#anyone else think todays internet is strangely lonely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jrob64 · 2 years

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It’s the 1st anniversary of ‘Lonely No More’ - A Modern CS AU Based on “The Words” Music Video

Today is the wonderful and wacky @xsajx ‘s birthday, which means it’s the first anniversary of the story I wrote for her last year! I hope you have a wonderful day, my friend!

Special thanks to @spartanguard who did the manip of Emma as a FedEx driver. Even after a year, it still blows me away!

Summary: Killian Jones lives alone in his secluded little house in the country, and that’s just the way he likes it. When he discovers he can have even less contact with people by ordering supplies online, he jumps at the chance; but the fiery blonde FedEx driver who delivers them might make him rethink his lonely existence. A CS fic based on the music video for “The Words” by Christina Perri.

Rating: M

Words: 11,744

Also on Ao3 & ffn

*********

Lonely No More

It was a lonely existence, but one he had voluntarily chosen for himself. Killian Jones knew about loneliness, after all; had lived it most of his life. His childhood was spent living in a crowded, dirty city in England, yet even among all those people, he sought solitude. He had his brother and his ailing mother, and didn’t need or want anyone else, including his mostly absentee father, who abandoned his sons for good once his wife died.

Now, he lived in Maine with lots of open space around him. His little house wasn’t anything fancy, but it had everything he needed. He spent his days chopping wood, taking care of his garden, and nurturing the orchids he grew for the flower shop located in a nearby city. The trips he made to deliver them and to purchase necessary supplies, provided the only interaction he desired with other people.

Books were his friends. Books held no expectations and didn’t make him feel self-conscious or uncomfortable. He could lose himself in sea adventures, jungle safaris, and space travel, or learn about horticulture, cooking and shipbuilding.

Recently, he splurged and purchased internet service. The florist had suggested it as a way for him to order his supplies online, instead of having to make an extra trip into the city to buy them. He also set up an email account, so she could let him know ahead of time how many plants she required.

Today he was awaiting his first delivery of floral supplies, along with two new books he was excited to read. He had to admit that having everything coming to him was going to be much more convenient.

As he was tying up the stems on an orchid plant he would be taking to the shop the next day, he looked out the sunroom window and noticed a cloud of dust being kicked up along his lane. He quickly snipped the ends of the thin strings and moved through his house to emerge onto his back steps.

The white FedEx truck was stopped beside his old pickup and Killian descended the stairs to meet the driver. He could hear noises coming from inside the vehicle and figured the delivery man was searching for his packages in the back. While he waited, he leaned on his truck’s tailgate and dug some potting soil from beneath his fingernails, so he was startled when he heard a woman’s voice say, “Do you know how freaking hard it is to find your house?”

His eyes shot up to take in the scowling blonde who was jumping out of the truck to the ground, balancing two packages in her hands.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

She rolled her eyes. “I said, your house is almost impossible to find! I’ve been driving around for fifteen minutes and now I’m behind getting these deliveries made. Why don’t you have your house number on your mailbox or something?”

“I…I guess I’ve never thought of doing that.”

Her green eyes flashed. “Well, you should think about it! If you’re gonna live out here in the boonies, you could at least make it easier on delivery drivers!”

“I’ll take that into consideration.”

She nodded her head in satisfaction, then looked at the label on the top package. “You are Killian Jones, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glared at him. “Seriously? I’m more than likely younger than you and you’re calling me ma’am?”

“Umm…”

“Emma.”

“Pardon me?”

“Whenever you order anything, I’ll probably be the one making the delivery, so you might as well know my name; it’s Emma Swan.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to meet you, Emma Swan, and I’m very sorry that my house was difficult for you to find. I also apologize for causing you to be delayed.”

A smile crossed her face and Killian felt like the sun had suddenly broken through the clouds. “Thanks. I only have four more deliveries to make anyway, so it’s not that bad.”

Killian realized she was still holding his boxes. “Here, let me take those. I’m sure you need to be going.”

She handed the packages to him and gave him another smile. “Yeah, I do. Now that I know where you live, I won’t need to yell at you next time, okay?”

“I would appreciate that, lass, er um, Emma.”

“I can live with ‘lass’,” she laughed, turning to head back to the truck.

Killian stood slack jawed, wondering why her laugh had such an effect on him.

She climbed onto her seat, started the engine, and called out to him, “Will I see you soon, Killian Jones?”

“Oh, uh, y-yes. I’ll probably be ordering supplies on a regular basis.”

“Okay. Until next time!”

He shifted the packages so he could raise his arm to wave, then watched the white vehicle disappear down the long lane.

*********

Killian laid on his side in bed, staring at the book in front of him, but unable to concentrate on the words. He flopped onto his back and ran his hand over his face and through his hair. Images of flashing green eyes and blonde tresses preoccupied his thoughts and he couldn’t seem to shake them.

Perhaps it was because he had so little interaction with other people, but he never reacted to the few he did meet the way he had with Emma Swan. He knew it was absurd to be so affected by someone he met for such a brief time, but there was just something about her that captured his attention.

He folded his arms behind his head, his white T-shirt stretching across his chest as he sighed. He could still hear the pleasant sound of her laughter, as well as her melodic voice - when she wasn’t yelling at him.

Giving up on doing any reading, he closed the book and placed it on the nightstand, then switched off the lamp. When he finally managed to drift off to sleep, his dreams were filled with flowing golden hair and sparkling emerald eyes.

*********

Grocery shopping was one thing Killian despised and would put off until there was barely any food left in the house. The day he realized he could buy most of his groceries online was a happy one for him.

As he checked the cupboards and made a list of items he needed, he couldn’t help but look forward to the next day delivery guaranteed by his upgraded membership. Since FedEx was named as the preferred delivery method, he knew his excitement stemmed from more than just having his food supply replenished.

The next morning, he felt the unprecedented need to dress in his best blue checkered flannel shirt with a gray henley underneath. He set out for the back of his property to chop a bundle of firewood, stopping often to survey the vehicles passing by on the highway in the distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the white truck with the distinctive orange and dark purple logo on the side.

After carrying the wood to his house and stacking it on the porch, Killian puttered around inside; oiling a squeaky hinge, fixing the leaky bathroom faucet, and nailing down a loose floorboard in his bedroom. In between jobs, he looked out the window, checking the lane for any approaching delivery trucks.

He heated up leftover beef stew for lunch, dipping pieces of soft, white bread into the rich broth. As he ate, he flipped through a magazine, trying to find an article of interest to help distract him from thinking about her.

By mid-afternoon, he was beginning to wonder if the delivery tracking app was wrong when it showed that his packages were supposed to be delivered that day. He was outside stacking crates in the bed of his truck and folding the green tarp he used for covering the flowers, when he saw the cloud of dust at the end of his lane. His traitorous heart began to beat faster as he spotted the FedEx truck headed his way.

Not wanting to appear too eager, he finished his task and placed the tarp in the cab of his pickup, while the delivery truck came to a stop. When he glanced up, he saw the flash of a blonde ponytail disappearing into the back storage area.

By the time he walked over to stand beside the white vehicle, Emma had emerged with two large boxes balanced on top of one another. She stepped carefully onto the ground and Killian hurried to take them from her. He had assumed they weren’t heavy since she didn’t seem to struggle carrying them, but was surprised to realize the combined weight of the two boxes was rather substantial.

“How are you today, Miss Swan?” he asked politely.

“I’m fine, Mister Jones,” she smirked. “My name is Emma, remember?”

He knew he would have been nervously scratching behind his ear if his hands were empty. As it was, he felt the heat moving up his neck. “I didn’t want to be too forward.”

“So you’re a gentleman, huh?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have told you my name if I didn’t want you to use it.”

Killian smiled. “Duly noted.”

“I notice you have your house number added on your mailbox now.”

“Aye, better late than never, I suppose.”

Emma laughed, which caused his heart to speed up just like the last time. “All of your other delivery drivers will appreciate it, too.’

“There are no others. You’re my one and only,” he blurted, then wished the earth would open beneath his feet to swallow him.

“That’s good to know,” Emma laughed, stepping back up into her truck. “Have a good day, Killian.”

“You too, lass. Drive carefully.”

“Yes, Dad,” she grinned, then put the truck into gear and waved.

Realizing his hands were full, instead of waving, he nodded his head and graced her with one of his rare smiles, which she returned before driving away.

He carried the packages into the house, with the smile still on his face.

*********

Usually, Killian was content when he went days on end without going into the city or having any interaction with other human beings; but as the week after the delivery of his groceries progressed, he felt restless. He found himself searching the shopping app for items which would be useful, even though they weren’t necessary.

He knew he shouldn’t spend money on frivolous purchases, but since he had more than enough savings in the bank, he didn’t really feel guilty about buying a few things. Still, his finger hovered over the ‘place order’ button for several seconds before he finally tapped it.

That evening as he soaked in his vintage, claw-footed bathtub, he started having second thoughts about what he had done. He couldn’t believe he ordered things he didn’t need just so he would get to see Emma again.

Laying his head back on the rim of the tub, he sighed deeply. He was probably reading too much into her friendliness and was sure she treated all the other people on her delivery route the same way.

He leaned forward and scooped water into his cupped hands, then splashed it over his face and through his hair. Regardless of whether or not he had done the right thing, his order would arrive tomorrow.

As he pulled the plug to drain the tub, climbed out and began to dry off, he came to the conclusion that his excitement over having Emma arrive in her FedEx truck was because of the novelty of having packages delivered to his house, instead of having to make the trip into town. Perhaps seeing her would become routine, and soon his heart wouldn’t race every time he saw the delivery truck coming up his lane.

*********

“This is getting to be a habit,” Emma remarked, hopping down out of the truck with a small package in her hand.

Killian’s fingers found the spot behind his ear which always seemed to itch when he felt awkward. “Aye. I’m sure you’d rather not have to make deliveries all the way out here.”

“I really don’t mind, Killian.”

His hand brushed against hers as he reached to take the box, and the feel of her soft skin caused a tingling sensation to travel through his fingers. He noticed she wasn’t quick to pull her hand back and he lifted his eyes to look into her face. She was wearing a soft smile that he couldn’t imagine she gave to all of her other customers.

He felt her fingers slowly glide against his as she finally let go of the package and stepped back.

“I guess I’d better be on my way,” she remarked. “Do you, uh, will you have more orders arriving soon?”

“Oh, um, I…I don’t know. Possibly. I forgot a few things when I ordered my groceries last week.”

Her smile brightened. “Great! I’ll see you before long, then. Goodbye, Killian!”

“Goodbye, Emma.”

“Don’t worry - I’ll drive carefully!” she quipped before taking off.

He shook his head at her banter and stood in the driveway, until the dust created by her vehicle had completely settled.

*********

Killian was amazed at how light his heart felt in the following days. When he made his bi-weekly trip to the flower shop to deliver his pots of orchids, the florist noticed.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” she commented. “I mean, not that you’re usually grumpy or anything, but you just seem…different.”

“Do I?” he asked. “Well, this batch of flowers is of exceptionally good quality, so perhaps that’s the reason.”

She threw him a skeptical look, but didn’t make any further comments as she wrote a check for him.

*********

Killian had become engrossed in repotting some plants and wasn’t waiting outside when Emma made a delivery the following week. By the time he glanced up to see the familiar truck sitting in his driveway, she was already striding toward the door carrying a large box.

He quickly brushed his hands off over his workbench, then rubbed them down the front of his jeans. She knocked on the door just as he reached it.

“Did you forget I was coming?” she smirked through the screen door.

“No, I was just working.”

“You work from home?”

“You could say that. I grow specialty flowers to supply a florist in the city.”

While he was talking, she was peeking in the window beside the door, which looked into his sunroom. “Oh, wow! You grow those? They’re gorgeous!”

“Would you, um, would you like to come in and see them more closely, or are you not supposed to go into your customers’ homes?”

“We’re strongly encouraged not to, mostly for our own safety, but I trust you, Killian Jones.”

A bright smile stretched across his face as he pushed the screen door open, being careful not to accidentally bump her with it. “Come on in.”

She stepped into the house, glancing around for a couple of seconds before following him into the sunroom. He took the package from her hands, laid it on a chair, then stood back as she walked around his workbench, marveling over the beauty of the orchids.

After she walked completely around it, he began telling her about some of the complexities of growing the fragile flowers. She listened attentively, hesitantly reaching out to lightly stroke her fingers over the silky petals.

When she realized she had been there for over five minutes, she declared that she had to get back to work. As she made her way to the door, he plucked one of the stray blooms off of the bench.

“Swan?” he said, causing her to stop in her tracks and look back at him.

He stepped over to her and shyly held the bloom out, then ducked his head and scratched at the back of it after she took it.

“Thank you, Killian. It’s beautiful.” She twirled the stem between her fingers and looked up at him from under her lashes. “You’re very talented.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“I do. And you’re also very sweet.”

As the tips of his ears reddened, she turned, pushed the door open and made her way to the truck. He watched through the screen to see her gently lay the flower on the dashboard before driving off.

*********

The next time the FedEx truck came rumbling up the lane, Killian was sitting on his back steps, bundled in his olive green, Sherpa lined coat, and wearing a heather blue infinity scarf around his neck. It was a Thursday towards the end of October; the last leaves were clinging to the bare branches of the trees, and a front had moved through, dropping the temperatures with the first true cold snap of Autumn.

He stood up as the truck stopped and strode over to stand beside it, waiting for Emma to emerge from the back with his latest purchase. When she did, he sensed a difference in her demeanor immediately. The slight smile she had pasted on her face wasn’t natural and didn’t reach her eyes.

As soon as she handed him the box, she mumbled, “Here you go, Killian. Have a good day,” and began to climb back into the driver’s seat.

“Emma, wait,” he called, causing her to pause before getting behind the steering wheel. “Is something wrong?”

She stood stock still for several moments and he wondered if she was warring with herself about whether to confide in him or not. He gave her time, not wanting to pressure her into saying something, but hoping she would, since something was clearly bothering her.

Finally, she turned back to face him with tears shining in her eyes. “To-today is my birthday…”

Automatically he responded, “Happy birthday, Swan!” then realized two tears had escaped the confines of her lower eyelids and were tracking down her cheeks. He carelessly tossed the package he was holding onto the open tailgate of his pickup and closed the space between them.

Acting on instinct, he reached up to brush the tears off her cheeks, and the simple gesture seemed to break the dam. A few more tears fell as Killian implored, “Emma, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

After several seconds, she took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’m sorry, Killian,” she whispered in a tear-thickened voice.

“You have no reason to be sorry, lass, but perhaps you could share whatever it is that’s burdening you. Is it something to do with your birthday?”

She kept her head down, as she explained, “I just…I don’t have any family - never have - and it’s hard every time my birthday comes around, because all it does is remind me that it’s been another banner year of being alone. I wish…I wish…you know what, I’ll be okay. Forget it.”

“Making a wish is one of the traditions of birthdays, I believe,” he observed. “Please tell me your wish, Emma.”

Raising her head at last, she looked at him with a sad smile, “I wish I didn’t have to be by myself on my birthday.”

“I can help make that happen, if you’ll allow me.”

“Killian, no. I didn’t tell you this so you would feel sorry for me.”

“What I feel for you is empathy, Swan. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a recluse. I have no remaining family myself, and I haven’t gone out of my way to make any friends since moving here from England several years ago. I would be happy to keep you company on your birthday.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. Would you feel comfortable coming here to have dinner with me?”

“Um, sure. Do you want me to bring take-out from somewhere?”

He rubbed his finger behind his ear. “I thought I might cook the meal. I’m no chef, but I can hold my own. Do you have any food allergies?”

Her smile brightened. “Umm…no, no allergies, and I’m excited to taste your cooking! Is there anything I can bring?”

“Just yourself. Shall we say seven o’clock?”

“That works for me. I should probably go, so I can finish the rest of my deliveries. Thanks so much, Killian - I’ll see you later!”

“One moment, Swan. Perhaps I should, uh, perhaps we could trade phone numbers, just in case…”

“In case you want to cancel?” she asked, trying and failing, to make it sound like a joke as her smile faltered.

“Of course not. I just thought it would be a good idea to have each other’s number. That way, if you’re running late, you can call so I won’t worry.”

“Oh, okay. Let me put my number into your phone, then you can send me a text and I’ll have yours.”

Once that was done, Emma bounced up the steps of her truck and dropped into the seat. “See you tonight!” she called as she slid the door shut, fastened her seat belt, and drove off.

He watched her go with a fond smile on his face, then hurried into the house to decide what to make for her birthday dinner.

*********

By the time Killian saw headlights coming up the lane, he was pulling dinner rolls out of the oven while the loaded potato soup simmered on the stove. He stepped out onto his back porch to see a yellow Volkswagen come to a stop, and heard the hinges screech in protest when she threw open the door to climb out. She tried to close it, but it wouldn’t shut completely, so she bumped it with her hip in a move he was sure she used on a regular basis.

Turning toward him, he could see the beaming smile on her face - quite a different countenance than she’d had earlier in the day.

“Good evening, Love,” Killian greeted. Even in the low light, he saw her brows raise at his use of the term.

“Hello again, Killian,” she returned, brushing past him as he held the door open for her. “Wow! Something smells delicious!”

He held her coat as she shrugged out of it, then hung it on a hook in the entryway. “I hope you like salad and loaded potato soup.”

“I like anything, pretty much. If I was home tonight, I would probably be having leftover pizza from last week. Potato soup sounds like heaven to me!”

They moved into the kitchen where he pulled a chair out for her at his small table, went to the stove to ladle soup into two bowls, then sprinkled shredded cheddar cheese on top. He placed them on the table where the basket of rolls and plates of salad were already waiting.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you in the way of drinks,” he apologized. “I wish I had some wine or…”

“No problem. Water is fine with me.”

He took two glasses from the cupboard, dropped some ice cubes in, then filled them with water from the faucet.

Emma was stirring her soup, inhaling deeply. “I can’t wait to try this - it smells so freaking good!” she declared.

He chuckled. “Well, dig in then, Swan,” and watched her surreptitiously as she did.

“Mmmm…” she moaned after taking her first bite. “This tastes amazing!”

Her moan sent a warm sensation through his body, and he cleared his throat before speaking so his voice wouldn’t betray the wash of longing it set off in him. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you like it.”

“Did you actually make this, or have you hidden the cans you opened somewhere?”

“No cans to hide - I made it from scratch, and I grew the vegetables for the salad in my greenhouse garden out back,” he grinned, tearing off a hunk of bread to dip into his bowl.

She watched him before doing the same. “How about the rolls? Did you make them, too?”

“Ah, now those I just warmed in the oven. I had them in my freezer.”

“Oh, you just burst my bubble, Jones. I thought you were a master chef and baker!”

“Well, I didn’t have room in the oven to make both fresh rolls and your birthday cake, so I chose to make the cake,” he smirked.

Her eyes grew wide and she laid her spoon on the table. “You…you made a cake for me?” she gasped.

He slowly nodded his head. “Aye, and I hope you like chocolate. It’s a recipe of my mum’s and it’s my favorite. I also made buttercream frosting for it.”

“I love chocolate! I can’t believe you did that!”

“Well, everyone should have a cake for their birthday, although I don’t usually bother to make one for myself.”

“Do you know what I did last year? I bought myself a cupcake and a little blue star candle and took them to my apartment. Then I stuck the candle in the cupcake, lit it, made a wish and blew it out.”

“Did your wish come true?”

She looked him in the eye. “I wished I could have someone in my life to talk to, even if it was only one person. It’s one of the reasons I started working for FedEx. I thought if I was making deliveries to different houses, I would meet people, but most of the time, they’re too busy to talk, or they don’t answer my knock, so I just leave the packages at their door. Then I started coming here and, well, I guess you could say you made my wish come true, Killian.”

He ducked his head and busied himself with stirring his soup. “You’ve done the same for me, Swan. It gets lonely out here by myself, but I have no desire to live in the city. I enjoy chatting with you when you deliver my purchases, and I, uh…I have a confession to make.”

“What’s that?”

She waited for his answer while watching his ears turning red. “I…well…I’ve been ordering things I really don’t even need, just so I can see you.”

Reaching across the table, she covered his hand with her own. “I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He raised his eyes. “You do?”

She nodded.

“I have another confession to make,” he admitted. She squeezed his hand to encourage him. “I, uh, I asked for your phone number because I thought perhaps I could call you in between the deliveries you make out here.”

“I’d like that, Killian. I hope you won’t mind if I call you sometimes, too?”

“That would be nice, Emma.” They shared a smile, then he observed, “Perhaps we should finish our soup before it gets cold.”

*********

After they finished their dinner, Killian carried the cake in, along with dessert plates and clean forks.

Setting the cake in front of her, he apologized, “I’m sorry I don’t have any birthday candles. I’ve never had any need for them.“

“Maybe you should order some to be delivered,” she smirked, and he laughed.

“If I did have candles, how many would be necessary?” he asked hesitantly.

“Are you trying to ask me how old I am, Jones?”

He shrugged. “Maybe?”

She giggled, causing him to grin. “I’m twenty-nine.”

He began cutting the cake into large squares, then lifted a piece out of the pan to place on one of the plates. As she watched him, she inquired, “When is your birthday, Killian?”

“In January.”

“And you’ll be…?”

“Thirty-three. I’ve got a few years on you.” He laid a fork on the plate, slid it across the table to her, then set to work plating a piece for himself.

“Less than four. That’s hardly anything,” she commented.

Once he was seated again, he looked at the beautiful woman across from him. “Even though you don’t have a candle to blow out, would you still like to make a wish, Love?”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes and concentrated, until a smile crossed her face. When her eyes blinked open again, she saw him watching her. “You know I can’t tell you what I wished for or it won’t come true.”

He reached across the table to give her fingers a squeeze. “I truly hope it does.”

They ate their cake, with Emma exclaiming over how delicious it tasted. When they finished, she tried to help him clean up, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “I’ll just clear away the leftovers, then take care of the dishes tomorrow.”

He insisted on sending some of the food home with her, giving her a generous amount of soup, three rolls, and several pieces of cake, all of which he packaged and put into a cardboard box.

“I seem to have a lot of these piling up, for some reason,” he quipped, and she rolled her eyes with a grin.

Soon all the food was squared away and the two of them stood together in the kitchen, feeling a little awkward.

“Would you, um, would you like to watch some television?” he asked.

“I should probably go home. I have to work tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes, okay. Well, I’m very happy you were able to come over tonight.”

“So am I, and I can’t thank you enough, Killian. This is the best birthday I’ve had for as long as I can remember!”

“It was my pleasure, Emma. Oh, by the way, I have a gift for you before you go.”

“You don’t have to give me anything; you already made a delicious meal and cake for me.”

He took her hand and tugged her along behind him into his sunroom. “I want to do this, Swan,” he told her, stopping in front of his work table, on which sat an orchid with pale pink blooms. He picked it up and turned to hand it to her. “Happy birthday, Love.”

“Killian, I…I can’t take this! You grow these for the florist…”

“I grow these to share with people,” he interrupted, “and I can think of nobody with whom I’d rather share this one.”

She set it back on the table and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He returned her hug, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling her scent.

When they finally separated, he held her coat for her as she slid her arms into it, then carried the box to her car while she carefully handled the plant. They placed everything on the passenger side floor, making sure the flower was secure.

As they stood in front of the driver’s door, Killian remarked, “That’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan.”

“It’s paid for and it gets me where I need to go.”

“Ah, of course.”

He dropped his eyes shyly, until he heard her say, “Well, I guess I should get going. Thanks again for everything, Killian.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Both of them remained still for several moments, not quite knowing how to end the evening. Finally, Killian said, “I’d, uh…I’d like to see you again, if that’s okay. I mean, besides you coming here to make deliveries. Would you be interested in going out on a proper date?”

Emma graced him with a brilliant smile. “I would like that very much.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow evening to set something up. Perhaps dinner and a movie?”

“Sounds good! I’ll look forward to it!”

Stepping forward, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, but before she could move away from him, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. Looking into her moonlit eyes, he saw acceptance for what he was planning to do, and in the next moment, his lips found hers.

The kiss was gentle and sweet, and he could feel her breath quicken as his lips glided over hers. After a blissful few seconds, he reluctantly broke the kiss, licked his lips, and smiled at her.

“Goodnight, Emma. Drive safely.”

“I will. Goodnight, Killian.”

