whichever LJ communities reflected their interests. LJ comms and fandom-specific sites were fandom hubs - it was so easy to find what you were looking for.

this functionality doesn’t exist in any meaningful way on tumblr. big, moderated groups/communities aren’t a thing tumblr truly supports. there’s no way for me to go join the “merlin” comm and just be in community with a large group of people who just wanna talk about merlin. the limited “group blog” functionality on tumblr is so non-conducive to actual usage that community spaces like those just don’t really exist, not like Back In The Day.

fandom on tumblr is so very decentralized. the way things are set up here forces all of us to just make posts on our individual blogs, which then might get picked up and put on other people’s individual blogs, maybe. you can’t like...make something (X) Fandom related and drop it in the (X) Fandom LJ Comm like “hey look, something fun to talk about!” you could put it in “The Tag,” but anyone who’s been here for any length of time knows how useful doing that actually is. and you could post it on your individual blog, but it won’t necessarily reach anybody who might want to geek out with you, not if you’re not already followed by someone in that fandom.

and the only other option is to invite yourself onto someone else’s individual blog, which is a) inefficient, when you’re looking for wider community, and b) not something a Painfully Reserved Person is wont to do.

the analogy that works best for me is this: pre-tumblr, fandom hangouts were community spaces. they were cafés with a sign hanging out front saying “star wars here!” or “kanan/hera here!” or “X here!” if you wanted to geek out about a particular thing, you would go to the café and meet a bunch of other people there.

nowadays, if you want to geek out about a particular thing, you have to barge into a stranger’s house. and not everyone is comfortable with that.

the lack of real, threaded comments is also just...i don’t know how to express how detrimental this is to communication and community. i mean, i understand that tumblr’s entire “reblog” system doesn’t really allow it to be a thing, but tumblr’s entire mechanic as a fandom platform has to be questioned, in that case.

how impossible is it to have a conversation on here, the way tumblr is set up right now? i mean - let’s say you make a post, right? one person reblogs it and adds their own text to it; another person reblogs the original version, but says something different in the tags. a third person doesn’t reblog it at all, but hits “reply” on your original post. a fourth person “replies” also, but to the second person’s reblog, in response to the additional content.

NONE OF YOU ARE HAVING THE SAME CONVERSATION. none of you are even aware that the other conversations are happening. the idea of trying to build an actual cohesive fandom community like that is just...impossible. it can’t happen.

when i reblog posts on tumblr, i feel like i’m a dragon collecting a little hoard of shiny things she likes, only i never actually see another person, because i live in a cave.

everybody here lives in a cave.

and like...this is just philosophical, i guess, but. tumblr’s focus on “follower count” and notes is also a thing i don’t really know how to handle.

having people “follow” me makes me feel weird. seeing that people are “following” this blog exerts a bizarre external pressure, as if my little house here could ever be for anybody who isn’t me. it prompts a tiny 'but should you?’ in the back of my head when i post about something that isn’t what all those people came here for, which is ridiculous, because this was never supposed to be a blog for any fandom in particular; it was just a blog for me. i was the only one here when i started, and i literally never did anything to try and get people to come here and join me. it happened accidentally, because bigger blogs than me picked up some star wars stuff i made and passed it around.

but of course, on tumblr, making connections gets conflated with follower/note count, and understandably so, because besides having a higher follower count (aka wider distribution), how are people ever going to reach the other people who are into the same thing they are?

for instance. let’s say you’re brand new to tumblr. you want to get involved in X fandom. there’s no community space here where a new blog with no followers can go and share their stuff with the right audience and meet all the other people who are also sharing their own work. unless you start messaging strangers, your tumblr time is pretty isolated.

whereas - i remember on lj comms, back when people would post as a newcomer, it would be like, ‘hey i’m so-and-so and i love xyz and here’s a picture i drew of x character!!!!’ - and people would actually respond to that. people responded to everything! like. tiny 400 word fics would have 30 comments, and all those people were talking with each other, not past each other, on the same page.