He opened the door for her, and closed it once she was settled behind the wheel with her seatbelt fastened, bumping it with his hip as he had seen her do, to make sure it was latched.

She gave him another smile and a wave as the engine rumbled to life, then turned the car around and started down the lane. Killian went back into his house, still smiling to himself, not realizing that with his kiss, he had already made Emma’s latest birthday wish come true.

*********

After spending the following day watching the clock until he knew Emma would be home, Killian was true to his word and called her. They arranged to go out the next evening to a nice, quiet, out-of-the-way diner outside the city.

Just before ending the call, he suggested wearing casual, warm clothes for the second part of their date. He thought of something to do after dinner besides a movie, but wanted to make the suggestion face-to-face with Emma, to get her honest reaction. He did ask her if she liked horror movies or if she scared easily, because he didn’t want to put her in an awkward situation during their date. She assured him that she enjoyed things that got her heart racing.

On Saturday, he made a delivery of flowers to the florist in the city, then spent a couple of hours cleaning out his pickup truck and washing it. He wished he had a more luxurious vehicle, but he knew she probably wouldn’t care, considering the car she drove.

It felt like time was moving at a snail’s pace all afternoon. He took a bath, trimmed his beard, and dressed in jeans, boots and a heavy red and black plaid flannel shirt. Then he spent some time figuring out the best route to take to her apartment, not putting his trust in his phone’s GPS, and checked his appearance several times before the clock finally showed it was time to leave.

It had been years since he last went on a date, and he hadn’t been on one at all since moving to Maine. Going out with women always made him feel awkward and anxious, so it became something he chose to forgo. Tonight, however, he surprised himself with how much he was looking forward to going out with Emma.

He pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment building almost ten minutes early, so instead of going in and knocking on her door, he sat in his truck, fidgeting and repeatedly smoothing the hair on the back of his head.

When his phone dinged with a text message, he grinned as he read it. You don’t have to sit in your truck until the exact time, you know. I’ve been ready for over an hour.

He exited the truck and looked up at the third floor, spotting her standing in one of the windows, waving at him. He grinned in return, then entered the building and took the elevator to her floor. She opened the door before he even had a chance to knock, wearing a bright, though slightly nervous, smile.

“Swan, you look…stunning,” he said sincerely, pulling a bouquet of Autumn flowers from behind his back, and causing her smile to grow wider.

“Oh, Killian! They’re gorgeous! Fall colors are my favorite! Come in so I can put these in some water.” She stepped off to the side of the doorway to usher him in, taking the bouquet from his hand and automatically bringing it up to her nose.

“Look, I haven’t killed the plant you gave me yet,” she said proudly, using her free hand to gesture toward a small table in front of the window, on which sat her birthday orchid.

“That’s good. I think if you had, it might be a new world’s record for murder of a plant!” he chuckled.

He could hear her rattling around in her small kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, followed by the sound of running water. When she emerged, she held a bright yellow plastic pitcher with the flowers inside.

“I’ve never gotten flowers before, so I don’t have a vase,” she explained, setting the pitcher on the table beside the orchid.

“You’ll need to cut the stems diagonally under running water and trim the leaves off below the water line; that makes cut flowers last a little longer,” he informed her. “There’s a little packet of plant food tucked in there to sprinkle in the water, too.”

“Should I do it right now?”

“No, it can wait until later. Are you ready to go?”

“Is this okay for what you have planned?” She swept her hand downward, indicating her dark jeans, knee-high boots, black and white striped sweater, and dark red, fleece-lined coat.

“It’s perfect. The Weather Channel says it’s only supposed to get down into the low fifties tonight, so you should be warm enough.”

“The Weather Channel, huh? What are you, like sixty years old?” She laughed as he rolled his eyes, then added, “You have me very curious about what we’re going to do.”

He opened the apartment door and allowed her to lead the way into the hall. “Right now, we’re going to eat dinner,” he teased.

“Yeah, I figured that out, Sherlock. I was talking about after we’re done eating.”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he assured her, following a step behind as she walked down the stairs.

*********

The diner was a cozy little nook which wasn’t too crowded, and allowed them to have an uninterrupted conversation all through dinner. Killian was a bit shocked with how easily he was able to talk to her, after being alone for so many years and having limited contact with other people. She was a good listener and had him laughing with stories of some of her delivery mishaps.

At the end of their meal, he asked if she would like to have dessert or coffee. “Actually, I’d like some hot chocolate,” she said, “with lots of whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon.”

“That sounds…interesting.”

She saw his raised brows. “What?”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated before responding, “Nothing.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it, buddy.”

“I’m feeling adventurous tonight.”

When the waitress brought the beverages out, he took a tentative sip, then gave a whipped cream-enhanced smile. “Not bad, Swan.”

“Told ya,” she gloated. “So when are you gonna tell me where we’re going next? I’ve been very patient.”

“Indeed you have. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this, so if it’s something you’d rather not do, don’t be afraid to tell me.” She nodded her agreement, and he went on. “I found a farm a few miles from my house which offers haunted hayrides through the woods.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? That sounds like fun! What time does it start?”

“The first one is at eight o-clock and there’s one every forty minutes until midnight. We should be able to go on the third one of the night.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get the begeezus scared out of us!”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. “We still have time to finish our cocoa, Emma.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m just so excited! I’ve never been on a hayride of any kind before, let alone a haunted one!”

Killian was happy he was getting to witness some of her first experiences that evening, and that she was so receptive to his idea. He had worried that she would think it was a silly and childish thing to do.

Every moment he spent with the fiery blonde had him becoming more and more fond of her, and when the voices in his head started chanting that he could get hurt, he shut them up immediately. He was tired of being lonely, and was ready to take a chance with this woman, who was already well on her way to capturing his heart.

*********

The couple enjoyed the hayride, which turned out to be more humorous than scary. Emma had trouble controlling her giggles as people dressed as zombies with bad make-up jumped out at them from the woods with chainless chainsaws, rubber knives and fake machetes.

Killian didn’t mind the occasions when she was startled, because she kept jumping closer to him on the hay bale on which they were sitting. By the time the half-hour ride was over, he had his arm around her, holding her close against his side.

Before leaving the farm, they purchased hot apple cider and caramel popcorn and took it back to his house.

“Would you like to watch a movie, Swan, or will that make it too late for you to get home?” Killian asked, showing her into his living room.

“I can get home after midnight; I won’t turn into a pumpkin…or a zombie,” she smirked.

“Shall we continue on with the scary theme?”

“That’s fine with me. I like horror movies, but I don’t really enjoy watching them by myself.”

They chose a movie from Hulu together and sat on the couch as they watched, munching popcorn and sipping their cider. About an hour into the movie, when the food was gone, Emma gravitated toward where he was sitting and was soon leaning against him. He encouraged her snuggling by wrapping his arm around her shoulder and resting his cheek on the top of her head.

Killian was not a person who welcomed human contact - most of the time he would avoid it if possible. So he was surprised to realize he not only enjoyed Emma’s body being close to his, but almost craved her touch. Several times she hid her face in his chest when she knew a particularly scary scene was coming and he held her tighter, boldly pressing kisses into her hair.

When the movie ended, he reluctantly released her, allowing her to sit up. She turned to look at him and he asked, “Did you like it, Love?”

“The movie or the date?”

“Both, I guess?” he shrugged.

Instead of answering, she leaned in and kissed him. His eyes widened in surprise at first, then he let out a happy sigh and allowed his lips to caress hers in return. He felt the fingers of one of her hands find their way into the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck, while the other slid up his arm to squeeze his bicep.

His hands didn’t stay idle, as he ran them from her waist to massage her back. He lost himself in the kiss and found himself wishing it wouldn’t end. When it did, he drew back to look into her shining eyes, then dove back in for more.

Finally, they both had a need for air and separated, though they maintained contact with their foreheads pressed together.

“Can I take that as a yes?” he grinned.

“It is most definitely a yes,” she assured him. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had such a good time!”

“You didn’t find the haunted hayride to be a bit feeble?”

“I loved it! This date was so much fun, Killian. I truly have enjoyed every minute of it…especially the last few,” she added, winking at him.

He laughed deep in his throat and pulled her in for another hug. “I’ve had a really good time, too,” he murmured against her temple. “Would you be interested in going out again?”

“I’m assuming you mean with you?”

“That was kind of the idea, yes.”

She pressed her lips to his again. When she pulled back after several sweet moments, he licked his lips and said, “Not that I’m complaining, Love, but do you ever just answer with a yes or no?”

She threw her head back and laughed, and he took the opportunity to scatter small kisses along the creamy skin of her throat. Her sudden intake of breath told him the effect they had on her.

“I…I would love to go out with you again, Killian; more than once, if possible.”

“I think that’s entirely possible.” He settled her against his chest once more and they sat comfortably together, her fingers finding the gold chain around his neck, while his stroked up and down her upper arm.

The chimes of his grandfather clock signaled the hour of one o’clock and he reluctantly sat up and put some space between them. “I’d better get you home, Swan.”

She heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so. You probably need your beauty sleep.”

“It’s how I retain my youthful glow,” he responded cheekily.

She laughed again and he realized he could listen to that sound for hours on end, if given the chance.

Killian went out to start the truck while Emma put her boots and coat back on. Soon they were on the road back to her place.

“Do you like living in the city?” he inquired as they drove along the highway.

“Not really, but I’m not lucky enough to own a house out in the country.”

“Lucky is a good word for it. I happened to be in the right place at the right time to purchase it, and got it for a steal. It’s quiet and far away from other people, so it has plenty of privacy, which I value.”

“I figured that out by the number of things you order so you won’t have to make trips into the city.”

He glanced over at her with a shy smile. “I don’t allow many people in, Emma. In the past, I’ve found it very difficult to trust them, because they always let me down.”

“I can identify with that.”

“You, uh, you said you never had a family…”

“Nope. I was abandoned at birth and never got adopted.”

“Ah, I see. I actually had a family, but my mum died when I was very young, my father abandoned my brother Liam and me, then Liam was killed in an accident. I’ve been alone for nearly fifteen years now.”

“It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

Silence fell for a while as the truck passed three mile markers. Finally, Emma broke it by quietly asking, “Do you think you would like being a little less lonely?”

He glanced over at her before directing his eyes back to the dark road. “I would if it meant we were being less lonely together.”

*********

When they arrived at her apartment building, Killian hopped out of his side of the truck and hurried around it to open her door, taking her hand as she exited and not letting it go. They took their time walking up the three flights of stairs, exchanging few words, but numerous smiles with each other.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked as they stopped outside her apartment door.

“I might want to, but I really should get back home.”

“Busy day tomorrow?”

“Not really, but I was planning on calling a certain lovely lady at some point in the day.”

“Lucky girl.”

He moved closer to kiss her briefly. “I guess you are.”

Looping her arms around his neck, she initiated another kiss, this one lasting far longer. Pulling back at last, she said, “I had such a good time tonight, Killian. Everything about it was perfect.”

“I’m very happy to hear it. Shall we do it again soon?”

“I would really like that. Will I, um, will I be making any deliveries to you this week?”

“I do have some floral supplies ordered.”

“Good.”

They shared another lengthy kiss before he stepped back. “Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight, Killian.” Unlocking and opening her door, she threw him one last dazzling smile, then walked inside and closed it behind her.

He stood leaning against the wall for a few more moments, then blew out a breath and touched his fingers to his lips, remembering the way they tingled when they were touching hers.

********

In the following weeks, Emma and Killian called or texted each other daily, and went on several more dates, using every opportunity to get to know one another better. He looked forward to the days when she made a delivery to his house, since it gave him another chance to see her briefly.

It became more and more difficult for him to say goodbye to her at her apartment after their dates. Sometimes he would accept her invitation for hot chocolate and they would talk and kiss for an hour or so, but he never pushed it any further. He wanted her to know that he respected her and would wait until she decided the time was right to take their budding relationship to the next level.

Christmas was quickly approaching and the couple had been dating for nearly two months. Early one evening, Killian was beginning to worry when Emma wasn’t answering his phone calls or texts. He knew it was past time for her to be home from work, and because there had been periods of freezing rain throughout the day, he started to imagine the worst when he thought of her having to drive her delivery route on icy roads.

He was pacing back and forth across the kitchen, hoping his phone would light up with her name, when headlights illuminated the room. Knowing there was only one person it could possibly be, he threw on a coat, hurried out the back door, and jogged down the steps.

She was bumping her car door closed with her hip as he reached her. “Swan, what are you doing here at this time of night? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I just have a delivery to make.”

“A delivery? I don’t think I’m expecting anything. What is it?”

She took a step forward and ran her hands up his chest. “Me.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise and it took a second for what she was saying to register. When it did, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. “Is that right?”

Looping her arms around his neck, she ghosted her lips against his as she said, “Yes, it is.”

“Shall we go inside, Love?”

She leaned back and looked into his eyes. “Just so we’re clear, Killian - when we go inside, I want more than one of our usual make-out sessions, no matter how much I enjoy them. Is that…is that okay with you?”

“Well, it would be rather rude of me to reject such a special delivery,” he chuckled a little nervously. Then he grew more serious. “Emma, I…it’s been a long time since I was in any kind of relationship, and it didn’t end well. I don’t want to…to…what I mean is…”

She took his hand and started leading him to the house. “Let’s talk inside. I��m freezing.”

After shedding their coats and boots, they sat together on the couch with their fingers intertwined. “What were you trying to tell me, Killian?” she asked, watching his thumb rub over her knuckle.

“The last woman I dated broke my heart. That’s one of the main reasons why I made the decision to leave England all those years ago, and I haven’t dated since. So what I’m trying to say is, I’m out of practice.”

She twisted in her seat, and the next thing he knew, she had flung her leg over his lap and was straddling him. Her hands came up to the sides of his face and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I’ve heard it’s like riding a bicycle,” she said. He chuckled and she sat back to look at him. “My sexual experiences have been very few and far between, too, but we can figure it out together. If you want to, that is.”

“Oh, I want to, Emma - that’s not the problem at all. It’s just that, in the past…”

She put two fingers over his lips. “Let the past stay in the past - those are ghosts we can’t control. This is now, and I want you. I know the scariest part is letting go, but I’m yours to choose, so why don’t you take what’s right in front of you, Killian?”

He contemplated what she said for less than two seconds before surging forward to engage her in a passionate kiss. It grew increasingly heated until he felt that if he didn’t do something soon, he was going to internally combust.

He wrapped her securely in his arms and pushed to his feet, not breaking contact with her lips. Her legs automatically went around his waist and she moaned deeply into his mouth, causing him to nearly stumble.

His bedroom seemed so much farther away than the few steps it actually was, but when he finally made it to the edge of his bed, he eased her onto it gently. Then he stood looking down at her as she reached for him, her hair spread out in a tangled halo, her lips kiss-swollen, and her eyes dark with desire.

“Killian, please,” she panted, “I need you.”

Her fingers scrambled for the button of his jeans before he stilled them with his hands. “I…I don’t have any protection,” he admitted. “I’ve been meaning to get some, but…”

“I’m covered and clean. Been on the pill for months to regulate my cycle,” she explained, pulling her hands free. “Do you have any other excuses?”

“No, no excuses. There is just something I need to tell you. I know this may be too soon for you to hear, but I want to say it so you understand this isn’t just a one-time thing, to scratch an itch.”

She swallowed hard as she looked into his eyes, the expression in them so intense she was almost afraid to find out what he was going to say. “What is it?” she managed to ask.

“I…Emma…I’m in love with you,” he stated, tenderly brushing her hair away from her face.

“Y-you are?” she squeaked.

“Utterly and completely. I think I have been ever since the moment you yelled at me during that first delivery you made. I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I didn’t know how, and I didn’t want to take this next step before I did.”

“You actually love me?” she asked, with disbelief lacing her words.

“Aye, Sweetheart. I love your sense of humor, your determination, your boldness, and your stubborn streak.” She grinned at that. “I also love your ability to see past the walls I’ve built to keep people out, in order to see the lonely person inside. No one has ever made the effort to do that before.” He paused a moment, before continuing, “But don’t worry, Love. I’m not telling you this to pressure you into saying…”

“I love you, Killian.”

“…it,” he finished, a look of awe crossing his face. “Do you really?”

“Yes. At least, I think I do, if this is what being in love feels like. I’ve never felt it before. All I know is that I think about you all the time…”

“Same.”

“And every time I talk to you, my heart races and…”

“I can’t stop smiling.”

“Exactly! And whenever you touch me, it’s like my skin is…is…”

“Like an electrical current is running through it?”

“Yes! Is that what being in love feels like?”

“I assume so. I’ve never been in love before, either.”

Emma giggled adorably. “Well, now that we’re clear on how we feel about each other, what else is keeping you from ravaging me?”

He grinned at her and ran his hands up her sides underneath her sweater. “Just this jumper,” he said as he pulled it over her head. “And these jeans, and bra, and…you’re wearing far too many clothes, Swan.”

“Hmmm, I guess we better do something about that. You have a lot of clothes on too, you know.”

In a flash, she tackled him and had him on his back in the middle of the bed, while she knelt above him, undoing the fastener of his jeans and pulling the zipper down. He lifted his hips to help her tug them down his legs until he was in his boxers, and she licked her lips as she took in the sizable bulge he was sporting.

She felt his hair tickling her fingers when she ran them up his legs and into the openings of his underwear. One hand fondled his balls while the other found his shaft, stroking it lightly. Her eyes moved up his body to watch the effect she was having on him.

His eyes were closed and he was biting his lower lip. His hands reached up to grip the pillow under his head and he groaned, “Bloody fuck, Emma! That…that feels so good!”

She continued running her hand along his velvety skin, stopping periodically to brush her thumb across his slit, until he gasped, “P-please stop, Love. I…I don’t know if I can…hold back if you keep doing that.”

She gave him one more gentle squeeze, then removed her hands and sat looking down at him with a smirk, before swinging around on the bed to yank off her socks. As she reached for the button of her jeans, he stopped her. “Let me do that, Love.”

She hopped up off the bed to stand in front of him, clad only in her bra and jeans. “Okay, but I get to finish stripping you first.”

“As you wish,” he conceded.

She pushed his flannel shirt off his shoulders and, once he pulled his arms free, lifted his henley over his head. Seeing that she still hadn’t reached bare skin yet because of the white undershirt he wore, she blew out an exasperated breath.

“Holy shit, Jones! How many layers of clothes are you wearing?”

“I live in Maine and it’s the middle of winter. What do you expect?”

“I expect to get naked with you, but I didn’t know it was gonna take until the New Year to get you there!”

He laughed as she grabbed the hem of the T-shirt to drag it up his body. Her eyes danced with delight as she took in his muscular chest with its generous peppering of hair. He tried not to squirm as she lightly ran her fingers through it and stroked along his ribcage.

“You’re gorgeous,” she breathed, watching her fingers as they moved.

“Not nearly as much as you,” he responded, bringing his hands up to spread them over her sides, and rubbing his thumbs under the elastic of her bra. As his hands slid around to the back of it, he looked up at her through his lashes. “May I?”

She nodded and held her breath as he made quick work of the fasteners, then she pulled her arms through and let the bra drop to the floor.

Killian lovingly caressed her breasts, strumming his thumbs across her nipples, which hardened immediately under his ministrations. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

He bent to take one of her pebbled nipples between his lips, running his tongue across it, then sucking lightly. When it garnered a gasp and soft moan from her, he sucked harder, while his left hand squeezed and fondled the other breast.

Emma’s eyes closed and her head dropped back as she enjoyed the sensations passing through her body. Her fingers found their way to his hair and she scratched through it, giving little tugs to the ends.

Every sigh and utterance went straight to his groin and soon he was even harder than her stroking had left him. He moved his mouth down her stomach before realizing she was still wearing her jeans. He fumbled with the button for a few seconds before she reached down and undid it herself.

“So impatient,” he growled, undoing the zipper and shoving her jeans past her hips.

She peeled them off, stepped out of them and kicked them aside, as his hands moved around to squeeze her ass, while he nibbled on her hip. She went to work in earnest to completely wreck his hair.

“Touch me, Killian,” she begged.

He hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and quickly disposed of them, inhaling deeply to take in the heady scent of her arousal. Now that he had her completely naked, he guided her back to the bed, encouraging her to lay down.

Before she did, Emma helped him remove his boxers. She knew by feeling him that he was well-endowed, but seeing it made her eyes widen. “That’s quite a package you’ve got there, buddy.”

He laughed. “I hope you’ll enjoy the delivery I make to you!” he said with a lopsided grin, causing her to roll her eyes playfully.

Finally lowering herself to the bed, she scooted back and laid down. He aligned himself beside her, looking into her face. “You are truly a very beautiful woman, my love,” he said, before leaning in for a sweet and tender kiss.

He ran his fingers across her collarbone, along the side of her breast, and down her ribcage. She giggled a bit at the tickling sensation and then drew in a quick breath as his fingers pressed between her thighs. She automatically widened them to allow him better access and moaned as he swiped through her slick folds.

“So…so wet, Swan,” he declared, watching his fingers stroke her, picking up more of her creamy essence on each pass.

“Mmhmm. K-Killian, please. Get inside me. Make me…make me come,” she whimpered.

In response, he tentatively pushed a finger into her heat. “More…” she encouraged.

Nodding, he pulled out and added a second on the next gentle thrust. “How does that feel, Love?”

“Insanely good,” she gasped, placing her hand over his, urging him to go deeper.

He continued working her up while his mouth kissed up her body to give attention to her breast.

Her head was rolling side-to-side on the pillow, her eyes closed and her mouth open to emit short panting breaths. He could feel her legs begin to quake as she drew them up and let them fall open, allowing him more freedom to explore.

“Can you take more?” he asked quietly.

Unable to form words at the moment, she simply nodded her head up and down. He pulled his glistening fingers free, knocking her hand away, and slowly pressed three fingers into her, watching her face carefully to discern any discomfort. Once they were completely enveloped in her welcoming heat, he twisted and curled them, then rolled his thumb over her bundle of nerves.

The effect was immediate and intense as her walls squeezed his fingers and she cried out, “Yes! Killian!”

He continued to stroke her as her body gradually relaxed, and his mouth latched onto her nipple again, sucking and licking to help draw out her ecstasy a bit longer.

When she finally came down from her high, she opened her eyes. “You call that being out of practice?” she teased.

He slid his fingers out of her and dragged them up her body, leaving a trail of her arousal which he followed with his tongue. Reaching her mouth at last, he uttered against her lips, “Perhaps it IS like riding a bicycle,” then plunged his tongue into her mouth.

After overcoming her surprise at the sudden intrusion, she gave back as good as she got, filling the room with sounds of clashing teeth, smacking lips, heartfelt moans, and heavy breathing. He settled his body over hers and her legs came up to encircle his hips.

Feeling her wet, hot, heat rubbing against his cock, he began grinding to add some friction. “Fuck, Emma! Feels so good!” he panted. “I need more!”

She desperately nodded. “Yes, pleeease!”

Loosening her legs, she let them fall to the mattress, giving him room to maneuver.

“Guide me, Love,” he requested, dropping his forearms to rest on either side of her.

Taking the opportunity to run her hands through the soft hair on his chest again, she slid them down his body to his fully erect member, drawing the head through her abundant slickness.

Killian was struggling not to thrust into her hand and come before he even had the chance to get inside her. “I…I love you, Emma,” he gasped. “Let me show you how much.”

Without wasting another second, she positioned him at her opening, then moved her hands to his ass, squeezing it encouragingly. He began to enter her at an achingly slow pace and when she looked up, she could see the cords of his neck standing out, his head thrown back, teeth clenched, and eyes closed tightly.

“Don’t hold back, Babe,” she pleaded. “Just let go. You won’t…you won’t hurt me.”

He pulled back until just his tip was still within her, then thrust his hips forward to enter her more deeply. Repeating this motion a few more times, he finally stilled balls deep and dropped his head to her chest.

“Bloody hell, you feel amazing, Love! I could live the rest of my life right here!”

“That…that might be a bit…inconvenient, but…I wouldn’t object!” she stammered.

He gripped her shoulders from underneath and began to move, slowly at first, but picking up speed as the sensations started to overwhelm him. She bent her knees and drew her legs up alongside his body and the new angle added to the pleasure.

With every snap of his hips, her breath caught, her hands roaming up and down his back and buttocks, her nails scratching against his skin, which heightened his arousal and drove him toward the edge faster than he wanted.

“Emma…I can’t…I’m going to…”

“Me…too!” Her knees tightened around him and her hips raised off the bed, her legs shaking with her impending release.

He plunged into her once more and suddenly she was flying. The throbbing of her walls along his swollen cock was his undoing, and with another thrust, he joined her. Feeling his release washing through her, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her and letting their sweat mingle as their hearts beat erratically in their chests.

“I love you,” she murmured, her lips finding their way to the hollow of his throat, then nuzzling into the juncture of his shoulder.

He rolled them over to reverse their positions and wrapped her securely in his arms. “I love you, too.”

As their breathing evened out and their bodies cooled, Killian reached down to find the blanket and pulled it over both of them. “Mmmm, can I just stay here all night?” she mumbled sleepily.

“I think that’s a grand idea, Love.”

She lifted her head to look into his face. “Do you mean it?”

“I can think of nothing I want more than to hold you in my arms for the rest of the night, my love.”

“You know I have to work tomorrow, don’t you? It’s the Christmas season so we’re swamped.”

“I’ll wake you early so you can get to work on time.”

“Deal, but be warned - I’m not a morning person.”

“I’ll be cautious.”

They fell silent for several minutes while she enjoyed the soothing movement of his hands kneading the skin of her back. She was just starting to doze off when his voice rumbled against the top of her head. “Does it have to be just for tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you…could you make a special delivery to me again tomorrow night?”

She rested her chin on his sternum and grinned up at him. “I think I could do that.”

“I can pick you up, so you don’t have to drive all the way out here by yourself.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m used to doing things by myself.”

“But you don’t have to, Emma. You…we…aren’t alone anymore.”

A smile lit up her face. “That’s true. We have each other now.”

“That we do, and you are always welcome here. I want you here - as often as possible.”

“You might regret that offer.”

“Never.”

She sighed happily and laid her head back on his chest. “Thank you, Killian.”

“For what, Love?”

“For opening your heart to me and making me feel wanted, beautiful, special and loved.”

“You are all of those things, Sweetheart.”

He could feel her smile against his skin. “And for giving me a place to belong,” she added.

“You belong right here,” he said, patting the spot over his heart. “I want to thank you too, Emma, for taking a chance on me, by giving me your heart and blessing me with your love. I feel very lucky, and obviously less lonely, having you in my life. When I think of the hell I had to walk through, I wouldn’t trade a day of it, because it led me to you.”

She raised her head again and her lips found his for a long, languid kiss. “I know what you mean, and I feel the same way, too; no longer lonely and very lucky to have found you,” she whispered afterwards.

They decided it would be a good idea to clean up a bit before going to sleep, so he led her into the bathroom. When they returned to the bedroom, he pulled on flannel sleep pants, and offered her the matching shirt, which she tugged over her head.

As he pulled open a dresser drawer to grab another, Emma put a hand on his arm to stop him. “It might be the middle of winter, but it’s a shame to cover up that sexy chest hair. I promise I’ll keep you warm,” she said with a sly grin.

He didn’t argue, knowing that he would give her anything her heart desired. They climbed back into bed and shared some sweet kisses, then Emma turned onto her left side and reached back to find his arm, wrapping it around herself and pulling it up between her breasts. He scooted closer and pressed himself against her back, sighing contentedly as he buried his nose in her hair.

“I love you, Emma. I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmured.

She yawned before replying, “I love you, too, Killian. Goodnight.”

As they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, their hearts a perfect match, that night became the first of the rest of their lives together; a new beginning for both of them, never to be lonely again.

*********

If you’re reading this story for the first time, thank you for giving it a try, and if you’ve read it before, rereads are the best kind of compliment! Thanks to all of you who are reading, commenting and reblogging!

Tagging: @xsajx @hookedmom @kymbersmith-90 @kmomof4 @lassluna @pirateherokillian @teamhook @stahlop @elizabeethan @whimsicallyenchantedrose @resident-of-storybrooke @therooksshiningknight @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @killianswannn @stories-enchanted @eleveneitherway @withheartfulloflove @kday426 @lyssapup27 @swanlovato @djlbg @kristi555 @laschatzi @xarandomdreamx @lkles08 @wyntereyez @bubblegum1425 @xhookswenchx @yasbio2015 @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @wefoundloveunderthelight @hollyethecurious @let-it-raines @jonesfandomfanatic @searchingwardrobes @dreamingdreamsalways @oncechicagolove @andiirivera @gingerchangeling @everything-person @klynn-stormz @qualitycoffeethings @vampcoffeegyrl23 @enchanted-swans @ohmakemeahercules @donteattheappleshook @bluewildcatfanatic @the-darkdragonfly @demisexualemmaswan @lavenderbudd @grimmswan @spartanguard @flslp87 @ultraluckycatnd @thisonesatellite @captainswan21 @zaharadessert @mariakov81 @snowbellewells @xouatxcs @kiwistreetswan @batana54 @nadine200179 @probalicious17 @courtorderedcake @julesep3026 @jackieorioncat @whatthehell102082 @jarienn972 @sthonour @linda8084 @pirateprincesslena @daxx04 @winterbythesea @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @captainswan4life85 @molly958 @kingofmyheart14 @badwolfreturns @itsfridaysomewhere@fallingforthecaptain @onceratheart18 @strangestarlighttree @omgmarvelousmorgan @justanother-unluckysoul @mrs-potato-but-likes-tomato @anothersworld @deckerstarblanche @purplehawkcaptain @superchocovian @k-leemac @citygirlscowboy @laughterandbooks @sotangledupinit @apiratewhopines @huntressandlioness1 @cosette141 @gingerpolyglot @motherkatereloyshipper @cs-rylie

#csff #lonely no more #1st anniversary #happy birthday saj #jrob64 #CS modern AU #based on the words music video #cs fluff #cs fanfiction #captain swan fan fiction #CS fic #captain swan ff

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your-denki-kun · 3 years

Text

The Past Should Stay The Past

Kirishima x bakugou

Warning: Suicide attempt, negative thoughts, mentioning of voices, angst, mentioning of bullying, depression, deep thoughts, shitty writing

What: Angst with good ending

A/N: So fun fact I first wanted this to be a story in Bakugou’s point of view, but then I got the idea to make it like a diary thing and ended up making this. I hope you guys enjoy and feel free to make requests, I don’t do smut.

~???? pov.~

It happened three days ago. No one saw it coming and yet it didn't come as a surprise. Funny how those things work from time to time. We hadn't seen Bakugou in about a day and started to get faintly worried, because no matter what he did to Midoriya in the past he's still our classmate. The reason we got worried is because Bakugou always leaves his room at least once a day.

We voted on who was going to check and it had been me, when it comes to Bakugou it's almost always me. So I went up to his room, not really bothered by having to check up on him because I'm worried and sometimes I hear strange sounds coming from his room when it's silent in mine. I had knocked on his door only for it to stay silent.

After a bit I knocked again, yet I didn't get an answer. I told him I was coming in and tried opening the door, but it was locked, so I kicked open the door. That's when I saw it. He was laying in the middle of his room, on the floor with foam escaping his mouth as he was trashing on the floor.

''BAKUGOU!!!'' I had yelled as I ran over to him and pulled him onto his side so he wouldn't choke.

I remember screaming for someone to call and ambulance. Sero, who had followed me up, glanced inside the room confused and quickly called an ambulance as he told everyone else to stay away from the room. It didn't take long for the ambulance people to come and take him with them.

That brings us to now, three days after that. School has been canceled for the rest of the week for us to recover from the shock. This is my first day back at the dorms, seeing I have been with Bakugou since he got brought into the hospital. I'm in his room now, looking for clues as to why. Soon I find his diary and after contemplating for a bit I open it and start reading.

'Okay, I ain't going to make it sappy and write all the classic shit, I'm just going to write down my fucking thoughts or whatever. I read it worked on the internet. So....It's been a few weeks since everything started. Random extra's have been whispering comments about me to each other while giving me disapproving glances and glares. I don't fucking get why it's getting to me but whatever.

I've also been noticing the shitty extra's from the squad have been distancing themselves from me. They no longer want my help studying and more often than not they hang out without me. For some shitty reason it makes me feel really shitty. God this shit is stupid.'

I read on the first page. My eyes tear up as I flip to the next page.

'Been about four days since I last wrote in this shitty thing. Today shit got physical. This bitch purposefully bumped into me and then kicked me before laughing and walking off with her shitty friends. Fucking bitch.

Shit is becoming weird when I'm alone. I will hear these shitty voice that tell me fucked up things, it leaves when I have others to focus on. No one wants to fucking be around me however, so that is shit. I hope these shitty voices will leave before I go fucking mental. I think I might be writing in this shitty thing again because it makes my chest feel lighter for a bit or some shit.

God I sound so fucking sappy right fucking now. Guess that's what happens to people when you get emotionally overwhelmed.

The shitty extra's have stopped talking to me. I removed myself from the shitty group chat. Life has become so fucking dull now. God I hate to fucking admit it but I miss them. God I really am turning into a fucking sap. This shit is stupid.'

I feel a few tears falling as I read what he wrote. I'm glad that even when he writes he's vulgar, because that means he was still feeling like himself somewhat, but what he writes is so sad and depressing. The page beside it has random doodles on it which I can't really make out, so I flip the page and start reading the next one.

'Welp, I'm writing in this thing again. It's been, uhm. three weeks I think since the last time I wrote in this. I should really put dates on these pages, but I'm to tired to do that. Sleeping is hard for me the last three days. Every time I close my eyes I see bad memories of the past. Deku, if you ever read this, I'm so sorry for what I did.

I could never say that to you in real life, because that means showing you I'm defeated. That's right, I'm defeated. I'm slowly breaking and no one sees. The last week I cried more than I have in all the time I’ve been alinve. I cry myself to sleep and no one notices. Guess that's my fault though, I’ve always been a distant person.

I'm glad concealer was invented, because it helps me with hiding the bags under my eyes. I can't hide the deadness of my eyes however, but it's not like anyone notices so what's there to hide? The voices are wining, slowly. It's becoming harder to fight them and they pester me every minute of the day.

The shit I doodle on the side of my note books and papers have also taken a dark turn, just like my mind. Yesterday I drew a black figure hanging from a noose that was attached to the ceiling. A chair was on the ground. The figure was tired of everything, just like me. Funny how something as simple as words can change a person.

Sometimes the voices tell me to end it. I won't. Not yet at least. And I already established that if I do end it, I won't hang myself. It's too slow and painful. I think I'll either slit my wrist or OD. It feels weird writing that down. God I really hope no one ever reads this shit.

I've been silent in classes, barely talk anymore. The only times I talk is to answer a question from a teacher. My classmates don't talk to me anymore, not even when we're teamed up during hero training. It's weirdly lonely, which is new for me. Guess I deserve to be alone however, so I don't really deserve to complain about it.

How did Dek Izuku deal with my shit for so long? I can't even deal with it for four shitty months and he dealt with it for eleven years. I really am weak, just like everybody always tells me. Even the hag thinks I'm weak. Can't disagree anymore though. I wonder if any noticed how silent I've become. Guess they don't, but still. This is stupid.'

Tears stream down my face as I read what he wrote down. It takes up about two pages of the diary and it's breaking my heart even more than it's already broken. As I read a few more pages I notice how every thing is becoming more depressing and depressing. One page catches my attention however.

'Izuku told his friends about what I did when we were younger. Uraraka told the others and now I really don't have anyone left. I deserve it though.

The voices are annoying as hell and won't stop degrading me and telling me to end it. In a way I get where they're coming from. Guess this is what you get for bullying your childhood friend.

Is loneliness supposed to hurt so much? Don't know. Can't really ask anyone either. Guess I'll be pondering about that for a while now. The voices will probably tell me this is nothing. Guess it isn't. God I should be stronger. What the fuck am I doing here?'

I flip the page and read a few more before another one catches my attention.

'It's decided. The day after tomorrow I'll OD, cutting hurts too much and is too slow. People could find me easily when I cut myself. If I OD it isn't very painful, but not painless and it will be quick. It will end my misery fasted, yet still a bit painful.

I drew another suicide drawing. In this one a black figure is standing on top of a building, an empty bottle behind them on the roof and foam spilling from their mouth. The figure is half leaning off it, arms spread as they're just about to fall. I drew one after it, the same figure, but now on the ground surrounded by blood as their body is broken and bloodied.

I’m gonna stop writing in this now. The only things I'll be writing is letters to the people I care about. This is stupid.'

I drop the diary and wipe at my eyes, trying to get a clearer view before getting up and stumbling around his room to find the letters he was talking about. As I open the drawer of his desk I see one single envelope with my name on it. I grab it with shaking hands before turning it around and opening it. I pull out the papers with writing on it and start reading.

'Hey Kirishima,

No idea if you'll even read this, but deep down I hope you do. The only hope I have at the moment. I don't know if you've noticed, but the past half year I’ve been getting bullied. People will beat me up, call me things and talk about me as if I'm not there. I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but I'm not as strong as Izuku.

I have never been. That's why I bullied him, because even though he didn't have his quirk back then, he was still better than me and I hated that. I thought that if I bullied him it would stop and he would break and I would be better, but it didn't work. The reason I wanted to be better is because people told me I was better than him.

If you found this you've been looking around my room, I don't blame you. I have a feeling you found my book in which I wrote first, seeing it was pretty much out in the open. No one would have found it, but I know you did. You know my room better than any one else because you've been here the most.

If you've read it you know why I did this, if you didn't read it.... I OD'ed because I didn't see the point in living. The voices in my head have been telling me to do this for a long time. I finally decided to give in. And here we are.

On the one hand I hope someone finds me and is able to safe me. On the other hand I hope no one finds me until it's too late. I can't take this anymore and I know that makes me weak, but I've already accepted I’m weak a long time ago. Well....Not that long, but for about four months now.

Don't be sad. Please don't be. There is no point in being sad. I....Well, I didn't deserve to be here in the first place, at UA. For some fucked up reason I got accepted however. I got kidnapped and ended All Might, I ruined everyone's lives and got us all in trouble. I guess that was the time shit changed.

I got kidnapped and ever since things have been going down hill. The hag called me weak, you guys had to safe me because I couldn't safe myself, I ended All Might, got you all in trouble, failed my provisional license exam, got into a fight with Izuku and got us on house arrest, I almost lost you.

That really hurt me. When they told me you had gotten hurt while saving Eri. I think that's when I realized what you are to me. That must confuse you...Let me explain. Ever since I met you you have always wanted to be my friend. I still don't know why you wanted to be my friend, but I'm glad.

Maybe that's why I got into UA, to meet you. Anyway, I'm getting side tracked. At first I hated you for wanting to be my friend, I didn't see the point of having any. Soon you showed me that having friends is great however. You and the others were never too bothered by my behavior and stuck with me.

No one has ever stuck with me for as long as you guys did. My past friends just used me for a good image at school. Soon you became my best friend, after the sport festival to be precise. You are my first best friend after Izuku. You stuck with me, made me laugh and smile. You were always there for me.

When you reached out to me that day I knew you'd always have my back. And then you got hurt. You were unconscious and in the hospital. It was then I realized I love you, Eijirou Kirishima. So, so much. I snuck into your dorm and stole a hoodie which I put around a pillow and hugged every night until you were back here at the dorms.

But all good things must come to an end. You realized how I truly am and decided that that is not what you want as a friend. I understand that, I do. Don't feel bad for leaving me behind, never ever feel bad about that.

Like the stupid audio I used to listen to says; I'm used to it. I'm used to people walking out of my life, I'm used to people talking bad about me, I'm used to people pretending to be my friends, I'm used to being let down, I'm used to being lied to, I'm used to being heartbroken.

You didn't let me down thought. Never did you let me down. God, you exceeded all my expectations. Don't ever change yourself, no matter what people say. Because that's the biggest mistake of my life, changing because others wanted me to. I hope that when you read this letter you understand I'm not the vulgar person I let everybody believe I am.

I'm actually a kind, caring person. But because of my quirk people expected me to be different, so I changed so they wouldn't be let down. I care a lot about what others think and being angry is my mask. When I'm angry people won't notice I'm hurting or happy or anything. They just see me being angry.

This is a long letter, sorry about that. I just wanted to get everything off my chest even if no one ever reads this. You are the best friend I could ever hope for so continue being a great person, become the best hero out there. Make me proud. Well, I already am so proud of you, but make me even prouder.

I love you, Eijirou Kirishima.

Yours truly, Katsuki.'

Tears stream down my face as I collaps to the floor and sob. That's all I can manage to do except for clutching the letter to my chest. I sob and sob and sob until I feel arms wrap around me. I glance up and see gold hair. I clutch onto Kaminari as I sob into his chest. He simply rubs my back as he holds me.

I don't know how long we sat there, only that it was a long time. When I finally manage to calm down I break my hug with Kaminari and wipe at me face, getting rid of all the snot and tears. I look at Kaminari with what I can only imagine, red puffy eyes as he looks at me worried, but also a bit confused.

''What happened?'' Kaminari asks softly, almost as if he's scared to speak up.

''B-Bakubro...He......He left me a letter.'' I whisper back, voice hoarse from crying.

''I see...What was it about?''

I silently hand him the letter. He takes it gently and reads it. I just watch him as different emotions show on his face as he comes to different parts of the letter. When he finishes he looks at me with tear brimmed eyes. His hands are shaking as he looks so sad and conflicted. I simply take the letter for him and place it on the ground beside me.

''Yeah...'' Is all I manage to mumble as I look back up at him.

''He...He was hurting so much....How..How didn't we notice?'' Kaminari stammers in disbelieve.

''Like he said...He hid it.......I....I’m gonna go.'' I mumble as I get up and walk out of the room.

I walk downstairs and out of the dorms, ignoring the worried questions form my classmates. I get onto the buss and ride it to the hospital. As I arrive I silently walk up to his room. I hesitate before walking into his room. I stare at the door for a while before slowly opening it. The room is empty except for Bakugou's bed and the machines he's hooked up to.

'His parents must have left.' I think as I walk over to the chair beside the bed. I sit down on it and take Bakugou's hand in mine. It's warmer than when he got here, but it's still cold compaired to how warm they usually are. I stare at his hand as my eyes tear up once again. With my free hand I wipe at my eyes.

''Wake up...Please...I need you.'' I sniffle as I feel more and more tears streaming down my face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I slowly open my eyes when I feel something shift. As I sit up I groan and rub at my burning eyes. I hear another groan and look at the source wide-eyed. Bakugou has a troubled look at his face as his head moves from side to side, mumbled words and groans leaving him. I jump up and push the alarm button that's attached to the bed.

''What's wrong?'' A nurse asks as she walks into the room.

''He's stirring and groaning.'' I explain with wide eyes as I look at her.

''I see, that must mean he's waking up.'' She states as she walks over and checks the machines and his IV drip.

''So it's a good sign?'' I ask with a hopeful glint in my eyes

''Yes.'' She chuckles.

As if on cue Bakugou's eyes shoot open and his whole body tenses up. The nurse gently removes his mask before rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders, trying to get him to relax. Slowly it works and his eyes go back to normal as he relaxes onto the bed. Slowly he moves his head to look at the nurse who's smiling gently at him.

''Who found me?'' He croaks out as he winches slightly.

''This young man did.'' The nurse says as she looks at me.

Bakugou turns his head to look at me. As soon as our eyes meet his widen in shock as mine tear up for the millionth time this day. I jump up and hug him tight, being mindful of all the wires, and sob into his shoulder. He just lays there, staring at the ceiling as he's frozen in his spot. I can hear the nurse excusing herself before she walks out.

''I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have left you behind! Don't ever do this again! I'm sorry!'' I sob as I hold him tighter.

''Kirishima......You..You found me?'' Bakugou asks in a weak and shocked voice.

''Yes! We were worried and I went to check up on you. You were shaking and foam was coming out of your mouth. I was so scared...Sorry.'' I say, voice getting weaker the longer I talk, as I break the hug and look at his face.

''The letter.''

''I found it and read it. I love you too, so don't do this again. Please.''

''I...You love me?''

''Yes. Of course I do silly. Promise me that you won't do this again. Promise you'll come to me when you feel down. Please, I can't loose you.'' I beg him.

''....Promise.'' He whispers, the look of shock still not leaving his face.

''Good. This is going to be shitty timing, but.....Will you be my boyfriend?''

''Yes.'' He whispers, a glint I can't place in his eyes.

I smile and hug him again, nuzzling my face in his neck and placing a small kiss on it. Katsuki slowly wraps his arms around me and holds me close with the little strength his body holds right now. I instinctively hold him tighter when I notice just how little strength he has. Katsuki chuckles in respons.

''I love you, Katsuki.'' I whisper against his neck.

''I love you too, Eijirou.'' Katsuki whispers back.

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xanderwithanx · 3 years

Text

Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

#long post #diary entry

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fallinnflower · 4 years

Text

red velvet

bambam x reader (modern prince!bambam x fashion designer!reader, fluff)

a/n: huge shout out to @wangtuanian for helping me make this happen. why did i write it? who knows.

wc: 10,779

Bambam tends to get what he wants. Not because he’s a prince — really, in this day and age, what does that title even mean — but because he’s charming and persistent. He learned at a young age that most people have trouble saying no to him, and he’s used it to his advantage ever since.

He’s a bit of a playboy. It hits magazines sometimes but only if there’s absolutely nothing else going on. You’re more likely to find him in a fashion spread than a gossip column, but he’s had his fair share of flings; after all, in the company of models you meet some truly beautiful people. He once ran off on a wonderful weekend getaway with a photographer — they haven’t spoken in years, but the memories are aged gold.

But the past is the past. Those desires don’t matter anymore. What he wants now is you.

From the moment you entered the room, you dominated it. It’s a testament to how the people in your field respected you — everyone stepped out of the way, although you didn’t have a particularly menacing aura. In fact, as he took stock of the emotions in the room, nobody seemed afraid but rather awestruck by your presence, as if you had descended from the heavens right before them.

In your crisply pressed white suit, you may as well have. You reach Bambam and quickly extend a hand.

“Hello, Your Highness. My name is Y/N, and I’ll be your personal designer for your gala suit. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He feels a familiar smile creeping across his lips, and rather than shaking your hand he takes it and lifts your knuckles to his lips. He lifts his gaze to find you, rather than flirtatious or even flustered at his gesture, looking highly perplexed.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he purrs, and you retract your hand rather hastily. You blink a few times in rapid succession before beaming up at him.

“So,” you start, suddenly reaching back to tie your hair into a ponytail, moving towards a desk to his right. He takes the time to admire the curve of your neck, the slenderness of your hands and the deftness with which you snap the band around your hair.

“Do you have anything in mind? Colors, patterns, materials? Or am I in control?” You turn to him, eyes sparkling, with a roll of measuring tape hanging around one finger like an oversized wring and a clipboard now shoved under your arm. One of the many assistants scurries forward to take it from you, and you nod graciously, barely taking your eyes off Bambam.

He stiffens at first as your gaze roams over him, then forces himself into a more relaxed pose, sporting his most charming grin as he regards you with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Do you like being in control, Y/N?” You shrug primly, eyeing his shoulders and suddenly beginning to circle him, not unlike a curious cat. He would liken you to a shark, but your movements are too curious, too gentle to be truly predatory in nature. He watches you in baffled amusement, catching sight out of the corner of his eyes of the interns who are blushing at his blatant flirtations.

“If you don’t have a preference,” you say, stopping suddenly before him again. “Then I think a velvet blazer would be lovely. It’s very in-season, you know. Maybe red, or purple — something rich.” Your voice is reduced to less than murmurings, but even so your assistant with the clipboard rushes to write down your every thought. Bambam himself begins to crane his neck slightly, wanting to hear you—

“Stop moving,” you say sternly, and he immediately stands at attention. “I need to get your measurements. Stand like you normally do for these appointments.” He does as you ask, waiting almost breathlessly as you approach him with the measuring tape. You carefully unwind it, stepping up directly in front of him. You wrap your arms around him briefly, starting with his chest measurements, and he feels his breath catch.

“Stop flexing,” you say, rapping your knuckles gently against his abdomen. You don’t even spare him a glance, mumbling the measurements under your breath. Somehow, watching as a few strands of hair slip out of your ponytail to frame your face, lips pursed slightly in concentration and brows furrowed, Bambam can’t keep himself from smiling. Briefly, you speak over your shoulder to your assistant to give them the measurements, a gentle smile breaking across your face, and he feels an unfamiliar warmth taking over him as you turn back to take his shoulder measurements. Your movements are quick and deliberate. As you lean down to measure his legs, he notices you letting out a frustrated huff, trying to get a strand of hair out of your eyes. He reaches down and tucks the hair behind your ear for you, letting his fingers skim across your jaw as he pulls his hand back up. He’s sure to have his most charming smirk when you look up, and yet you simply beam up at him innocently, sincerely,

“Thank you.”