just for fun, while i was typing this up, i went through a month’s worth of posts on an old lj comm i used to frequent. not a single one of those posts was comment-less. every single post, even the tiniest, most insignificant one-line musing, had some amount of discussion attached to it.

whereas now - i don’t know if this is just confined to tumblr, or if it’s a general cultural shift, because even on AO3, i sometimes see people who have written massive sprawling epics and the comment field is just a desert. i once saw the exact same fic posted on ff.net, where it had 20 comments - and then on AO3, where it had zero.

and like, say what you will about ff.net (there’s...plenty to be said, certainly XD ) but commenting patterns were observably different there. and that’s all part and parcel of a bigger discussion, which isn’t really within the scope of these notes, except to say that it’s probably the source of my forever grudge match with AO3′s kudos button, which i realize is an absurdly silly thing to say and i’m smiling at myself even as i type this, but - i gotta be honest - i hate that thing! i can’t stand it! XD

i say that in the most good-natured way possible, obviously; this is fandom, after all, and it’s all for fun, and i love AO3 in every other way, so this is more a minor annoyance which makes me laugh at myself than anything else - but i say again - in the most fun-loving, self-deprecating way possible - that little button is my archnemesis. XD

i totally get why other people love it! it’s a completely reasonable way to feel! but for me, personally, coming out of an environment where the reward at the end of making something was getting to gush with somebody else, make a connection, talk about the thing that gave us So Many FEELS - the kudos button is so. sterile. and. empty. it doesn’t fulfill my urge to connect with people or share fannish enthusiasm in any way. i’d almost rather not even see kudos on my account, honestly, because it makes me feel more disappointed than anything else - like, “oh, man. look at all these missed fandom conversations we could have had.”

and obviously, this is in no way meant as disparaging to people who use the kudos button liberally. it is ALWAYS lovely to show appreciation for someone who wrote something you liked, however which way you are able, if and only if you are so inclined. nobody is obligated to leave feedback - lurkers are a perfectly accepted and long-celebrated fandom tradition; i belonged to that tradition myself, for most of my fandom life - so showing appreciation in any form is already going above and beyond. nobody needs to be harangued with “YOU SHOULD’VE COMMENTED” or “YOU SHOULD’VE REBLOGGED” - none of that stuff is required to participate in fandom; nobody owes comments or reblogs, and creators have to be okay with that. we can discuss and/or lament the structural factors that encourage or discourage participation, by all means, but ultimately we have to recognize that nobody is actually required to respond to things we make. it’s fandom. we’re all here by choice, and people’s participation levels are their own business.

and anyway, i know that lots of authors actually love getting kudos on their work, so my experience isn’t universal, by any means. it’s just a function of my own personal background, and the communities i used to run in - i speak for no one but myself and my own fannish life.

and besides, the entire debate about kudos/comments and like/reblog disparities doesn’t come anywhere near the underlying issues. it’s sometimes framed as “people not participating in fandom appropriately” (and that’s completely unfair; there’s no wrong way to do fandom when you’re not hurting anybody) as opposed to “what is it about our platforms that encourages or discourages participatory fan culture.” like - the only reason we even need to talk about the importance of reblogs vs. likes is because tumblr makes it so darn hard for a person’s stuff to be seen by the “right” people! reblogs are the only way for someone’s work to spread, and even then it’s kind of like throwing a handful of darts at a board and praying one of them will land in a well-connected spot. if a platform like tumblr were set up differently, we wouldn’t even need to have this conversation - there would be places to post your work where people would be specifically looking for content like what you were making. you could make those fannish connections more easily.

*** important to note, too - it’s always worthwhile to remember when reading these “back in the old days” nostalgia posts that pre-tumblr spaces had drawbacks of their own. livejournal was not some fannish utopia, by any means. there were, however, a few structural things from that era that i think were helpful influences on fan culture, and their absence here makes me miss them.

but anyways. those are just some thoughts. and now i’m going back to my regularly scheduled posting, because i DO enjoy this place, even if the platform can be somewhat lacking sometimes - we still have to find a way to have fun, right? that’s the entire point of being in fandom in the first place.