Confronted with the honesty in your eyes, Bambam feels the burn of a blush creeping up the back of his neck and straightens his posture once more, clearing his throat. He averts his gaze as you go back to your work, barely managing to mumble back a response.

“You’re welcome.” For the remainder of his appointment, he finds his eyes watching you curiously, tracing the shape of your movements and the generous curve of your smile. Every eye in the room seems to be on you, all ears waiting for your next words, and Bambam finds that he’s no exception. He’s not used to people ignoring his advances. Rebuffing, sure, fine— but just being completely oblivious? How is he supposed to deal with that?

How is he supposed to deal with you?

Bambam decides he needs to do his homework. There has to be something that makes you tick, a way to get under your skin and he’s going to find it. He’s determined.

He starts the easy way. Looks up your name in an internet search, starts scouring through interviews. Everything is about your work, even in those interviews you turn personal questions into something work-related. He finds that you’ve been working very hard to keep your carbon footprint small, you’re highly involved with sustainable fashion and it’s part of what’s made you rise to prominence — that and the fact that you’re reportedly good-natured to work with and for.

He finds a total of one interview where you mention anything about your love life. It’s a brief almost flyaway comment, but he catches it.

“Well, my ex would probably say I was very oblivious! He always had to be very blunt with me. I don’t think he liked that much, he was a very romantic person, but I couldn’t keep up with a lot of the things he did... I guess I’m a bit too focused on my work.”

You’d said it all with a smile and a cool laugh, moving onto the topic of your work once more as though you were unfazed, but Bambam can’t help but play the clip over and over. The dullness in your eyes when you talk about your ex makes him bristle slightly. How could anyone harbor any anger towards you? As far as he can tell, you’re nothing but a soft-hearted, hard-working individual.

He has a feeling you were the one who went unappreciated, not the other way around, but that you’re just too nice to say anything about it. Maybe you hadn’t even noticed yourself. Has anyone ever taken the time to truly engage with you on your level?

Bambam continues watching interviews, finding himself more and more irritated by the questions you receive. So often they were about the models you were working with, or possible commissions or projects you had done for a celebrity rather than your work itself. It’s obvious to him that you want to talk about your process, but you always seem to get cut short. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen you truly enjoy yourself during any sort of interview, and it makes his heart clench every time he has to watch the spark in you die out because a reporter wants something juicy.

He sits back, gazing at a paused video of you, contemplating how to get closer to you. It’s strange to him, he usually doesn’t have to try very hard to find something people like — usually, it’s him, and he can work from there. But you hadn’t reacted at all when he was with you at work, so he needs a new approach. It should be easy enough to learn a bit more about fashion, he thinks. He’s always been interested in it, though he’s never really been on the other side of the industry from his modeling. There’s a first time for everything, he thinks, pulling his laptop back into his lap. You’d mentioned velvet blazers, hadn’t you? He chuckles to himself as he types it into the search bar — at least it’s a place to start.

His next appointment with you isn’t meant to be for a week and a half, busy as both your schedules are and the fact that you tend to let all your staff keep their weekends open unless there are big events. Bambam tends to like having his weekends open too, and this week his schedule just happens to work in his favor — he’s got an entirely free Sunday, and all he wants to do is wander around town and maybe do some shopping. Call it research, he thinks, looking at the latest fashions and updating his wardrobe. And, the cats are out of the nice, locally-baked treats he likes to buy from a specific store downtown, so he has to go out anyway.

Many people would probably be shocked or find him rising early, leaving the apartment by half-past eight in the morning, but the sun is shining brightly and the weather is perfect — so he can’t help himself! Traffic is light coming down from his house, gradually entering civilization as he descends from his lonely mountainside residence. Some days, he thinks, he’s really fine being up there all by himself, just the cats and sometimes a cleaner, looking out into the trees through the tall, broad windows.

And then on days like today, when the sun is out and the sky is clear in the early morning, he gets inexplicably stir crazy. Really, the cat treats are an excuse and he knows it — he has anything and everything they could possibly need stockpiled in his palatial mansion like he’s preparing for doomsday. Or just time out of the spotlight.

He parks in a reserved space in the lot of a government building, smiling widely at the security officers as he gets out of his car. The air is warmer in the valley, and so he strips off his coat, opting simply to walk around in his sweater. He drags a hand through his bleached locks and shoves his keys in his pockets.

The pet store isn’t open for another twenty minutes, which, in Bambam’s opinion, is a perfect amount of time for getting coffee and a quick breakfast in a cafe. He window shops along the way, waiting for something, anything to catch his eye—

He’s at the crosswalk, waiting to walk over to a new cafe, when he spots something, someone, familiar. And he really thinks he must be going crazy, because why on earth would you be spending your Sunday morning staring out the window of a cafe? As Bambam crosses, you duck your head, appearing to be scribbling something down in a hurry. By the furrow in your brow, the serious set of your mouth as you work, he’s suddenly certain it’s you.

Well, now, who is he to deny what fate is offering him? He came here partly to do ‘homework’ to get to know you better, and here you are! With an admittedly giddy smile on his face, he approaches the window you sit behind and raps his knuckles against it, watching as you jump slightly in your seat. When your eyes meet his, however, your expression morphs into one of pure delight, and he thinks his heart could melt — he knows he’s done for when you gesture for him to come in, clearing your things off of the unattended side of your table.

He acquiesces. He has a feeling you could ask him to do anything and, as long as you smiled like that, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“Bambam!” You greet, and he realizes he loves the way his name falls from your lips. He can’t help but smile as he walks towards your table; you stand to greet him.

“This is perfect — I just had some design ideas for you and I really want you to see them.” Hardly leaving him a second to breathe, your small hand lands on his shoulder, steering him into the vacant seat. You shove your sketchbook towards him,

“Just look through it, I’ll order for you — what kind of coffee do you like?”

“Iced Americano,” he says, chuckling. Your energy is contagious, and he can’t help but be excited as he flips through your sketchbook.

The first page you’ve turned him to is obviously about him. The figure is a bit rudimentary, but definitely resembles him, and the outfit is reminiscent of what you had mentioned at the previous meeting. He looks at the different cuts of jackets you’ve whipped up, all the various collars and lapels and even possible tails to the coat. He finds himself examining each one carefully, realizing how naive he’d been to the nuances of your trade all this time.

Once he starts flipping around, however, he realizes all the previous pages are very quick sketches with brief notes jotted all across the pages. Based on the positions of the figures, he realizes they must have been walking past this very window and simply caught your eye.

Suddenly, his drink appears before him, and he looks up to meet your gaze just as you drop into your seat.

“Honestly, this is like fate,” you say, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ears. “I just got struck with inspiration for your outfit and then, suddenly, here you are!” He laughs, albeit it sounds nervous and off-kilter even to his own ears. If you notice, you don’t comment on it, simply watching as he continues to peruse the designs.

“These are amazing,” he says, finally. And they are, but they’re more than that — he just doesn’t know how to say so, how to mention anything about your artistry without sounding like a complete fool.

“Thank you.” Although he’s sure you’ve heard this before, you still bashfully duck your head as he says it. You reach out to turn the page for him, and he glances up to watch you look over the row of colors you have swatched on the page next to a crisp blazer design. He wonders if you know that you pout adorably when you’re concentrating, or if it’s just another one of your unassuming charms.

“This one,” you say, tapping just above one of the colors. Bambam looks down to where you’re indicating, finding himself confronted with a deep red with hints of purple.

“It’s actually even better to see it with you here,” you continue, though he can’t be sure you’re even talking to him. “Your skin tone looks different in person, cameras always seem to wash people out.” You point to another color, more red than the last.

“If I go with velvet, it might look a bit more like this when the light hits it. I think both work well for you.” You nod resolutely, and Bambam finds himself laughing softly as he nudges your sketchbook back towards you.

“Is this how your mind always works?” He asks playfully, and you snort in response, taking a sip of your drink.

“Seems to be,” you reply. “It’s still my passion. Some people said it would fizzle out once I started working, but it hasn’t yet.” Your gaze falls back out towards the street, and Bambam attempts to follow it, trying to see whatever it is you’re seeing in the people passing by. After a moment you turn back to him, shrugging.

“Guess I’m just lucky. I still love designing.”

“Good to know I’m not torturing you with a commission, then,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. Seeing an opening, he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Actually, I’m a bit curious about fashion myself. I’ve done some modeling, you know.” You chuckle over the rim of your cup.

“I know, Bambam.” The teasing edge to your voice only makes his smile grow.

“So, could I ask you a few questions?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Fire away.”

So he does. Although he’s sure he sounds like a complete amateur, he asks you anything he can think of about the design process. He listens attentively when you start talking about color theory, and about an hour in he gets a refill for you — turns out your tastes are a bit sweeter than his, requesting a pump of vanilla and some cream in your own americano — and returns to find you with your gaze out the window and hand flying across the sketchbook page.

“How do you do that?” He asks, watching the drawing take shape, albeit messily, despite your eyes being away from the page.

“Practice,” you reply, only turning to look at him when the person you were watching disappears fully from your sight. “Sorry, that was just— that person was wearing this amazing skirt, and I had to get my idea down.”

“Do you do this often?” He prods, and you nod, cleaning up the sketch slightly as you do.

“Whenever I have free time, really. Even in my apartment, or on trips — it seems like I’m always trying to think of new designs.” Bambam nods thoughtfully, looking out the window himself and trying to imagine just what it is that catches your attention. He’s startled by the sound of paper ripping, only to find you pushing a blank sheet of paper from your sketchbook and an extra pencil towards him.

“You try.” He blinks at you helplessly and you laugh. He decides he really likes the sound of it.

“Just look for anything that catches your eye. You don’t have to draw it if you don’t want to, you can write it down, but designing is ultimately about people, you know? So it’s good to see what people like wearing.” Your eyes are already back on the sidewalk, and Bambam finds himself gazing at your profile for a moment longer before turning away.

The two of you continue that exercise for a while, talking back and forth about what you notice, what you like and what you don’t like and why, and Bambam can’t help but think how easy it is to be around you. He thought it would be hard, that you would be more difficult, but you seem to be surprising him at every turn. It wouldn’t bother him one bit to sit here with you all day, sketching passersby — or just watch you sketch, anyways — and he probably would have if not for the ringing of his phone interrupting the two of you. The message is unimportant, but it catches both of your attention right away.

“Ah, you probably have things to do, don’t you?” You say as he sets the phone aside. Your lips curve into an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t be taking up all your free time with work-related things — I’m sorry.

“Don’t apologize!” He replies, too quickly, countering your confused gaze with a smile. “I wasn’t out for much, there’s just this local pet supply shop nearby and my cats love the treats the owner bakes.” He allows himself to trail off, wondering why he decided to tell you something about himself that sounds so childish—

“You have cats?” Bambam immediately looks back up at the bright tone of your voice only to see you leaning across the table towards him, eyes practically sparkling. He nods, and you let out what can only be described as an excited squeal.

“I love cats!” You gush, propping your chin in your hands and looking out the window wistfully. Bambam takes on a similar posture, but his gaze is focused on you as you continue speaking, “I actually learned how to knit making sweaters for my grandma’s cats — she had a little dog, too, and we made them new ones every winter. I’m too busy for a pet, really, but I’ve always told myself that when my life calms down, I’ll get a cat of my own.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap back to Bambam’s, and he sits up straighter even though you’ve already caught him obviously staring at you. You let out a nervous laugh, tugging at a loose strand of your hair.

“Sorry,” you say, again, voice small. “Sometimes I just get carried away. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that refill.” The way you avoid his gaze, your nervous fidgeting, all of it makes him feel oddly crestfallen. Only moments before you had seemed full of life, brighter than the sun outside the window, and now suddenly you’ve retreated into yourself. He licks his lips nervously and drums his fingers against his glass.

“I don’t mind,” he says, gently. “And, I mean, you can come with me if you want. To the store. It isn’t far, and the owner has a cat…” The sparkle seems to return to your eyes as Bambam lifts his gaze to meet yours. He can’t help but mirror your grin.

“I’d love to,” you say.

Bambam helps you pack your things back into your bag before leading the way out onto the street, feeling elated just to have you walking by his side. You’re as smitten with the shopowner’s cat as he had been upon his first visit, and while you’re preoccupied petting it Bambam fields teasing remarks from the old woman as she bags up his treats behind the counter. He only wishes he could keep himself from blushing; his protestations would probably be more believable then.

“It’s getting a bit late,” you say as the two of you exit the store, and Bambam has to agree. The afternoon is upon the both of you, and although Bambam didn’t have any engagements today he does still have some paperwork to look over back home — and, of course, his cats to tend to.

“Do you need a ride home?” He asks, tilting his head. You blink in surprise, then shake your head.

“Oh, no, I’ll just catch a cab. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.” He wants to push, but he can tell by the look in your eye that you won’t take the offer, so he simply makes his way over to a nearby bench instead.

“Then I’ll wait with you.” You roll your eyes but concede, placing the call for your taxi before taking a seat beside him. The two of you sit in amicable silence for a moment, Bambam allowing himself to admire you from the corner of his eye as the golden hour creeps ever nearer. Eventually, however, you break it, turning your body to face his.

“Bambam?” You ask, gently. He hums in response. “Could I see a picture of your cats?” At this, he perks up. He has plenty of pictures of them, of course — they’re his pride and joy, but usually people tend to think he gets carried away. You, however, coo over every single picture of them he has, laughing at some of the video clips he manages to show you before your cab pulls up to the curb. He opens the door for you, unable to keep the grin off his face as you duck into the car and promptly beam up through the open door at him.

“Thank you, Bambam,” you say.

“My pleasure,” he replies. “See you Wednesday?” You smile, nodding emphatically.

“See you Wednesday.” With that, he closes the door for you and waves as the driver pulls away, watching until you disappear before heading back towards his own vehicle.

He’s never wanted a weekend to end so quickly.

Bambam doesn’t think he’s ever been so excited for a Wednesday in his life, but the thought of seeing you again has him smiling even when his alarm goes off before dawn that day. The morning is jam-packed with meetings discussing his parents’s anniversary party and what he needs to do in preparation. When he finally leaves there, he stops by a local cafe to pick up some coffee to get him through the day.

However, as he’s standing in line he can’t help but remember the last time he saw you, and before he knows it he’s in front of the cashier ordering two iced americanos — one with a pump of vanilla and creamer.

And so that’s how Bambam finds himself strolling into your design studio with a drink carrier holding two iced americanos. He recognizes one of your interns from last time at the front desk, and he takes off his sunglasses, placing them in his blazer’s chest pocket.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the intern says primly, smiling, and Bambam waves a hand dismissively.

“Just Bambam, please.”

“As you wish,” he replies, then glances up to look over Bambam’s outfit. He raises an eyebrow, and Bambam suddenly finds himself standing up straighter, feeling as though he’s being appraised.

“Wrong time of year for a linen suit,” the intern says. “But you look good enough that I don’t think our Y/N will mind.”

“Our— what—?”

“Bambam!” You call, walking into the lobby area. “Oh, is that coffee?”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening out his suit with his free hand. “I was getting myself some, and I figured you could use some too.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, smiling as he passes your drink to you. You take a sip of it while beckoning him to follow you back into the studio.

“Come on, we have a lot of work to do.” Bambam follows you loyally, and by the time he gets into your studio you’ve already set the cup on the desk and are pulling out fabric samples. He’s barely reached your side before you’re holding them out to him.

“So, I managed to get my hands on some color samples— really lucky for us, actually, because this isn’t a color they make regularly, but I convinced them. Anyways—” Suddenly, you start walking again, and Bambam hurries to follow you as you wave him over to a part of the room with better lighting.

“See, this one has more purple undertones, but the other one is more crimson. Both colors complement your palette, I already checked, so now it’s all to your preference.”

He swears he was paying attention to the velvet when you first walked him over, but at some point his gaze drifted over to you. The light is harsh where you both stand and, objectively, unflattering — and yet Bambam can’t keep himself from staring. There’s a small crease between your brows as you hold both squares of velvet up, shifting them so they catch the light. Even when he does look back at the fabric, he can’t help but think what they would look like on you and not him.

“So?” You prod, and Bambam clears his throat, rolling his shoulders back.

“Um— I mean, they’re both nice. Really nice!” You look up at him, brow furrowed and lips curved into a frown.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” Despite the overall gentleness of your features, Bambam finds himself feeling ashamed under your obviously disappointed gaze.

“Sorry,” he replies, looking down at his shoes. “I was a little distracted. But, really, Y/N, I think you have the better judgement out of the two of us.” When he glances back up, he finds you staring back down at the fabrics. You let out a little sigh he can’t help but find cute, shifting your weight back onto your heels a bit.

“I won’t deny that,” you murmur. “Anyways, for the pants, I’m just thinking simple. Black, straight-leg, a little slim but not skinny. For the shirt, I want to be just a little more creative. If you’re willing, of course!”

“Such as?” Bambam asks, unable to keep from grinning.

“Well, I was thinking black silk with a scarf-style collar. You know, very chic. Nothing crazy, because I want the blazer to be the key piece, but it would remove the need for a tie... what do you think?”

You look up at him inquisitively, and Bambam is almost flustered by how genuinely interested in his opinion you seem to be. He leans down a bit to be closer to eye level with you, smiling all the while.

“Once again, I trust your judgement, Miss Designer.” You let out a scoff and roll your eyes.

“You’re no help at all, you know.” With that, you turn back towards your desk, setting the fabric samples down and taking a sip of your coffee. Bambam takes a drink of his own, watching as you jot down notes on a page of your journal with your free hand. Although you’re lively in any setting, you seem to be almost glowing here, completely in your element. He opens his mouth, though he isn’t sure what he’s planning to say, when suddenly his phone begins to ring.

It’s an alarm, alerting him to his next engagement. He only has a few minutes to spare, and considering it’s nearly the lunch rush he knows he should be going. He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Alright, well, I should probably be going then—”

“Wait!” You day, and he freezes on the spot. You reach beneath your desk and then come to stand before him. Hanging from your fingers is a paper gift bag, and he raises an eyebrow, chuckling as he takes it from you.

“What’s this?”

“A gift,” you reply, grinning in a manner he can describe only as cheeky. Before he can come up with a witty retort, you gently push him towards the lobby. “Go, go— I’m not about to be the reason you’re late!”

“Alright, alright!” He relents. “See you later, Y/N.”

“Bye, Bambam.” You wave him out the door of your studio before disappearing back into your office space. He lets himself settle in the car before rummaging beneath the tissue in the bag, brows furrowing when he feels the soft texture of yarn. When he pulls the first object out, however, he can’t help but smile.

In his hands is a perfectly cat-sized sweater, with a neatly embroidered patch bearing the name King with a little crown affixed to it. Although he knows he needs to go soon, he sticks his hand back into the bag. Amidst the three other sweaters, he feels a small, rectangular piece of card stock, which he hurriedly pulls out. When he turns it over in his hand he’s greeted by the sight of your neat handwriting,

I hope you (and the cats) like these! If it isn’t too much trouble, could you send me photos of them in the sweaters?

— y/n ***-***-****

Down in the corner is a tiny doodle of a happy cat face, and he’s warmed by the cuteness of it. Suddenly, Bambam feels very motivated to get to his next meeting — or, more accurately, get done with it so he can go home.

You’re half-asleep, hunched over your sketchbook when your phone suddenly buzzes with an incoming text. In the dimly lit corner of your room where your desk is, your screen suddenly seems far too bright.

And the time far too late. Who on earth is texting you at two in the morning?

< Y/N!!! Those sweaters are so amazing!!!

< [attachment: 5 images]

< Can I post these online? No pressure, of course, I just really think people would like them and the cats look so cute!

You can’t help but laugh. Although you had no way of knowing it, Bambam had practically been vibrating with excitement until the moment he finally got home and managed to get all his cats into their sweaters. He also wouldn’t ever admit it, but he might have cried a bit when he got a photo of all of them together on his bed, looking incredibly snuggly and adorable. You take the time to go through all the images before actually replying, unable to keep yourself from smiling. The sweaters on their own were cute, fine, but actually seeing them on their intended forms made all the difference. You saved the images and navigated back to your messages, saving Bambam’s number in your phone.

Ahh, I’m glad that they all fit! I was worried. If you want to post them, that’s fine with me. I’m honored you like them so much! >

As you set your phone down, you suddenly find yourself yawning. Bambam’s text had shocked you out of your zone, and now your exhaustion was beginning to set in. You’d been up before the dawn, and if you went to bed now you might be able to get a solid five hours in before your day needed to start up in earnest. You lean back in your seat, examining your sketchbook in the lowlight. For hours, all you’d been doing was attempting to recreate Bambam’s silhouette in various different suit jacket cuts. As a consequence, now you find yourself staring at seemingly endless images of Bambam, none quite living up to the real thing. How could you hope to capture that brilliance with mere pencil on paper?

Hurriedly, you shake the thought from your head, wondering just how tired you actually are to be thinking something like that. Bambam is a client first, and that’s probably all he will ever be. You just… admire his form. Right?

At least, that’s what you try to convince yourself as you get to bed. It doesn’t help you fall asleep at all.

Bambam is a busy person. And he knows that you are, too, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to communicate with you as often as possible. Really, all he wants lately is to talk to you — especially when the boring meetings seem endless and the planning gets stressful. When he has an off moment, he finds himself trying to come up with new things to ask you about. A picture of his cats, fashion items he thinks look cool, he’s even sent you a few memes at this point. Your replies tend to be spaced out, though you’re quick to explain it — you’re working on his outfit right now, and after begging for progress shots he finally receives one.

< Consider yourself lucky, I don’t like showing people unfinished projects!

Well, he certainly feels lucky, though he’s not sure how to tell you that without sounding too forward. And given your usual reactions to his outright flirtations, he thinks subtlety might be the way to go with you.

But Bambam is a little ostentatious by nature. Where’s the fun in being subtle?

Are you at the office? >

Surprisingly, you respond quickly.

< Yes. I’m planning to spend the whole day here.

Grinning at your response, Bambam leans back on his couch, lifting his arms up over his head slightly to accommodate one of the cats as it jumps up onto his stomach. He punches in the address of your office, tracking down a nearby cafe and following the link to their website. Within a matter of minutes he’s organized for a half-dozen iced coffees to be delivered to your office, along with an assortment of baked goods from the local shop. Although it shouldn’t seem like such a big deal, he finds himself biting his lip out of a mix of nervousness and excitement as he waits to hear from you. He tries to imagine your reaction, the way your eyes will light up and the smile on your face when one of your assistants, no doubt, presents you with your coffee. He only hopes that they added a sleeve with a note on it like he asked—

The buzzing of his phone snaps him out of his imaginings, and he can’t help but beam when he reads your message,

< Bambam! You did not just order coffee for my entire office!!!

< How did you even know there were six of us here?

< And the pastries?! How much did this cost you?? I’ll pay you back!

He has to take a moment just to get over how cute you are. How is it possible for someone to be so endearing over texts? Looking at your final message, he simply shakes his head. Under normal circumstances, he’d probably try to smoothly suggest you pay him back with a date, but that doesn’t seem like something you would quite catch on to.

Lucky guess. Do you like them? >

No need to pay me back. Just consider a gift from an adoring fan~ >

< Aish, you’re too cheeky!

< I need to get back to work, but all the staff say thank you. I promise I’ll pay you back!

Without thinking much of it, Bambam snaps a photo of himself winking, keeping the sleeping Latte in frame as he does so. He sends it along with a caption before setting his phone aside and resting one hand atop his napping cat, preparing to join his pet in slumber.

You’re more than welcome. I’ll be looking forward to whatever you come up with. >

Bambam can’t help but feel disappointed that he doesn’t hear much from you between then and his next appointment, much less see you. Nonetheless, the fact that he’s getting your attention for an allotted amount of time has been enough to power him through the week. He spent at least ten extra minutes picking out an outfit he hoped all your staff would approve of — ridiculous given the fact that he’s going to be changing out of his current clothes and into your designs in a matter of minutes. Maybe he puts too much stock in the impressions he leaves on you and your staff, but he feels pretty confident in himself, so maybe his silliness is worth it.

“Good morning,” he calls out, opening the door. The same assistant is sitting at the desk as last time.

“Bambam,” he replies, smiling. “Thank you for the coffee earlier this week. Although I’m sure it wasn’t me you were trying to impress.” His grin turns sly, and Bambam clears his throat, hoping the blush he can feel creeping up his face isn’t too obvious.

“Jinyoung!” Your voice interrupts the both of you, and Jinyoung raises an eyebrow but otherwise returns back to business as usual.

“Yes?” He calls back. Bambam shifts his weight, dragging a hand through his hair and rearranging a few strands carefully.

“Has Bambam come in yet?”

“Just now. I’ll send him back.” With that, Jinyoung jerks his chin in the direction of your studio, and Bambam nods, making his way back into your space and trying desperately to ignore Jinyoung’s teasing, knowing look.

When he gets into the room, he doesn’t see you — just the mannequin form sitting beneath the white lights. The ensemble looks better in person than it had in any of the pictures you had sent, and he takes another step towards it before calling out your name.

“Y/N?”

As he takes another step forward, you suddenly peer around the corner, a small number of colorfully-topped straight pins held between your teeth. You attempt to smile at him, but Bambam’s heart skips a beat and drops as he rushes towards you.

“Give me those,” he says, reaching up thoughtlessly to pull them from between your teeth and dropping them into his palm. “That’s so dangerous, why would you hold them like that?” It isn’t until he’s got them all safely in his palm that he realizes how close he is to you, faces close enough that your noses could nearly brush. Your wide, confused eyes peer up into his, and Bambam finds himself unable to breathe when you let out a soft giggle.

“It’s just what seamstresses do, you know,” you reply, gently reaching into his palm to take the pins out. Your fingertips brush against his skin, and if you were anyone else he’d be ashamed at the way his spine seems to tingle at the contact. You turn on your heel, walking across the studio to a small changing room and pulling the door open.

“Anyways, I realized I didn’t have any of these ready for your fitting. But now that I have them, you can go ahead and change.” It takes him a moment to get his bearings again, but once he does he moves quickly into the dressing room. Before he can close the door, you stop it with your foot, laughing.

“You might need these, Bambam,” you say, holding the recently finished clothes out on their hangers. He shakes his head lightly, laughing as well, albeit more awkwardly than you had.

“Right, yeah— thank you.”

He takes the outfit and closes the door, gently knocking his forehead against it. How could he be so stupid? What is it about you that makes him so foolish, and why today? Bambam takes a deep breath and tries to make himself be still before he lets it out in one long, slow sigh. He hangs his clothing on the extra hangers you’ve provided in the room before slipping into the new clothes.

Although he thinks he should expect it, he’s still a bit surprised by how well the clothing fits already, unaltered. He looks himself over in the mirror, smoothing down the blazer and striking a pose in the mirror. Just as he moves to strike another, you knock gently on the door.

Bambam, feeling almost giddy with how good he looks, opens it with a flourish, leaning into the doorframe with his fingers curled around the top of the door.

“Careful!” You cry, pulling at his arm and smoothing the material down the shoulders. “The seams are loose!” Bambam flounders for a moment, feeling his cheeks redden all over again. You gently lead him over to the middle of the room, where he steps up on the platform. He rolls his shoulders back, perfecting his posture as you take a few steps back and tapping your fingers against your chin. Your dark eyes rake over him, moving up and down before you start circling him. Bambam swallows thickly, feeling stripped by your intense gaze despite the fact that your eyes never stray beyond your own designs hanging off him.

After one slow orbit around him, you step up closer. It’s only when you kneel down that Bambam realizes you’ve got a pincushion in your hand, probably to spare him another heart attack at seeing you with pins in your mouth. You frown gently, and Bambam can’t help but smile a bit at the cuteness of it. As you reach for the hem of his pants, however, he stiffens up slightly, righting his posture once again. Although he can’t see it, your frown deepens, and you gently slap your hand against his calf, causing him to jump a bit. He pouts down at you only to find you smiling up at him,

“Loosen up, would you? Just stand like you usually do, so I can be sure it will fit you comfortably.” You lean back and he clears his throat, shifting slightly and shaking out his arms and shoulders slightly. He lets out a deep breath and tries to muster a laugh to lighten the mood. Your expression doesn’t change, however, falling silent and serious again as you inspect his hemline once again. Bambam feels awkward simply standing there in silence, and so he clears his throat once again.

“So,” he begins. “Did you think of how you’re going to repay me?” He watches as you sit back on your heels, jaw going slack as you look up at him. Your expression quickly morphs to one of guilt, a pout forming on your lips. Bambam furrows his brows, cocking his head to one side as he looks down at you.

“What’s wrong?”

“I meant to buy you a coffee for today…” You smooth your palms against your thighs, looking down nervously. Seeing you in such a state, Bambam can’t help but laugh, though just a little.

“Well, in that case,” he says, “I have an idea.”

“And what would that be?” You ask, leaning forward again to double check the hem. Bambam continues to gaze down at you, swallowing hard as he feels his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“You could come to my parents’s anniversary party?” Your hands still, body stiffening as you process his words.

“What?” You ask, softly. You’re hesitant as you lift your gaze to meet his, and Bambam finds himself feeling somewhat awkward with your reaction.

“I, um—well, I just thought it might be nice. If you came, you know. Everyone that’s going to be there, they’re my parents’s friends and our family, so I thought it might be nice to have you there.”

“With you?”

“Yeah,” he says, half breathless all of a sudden. He thinks it must have something to do with the earnest, almost imploring look in your eyes. “With me.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, feeling as though he could fall right into your eyes — and maybe he is, for all he knows. He’s certainly falling for you one way or another. After a prolonged moment he shifts his weight awkwardly once again, looking away.

“Only if you want to, though. Please, don’t feel pressured.”

“Okay,” you say, and his gaze snaps back to yours.

“Okay?”

“I’ll go,” you reply, a smile playing at the corners of your mouth. Bambam feels starstruck by the sight of it, only shaken when you gently swat at his leg once again, silently urging him to straighten his posture. He obliges, though he can’t keep the smile off his face throughout the rest of the fitting.

As he prepares to leave your office, he turns back to you one last time, leaning against the threshold of the doorway leading into your lobby.

“I’ll text you the details,” he says. You turn away from adjusting the clothes on the mannequin, grinning playfully at him over your shoulder.

“Only if you promise to send pictures of the cats, too.” He can’t help but laugh gladly at your request, running a hand through his hair.

“You have my word.” He makes an ‘x’ over his heart with his fingertip, and you let out a short laugh as you turn back to your work. Bambam watches you for a moment longer, enamored by the smile still on your face, before he walks back through the lobby. As he goes to leave, he hears one last thing that distracts him.

“Whipped.”

Bambam snorts at the sound of Jinyoung’s voice, though as he exits the building he can’t necessarily disagree with the assistant’s statement. In fact, all he can really think is: so what if he is whipped?

The week and a half that follow are absolutely hellish. All that Bambam can hope is that it would all be worth it, and his parents’s party would be everything he wanted it to be and more. He’s been in and out of the ballroom so many times on the day-of that the staff finally banned him from entering before the celebration began, and so he resorts himself to pacing back and forth in his old bedroom, fussing with his hair and clothing. As he does so he tries to recite his speech, but a part of him knows he’s going to end up winging it a bit anyways — he always does, especially when he’s nervous and has alcohol in him.

As promised, he had given you all the details for the party. He had offered to send someone to go get you (ideally, he would have gone himself, but he couldn’t risk being late and didn’t want you to feel rushed), but you had declined. You had been busy throughout the past week and a half too, and so Bambam felt doubly anxious to see you.

Just when he thinks he can’t get any more nervous, the party begins.

Although it’s a bit embarrassing, Bambam is one of the first to snatch a glass of champagne off a passing tray, downing half of it before reverting to more elegant sips. He greets various semi-distant relatives he hasn’t seen in years, and the lack of familiar faces only makes him more nervous. His parents aren’t due to arrive for another half hour at least, when they’ll make their grand entrance as a couple.

Bambam tries to keep conversation light, mostly because he can’t keep his eyes off the door for long. A number of people compliment his outfit — something which makes him puff up with pride, mentally trying to keep tally of all the pleasant remarks to report back to you later. You deserve to be reminded just how talented you are, after all.

He’s on his second glass of champagne when he swears the entire ballroom falls silent. Even his chattiest aunts seem to go completely quiet, and on instinct he turns to the door—

He nearly drops his glass of champagne. You stand in the doorway, looking around the room, and although he knows he should wave you over he can’t seem to make himself move. You look incredible — more than incredible, really, but Bambam can’t think of the words for it, only complimentary words that all feel far too dull to encompass how spectacular he thinks you look.

The red velvet dress hugs your curves perfectly, the sleeves hanging off your shoulders, and Bambam swallows hard when he sees the same shade of red, the same as his blazer, painted on your lips. How is it possible for anyone to look that amazing?

Finally, you turn your head his way, dark eyes latching onto his across the room. A bashful but excited smile stretches across your face, and Bambam feels as though he’s floating, being pulled across space towards you rather than walking. When he’s finally standing in front of you, with your sparkling eyes gazing up into his, he can’t manage any words other than,

“Wow.” You laugh softly, looking him up and down and tucking a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Wow, yourself. But I did do a pretty good job, didn’t I?” You ask, gesturing to him and yourself. Bambam chokes out a nervous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You— you made that?” He asks, voice cracking slightly. As soon as he asks the question he passes a hand over his eyes, sighing in embarrassment. “What am I saying, of course you did. And you did more than good, you look incredible.” The playfulness slips from your expression, and Bambam can see your ears turning red with blush as the earnestness in his words hits you.

“Thank you,” you reply, softly. Bambam can’t help but smile at your slight bashfulness as he offers you his elbow. You slip your hand into the crook of his elbow and at this proximity, it no longer seems possible that anyone could miss the fact that your outfits are cut from the same cloth. Bambam’s heart beats wildly at the thought of you looking like his date to all his relatives and parents’s friends.

“Are you thirsty? Hungry? Have you eaten? I have a speech to give once my parents get here, but until then I can keep you company—” He babbles, leading you further into the ballroom. He finds himself searching for a waiter somewhere in the room to flag down some champagne for you, but is interrupted by you gently tugging at his arm. He looks down only to be met with your teasing expression.

“Loosen up,” you joke, but he can see the honest concern in your eyes. Bambam keeps his eyes locked on yours and takes a deep breath, trying to stabilize and center himself. The sight of your smile somehow puts him at ease.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m loose. I’m loose, see! Now, I think it’s time we show off your marvelous work, don’t you?” Bambam shoots you a cheeky grin, pressing his hand against the small of your back to continue leading you into the crowd. You roll your eyes but keep pace with him, reaching for a glass of champagne as a waiter passes with a tray.

“I think my work speaks for itself, don’t you?” Bambam can’t help but smile at you, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

“Confidence is very attractive on you, you know.”

“Aish,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of teasing?”

“Who said I was teasing?” He fixes you with as serious a look he can muster, though he can’t keep himself from smiling. He’s giddy just having you beside him, and his underlying nervousness makes it hard to hide his emotions. The same blush as before creeps up the column of your neck, and he finds himself smiling more broadly as you clear your throat and pull him forward.

“When’s your speech?” You ask, shoulder bumping against his as you sidesteps another guest.

“Well,” he starts, going over the itinerary in his mind and pulling you both to a brief stop. “Once my parents come in, they’ll greet everyone and then a few of us will give speeches before they have the first dance. The buffet will be laid out once they’re here, and then the cake will get cut at the end…”

“Ah, I see.” You glance around the room, but Bambam keeps his eyes on you.

“I could introduce you to some of my cousins. They’re all a bit older, but then you won’t have to sit alone while I’m occupied.”

“That might be nice,” you reply. “Are they all as cheeky as you are?” Bambam winks at you, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

“Lucky for you, I’m one of a kind.”

“Mm, lucky.” Your teasing tone strangely brings him comfort, and he rolls his eyes playfully, pulling you into his side.

“Come on.” With that, he guides you towards a small cluster of his cousins, nodding in greeting as the two of you approach.

He’s barely managed to introduce you to them all when suddenly he hears someone tapping into the microphone on stage.

“Please welcome their Royal Majesties, our King and Queen!” Bambam turns along with everyone else to applaud at their arrival, watching as his parents enter the room. The two of them are practically glowing as they walk in arm in arm, waving at their friends and family. As they approach the elevated table at the back of the room, Bambam turns back towards you, nearly forgetting about his cousins entirely.

“I’ll see you after the speeches, okay?” You smile and wave him off, barely taking your eyes off of his parents in all their splendor.

Bambam’s speech is the second to be delivered. And thank God for it, because for all his confident airs he feels very judged by the lack of people his age in the room. As his uncle speaks, Bambam goes over the words in his head and can’t help but feel that they’re juvenile in comparison to what his mother’s brother is saying.

But it’s too late to change it now. The evening’s second round of applause is his queue to stand from where he’d been seated at his uncle’s side at the elevated table. His parents look at him, expectant and proud and happy, and Bambam really hope he doesn’t fuck this up. He rolls his shoulders, loosening up once more, and smiles back at his mother and father.

“You know, growing up here, in this castle, I always felt like my life was a fairytale,” he starts, trying to keep his voice steady. “But once I got older, I realized being born into royalty wasn’t quite like what you read in the books, or see in the movies. It’s a lot more paperwork than magic.” That garners a few laughs from his relatives, half-hearted but enough to get him to finally look out at the crowd. He looks to you almost out of instinct, only to find you smiling reassuringly at him, eyes turned up into endearing crescents.

“The real magic in my life has been love.” His heart hammers against his chest, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. “My parents — seeing their love throughout my whole life, that’s the real fairytale charm here. The fact that they’re still so happy after so many years together, it’s powerful. When things get hard, they’ve always been there for each other, and they’ve been there for me. They’ve passed their love onto me, and I hope that all of us here tonight can feel the power of that bond, that we can feel the magic that my parents have created here together.” He turns back to his parents, feeling dangerously close to crying and seeing that they appear to be much in the same boat.

“So, mom, dad — happy anniversary, and here’s to many more to come!” He reaches down to grab his champagne glass off the table, lifting it as many others in the room clink their glasses together with those around him. He sniffles as he sits down, riding the emotional high as he passes the microphone on. After composing himself somewhat, he looks back out into the crowd only to find you looking directly at him. Your expression has turned from one of reassurance to one of pride, and you shoot him a thumbs up, giggling, before turning your attention to the current speaker.

But Bambam can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. Even when he claps along at the end of the speech, his attention is only on you — you in your incredible dress with your broad, beautiful smile.

It’s then that he realizes he’s fallen harder for you than he initially thought, and that he has to tell you. Tonight, before it’s too late, before he loses his nerve and you go back to work just like always. Once he realizes it, it’s all he can think of, distracted even through his parents’s beautiful first dance. All he can think of is making his way to you, sneaking behind his relatives and catching only glimpses of his parents as they spin around the room.

You’re easy to spot, the red of your dress standing out, and Bambam slips between his cousins and gently takes hold of your elbow to get your attention. You turn, brows furrowed, but your expression melts into one of pure delight when you see him.

“Bambam,” you greet, hushed but just as excited as you had been that day in the cafe — the day you had said was fate. “Your speech was amazing, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he whispers, barely more than a breath. He stoops down a bit to be eye level with you, hoping not to garner too much attention. “Can we talk?” You tilt your head curiously to the side.

“Sure, but shouldn’t we stay for the dance?”

“This really can’t wait.” He’s running on adrenaline, he can feel it; hears his heartbeat pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out the music. You nod, so he takes your hand in his and pulls you back out through the crowd onto one of the balconies off the far side of the room. Once the two of you are outside, you turn to him, concern painted across your features. You squeeze his hand, looking over his face nervously,

“Is everything alright?” Bambam lets out a breathless laugh, nodding, feeling liberated beneath the light of the moon.

“Yeah, yeah, I just— I really needed to tell you something.” When he looks back into your eyes, he finds himself pausing, feeling as though he’s being drawn in by an unseen force. He’s interrupted in his poetic thoughts by you slapping his arm lightly, pouting up at him.

“You’re making me nervous!” You whine, and Bambam laughs again, taking hold of both of your hands now and bringing them up to his lips. He presses a soft kiss where your two hands meet in his,

“You’re cute when you're nervous, did you know that?”

“Did you bring me out here just to tease me?” You ask, though he can see the lingering anxiety in the stiffness of your shoulders.

“Maybe,” he teases, and you roll your eyes and start to pull your hands away. Bambam tightens his grip just enough to have leverage to pull you against his chest. He presses your hands above his sternum, where he’s sure you’ll be able to feel the way his heart is thundering out of control.

“Depends on if you feel the same way.”

“Same way about what?” Your voice has dropped to a whisper, and when you speak he can feel the warmth of your breath fanning against his lips.

“About me. Us.” He lets his gaze drop to your lips, lingering for a moment, and he feels your fingertips curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“What about us?” You continue, softly, drawing ever so slightly closer to him. He feels intoxicated, drunk off of your presence, like his head is spinning and the world has fallen still instead.

“I’m falling for you,” he says, because it feels too soon for love but he knows he’s on that track. He’s certain he could fall in love with you— will fall in love with you, if you give him the chance. He waits with bated breath for your reply, only it doesn’t come.

Or, at least, not as he expects it. The kiss you press to his lips is brief, but enough, and he’s quick to pull you into his arms when you hide your face away in his shoulder.

“What a dramatic confession,” you say, half muffled by his blazer. Bambam chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Did you expect anything less?”

“Of course not.” Bambam closes his eyes, relishing being so close to you. The music streams out from the ballroom, enveloping you both, and he gently begins to sway you to the rhythm. It’s only once the tune has ceased that you let out a sigh.

“You know, Jinyoung has been teasing me about this for weeks. It’s only going to get worse now.” You draw back just enough to look up at him with a playfully accusatory glare. Bambam grins cheekily, sliding his hands down the back of your smooth velvet dress till they rest at the small of your back.

“Oh, has he?”

“Yes,” you reply, shaking your head. “I suppose you’ll just have to take responsibility. It’s your fault he’s teasing me, after all.”

“And how do you expect me to do that, hm, princess?” He asks, watching the way you blush from the tips of your ears down to your throat. Nonetheless, you flash him a confident smile, pulling him back down towards you by the lapels of his blazer.

“For starters,” you murmur, lips brushing against his. “You could take me on a date.” Bambam can’t help but smile, feeling as though there are fireworks going off in his chest.

“Only if you promise to be mine.” The corners of your lips twitch up into a broader grin at his response.

“Deal.”

And a few days later, Bambam upholds his end of the deal — the first of many, many dates (though nothing he does can stop Jinyoung’s teasing).

#bambam scenarios #got7 bambam #got7 scenarios #got7 writing #got7 fanfiction #got7 texts #kpop fanfiction #kpop reactions #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop texts

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semi-anonyme · 3 years

Text

November 3, 2020

12:05pm

I woke up at 7:00am today and I knew a few things: 1.) I would buy a Vitamix and begin to make smoothies every day 2.) I would stop holding onto the past 3.) It would be my last entry on this tumblr

Today, it is Election Day. I am very much hoping Joe Biden will win, not just for my sanity but for everyone’s sanity, for a little hope in humanity’s fight against the allure of anti-intellectualism, scapegoating, its growing tolerance of hate.

I remember the last election day, or rather, the evening. We all thought Hillary would win uneventfully. I remember my colleague dipping out of work early to go to the Javits Center to celebrate her victory. I remember watching in disbelief from my basement computer, walking upstairs with my eyes wide and jaw dropped. “Are you watching the news right now Mike?” “Yeah, Trump is in the lead. It looks like he’s about to win Pennsylvania (or was it Michigan? Or Wisconsin?)” I walked to bed in disgust, woke up in disgust, confirmed my disgust.

There was not one conversation I heard on the train or in the street that day that didn’t involve Trump. That night, I drank alone at Three Diamond Door. I still remember the buff black dude sitting in the corner downing Bell’s Two Hearted IPAs.

Anyway, election day 2020. I’m going out to vote in about 2 hours. I got today off. Thanks, progressive companies.

I’ve had a lot of internal discussions with myself on here, published them as blog posts. I have timestamps to remember them by, I’m glad. In the past ~8 months since the pandemic began, I’ve gone back to a lot of my entries -- oh, this is what it was like in the beginning in March. Oh yes, May, I was indeed watching a lot of K-Dramas, it was getting hotter. Ahhh yes, I did learn a lot about not having the city as my crutch.

Just in general, on this blog, on the countless loose leaf papers in my journal, I’ve had these battles about meaning. This blog pre-dates seeing Jody my therapist, who I’ve been seeing faithfully for over 1.5 years now.

I could go on. The point I’m making rn in this last entry is this -- all that stuff is in the past, it was important, I internalized it. Now it’s time to move on. I’m glad this exists, these 450 entries exist, they exist with a purpose. But now? I know who I am, what I want to be.

I have no dilemma of engineering vs artistry. Now that I’ve been away from loud bars, I have no FOMO about the nightlife. It’s kinda just time to start from scratch, this knowledge.

I just created a new tumblr, domo-knows. I’ll likely have a companion YouTube channel in the future. Anyway, a few and somewhat ambiguous bullets for myself since, you know, this blog was always just for me.

ON THINGS I’M LEAVING BEHIND ACTIONS 1. Random drinking. Today, I’m going to buy an Other Half Finback IPAs, pop them open around 8pm and start watching election results. I’ve gone into detail before about drinking, but just to sum it up, drinking alcohol is the one thing I can say captures how complex and funny it is being a human -- how we use it socially, justify it, cling onto it, how it becomes tangled up in our highest achievements and our most shameful insecurities. I’ve consumed alcohol for these various reasons in my life:

a.) I was avoiding doing something difficult b.) I didn’t want to be alone in my room, and preferred the loud chatter of conversations and music at a cramped bar c.) I did not trust my social abilities sober, so I drank alcohol because I’ve never known anyone who has not liked me when I’ve had a couple (when I’m shit-faced, another story) d.) To hook up with a girl e.) I was bored f.) I was about to do something boring and wanted to make it more exciting g.) Because it was a beautiful sunny day, perfect for a beer on a patio h.) Because it was a cold and dreary day, perfect to brood over a Manhattan i.) I was lonely j.) My life was going too well, I wasn’t used to that, and I needed something to question k.) My life was going poorly, and I needed something to cheer me up for the evening l.) I needed to make a decision, so I drank alcohol and wrote in my journal and came to a good decision that I stuck with m.) I needed to make a decision, so I drank alcohol until I no longer cared, and the decision was punted off until the next day n.) I I needed to make a decision, I thought a drink or two would jigger my thought process, but I ended up getting distracted by something my drunk self was interested in, and the decision was punted off until the next day I’d come up with more but they’re all just variations of that and who wants to read more of that? 2. Eating sugary sweets, justifying it by saying I have “an addiction” I actually never cared for sweets until high school. Most birthday cake I had was gross, my parents bought Chips Ahoy or Oreos which tbh aren’t all that great, and I was never exposed to really good pastries until I was in college. In high school, I dropped a buncha weight entirely too quickly and I ended up with a fats and sweets “addiction” that I’ve “had ever since”. This is a common thing.

I’ve held it close to me mentally -- my “sweets addiction”. I didn’t question it, it was something I just had, something to hang onto for the rest of my life because I fucked up when I was younger.

But as I’ve gotten older, I understand that these things -- addictions -- serve purposes. They keep us comfortable in what we deem to be true of ourselves. They (poorly) provide temporary breaks from incessant mental gymnastics/fatigue. Anyway, blah blah, big sweeping declarations, blah blah, I’ve done that all before. But when I woke up today, I knew I would get a Vitamix like I’ve been talking about for years, and I made a decision to stop holding onto this. I always eat 2 meals a day with a wild west assortment of things in between, cake and cookies and granola bars and Halloween candy. Now, 2 meals and a protein smoothie/juice.

Let them muscles grow bb. Feel good about my body, treat it like the fucking temple it is.