#i've always felt like tumblr was sort of a bizarre place for Fandom Central to have landed anyway #though i do think it's been amazing for graphics editors; gifset-makers especially #i do wonder where we'll end up next #whenever the next big migration hits #anyway back to regularly scheduled posting!#i've got episodes to get through #gotta keep up my momentum so i can GET TO THE END #:D #fandom

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hopebird123 · 5 years

Text

Requiem

Bucky Barnes/Reader

Warnings: Drinking, child death

She could only hope he would find them and read them. She had gone through so much without him.

She sat up on the bed, reaching over with shaking hands to the side table to retrieve the shoebox. One of the nurses had suggested moving the box to make room for flowers, but she’d refused several times. There wasn’t anyone to bring her any, anyways.

She opened the box carefully, trying not to damage any of the envelopes inside it. Every one except for the most recent one had turned a light yellow, no longer the crisp white they had been when the letters were written. They were fragile, too, and sometimes she didn’t trust her constantly shaking hands to be gentle with them.

She’d put the dates that each one was composed on the flap of the envelope, because the amount of times she’d sift through the box and pick one up was now in the thousands, and she’d have no idea if they were in the right order without them.

Just by the dates, she could remember what each one said. Or, mostly perfectly. One’s memory would naturally be a little rusty at a couple years more than ninety years old.

Dearest Bucky, she’d written for the very first letter.

It’s been three days since I received the telegram and this is the first time I’ve been able to get up from my bed. I’ve cried so much I’ve used all my handkerchiefs, and I’ve used about half of yours, waiting for mine to dry. I look like a mess. You’d probably think I had the flu or something. I’m afraid to even walk past the mirror. But I miss you. I keep glancing at the clock and thinking you’re going to come home from work at any second, and then I break down when I remember that you’re not.

I wish you were here right now. You’d probably put on a cocky smile and tell me to cheer up, and then you’d crack a joke. I guess there’s none of that anymore. No more staying up until three in the morning on Friday nights and talking about what we’re going to do once you get back from the war...

She remembered this one. She was no more than twenty years old, had barely been married for a year, when she’d received the news of his death. She’d often wondered what her life would be like if he hadn’t gone to war.

Dearest Bucky,

It hit me again yesterday. After the last letter, I thought I was managing. But there were a few groups of soldiers in the streets yesterday that were home on leave, coming home and kissing their wives and girlfriends, and I kept hoping maybe you’d come back and I’d be one of those lucky girls.

I’m probably being selfish. There’s thousands of other women who’s husbands and sons aren’t coming back yet, or at all, and they’re probably dealing with it better than I’ve been. My eyes are so red I can barely see out of them. Your pillow no longer smells like you…

She remembered the night she settled down for bed and realized his pillow didn’t smell like him anymore. She’d dabbed a bit of his cologne onto the pillowcase with shaking hands, knowing very well that she wouldn’t be able to sleep without finding a solution. It worked, a little bit. But it was missing something purely him.

He smelled like his cologne, but also faintly of cigarettes, whiskey, and something she couldn’t describe, but if someone had put it in front of her, she’d be able to say, “That’s Bucky."

Dearest Bucky,

I’m sorry I haven’t written anything for quite a while. I’ve been so busy lately. Remember what I told you the night before you left for the war? Well, the baby’s finally here. I have a picture of her I’m putting in the envelope. She’s so beautiful. She has my nose, but everything else is yours. Your eyes are identical, and it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

You always said you thought if we had a girl you’d like to name her after your sister, so that’s what I named her. Rebecca Janine Barnes. She’s the most beautiful baby I’ve ever seen, I just can’t get over it. I don’t think I ever will. She’s so peaceful, too, and likes to grab my fingers and laugh. The old lady who lives next door says it’s probably just gas, that she’s too young to laugh, but I don’t think so.