3. Dicking around on the internet I enjoy reddit. I enjoy wikipedia. I also end up on these sites when I’m avoiding other major responsibilities and uncomfortable feelings. I know what I want: it involves a lot of deep practice. I could read about programming all day and I’d be fascinated -- you know, the history of Silicon Valley, Introduction to the Rust Programming language, new JavaScript frameworks, discussions on HackerNews about The Best Way to Build Something. But nothing beats getting your hands dirty. Nothing beats poring over source code, running into strange errors, resolving them, moving on, over and over ad nauseam until lo-and-behold, you are an expert.

I can read about music, listen to raps over and over, but nothing beats analyzing a verse over and over and actually hearing the syllables landing on, falling behind the beat.

I’m here to structure my day. I know what I want. Expertise, pride, and know-how. A differentiated skillset so I can collaborate with other differentiated skillsets. Good taste, a feeling of belonging. All that shit, all I ever wanted but didn’t know until recently. THOUGHT PATTERNS 1. FOMO What is it with being a human -- a Man, especially (sorry is that sexist, but also, not sorry) -- that makes us believe that everyone has everything we have and more? That we are the base model without power windows, and everyone else is an upgrade? I love going on walks in New York City. I love riding the trains in New York City. But while some of this love is healthy spectatorship, much of what I’ve engaged in is unhealthy envy.

I’m done with that though. I know what I like. And I know I have a dope life. And I know that I’m a good person to know, that people may have different qualities than me but I also have different qualities from them. I’m cool with my small close-knit friends. 2. INDECISION I kinda expanded on this above. I know what I want, and all questioning I’ve done (especially recently) has been my effort to save myself from doing the work, save myself from having to declare what I am. 3. ENGAGING IN FEELINGS OF BEING LATE I am 31 years old. This is something I know to be true: there is a 13-year old who can program circles around me. There is a kid who can play a rendition of Misty on piano so soulful that it’ll bring a tear to my eye. There is nothing, technically (as in, technical expertise), that I can do that can’t be done by anyone else. But I do believe in my taste and I do believe in my life experiences. And I do believe that whatever I create can only be mine, have my signature, and I think that whatever I create in this world that I’m proud of is going to be good. That’s a fact, and I’m going into the future with that as a fact.

Farewell, semi-anonyme Anyway, I was going to write more but I wanna get going, more to do. I’ve got some work to do, some voting to do, some writing to do, some planning to do.

I love you all. See you on the other side.

#self #text post #semi anonyme goals #farewell

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szopenhauer · 4 years

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Have you ever tried to walk on a moving vehicle and fallen over?: I didn’t fall When was the last time you were a passenger in a car and sat in the back?: I always sit in the back

What is the longest your hair has ever been?: to my butt Who does the grocery shopping in your household?: we all do but me and dad most often What is the best thing you’ve ever bought at a thrift shop?: I bought so many things! Have you ever been pulled aside by security at the airport?: not applicable Do you watch The Simpsons regularly?: I don’t but I like this show anyway :) Did you ever go to summer camp when you were younger?: twice Do you know anyone who is fluent in a second tongue?: me Have you ever been pressured into doing drugs? Did you say yes or no?: I said no

When you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard? had a swing Do you burn incense? I heard it causes cancer :(

Does being in love make you nervous? yep Have you ever been so quiet that nobody noticed that you were there? from what I remember Did you ever stop having feelings for someone and then started having those feelings again for them? yeah Do you stay home when you are sick or do you still go out? stay home What’s your relationship with the person you last texted? we’re datinh Have you had more than 3 gfs at the same time? nooo Are you in a good mood right now? sigh... Have you kissed someone with braces? I have XD Who’s your favorite redhead? real, celeb or character?

How do you feel about being in the house alone? cool When was the last time you burnt your mouth from eating something too hot? it happens often as I don’t feel it being hot most of the time :( Do you prefer instrumental songs or ones with lyrics? lyrics Do you have any old friends who you still kinda speak to but it’s awkward? sigh... When was the last time you used a quote from a movie in real life? today? Do you forget things easily? depends/some

Would/Do you like having brown eyes? maybe Do you spend a lot of time on the internet? too much Have you bought anyone a Christmas gift? not yet

What is one of your favorite compliments to recieve? compliments are awkward :x Do you compliment other random people? rarely What do you use Facebook for? texting mostly Do you love cartoons? some are nice Do you paint your own nails? I did

Describe your style in one word. comfy Describe your current personality in one or two words. complicated Are you afraid of child birth/pregnancy? it’s one of the reasons why I don’t want any kids What are you favorite bottoms to wear? leggings or pajama pants Do you like dresses? not really Do you eat cake with a spoon or a fork? tiny fork but spoon is fine as well What is your favorite sex position? ;) I'm not a fan of sex What color will you paint your nails next? black if any Are you afraid of ghosts/hauntings? kinda What is your favorite game to play with family/friends? board games and/or car racing games with dad What is your beer of choice? I don’t drink beer Do you like glitter? could say so Have you ever owned a Ouija board? hell no Do you like to text? it seems If you had to be an animal for Halloween, what would it be? bat, cat or wolf (eventually a raccoon but it’s not a Halloween related animal) Do you have more dry skin or oily skin? mixed

Name something that starts with the first letter of your first name. zoo Name something that starts with the first letter of your middle name? - And your lastname. chicken Would you spend 20 dollars on a candle? no way What is the goriest thing you’ve seen in real life? hmm... Twilight or Harry Potter? HP Would you rather be a vampire or a mermaid? vampire P.E or Math? Math or Science? dunno What do you do when someone is really rude to you in public? hard to tell Do you argue with your significant other a lot? we don’t argue Have you ever had a really painful breakup? they were painful to me What do you like to write with? my hands lmfao Do you prefer to be pale or tan? Don’t say in between. pale What is your favorite thing about Christmas? decorations and gifts but also spending time with my parents Do you prefer white or black electronics? black A stranger comes up to you and gives you a big hug, what do you do? :o Do your eyes tear up when you’re nervous? might Apples or Bananas? apples Water or Milk? water Would you milk a cow given the chance? it’s weird Where do you shop for your underwear? I don’t have a fav place to do that

Do you feel more comfortable sleeping in your own bed or in a hotel bed? my own

Do you prefer to travel by plane, car, or boat? car

Who is your favorite travel buddy? dad

What’s the best souvenir you have ever purchased? can’t choose

What’s your favorite book to read during a long ride? I don’t read while travelling

What’s the most entertaining story you have about getting lost? me and my father been talking so loud that someone on the street just stopped by and told us where the place we’re looking for is ^^”

What was the most expensive trip you have ever taken? ask my family

Which songs are on your travel playlist? whatever

Which travel blogs do you follow? none

Do you complain when you are bored, or look for something to do? I’m never bored so I don’t complain about it

Do other people’s complaints ever get on your nerves? some/depends

How did you develop your specific taste in music? can’t explain that

If you drink coffee, how do you like it (with cream, black, etc)? I don’t drink coffee

Did your parents sign you up for things like piano lessons and ballet? no and now I’m a loser

What is your favorite children’s song? Kokoszeczka

Are you good at telling jokes? I am

Other than gas, what do you frequently purchase at a gas station? I don’t purchase anything there

Ten years ago, did you think that this was how the world would turn out? ...

Ever think you might be better off living in a different time period? yup

Do you walk regularly? not regularly but often

If you could have the answer to one question, what question would that be? personal

Do you like any bands from other countries? obvi, most of those I like aren’t from Poland, I don’t like polish music

When was the last time you mailed a handwritten letter? years ago

Do you still receive Christmas cards? my mom does

Do you know anyone who is really hard to please? sadly

What gets you through the day? I wonder myself

If you found out your bf/gf was homosexual, how would you react? I know she is - elseway we wouldn’t date (ok, she could be bi, I know)

If you are homosexual, and you find out your bf/gf is straight, then what? we break up

Have you ever sung karaoke? What songs? Was it fun? it was Ich troje song *embarassed*

Have you called anyone today? What did you talk about? not today

Do you drive around the neighborhood to look at lights around Xmas? I like to look but I don’t ride around just for that

Why are so many single people bitter on Valentine’s Day? because they’re lonely and because this day is fake

What is one tradition you hate participating in? personal

Have you made a fool of yourself today? probably

When was the last time you did something for someone else? recently

Do you let other people choose the radio stations in your car? but I don’t have a car

Would you say that you are an accepting and openminded person? am not

Have you ever been convinced to try something you didn’t want to do? I have been

When was the last time you cheated–at anything? last time I used motherlode in The sims 4 game?

When you are mad at someone, how do you show them? depends

When was the last time you felt you had a reality check? blergh

Have you ever felt out of touch with reality? dissociation, derealisation, depersonalisation etc.

Have you ever had a tooth pulled? not since I was a kid

How long do you you usually chew a stick of gum? didn’t check the timing

Was there any teacher that made life living hell for you? it wasn’t THAT bad but it wasn’t good

How about any student(s)? I’ve been bullied if it’s what you’re asking me about - still could be much worse

When was the last time you felt overwhelmed? 24/7

Do you have any coffee mugs with funny pictures/sayings? Did I just rolled my eyes out loud

Describe something strange that you own? where should I start...

Do you think graffiti is a valid form of artistic expression? I don’t approve of it when it vandalizes property

Are you afraid to walk places at night if you are alone? I’m a petite woman so...

What do you think of people who are shy? hard to keep contact with them

Have you ever gone through a time when you had no friends? How did you deal with it? not counting my family - last several years - I was ok with it as I’m a loner, homebody, introvert

What is something that shouldn’t bother you, but does anyway? fuck off!

Has any food ever made you sick to the point where you’d be afraid to try it again? that happened more than once already

Can you hear traffic right now? I don’t hear anything :3

Have you taken a painkiller today? no

Have you had a nap today? neither

Are you currently in a relationship? If so, do you think it will last? don’t feed my paranoia...

Do you have a hyphenate name or know anyone with one? (eg. Carter-Brown) my sister

Do you take your Christmas decorations down before or after New Years? after

Have you made a large purchase today? I didn’t buy anything today, it’s Sunday

Have you ever used a leaf blower? we don’t own one, we’re not rich

You see someone running around naked in the street. Your reaction? if it’s neighbor’s kid that’s no surprise

Has someone close to you died of murder? no one close to me but still a family member of some sort

Would you ever have sex with the last person you texted? done

Do you abbreviate when you text? that’s lazy of me, I know

Is anyone in the room on the phone right now? I’m playing a game

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therealmiztodz · 4 years

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I have recently become an entrepreneur. This means loads of hours, and some days, next to no returns. There are highs and lows, and we all read about it, but I don’t think I realized the depth of the lows. Sure, it’s great to celebrate the “wins”, and the buzz is indescribable when you feel the returns of the hours put in; but these lows - gosh - I won’t lie; I was not as ready as I though I was.

A few hours ago, I closed my laptop after spending hours (early hours of the morning, just as a side note) working. The blistering cold weather didn’t help, either, but I am really really trying to change my way of handling and managing things in my life instead of moaning and complaining. In fact, this is what made me write this blog post actually. Hell, it’s why I STARTED this blog. As I was saying, I closed my laptop after hours of working, which felt like second after second of fruitlessness, and just burst into tears. After the tears, came my usual self-slaughtering. I really went to town on myself, digging into my past, my childhood, my experiences and the people I have had the misfortune of meeting along the way.

Yes, I am fully aware that we all go through shit, we all meet shitty people who do shitty things to us; we all experience painful things and we all hurt at times. The truth is, I am not going to abandon myself for one second longer, just on the premise of everyone having their “own cross to bear”. Firstly, not everybody goes through the same struggles- some are worse than others. Or how about privilege (race, background, circumstances), like how some people have nobody else to share their pains with. This is real and it’s valid. Secondly - or also - just because everyone has their own cross to bear, doesn’t make mine any lighter; nor does it mean that carrying it around with me all my life didn’t damage me in a way that I suffer with today.

The truth is, I don’t give a shit if anyone reads this or not. I am not writing this for clout. If my experiences and my words help another person, then I’d be over the moon, of course; because I know that having someone who can relate and understand is sometimes the only thing we need in a moment of pain. It’s why all over the world, all over the internet, in schools, at work - everywhere - there are communities, groups, clubs, etc. As humans, we need one another, and to be embraced and understood by another. Sadly, I can say - from countless experiences - we fail one another. But if my posts from here on out becomes an outstretched hand to hold for just one person, it would be amazing to me. I know what it’s like to feel lonely, and have nobody hold out a hand to hold.

The reason that I decided to write this was because I have held in years and years of pain. I have held in decades of being ignored and abandoned. I have gone out into the world pretending that I was okay, when the truth is, that I haven’t been okay for as far back as I can remember. I am writing this because I have started many times, but I finally feel that the tides - my tide - has changed. After closing the laptop screen in the early hours of this morning, crying my eyes out, and dwelling around feeling the familiar ache inside of me swell up, threatening to swallow me in; as the horrible insecurities returned, pushing me to do ugly and drastic things to myself, dirty habits wanting to own my life; I stopped. For the first time that I can ever recall, I forced myself to stop. I just cannot feel this way anymore, I cannot handle my life in this way anymore, and I cannot keep abandoning myself when the world spins around me. I also can’t keep pretending to be made of iron. I fucking feel things. In fact, I think that I very well might feel things quite a lot deeper than most people. I am fucking conscious, so I feel. I am aware. And this made me know that my tide had changed. I had to go with my tide.

I had this moment where I just knew that I had to take ownership of my life and myself, and stop somehow always finding an external source outside of myself to point blame at as a reason behind my doubts, fears and where I fell short. But I also knew that I had to point the spotlight at it all, face the past, go and stand toe-to-toe with my “demons”; stop giving a fuck about a lot of things and a lot of people; start giving a fuck about a few things at a time and about the few who’ve always been true; speak my truth no matter how it may hoarse; choke the fucking life out of the voices that haven’t been able to shut the fuck up since they started trying to convince me of weaknesses that were actually my strengths; suffocate the shit out of the minds that kept coming to take my light because they were scared it may dim theirs; and annihilate any piece of shit who tries to come at me again with anything, knowing that I fucking clawed my own damn way to where I was despite all their hate towards the queen that is me.

I’ve just been out here, acting like what I’ve been though was normal. There are people out there who have gas-lighted me to the point that I thought I wasn’t worthy of love. There are people out there who took my voice away from me before I was even able to speak - who didn’t allow me to speak - until I thought that my voice meant nothing at all. Those are the people who will omit large details, or speak out of hearsay. Those are the people who never gave me a chance. They will say that they did. They will say that they did, only because of the story behind me. Because if they ever didn’t act like they didn’t at least “try”, then the people in the “community” would speak, or think something funny of them. The fact is, there was always something funny about them. All of them. They never gave me a chance, because they didn’t love ‘me’; they loved a picture of the ‘me’ they wished I was, but couldn’t be because I was ... sick, broken, damaged ... strange. And I will address them - every single one - not omitting my own misdemeanors, of which there are quite a few; but nothing that I came to eventually realize, rendered me as worthless as I came to feel. An undeserved taint, a reckless abandon, years and years of living in the shadows cast over me - enough!

Today I am going to start taking charge of my life fully. I am going to take ownership of my life, and take the actions needed. There is loads of unpacking that needs to be done, to discover who I really am. As each wave washes over me, and as I let them pull each painful moment out of me, I will let go, and in turn, become!

#newbeginnings #learning to love me #letting go of the past #letting go of fear

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anhed-nia · 4 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/21/2019: TERROR IN THE WOODS

I consider this to be the second Slender Man movie that I viewed this blogtober season. Previously, I wrote about THE TALL MAN, a twisty 2012 thriller by Pascal Laugier, the writer-director of 2008′s MARTYRS, which is coincidentally about a pair of traumatized young women who are driven to violence by the belief that they must placate a monstrous supernatural entity. THE TALL MAN does not share that similarity with the Slender Man mythos, but it makes a familiar proposal: A tall shadowy male figure emerges from the forest to abscond with children, for reasons that may be either murderous, or that may instead offer lonely and dejected little kids an escape into a sort of gothic Neverland. This odd killer-savior dichotomy reflects the pathos at the heart of Slender Man fandom, an obsession that thousands of ordinary young people shared with juvenile attempted murderers Morgan Geyser and Anissa Weier. Their story is so well-known that it feels a little embarrassing to explain that the eerie Slender Man is the fictitious product of an online Photoshop contest. His first appearance, surrounded by young victims and/or acolytes, was captioned thusly:

“We didn't want to go, we didn't want to kill them, but its persistent silence and outstretched arms horrified and comforted us at the same time… “

The images’ combination of spooky shit and childhood innocence would have felt pretty cliche even in 2009, but the conflation of victimization with salvation is a potent one. It evokes both the escapist bent that is so pronounced in children, and also the death drive--the psychoanalytic idea that people are subconsciously attracted to their own inevitable and perhaps cathartic conclusions. Maybe someone has already named this form of suicidal ideation that represents both the desire for everything to stop, and the hopeful fantasy that death could be the beginning of something else; If so, I would love to read about it. For want of that, we have the sadly overexposed yet still poorly understood story of 12 year olds Moran Geyser and Anissa Weier attempting to make a sacrifice of their supposed friend Payton Leutner to the Slender Man. A thinly-veiled version of this story is articulated successfully in the Lifetime original movie TERROR IN THE WOODS.

The generic title gives no hint of what this well-acted and psychologically realistic production is like. While no names are named, including the Slender Man’s, Ella West Jerrier and Sophie Grace play extraordinarily convincing stand-ins for Geyser and Weier, as the awkward, isolated little girls who become increasingly obsessed with a Creepy Pasta-like website where they find out about a demonic creature called the Suzerain. Like the Slender Man, the terms of one’s relationship with the Suzerain are complicated. Once you have its attention, you have to make a blood sacrifice, or else it will annihilate your family. However, making the sacrifice brings the strange reward of being accepted into the Suzerain’s remote mansion, where you live forever as his slave. That might not sound too good to just anybody, but an unhappy, confused, and powerless person sees in it an escape from the ravages of the mundane world, and also a relief from the painful burden of personal responsibility, as the Suzerain becomes your ultimate and eternal authority. This is where the Payton Leutner character comes in (played perfectly by Skylar Morgan Jones), an even more naive and immature classmate who was being edged out of girls’ triangle before the Suzerain “chose” her for sacrifice.

While I feel concerned about some of the oversimplified causes that TERROR IN THE WOODS seems to identify--chiefly, well-meaning but absent parents who are too concerned with their personal dramas to notice the murder plot hatching under their noses--the movie nails perpetrator’s personalities, keeping the focus appropriately on their emotional turmoil and complex delusions. Minus the acerbic comedy, TERROR sometimes feels like a Todd Solondz picture, with true to life characters rendered in agonizing detail, especially Skylar Morgan Jones, who is as unlikable as she is undeserving. Their vulnerability, their tackiness, and their juvenile pretensions are all beautifully fleshed-out. One rarely sees an honest, warts-and-all portrayal of young children in anything besides obnoxiously arty, explicit indie dramas, and this quality puts Lifetime ahead of the curve (as they often are) in terms of a certain kind of domestic realism. Even the attempted murder scene pulls no punches, graphically depicting the savage stabbing of a little girl who ends up drenched in blood and rolled in forest floor detritus.

As I just suggested, I object somewhat to the easy-out presented here, that all of this could have been prevented if only the parents were more attentive to their children’s internet activity, and more suspicious of their perceived emotional states. Today I watched the two hour 20/20 special about the crime, in which a lot of professional adults say a lot of incredibly stupid things about the “obvious” problems with Geyser and Meier. “Is ‘I want to die’ a normal thing for a child to write?” blusters one expert rhetorically about a diary entry, at which I nearly screamed “OF COURSE IT IS!” Anyone who never experienced such exaggerated feelings of emotional exhaustion as a young teen would have to be either extremely sheltered, or sort of a psychopath themselves. Throughout the special, grownups who think Apple Jacks should taste like apples spar over whether Geyser and Morgan are just fundamentally bad people, completely ignoring the complex and detailed psychology laid out in the Slender Man literature itself. On one hand is the threat of family annihilation by this creature in whom the two girls manifestly deeply believed. On the other hand, respite from a continued life of bullying and rejection from all of their peers. Fear, sadness, alienation, and actual mental illness permeate this tragic story. In fact, the girls were ultimately diagnosed with schizophrenia and shared psychosis, respectively. However, even with all that on the table, some individuals remain happy to go on TV post-trial speculating frothily that these kids just wanted to know what it felt like to commit murder, and that maybe in this story we have discovered “that rarest of things--an evil 12 year old!”

It isn’t that I don’t think evil 12 year olds can exist. I don’t believe in the patent innocence of children any more than I believe that parents are completely capable of knowing (and changing) their child’s every thought and feeling, down to the ability to determine that something as outrageous as a blood sacrifice is a real life possibility and not just a relatively normal morbid musing for a normally emo-y kid. Trying to imagine that level of domestic detective work reminds me of the superior documentary DEPROGRAMMED, which details how the filmmaker’s rebellious brother had his life ruined by parents who convinced themselves that he was a legitimate and dangerous devil worshipper. Life just isn’t that simple, and this urge to find simplistic causes and solutions for unpredictable events is no more rational or mature than the urge to find solace in an imaginary kingdom with no parents and no homework. At this point, I feel like I should apologize for failing to address this movie, which I really liked a lot, as much as I addressed the story of the Slender Man stabbing. TERROR IN THE WOODS is roundly well-acted, appropriately sympathetic to all parties, and soberly told. It’s just hard for me to separate the story from the movie, as both have potent things to say about how we underestimate the psychological complexity of childhood. I don’t have solutions to propose, except that I think a good place to start would be with responsible adults relinquishing their own shallow certainty about what can happen and what we can do.

#terror in the woods #blogtober #sophie grace #ella west jerrier #skylar morgan dunbar #angela kinsey #drew powell #true crime #slender man #urban legend #creepy pasta #thriller #drama #horror #dj viola #amber benson

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thepoetoaster · 4 years

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POSSESSED

Baltimore, Maryland October 2019

Chapter 1.

The rain was sobbing uncontrollably and inside I felt the same. Everything was grey and bleak except for the colorful neon screensaver of my phone that lit up every time Matt texted me. I never meant to become reduced to this state of sadness, loneliness and despair.

But every time I stepped outside the revolving door of the hotel I was living in, whatever energy reserves and hope I had mustered up in my solitude rapidly depleted and I felt like throwing myself into the harbor. Not that I ever would, but looking around at the society which I became increasingly more isolated from, that was how I felt.

My name is Michaela. I’m 28 and work as an investment advisor for a prestigious bank over the internet. That’s my daytime personality, anyways. The way I pay the bills. Deep inside I know I am an artist, a spiritualist, but that part of me only comes out in very rare circles.

It seems as if my life is always separated by a sense of polarizing contrast, eternally opposing forces. There is the daytime version of myself I show to the world; successful, smart, kind. There is a hidden part that is much more sinister. I feel a sense of cynical animosity towards the human race and society regularly. I express this through the art I never show anyone except my friends on the Other Side.

Yes, I am a spiritual medium, although not professionally. It started in my childhood when I realized I was not like the other children. While they played kickball and dolls, I wandered into the woods alone, talking to my imaginary friends who I later realized were so much more than imaginary. How did I know this?

Well, sometimes they told me things that they knew about this life - things that I nor any mortal would have anyway of knowing if not for some supernatural power intervening. And their words always turned out to be true, so I learned to trust the voices in my head that were so much more than just voices.

And what great friends they were! I found the spirits kinder, wiser, and more understanding than the mortals who were caught up in trivial things like gossiping and sports. Most of them, anyways. There were the rare beings I became close with that always kept my head above the Earth somehow. Always the eccentrics, the strange ones. They were the only ones I found interesting, who improved upon the sweet stillness of my solitude.

One such person was my friend and lover, Matt. Although lately, I must say the relationship has been leaning more towards friendship — the romantic parts of our life are rather complicated. For starters, he’s been married to another woman for years, although their relationship is turbulent and he’s very quick to come to me for comfort when things don’t go his way.

But oh, how I adore him! He is dark, mysterious, intelligent, not to mention handsome. He is one of the few people on this Earth that I connect with and we have an explosive chemistry. But I always get the sense that there’s something missing between us, that there’s something that’s just not right. I can’t stand the fact that he always chooses his wife over me, like I’m some kind of afterthought and not worth the same love and attention as she is. But I tolerate it, because I have I no one else — and look forward to his text correspondences vehemently, as he is a light in my dark, oftentimes seemingly hopeless world.

In the present, I’m sitting in the armchair in my hotel room that overlooks the city streets, drinking hot ginger and lemon tea while reading “Favorite Poems of Emily Dickinson”. I’m waiting for Matt to text back, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I don’t hear from him until 2 in the morning, at which point I will be fast asleep.

I prefer hotel living for many reasons. Mainly, I can never seem to make myself settle down in any one place. My work as an investment banker is done mainly over the internet except for the rare face-to-face meetings with customers and company business trips. So when I’m not working, you could say I’m something of a vagabond, always traveling from city to city, making my home wherever the wind takes me.

I love the cleanliness and orderliness of hotel living; the permanently fresh sheets, the modern decorations, the shampoo and conditioner samples. It reminds me of a comforting time in my rather difficult childhood, in which a house fire forced my family into staying at a Holiday Inn for several weeks. I relished the experience, sharing a room with my twin brother, and have very fond memories of continental breakfasts and jumping from bed to bed, pretending the floor is hot lava.

In my current room there was a portrait of a lovely, hefty singer perched above the desk where I do my work. I suddenly wished I had her life and started to feel very lonely all of a sudden, looking out my window at all the people walking down below, in groups of friends or with a romantic partner. Although I despised the society, at times I felt almost envious of the way others seemed to fit in and find their place so easily. I was forever a misfit, alone in a universe of my own making with no one there to listen to my innermost thoughts.

Except for the spirits, that is.

I grew weary of the feeling and reached for my Ouija board to see who was available to talk. Normally it was one of my main 3 friends - Claire, Stephen or Sharon. We did have other visitors come through at times, however. Today was one of those times.

I took the board out of the box, put it on my lap, and when I placed my fingers on the planchette it started moving almost immediately to spell out the words “HELLO LOVE”.

“Well, hello love to you to,” I said, “and who may I ask am I speaking with?”

“DAMIAN,” it said.

“Hi Damian! I’m Michaela,”

“I KNOW,” he said, “SILENT MODE”

“What?” I replied, and at that moment I received a text from Matt.

“NEXT,” said Damian, “HE’S A FUCKBOY,”

“Um, I’m sorry? Matt and I are very close friends,” I said, although he did have a point.

“NEXT,” he repeated, then “PICK ME INSTEAD.”

And against my will I felt a warm sensation rising up from my stomach to my chest to my cheeks.

That very same moment, there was a loud knock on the door. “Housekeeping!”

“Oh, okay! One moment,” I responded, suddenly needing some air. I put the board back in the box and slid it under the mattress before quickly slipping on my my shoes and raincoat for a stroll through the gloomy Baltimore streets.

“What r u doing?” The text from Matt read.

“Going for a walk - hbu?” I responded

“Let’s meet at Gangster Vegan,” he said, and I replied with an “OK - see you in 10” and began the journey by foot through the harbor and into historic Federal Hill.

The whole time I was walking, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Damian’s presence. In fact, I could have sworn I felt fingers lovingly grazing the back of my neck; a light whisper in my ear.

When I got to to the all natural vegan eatery, Matt was unsurprisingly yelling at the cashier.

“What do you mean you don’t carry Spirulina!? What kind of establishment is this?!” The poor cashier gave me a look of utter desperation and I took that as my cue to jump in.

“Matt! Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you!” He turned around and the anger on his faced appeared to soften, but only a fraction.

“Oh, Michaela, what a relief to see someone with half a brain,” he snapped, turning around to give the cashier a dirty look, who looked thoroughly annoyed.

“Okay, let’s get out of here…,” I replied and we started walking through the city streets that were lit up by neon lights.

Before I could even begin to strike up a conversation, Matt suddenly stopped walking on the sidewalk to read a text message from his wife, Cindy. “GOD DAMN IT!” He shrieked.

“What is it?”

“THAT BITCH!” He dramatically kicked a fire hydrant, stubbing his toe in the process.

What is wrong with him? I heard a voice clearly whisper in my head.

“HOW DARE SHE!”

“Are you okay, Matt?”

“NO, I AM NOT OKAY!” By this point everyone else on the street had their heads craned to witness the spectacle that was his meltdown.

“Deep breaths, Matt…”

“It’s Cindy,” we started walking again by the harbor, “we were supposed to meet at her apartment later tonight,”

I thought he was coming home with you? The voice whispered.

“I thought you were coming back to the hotel with me?” I said

“Michaela,” he said and turned to me, “you know I love you as a dear friend, but Cindy is my wife. And we were supposed to meet tonight, and she canceled on me because she HAS PLANS WITH HER FRIENDS.” He looked exasperated. I just stared and looked at him silently, not knowing how to reply.

“Well… maybe she really does have plans with her friends?”

“Oh no, Mickey. No. She’s fucking some other guy. I just know it.”

The hypocrisy is unbelievable! The voice said.

“Umm… well, maybe you should just let it go! We can have a great night back at my place…”

“I don’t think so. I’m gonna let this whore have a piece of my mind.”

At that moment, his phone mysteriously flew out of his hands and into the harbor.

And I heard that voice laughing in my head.

By that time, we were almost back at the hotel. Matt was just staring there in shock, and I felt similarly. Then he fell to his knees and started sobbing uncontrollably.

“JUST GO, MICKEY…”

I silently obliged and walked back to my room, suddenly drained by Matt and his shenanigans. As my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep almost immediately. In that brief state between wakefulness and dreams I swore I felt Damian’s arms around me.

Chapter 2.

I woke up early, around 6:30AM, to the sound of my phone ringing - it was an unknown caller.

“Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Hello, Baltimore Police. Is this Michaela Young?”

“Yes,” I replied, a wave of worry washing over me, “what is it?”

“It’s about Matthew Gregory. He was found dead in the harbor last night.”

A wave of shock and disbelief washed over me and I heard that voice in my head, laughing maniacally.

“Oh my god,” I said, speechless.

“We’re going to need you to come down to the station immediately,”

After I got back from the station, I collapsed on my bed, emotionally exhausted. I decided to turn to my ouija board for comfort from my friends from the spirit world.

HELLO, MY LOVE, the board spelled out almost instantly.

“Is this Claire?” I asked.

DAMIAN, it spelled. I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU.

“I’m very upset, Damian. My friend and lover Matt was found dead in the river this morning. They ruled it as a suicide but I’m not so sure. He was erratic but I don’t think he was suicidal.”

I’M SURE HIS WIFE IS UPSET, he said sarcastically.

By this point tears were streaming down my face. “That doesn’t help!” MATT DIDN’T KNOW YOU, he said, NOT LIKE I DO.

“What do you know about me?” A small gleam of hope flickered in my heart like a lighter. Was it possible that there was an entity in this universe that was capable of understanding me?

This is easier, said the voice I thought I had been imagining before.

I know much about you, Michaela…

“Like what?” I asked.

You’re a financial advisor by day, but it’s slowly eating away at your soul. You’re an artist - deep down, you know it, I know it. And. You’re also a witch.

“Go on,” I said, my heart beating quicker at this point.

You didn’t have things easy growing up - dysfunctional family dynamics, absent father, and a string of abusive relationships as you got older.

My heart was pounding rapidly at this point.

“How do you know all this about me, Damian?”

I know a lot about you, Michaela. That’s all you need to know. I am capable of loving you in ways no mortal could ever fathom. All you need do is surrender to me.

“I’m not in a place to surrender to anyone right now, Damian. My lover just threw himself into the harbor.”

Understandable, he said. Well you just rest up, my love, and I’m sure things will work out for the best.

“Okay,” I said, and fell asleep with the energy of Damian’s love surrounding me.

Chapter 3.

At work the next day I was unable to focus on anything. I was midway through my lunch break when I heard Damian say, what do you say we leave this place tomorrow, my love?

“For where?” I asked.

Morocco, he said. I want to show you the way the sand dunes look in the desert when the sun rises. I want to show you the architecture, the culture, the food.

I suddenly felt excited at the idea - running away with this entity - leaving my past behind. It felt like a scene out of a fairy tale - only real.

Next thing I knew, Damian was singing “Come Fly with Me,” by Frank Sinatra in my head and I burst out laughing, overflowing with joy and feeling lucky that I had finally found someone who understood me, who eased the loneliness within me, who reminded me of what it was to laugh.

You’re very beautiful, you know, he said in a drawling, seductive voice.

“Save it for Morocco,” I said playfully, my heart feeling like a hot air balloon.

Before I knew it, we were on a plane together, falling for each other quicker by the minute. Well, I was on a plane, you have to remember. Damian was a nonphysical entity, which made our relationship - strange, you could say, to put things mildly.

But I had never been one for normalcy to begin with. In fact, it was my personal philosophy to shun anything that would be considered mildly normal by society’s standards.

And so our love took off the same way as the airplane.

When we arrived in Morocco, we spent long evenings under the desert sky, numbering the stars in the milky way, soaking up the serenity of the sand dunes. During the days we toured the city of Marrakesh, basking in the colors, the architecture, the geometric patterns on the walls. The culture was fascinating to me but more fascinating was Damian.

He told me of his life in the underworld and I was amazed at how much we had in common with one another. I grew to believe that there was some kind of mystical force pulling us together, and we could consciously resist it all we wanted, but no matter what that eternal longing would pull us back into each other’s reality, one way or another.

It was the romance of a lifetime.

———-

That’s the way things always start out, don’t they? For all of the eternal longing that existed between us, there was no denying that we didn’t always agree on everything. Just normal couple things, right?

But nevertheless, I wanted no one else. No other entity. I had finally found someone who understood the very depths of my soul; that’s not something I could ever let go of easily. And let go was something I never wanted to happen; of this I made Damian aware.

“What are the options for our future, Damian?” You can let me possess you, he whispered seductively in my ear.

I laughed and said, “What, you don’t think I’ve seen enough horror movies to know that’s not a good idea?”

I’m not like other demons, he said convincingly.

“You are rather sweet for a demon,” I said, laughing.

It’s decided, then. Let’s go somewhere special to make it happen.

“Where were you thinking?”

You decide.

“I’ll have to think about it and get back to you.

Absolutely, my love.

And with that he vanished into the night before I had a chance to say another word and I was left alone, once more.

————

My stomach was lurching at the thought of being possessed by Damian. Just the normal cold feet experience, right? Why should I be worried? He’s most certainly unlike any entity I’ve ever encountered before. Knowing, powerful, kind, intelligent…and that’s the thing you’re supposed to do when you’re my age right? Submit and allow yourself to be possessed.

I had always shirked away from the idea of marriage for just that reason. I didn’t want to ever belong to anyone except myself and the universe. The idea of being some man’s “property” made me want to vomit. Changing your last name to his to totally seal the deal. The patriarchy was something I’ve always rebelled against, so why was I questioning whether or not I wanted to be possessed by Damian?

Loneliness. I was aching inside and needed someone to fill that emptiness within me. Someone who understood me. No human man had ever truly understood me before. I hardly even understood me. I rarely took the time to understand myself with how busy I was with my work and traveling, always running from something, it seems. Running from my past, from myself.

But as it turns out, they’re right when they say everywhere you go take yourself with you.

And take myself with me I did indeed, to Malibu, with Damian. For our wedding — or rather, Possession — day.

——————

Chapter 4.

The warm pink sunset cast a dreamy glow over the pacific ocean as Damian and I stood on the shore together.

“So - how exactly do we go about this? I don’t exactly think you could find a priest would would willingly perform a possession,”

Relax, my darling, my bride, Damian said. All you have to do is surrender to me.

And without giving it another thought, I sat down on the white sand cross legged, and closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew I was in my mind, but I was not alone. There was another presence there.

Wow, the sunset sure looks beautiful through your eyes, said Damian.

“Yeah, it does,” I said, happy that I could share this moment with someone else.

We sat there together for awhile, celebrating our oneness. Basking in the blissful sensation of belonging to another. I thought my heart would explode from joy.

As the sun went down and the stars began to come out, Damian asked if I wanted to go to Hawaii for our “honeymoon”, and I obliged, in a dreamy, romantic trance.

————-

Palm trees. Crystal clear waters. Long days and slow nights spent wrapped up in Damian. Listening to his tales of the underworld.

Our love grew deeper in those weeks than it ever had before. It’s hard to express the feelings of deep spiritual oneness that we shared. There really are no words for it, except sinking deep into an ocean of pure peace and love that washes over you and makes you feel that everything’s alright, that everything’s happening exactly as it should.

—————

PHILADELPHIA, PA

Like all good things, the honeymoon eventually did end as my work beckoned me once more. Damian did not like when I had to work. Even though he was right there with me the whole time, it upset him that I was unable to give him my full attention, even for a second.

“Oh, stop acting like a child,” I said teasingly. “You know I’m all yours and you’ll have every ounce of my attention once I’m finished with my work,”

Yes, darling, he said. But sometimes I wish you would let me take care of you, so you wouldn’t have to put such strain on yourself.

“You know I love working, Damian,” I said, although it wasn’t fully true. “It gives me a sense of purpose and allows me to be independent and free in this world.” That much was true, at least.

Does it really, though? Aren’t there other passions, other goals you would rather be working towards?

“Well you know I would rather be an artist, but that’s not a very fiscally responsible thing for me to do at this point in my life,” I said.

Let me take care of you, he said again, and then I didn’t hear from him for a while.

———-

The next day, however, I got a phone call from my boss.

“Michaela, this is your boss, Mr. Richard Wadd. I must inform you that I’m letting you go from the company. I don’t really have a good reason, other than the fact that my fragile male ego is threatened by your superior intelligence, and I’m the one in power, so there’s nothing you can do about it. Goodbye.”

Damian was very quick to comfort me.

You know, love, there are certain benefits to having a demon as a spouse, he said.

“Oh do share,” I said, needing comfort now more than ever.

Close your eyes, he whispered, and as I did I began to receive visions; information, otherworldly knowledge, flashes of events.

Do you want me to take care of your boss for you? He said.

In my fuming, trance-like stupor, I nodded half-heartedly.

Good, he said. It is done.

——————

For the second time in the past year I was awoken to the sound of the police calling, beckoning me down to the station. My boss had been murdered, and they had evidence of my fingerprints at the crime scene.

I felt myself go white. There’s no way I was capable of murdering my boss. Sure I had fantasized about it as many do, but now he was dead and they had evidence linking me to the crime. Where was Damian? He was oddly silent this morning; I hadn’t heard a peep from him since last night.

“Damian,” I pleaded, “Damian, are you there?”

Nothing.

I felt sick and needed a minute to catch a breather before heading to the police station. That’s when the visions started and it came back to me.

I was walking through Spruce Street Harbor Park, but it was more Damian than me. In fact, it was all Damian. I was barely there except as a witness observing my own body moving without my control.

The door to the apartment of my boss’ row house was locked, but somehow I had a supernatural strength that was able to twist the doorknob right off the handle.

The only thing I remember after that was a blur of screaming, blood, me begging Damian to stop, and my boss begging for his life.

————————-

“How could you, Damian?” I said, shaking.

It needed to be done. Now, let’s leave town before the police catch us!

“You’re insane! You literally murdered my boss!”

That’s where you’re wrong, my love… WE murdered your boss. And as far as the police know, YOU murdered your boss.

“DAMIAN-,” I screamed, but it was futile. Next thing I knew I felt very dizzy all of a sudden and collapsed onto my bed as if I was black out drunk.

——————-

Everything was black for a very long time, and I had no consciousness of anything except an unending void of nothingness. I had an awareness that I was not in my body, and was very possibly dead.

Then everything turned light, and I was speeding through a vortex.

Ah, a tunnel of light! I thought. I really am dead!

Well, this isn’t so bad, I thought, as I sped along. There was no more pain, no more drudgery of existence, no more, oh, what was his name… Damian!

As soon as I thought of him, the speeding stopped and I was in what appeared to be an endless meadow, with fields of swaying poppies of all different colors. It felt surreal and dreamlike, and there was a total sense of peace that washed over everything.

As I was taking it all in, a being of light started to approach me from a distance. I felt a total sense of unconditional love emanating from her.

“Michaela,” said the being, who I figured must have been an angel as I saw her jewel encrusted wings swaying back and forth, “you have made a terrible mistake in allowing Damian possess you.”

“Who are you?” I wondered out loud,

“I am Cassiel, your guardian Angel. And we are here because you are in grave danger.” “I guess letting myself be possessed by a demon wasn’t such a bright idea after all.”

“No kidding!” She said, then laughed lightly, clearly trying to evade hurting my feelings.

But then she gazed into my eyes with a deep understanding and compassion, as if she could see straight through my soul and knew me better than I knew myself.

“You were lonely, lacking in self-love. You let your demons from your past overcome you. But it’s okay now, because I’m here to help. I’m going to show you how to reclaim your inner light and overcome Damian.”

“I killed someone, Cassiel,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

“No, Damian did it. And that will be taken care of. You must see now that there is so much in God’s hands - so much going on behind the scenes that you are unaware of. But we ultimately have your back. Your angels, your spirit guides, Source, the entire universe is secretly conspiring in your favor.”

“I don’t understand how they could allow all of this to happen to me then, Cassiel,”

“Michaela,” she said softly, “everyone has free will and must answer for the consequences of their actions. Karma catches up with everyone. But ultimately, everyone is forgiven for their deeds after they have worked through their karma and regained memory of their divinity.”

“So what happens next?”

“You’re going to be sent back to your body. By this point, Damian’s strength will make it hard for you to let go of his possession. But you must not give up or lose faith, Michaela. There is a light within you that is stronger than any force of evil that has ever been. And that’s the force of self-love. You must see that you are worthy and that love never leaves you, even when you are on your own.”

“That’s something that I’ve always struggled with.” “I know. And you are certainly not the only one. So many, if not all of your species’ problems are rooted in this lack of love. But it is infinite and existing everywhere, if only you will open your heart and allow yourself to tap into it.”

“So what does that have to do with exorcising Damian?”

“Allow the light to possess you instead,” she said, and with that, everything went black again.

————————

When I regained consciousness and flew back in my body once more, I was seated on an airplane next to the window, with a cocktail and an upscale looking meal in front of me.

Welcome back, my love, Damian said.

“Hi,” I said, in a fog.

Your dinner is waiting for you.

“Nice!” I said warily, “Where are we going?”

My dear, he said, we are bound for Paris. We are going to start a new life, you and me.

“A clean break!” Being powerless, I was just going along with him at this point.

Yes, he said, and laughed lightly

Once we touched down in Paris, I felt a renewed sense of hope and vigor. Because of the possession, I was able to fluently speak French. I had been here before when I was younger once, when the past that haunted me now was more of a present, everyday reality. I wanted to think that I was in a better place now, but given the fact that I was possessed by a literal demon, it was hard to say.

Now Michaela, my love, said Damian, while we are here, I will have some commitments to attend to in the underworld. I trust that you will be able to manage for several days at a time without me.

“I will do my best,” I said, like the dutiful wife I was pretending to be.

I know you need me, and are nothing without me except a lonely, blubbering mess.

“Okay,” I said. What an ass. “Can’t wait until you get back!”

———————-

With Damian gone, I felt like I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

I spent long afternoon strolling through ancient cobblestone streets and evenings sitting on terraces, drinking wine and people watching. As I rode the metro and wandered in and out of several boutiques, an awareness started to wash over me.

And that was this feeling of total contentedness and peace - with just me, on my own. No more loneliness, no more aching inside. It felt as if I had a clean slate, a barren soil that was fertile enough to foster my growing sense of self-love and independence.

I met some very interesting people. One afternoon as I was strolling alongside the Seine I saw a painter and was inspired by his lifestyle. He made ends meet by waiting tables at night and spent of the rest of his time devoting his life to art.

There were some people who were in a much worse state. Many homeless people and I saw myself in them. My heart reached out to the invisible who had demons of their own they had yet to overcome and I wanted nothing more to help them.

I was exploring Notre Dame cathedral when Damian finally returned.

What are you doing here? His voice sounded very sinister.

“Sightseeing,” I replied casually.

Get out of this building at once, he hissed.

Apparently I didn’t have a say in the matter as my feet began to move on their own.

What do you say we have a picnic in the park underneath the Eiffel Tower, ma cherie?

The thought made me queasy but I agreed.

As we were sitting underneath the Eiffel Tower, there was an awkward pause.

You’re awfully quiet, Michaela.

“Sorry, I’m just soaking it all in. The twinkling lights, this lovely picnic you’ve prepared - it’s every girl’s dream!” And as I was saying it, I realized a part of me still meant it. After all the progress I’d made on my own, I realized I was lucky to be sharing this moment with another entity, even if he was a demon.

Yes, my love, he said. And there will be many more such moments to come. I’m never letting you go!

That made me feel nauseous and I seemed to snapped out of it a bit.

“Damian, I don’t know about that. We killed someone! We can’t keep running from that forever.”

I could feel his temper starting to rise.

So what are you suggesting, Mickey? Turning ourselves into the police? They’ll never believe you. They’ll think you’re insane if you tell them the truth. And you’ll be locked behind bars for the rest of your life. I’m your only hope at a good life.

After he said that, something within me started to fall apart at the seams. I was no longer sure of myself, sure of where I began and where Damian ended. I felt so controlled and like I had no way out of this relationship. I could only go along with it and hope for the best.

I remembered what the angel Cassiel told me and wondered whether what she said was true or not. Something within me told me her words rang true. Suddenly I had a very strong urge to expunge Damian and everything about him from my being. I needed an exorcist, a priest, but although I had a strong sense of spirituality I was not a religious person and didn’t think going to one would work. No, something within me knew the answer. And I knew I could wait no longer to rid myself of this demon forever.

But I needed evidence of Damian’s murder. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life behind bars for a crime I did not commit. He was right in saying that no one would ever believe me. I needed proof that I was truly possessed by a demon.

And that was how I found myself at the PIOP, or Paranormal Investigators of Paris.

———

Of course, I had to wait until Damian was away at work for several days in the underworld. The PIOP referred me to a renowned shaman who performed exorcisms at Notre Dame Cathedral. I corresponded to the shaman via email and told her about my case. She said it sounded like a doozy alright, and that I should think of a way to trick Damian into planning a date at the cathedral where the exorcism could be performed.

That night when Damian returned, I turned on the charm and told him I had a special date planned for us tonight in Paris. He was exhilarated about it! First we went out to a fancy vegan restaurant for one final goodbye dinner. For the first time he opened up to me about some of his experiences in Hell.

So I said to him, in Lucifer’s name, you musn’t use that torture device! It’s from the 18th century. We’re so much more humane than that now. Get the Tiger Bench.

“My woke demon,” I said, Damian too wrapped up in his story to catch the sarcasm.

As he rambled on about his day in literal Hell, I wondered once more how I had ever let myself get in this situation. Sure, I had trauma from my past. Dysfunctional family. I remember growing up my mom would throw dishes at our heads when she was in one of her rages. Absent father. A string of loser boyfriends who treated me like nothing. I wanted so badly to be loved and understood that I was willing to settle for anyone giving me any attention, filling the place that was supposed to be occupied by my father. And of course, the mental health issues that plagued me from perpetually feeling like an outsider in this society. It’s no wonder I let myself become possessed by a demon.

But no more, I decided in that instant. I was healing and had gotten to a place where I didn’t need anyone’s love except my own. Everyday was a chance to start over, to pursue my dreams and visions, to become someone great. And to become that person, I needed to let go of my past. I needed to let go of my demons.

I needed to let go of Damian.

After the waiter brought us the check, and Damian was still rambling about his day, I said, “Hey, D, sorry to interrupt your story,” yeah, so sorry, “but there’s something I really wanted to check out at the Notre Dame Cathedral. I know you have an aversion to that place, and churches in general, but it will only be for a moment.”

Damian paused his story abruptly. If demons had hackles, you could almost feel his being raised.

Michaela, he said in a seething tone, I would really we rather not. Couldn’t we go to the catacombs instead?

“Oh, it will only be for a minute, sweetie,” I said, “I want to see the home of Quasimodo. And I know how much you love the song ‘Hellfire’!”

He seemed like he was starting to warm up to the idea.

Yes, that is one of my favorites, he said, and preceded to burst into song. You can be the Esmerelda to my Frodo!

Too far, I thought. “Okay, that’s enough!” I said, and we both laughed. There were some parts of being possessed by him I was going to miss, which is why what I was about to do wasn’t going to be easy.

But it wasn’t enough to stop me — us — from riding the metro to the Notre Dame Cathedral.