I wish you could be here to hold her. You would be so proud…

That had been one of the happiest days of her life, when their daughter was born. There was a little baby that was half of each of them, and she felt like she was reunited with a part of Bucky.

Dearest Bucky,

I love you.

Sometimes those three words were all she’d write, when she didn’t know what else to put down on paper. They were all she needed to say.

Dearest Bucky,

I haven’t written in a while. Forgive me.

Little Rebecca passed away last month. The doctor said it was a cold at first, and then it turned into pneumonia.

I can only hope that wherever she is, she’s with you now. You’ll be able to get to know her, and you’ll be able to love her as much as I do.

I’ve lost the two most important things in my life and I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s too hard to keep regaining my footing when I have nothing left...

She could barely remember the next few years after that terrible event. She’d lost the last thing connecting her to Bucky, and she was all alone in the world. There was no longer the sound of tiny feet making their way into the room, or little hands clinging onto her skirt and following her around. So she started drinking. She quickly turned into a machine, going to work in the morning and then coming home and downing a half a bottle.

Dearest Bucky,

I don’t know if it was you last night, or my drunken mess who moved your slippers from under the dresser to under your side of the bed. I hope it was you. But maybe it was a sign that I have to get my life back together. It had to have been a sign, and on what would have been Rebecca's sixth birthday, too.

I’m trying. I haven’t had a drink tonight. I know it’s not as easy as that, and it won’t be, but I can only imagine what your reaction would be if you saw me these last few years. I’m going to try to find a smaller apartment, with less sad memories, and maybe a new job. There’s too many ghosts here...

Dearest Bucky,

It’s been decades since I wrote to you last. I moved and got a job at a diner in Queens after the last letter. It took a while to fix myself. I’m okay now.

I’ve heard plenty about you on the news lately. You never died, after all. I found Steve, and talked to him on the phone the other day, too. He’s coming here to visit me tomorrow. I’ve decided I’m going to give him the letters to give to you. Maybe you’ll read them when you’re doing better.

I want you to know that I don’t hate you for what you were turned into. Yes, Steve told me all about that. But I don’t hate you. Anyone else in the same position would be doing the same things you were.

I don’t think I’ll be able to see you again, truth be told. Bucky, I’m dying. The doctors say I have a few weeks left at most.

I’m sorry we never got to grow old together like we wanted to. I’m just glad that you’ve gotten a second chance at life, and that you have Steve to help you through it. I want you to be happy, and I want you to experience the things we always said we were going to do together.

I’ll give Steve the address of the cemetery Rebecca is buried in, if you’d like to see her. That’s where I’ll be, too.

I love you, Bucky. I always have and I always will.

With tears in her eyes she put the letters back in the box, closing it again. She hoped he’d read them.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes/reader #bucky x oc #marvel #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #reader #reader insert #OC #captain america #au #fanfiction #fanfic

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outlawe · 4 years

Text

bound to recall, a self para.

WHEN: wednesday, february twenty-sixth

WHAT: roy attends an alcoholics anonymous meeting after almost breaking his sobriety.

WORDS: 2024

TRIGGERS: drug addiction, alcoholism, overdose, death, mention of scars, depression, brief mention of suicide.

Recovery wasn’t a straight line, not some destination that one can reach. It was constant work, at least this is the way that Roy views it. He’s surrounded by temptation in every social situation, by just being in the presence of someone drinking or buying drugs from their dealer. It’s why going out late at night to some party isn’t part of his interests anymore. He was getting older, not interested in wasting his life away with people he doesn’t know just encouraging him to take just one more sip or chase that high one last time. He was much too young when his hands touched heroin for the first time, remembering experiencing that euphoria. What business does a child have getting drunk and injecting drugs into their system? What business do grown men have selling either one to children?

It wasn’t ever planned to end up hanging out with the wrong crowd, not a location on his map worth visiting, but Roy would end up at one of those parties when everyone was busy with their own lives. He would say that there was some secret mission, hoping his loved ones would believe him — but it might be the worst alibi when it comes to trying to make it seem like not coming home until morning was normal. It really wasn’t, especially looking at the crowd who welcomed him in. Roy would meet up at one of the abandoned buildings in the city, the district citizens stayed away from no matter what the time was. Star City definitely has its characters that have bathed in the darkness for so long that it permanently tainted them. He would wake up surrounded by garbage — crushed red solo cups, old newspapers from over the years, and whatever else you may think of.

Often Roy was just surprised to still be alive, waking up with a needle in his hand, staring up at the ceiling on a stained mattress. He would be surrounded by others caught in the same addiction, going through this cycle, and it doesn’t last long until the redhead would chase his next high. It wasn’t until getting really desperate toward the end that he would bring the drugs home, and can’t ever forget they look of disappointment on his loved one’s faces when they found out. However his days of being an addict weren’t always pretty. He may have been lucky to wake up the next day, but that wasn’t to be said about everyone. He has experienced seeing strangers sobbing over a motionless body on the floor, who used too much and overdosed. It was one of his real experiences with death, this didn’t happen often, but the few times might be scarring. Roy doesn’t like to think about it, but when he does? His mind drifts to Corey.

The first band he was ever in formed during the years Roy was deep into letting his vices control him. One of his bandmates Corey always encouraged going to more and more parties. This is when his alcoholism really started, just wanting to impress, and told that he was more fun in this mindset. Corey was only interested in being around Roy when he was either drunk or high — not caring which. You can imagine how well it went over when the teenager went to rehab to turn his life around. The archer remembers one of the last conversations they had, Corey looking at him with this heartbroken stare while saying some bullshit story about how he missed his friend.

Roy got sober — hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol in almost nine years. He was proud of that, even if he has his bad days.

Roy got clean — hasn’t touched heroin in almost nine years. Although, he scars of his has track marks from his past.

While Roy made his life better? Corey died from an overdose. This would have been his fate too if continuing down the path, which is the terrifying part about having these realizations. Roy suffers from depression, usually not wanting to bother anyone with his thoughts, and contemplated suicide just once. This was after he slipped up, feeling so guilty for breaking his sobriety that it felt like a reasonable solution. Waylon talked him out of it, made him a better man, and got him into a good program. Which ended up being the last time Roy went to rehab. He hasn’t slipped up again since.

This is all being reflecting on along with recent events, while standing up from his chair. There was many people at this open meeting, but there was a lot of familiar faces. Roy comes here a lot, helping to get the thoughts in his head out there with people who would understand. He felt nervous standing up in front of everyone, despite having done this so many times before. It took a lot of courage to be so vulnerable with strangers. He nervously pushes his calloused fingers through his red curls, looking at the other pairs of eyes just staring at him.

“Hello, my name is Roy, and I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve been sober for eight and a half years.” This gets a reaction from some, but it isn’t focused on because his mind is just trying to get his story out. He taps his fingers against the podium, looking down for a moment while collecting his thoughts, and looks back up again. He needs to do this. “I was just a kid when I had my first experience with alcohol. I thought this was what teenagers were meant to do, you know? Go out to party with their friends, experiment a little — it didn’t seem to hurt anyone else. Only I ended up drinking with complete strangers at night, not telling anyone where I was really going, and my habits became much worse when I started to mess around with heroin.” He takes a deep breath, feeling so vulnerable thinking about his time going through this. “I had this friend who would take me out drinking. He was older than me, and I thought that was cool. We played music together, but I don’t think my talents are why he kept me around. I wonder sometimes what my life would have turned out if Corey didn’t take me everywhere he wanted to show me. ‘YOU HAVE TO MEET THESE PEOPLE’ he would say, but it felt like looking in a mirror. I stopped hanging out with him when I got sober. He was angry, which resulted in him lashing out at me for it, but I got better.” There was another pause, it has been a while since thinking about him.

“I got better, but I still have my bad days. I’m not happy about feeling like that. How I would much rather drown my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey. I used to like sitting in the back of someone’s truck, passing out with it in my hand, even if I wasn’t old enough to have it. I never cared about getting caught, but I always remember how much work I put into getting sober. I have a daughter. She has never seen me drunk ever, and I want to make sure it stays that way, you know? She doesn’t need to see me like that — stumbling over my own feet, reaching for a bottle like my life depends on it, and being so loud. I want to protect her from ever seeing each like that. When I think about having a drink, I think about her, and then I’m able to take a step back.” Roy means these words, Lian was a motivation to maintain his sobriety. He has something to live for, and he can’t lose it.

He grips into the edges of the podium, something to keep him grounded as he looks around at his audience. Roy feels like this is a safe place, somewhere he could be himself. “I recently got into a new relationship with this lovely man. I think that he’s more than I deserve.” Roy gets choked up for a moment, apologizing afterward. “My sponsor wouldn’t like hearing me talk about myself like that, but my boyfriend is the first one to ever love me after knowing what I’ve been through.” His ex-girlfriend didn’t seem too interested in respecting his past like Jason does when they were together, and Roy was more than thankful for it. “I don’t think his brother likes me very much. I got these text messages after I was having one of my bad days.” He did have depression still, deciding to keep it to himself, not wanting to be some sort of burden. “His brother told me to stay away in the texts, and that his family was better off before I came into the picture. I know how important family is, so I just felt so rotten if I was coming between them somehow. I didn’t do anything, but why would anything good last for me? I’m used to being called a junkie, not treated with love. Hurtful things were said, and I felt so low that I went to a bar. I ordered a beer, not my usual taste, but I thought it was cheap, so why not? I just wanted one, something to drown the pain I was feeling that my boyfriend’s brother hated me. It pushed me over the edge, like there was too much going on in my mind so it just burst at the seams.” He sighs heavily, thinking about it for a moment. Roy wonders if he would ever be able to be ‘okay’ with Damian again after what was said. “I called my boyfriend, left him some voicemails before turning my phone off, and he somehow found out which bar I was at. He stopped me before I could drink, knowing how important my sobriety is. I thought about it though, I may not have drank, but I feel like a cracked mirror. I just have to try reminding myself I’ve made it through these feelings before, but nothing about this is easy. I like to try reminding myself I’m still in control, but I’m still eight and a half years sober. I forgive myself for being weak. I forgive myself for being scared. I’m proud of myself for being strong as I can be, and trying to be the best version of myself. I won’t let alcohol have power over me again. Thank you for letting me tell more of my story tonight. I really needed to get it off my chest.” His legs take him off the stage as people clap, and then someone else is standing up to go share their own story. Roy needs to go outside, get some fresh air for a few minutes though. Someone stops to make sure he was okay, and the redhead reassures the person m that they don’t need to worry. His hands turn the doorknob slowly, not wanting to make any noise as he slips outside.

It was cold out, typical New York winter, but something felt refreshing about the chill to the atmosphere. Once upon a time maybe Roy would have been smoking out here, but that was one habit that became one of stress than being addicted to the nicotine. Which might be for the best, his two habits were enough to kick with several rehab programs to show for it without throwing a third one into the mix. He just watches as people walk by, leaning against the building with his fingers stuffed into his pockets. His life was a mess, so much tragedy plaguing it, but he can’t focus on just that, right? Roy has a lot to appreciate, good surrounding him more and more with every day. He doesn’t know if he deserves it, but the redhead does like getting attention, especially if it was genuine. He will accept the love to outshine the bad days. Roy turns around, heading back inside to be present for the rest of the meeting.

#[ SELF PARA ]#ɪ'ᴍ ʟᴇᴀʀɴɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢʜᴏsᴛs. [ MUSE ]#drug addiction mention //#alcoholism //#death mention //

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