For the final time.

Chapter 5. When we walked inside, I was amazed once more by the stunning architecture of the cathedral. But even my amazement at the light shining through the stained glass couldn’t stop the nervousness creeping up in within me for the act we were about to undergo.

I could feel Damian’s discomfort and itchiness to leave. Can we go now? He hissed. “Of course,” I said assuredly, “but first I want to see the gargoyles.”

Damian let out a roar of rage but agreed, very reluctantly.

As we were climbing the spiral stairs up to the top of the tower, there was a hidden door where I knew the shaman would be waiting, with camcorders from the PIOP to capture video evidence that I was truly possessed and shouldn’t be held responsible for my boss’ murder. The shaman would also be able to testify as a witness.

“Oh, look, Damian, a hidden passageway!”

We ducked through the door and the shaman quickly slammed it shut.

NO! He screamed. YOU BITCH! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!

But it was too late for Damian. I lied down on the gurney and as I was strapped to the table, Damian started thrashing and wailing about. The shaman starting waving her arms and reciting latin incantations and I started reciting a few affirmations of my own:

“I am enough. I am whole. I am loved and lovable, without or without you. I am enough. I am whole…” and as I repeated these words, I felt an immense, golden light rising up from within me, covering my aura and I knew that Damian and all the demons from my past could no longer energetically occupy the same space as this light.

And before I knew it, it was all over.

———————

Things were different after that. I was determined to make it as an artist, even it it meant taking a pay cut. Being possessed by Damian taught me a lot, and I truly began to understood what Cassiel meant when she said that everything is happening in divine order, for our highest good.

For the time being I was working in a bar in Buffalo, NY, renting a small house and working on building my dreams during the day. I still had enough saved from my previous role as an investment banker that I didn’t have anything financially to worry about for a while, but enjoyed spending my evenings at the bar. It was funky and had a cool atmosphere that attracted a bohemian crowd. During the day I worked on creating music and photography. I dreamed of one day being a speaker and sharing the experiences I had, and more importantly how I had overcome them. I wanted to give back more than anything.

One night while I was working there was a very handsome musician playing at the open mic. He was very well mannered and we had an in depth, philosophical conversation about the nature of the universe. Before he left we exchanged contact information, and I had a good feeling about it, but I was in no hurry to rush into another relationship.

For now I was just enjoying my own company, fulfilling my passions, working towards turning my dreams into reality and making the world a better place.

For me, that was enough.

I was enough.

I had always been enough.

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fyeahcreepyshit · 5 years

Text

I FOUND A LETTER FROM MY STALKER

Published on January 6, 2019 "I Found a Letter From My Stalker" Written by MinisterOfOwls ESTIMATED READING TIME — 12 MINUTES I found this note, nailed onto a tree on my front lawn. I really don’t know how to describe it. I’ll just let you read it yourself. [Note start] I saw you today. It was your birthday. You didn’t see me, you hardly ever do these days. Your skin looked so nice and healthy, and your eyes, they were the most beautiful I’d ever seen them. You’ve grown so much. I remember how you different used to look when you were younger. I remember the day I first met you. It was four years ago. I was sitting on my desk, head down, listening to the teacher rattling off names for attendance. The teacher called out a name I didn’t recognize, and a stranger’s voice answered behind me. Was there a new student? The teacher didn’t pause for a second, just continued calling out name after name. I turned my head to where the voice had come from. I saw you, a pale thing, so thin, your eyes so red, at a seat that should have been empty. I saw the fireflies flying around you, flickering. Dozens of them, never straying far from you. I saw them going through you, and coming out through your skin, like you were a mist to them. Can you believe I thought you were a ghost? No one else seemed to acknowledge the new stranger sitting at the back of the class. Class after class, hour after hour passed as I waited for something to happen. For someone to notice you, for you to leave, for you to let out a ghoulish scream and claw at me like in the horror story I was certain I was in. But nothing happened. Teachers came and went. My classmates laughed and slept, and you just sat there. The bell rung for recess. The other kids ran to their mundanities for the day, leaving me and you together in the empty classroom. You stood up and pulled a chair from the desk next to you, making it face your desk. You turned your head to me and spoke “Well, you’re slow today. Come on. Ask me your questions.” I don’t know why I didn’t run away screaming at that moment. Probably would have turned out better for me in the long run, but let’s not speculate. I guess, at that point in my life , I was pretty bloody lonely. I figured there was only a 50-50 chance you’d eat me and the other 50 was that someone wanted to talk with me. Kid priorities don’t make sense to me either these days. So I went along with the flow. I walked over to your desk, sat down on the chair you pulled for me, and asked my question. What were you? You told me you didn’t know. You said that once you were a child, just like me, with parents and friends. You used to go to the same schools as me. Then, one day, one ordinary day, when you were ten, you just woke up and you were like this, covered in fireflies and no one could remember you the moment they concentrated on anything else. No one, not even your parents. You told me of how I’d notice you, every day. How I’d think of you until recess every day. How I’d come to you every day. How we would talk, every day. How we would meet for the first time, every day, for the last three years. About how I’d forget the instant I walked out of the room. How everyone would forget you. How the fireflies would make them. How for the last three years, you’d been alone. Your story was very hard to believe. So I didn’t. I asked what reality prank show I was on. You looked, well, unimpressed, and asked me to continue telling my story. I was caught off guard by the non sequitur. You said last time I was here, I was telling you a story, a horror story about a haunted house. As you detailed the story, goosebumps prickled my skin. It was a story I’d been making up in my head. A story I hadn’t told anyone yet. At that moment, a million reactions were open to me, all simultaneously adequate and inadequate . But the only thing that seemed proper was to finish the story for you. So I did. Halfway through, you interrupted me to ask if my mother had recovered from her sickness yet. I had to shake my head, a bit ashamed at the fact that I shared this private matter to a stranger. The story ended a few minutes before recess. My next class was in another room. You told me to go. Your steadiness took me back. You seemed so… accepting of your fate. Like you’d already gotten used to the idea of being forgotten forever. I was a kid back then. I wasn’t a particularly smart kid, and I was probably on the onset of a crush. So you can excuse what I did next as an example of my childhood stupidity. I grabbed my scissors, pressed it against my arm’s skin, and dug in. As it drew blood, I pushed it forwards, till the cut forms the shape I wanted. Letter by letter, I carved your name onto my arm. Just so you up know, I don’t regret that. Don’t get me wrong, kid power might have made me do it, but it sure as hell didn’t make the pain go away. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life. But even then as a kid, I thought what was happening to you was unfair. I remember how your eyes looked when you saw that. The confusion. How strange it was for you, that anyone would want to remember. I remember that look so clearly. When I woke up the next day and saw your name on my arm, I remembered you. I didn’t forget. That day, for the first time, we had a conversation that wasn’t so one-sided. You said no one had ever done anything like that before and suggested I might have a mental illness . I won’t deny it, that drew a little blood. As we talked, a creeping thought came into my head: Did you prefer it when I didn’t remember? That night, I was sitting up on my bed, staring at your name on my arm, wondering if I should cover it up so I couldn’t see it and give you back your privacy, when I heard a crash. I looked up to see my bedroom window shattered and a dirty rock on my floor. I looked out of the cracked window, to see a dark figure on my lawn. You were outside yelling, about how we should hang out. It took me a while to get used to how bad you were at talking to people. Years without practice, made you a quite a bit rusty. That was all right. We had a lot of time. For the next two years, we spent the most of our free time together. Most of the time, we talked. You’d tell me an aspect of your life and how you lived. You still stayed in your old house. Your parents never noticed the food gone missing, never noticed the extra room, and you’d stolen the extra keys. One night, I confided in you, that I was beginning to think you were a part of my imagination, Fight Club style. After all, what could you do to me that I couldn’t do to myself? You spent the next month or so trying to leave bite marks on my ear or neck, to prove a point. I still have some on my ear, so I guess you did. Looking back, I could see the warning signs even then. Your skin seemed to get worse and worse, paler and paler, and you’d rub your eyes raw. It was in winter we had our wakeup call. The morning began like any other. I woke up, brushed my teeth, and started searching for clothes to wear. It was a winter morning, and my room was dark, so I didn’t see your name on my arm. The cold sent shivers through my body, and pulled out a long sleeve jacket. A small bell rang in my head. Don’t you usually roll your sleeves up? Yeah, and why did I? That was annoying. I finished tidying up and headed to school. On the school bus, I felt oddly content, like something I’d been worrying about had just… disappeared. I walked up the school stairs, down the hall, through my class door, and sat down on my desk. The same feeling of a burden forgotten hounded my mind. What was I forgetting? When recess came, I started came, I just sat at my desk, while my class mates ran out. It felt like a ritual , but I didn’t know what for. I was contemplating just walking out to join them, when I heard it. It was something small in the wind, like a whisper, but it came over and over, incessant. It sounded like my name. I knew this was strange, that this was worth my attention, but I felt oddly calm. Everything would be alright, everything would be fine, just ignore it. I sat there on my desk, my mind a war zone between two conflicting, contradictory, voices, when I felt a force tugging on my sleeve. The moment I noticed this, my jacket sleeve tore open. I saw your name on my arm, and then your hand that had ripped my jacket open. You’d been yelling at me for over 20 minutes. I think that was the moment we realized how on edge our friendship really was. One accident away from complete erasure. We spent the most of the next year in the town library together, trying to find out what the fireflies were. It wasn’t really a problem for me. Because of my mother’s treatment, my family couldn’t afford to go on any trips, and our house didn’t have heating anymore, so I was happy to spend my time with you. Trying to find information was a puzzle in and of itself. After all, how would I read about people I couldn’t remember and how would you find out who was special when no one could even remember enough about them to record them? We found out old family trees and records. Individually, we’d write down the name of everyone in the book on two lists and then we would compare. The names I hadn’t remembered to write down, but you had, would become the focus. They were the names who were under the curse of the fireflies. We compiled a list of “suspicious” books. Books we though could help us, because they were written by or were about the people we were searching for. I’d read the books, with the list of names side by side, reading it again for every page of the book. You’d sure the internet on the library computers , for articles about the people. Our search would lead us to the first glimpse we got of what was really happening to you. It was late at night when you found the picture. I was a bit drowsy at that time, and almost about to nod off when I heard a sharp intake of breath. I turned to see you standing up, pointing at the screen. I didn’t see anything. Well, anything noteworthy. On the screen was a picture of a clearing somewhere in the woods You held up your piece of paper where you’d marked out two names. Susie Applebee-Reagan, 13 Terry Applebee-Reagan, 12 Siblings For a moment, I saw the paper and the screen side by side. Side by side. And then I saw them. Two figures, emerging from the woods, towards the camera. They were almost humanoid, but all five limbs stretched to nightmarish proportions. Blank white skin, pure albino, that looked more like tree bark than anything on a mammal. A cloud of fireflies surrounded the duo. The shorter one looked emaciated. I could see the rib cages around which their… their eyes! God, their eyes! So small, so red. The longer one with their white hair, didn’t look alive anymore. They were just skin wrapped around skeletons. Their empty eye sockets had fireflies swarming out of them. Both reaching for the camera man. I looked at the article surrounding the picture. It was a blog post by hiker, twenty years after the two kids had been written about last. The picture was a mystery to the camera man as well. He’d been wanting to go to the woods pictured for a while now, but he never actually remembered going there. The picture had just appeared in his camera one day, out the blue. For a moment, I looked at your face. Your thin pale face, with those red veined eyes. Would that be you when my scar faded? Just a walking horror I’d glimpse, then forget? We worked through our reading list at a much faster pace starting from that moment. Maybe we should’ve gone slower. At least every book, every website we’d left untouched promised hope. The books we finished and tossed aside promised nothing but the clearing in the woods as your future. And we tossed aside a lot of books. I believe I tore through three fourths of my reading list before I stumbled across the journal. Oh God, that horrible, horrible journal. The journal used to belong to a mental patient, named Joey, who claimed to be a serial killer. He was locked up in an asylum when the police discovered his supposed victims never existed. He was ‘diagnosed’ with a need for attention, and shoved away. They should have electrocuted him. They should have fried him until his flesh melted and his hair burned. In the journal, he talked about how he carried out his killings. He knew things, bizarre and disturbing things no one else knew. He knew of strange creatures that lived in the woods. Of them, his favorite were the fireflies. I’m not going to tell you how he summoned these things. I trust you, I trust you more than anyone, but a thing like this belongs to the ground more than it ever will to the human mind. It’s sufficient enough to know that, these things were not fireflies. Joey would start his ritual by taking a kid. Any kid, anyone he’d liked. He could take them at any time, the dead of night in their own homes, or in broad daylight on their front yards. It didn’t matter if he was seen. He’d take them to his house and drag them to a room. Usually, an Amber Alert came up around now. He didn’t care. Like I said, it wouldn’t matter soon. He’d drag them to a special room in his house. Here the fireflies would come and latch onto them. Now, nobody was searching for the kids. Not the police, not the parents. Nobody. From then on, he could do whatever he wanted to the kid. He’d get bored of them after a day or two, after the child had broken. And then the kid would go too. Hacksaw, kitchen knife, anything would work. He detailed a large pit of bodies he kept in the woods, swarming with the bugs. I guess he got bored of that too one day, so one day he went right to the police station and turned himself in. Not of guilt, no, no, no. He just wanted someone to know about the stuff he was doing. Sick bastard. Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He never stopped killing kids. The asylum doors didn’t stop him from doing what he liked. It just made him improvise. He made a new way. He modified the flies, so they could survive without a host, just in a dormant state. When a child (he specified the age) would approach the swarm, it would latch on and begin its effect. Over the years, the child would warp horribly into the things we saw in the woods. I wish I could hate him in peace. I wish I could say the world owed him nothing. But that wouldn’t be true. He detailed a way out. On the final page, was an exact explanation on how to get rid of the fireflies. You must have seen something in my face, at that moment you asked if had I found anything. I said no and closed the book. A few minutes later, you shut down the computer. You picked up the last book and went through it yourself. When you reached the end cover, you tossed it aside. I asked what we should do now. You said it was alright. I could go home. We’d talk about it in the morning. I stood up and walked past the shelves of books. I headed for the library entrance, but stopped right outside the door and waited. I waited until I heard the sniffling sounds. I sneaked back to our table, where you were quietly sobbing. You had your head in your hands. I sat back down, as you raised your eyes to me. You said you wished you’d never met me. How happy you were when you had nothing to lose. How I ruined your life. You’d never really gotten better at talking to people. That was the worst love confession I’d ever heard. I remember how we kissed that night. I remember your hands gripping my hair. I remember that kiss. I wish it could’ve been just a kiss. I’m sorry I ruined that moment. When my arms were around you, I was close enough to steal a firefly without you noticing. I remember holding the fireflies in my hand. I remember how it struggled, until it didn’t. Until it was a part of me. The fireflies shifted. They came over me, and left you. I remember the familiar look in your eyes. The confusion. I never wanted to see that confusion in your eyes again. You deserved to be loved and you deserved to know that. I wasn’t really living anyway. You reached for me. I pulled away, as the last lights of recognition faded from your eyes. And then you were just staring at a stranger, walking away into a crowd of strangers. That was a year ago. You’ve gotten so much better since then. You have so many friends now. So many people at your birthday party. You also look so much healthier. I haven’t been as fortunate. My skin’s gotten a lot paler, and my eyes hurt all the time now. I couldn’t go to school like you did all those years. I haven’t wasted my time though. I found Joey’s pit. The bodies, there were so many bodies. There’s a grave for those children now. Without me, my mom could afford her surgery. She looked so happy. Just yesterday, I saw her playing with my baby brother. I saw you crying yesterday. You were with your friends, laughing. For a brief moment, your eyes met mine, and then, they were so wet. I think I’m going away. For good I think. You’re not going to be happy if I stick around. I’m so happy I met you, even if you don’t remember me. [Note end] Sometimes I go through depressive episodes. I feel so lonely, even with my friends. I don’t know what’s going through my head during these times, and sometimes I’d end up in a bath tub, a knife in my hands and my wrists bleeding. Up till now, I thought I was cutting my wrists. I wasn’t. The cuts… they’re letters. I’ve been carving a name onto my arm. Credit: MinisterofOwls (Reddit)

#creepypasta #strange and unexplained #mental illness #MinisterofOwls #triggering content #depression #Not my story.

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nikatyler · 5 years

Photo

I have three weeks to learn everything for my last exams. Am I dying already? Well, no, but actually, yes. I kinda wish we had less time because this way, I’m going to waste so much of it procrastinating.

But maybe now that I’ve told you, I’ll decide to not procrastinate so that you can be proud of me or something. Maybe I’ll show that I am in fact capable of character development. Idk.

Yeah, I’m losing my mind. Just a little bit.

By the way, anyone else feels dead inside after watching the new Game of Thrones episode? You know, in the first part, I literally forgot what I was watching because everyone was so happy and celebrating and all that and then I got a reminder. This show is going to be the death of me.

desira-sims replied to your photo “Before we get to the replies, I want to quickly address something. I’m...”

I feel ya on social media. I recently got rid of a mobile game and the associated fb pages I was in. I’m no longer constantly checking my phone for it. It’s been nice taking a break from that. Focus on school, since that’s the most important thing. Come find us when you need a breather. ��

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photo “Before we get to the replies, I want to quickly address something. I’m...”

Yes, social media are basically time-eaters who steal the time which could be spend on writing or simming. Recently I've unsubscribed from several Instagram pages dedicated to memes as they my flooded dash and I spent too much time on them. Last two days I've played TS3 world adventures on my laptop without internet connection and it was great

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photo “Before we get to the replies, I want to quickly address something. I’m...”

And I barely paid attention to tumblr as well recently... Well the weather is so great that it would be a crime to spend time onlineXD

Ooh boy, if I was able to get rid of all the memes pages I follow, I’d have so much free time on my hands. But also, I mean...memes.

As for social media, I wish I could deactivate my Facebook account. I really wish. But sadly, all the people I know irl are there. I have to stay there to keep in touch with them. We still share a lot of school stuff there, I’d be lost without it. But those are the only reasons I’m there, I never post on it anymore. I actually deleted most of my photos and old status updates and unfollowed most pages.

I’m going to repeat myself here but I’m so glad I got rid of Twitter. I loved it there, but at the same time, it fueled my negativity. Even when I found and muted or straight up unfollowed the biggest sources of it, I wasn’t happy. So I just stepped into the daylight and let it go and it was the best decision I could make. Even though now tumblr will probably have to deal with my random thoughts. I need to find a special tag for that. Not just “nonsims” or “saviorhide”. Maybe “simmeronnie is losing it again”.

whysimstho replied to your photoset “Isla Paradiso didn’t disappoint at all. It was everything I’ve ever...”

Skyporn 24/7 sounds like a radio station

Lmao you’re not wrong. Or it could be something like a stream where they only record videos of really really gorgeous sky. I’d watch that. Seriously, shut up and take my money. I could stare at pretty sky all day.

desira-sims replied to your post “List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10...”

I recently went back and started this legacy. (Just got to the Gen 5 switch). I think Rachel is absolutely adorable.

Ahh, no way! I hope you’re having fun even though it’s a total mess :D I have to agree though, I love Rachel, she’s awesome.

Watch out, tiny gen 4 rant coming. When I have nothing else to do and I feel inspired, I rewrite gen 4 because I love these characters and they deserve a way better story. I consider the stories they got in the legacy the first drafts/starting point/base or something like that. So in some way, most of this stays in the “new canon”, it’s just thought through better or changed a little bit.

Okay, that wasn’t really a rant but seriously, stop me whenever I seem like I’m about to start rambling about gen 4.

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your post “List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to 10...”

Number 4 - high five, Zoey, same with me!XD

5 actually, too

Ah, yes, same. Number 4...oh god. Been there, sort of. Just because I’m crushing on a person doesn’t mean I imagine being with them in bed all the freaking time. *looks at a friend who loves to imply that...when I’m actually a small innocent child who only knows woohoo from the sims and I’m not ashamed to admit it*

whysimstho replied to your photoset “Regan: “Court! Finally! How was the flight?” Courtney: “Not bad. I...”

Why is her face so funny to me ��

Well, it is kinda funny :D

philodendronandfoxes replied to your post “So you’ve made posts in the past about how you’re lonely or feel alone...”

Anon needs to chill.

desira-sims replied to your post “So you’ve made posts in the past about how you’re lonely or feel alone...”

Don't let them get to you. Something I have learned as I've grown older: Hobbies come and go. One minute you'll find enjoyment in something and the next it doesn't hold the same appeal. Some times you'll come back to that hobby and some times you never pick it up again. Taking a break is something everyone needs. They even tell new parents to take a little "me time" so that they don't get overwhelmed. Taking a moment to collect yourself is understandable.

108sims replied to your post “So you’ve made posts in the past about how you’re lonely or feel alone...”

Taking breaks from tumblr is good for your sanity. I had to last month for the sake of my mental health I got stressed out falling behind here and dealing with job stuff. Just like for you with school, job takes priority over my blog. I’ve taken so many breaks, honestly it’s fun to enjoy other hobbies and do other things.

dandylion240 replied to your post “So you’ve made posts in the past about how you’re lonely or feel alone...”

RL should always take priority. Taking breaks and doing other things is healthy and good. Don't let this anon get to you or make you feel guilty.

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your post “So you’ve made posts in the past about how you’re lonely or feel alone...”

Anon is strange - as if tumblr was the only life you've got and you have to stay here whenever you like it or not. Why read between the lines and find unexisting stuff there like you don't care about your followers? It comes without saying that a person needs breaks from the tumblr every now and then

But who knows probably the anon wanted only to provoke you to start our "favorite" drama. In this case they do need to find a life for themselves

Btw too - feeling lonely on tumblr also can be a reason for a hiatus, so anon makes no sense

So I kinda didn’t want to address this anymore because I feel like I’ve said everything in my lengthy answer to that ask but I just wanna say thank you for writing all of this. I didn’t feel bad when I got this, the anon didn’t change my opinion, I still believe everyone has the right to take a break, leave tumblr behind for a bit and not feel sorry about it. Take that me time and come back better than ever (or not if you don’t feel like, that’s fine too)! I was still worried about posting this answer though. So thank you for letting me know I’m not the only one who feels this way!

dandylion240 replied to your post “April 30, 2019: Dear Diary, I believe I’m a good person. You know, I...”

Congratulations and have fun with the last day! It'll be bittersweet knowing this may be the last time you'll all be together but it's exciting too because it marks a beginning of something new. So happy for you!

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your post “April 30, 2019: Dear Diary, I believe I’m a good person. You know, I...”

Congratulations and welcome to the "adult" life! Let this day be one of the brightest moments in your memory!

Now I'm feeling nostalgic, I'll go and look through my graduation album

108sims replied to your post “April 30, 2019: Dear Diary, I believe I’m a good person. You know, I...”

That sounds like a really fun way to spend your last day! At my school at least we had a Senior day where there were a bunch of games and activities. Good luck on your exams, and I hope you enjoy your last day and everything that is to come!

It was very fun and everyone looked so good in their costumes! One of my classmates wore this 20s-like dress and oooh boy. She was gorgeous. Just...leaving on that day was really bittersweet. Part of me was like “yas, we’re done with this place!” but the other part of me already missed it. And yeah, our teacher didn’t forget to remind us that all of us might never meet again. There are reunions, it’s a tradition, but there’s always someone who can’t come.

Okay, moving on or else I’ll start crying, and I’ve already cried a lot today. Looking at you, GoT episode 4.

alfalfalegacy replied to your photoset “Regan: “You made it! Nice. I’ve heard you almost threw up on the...”

i'm laughing at the two couples in the background, both flirting during this conversation

Oh god I didn’t realize how funny that looks :D I didn’t want them to just stand there haha.

dandylion240 replied to your photo “In Character Judgement Call: Caleb Protect this soft boy. RULES: You...”

I Caleb the most from gen 4

I know this is just missing a word and I shouldn’t laugh but it comes off kinda funny. Still, thank you!

dandylion240 replied to your photoset “Felix: “You look perfect. No, no, you are perfect. Some girls are...”

Despite his ability to burp at inappropriate times Felix can say the sweetest things

No sweeter words have ever been spoken about my boy

Also no truer words have ever been spoken about my boy

108sims replied to your post “I’m waiting for my exam (still have like 2 hours) and I’m bored. I...”

Good luck!

nineyellowgirl replied to your post “I’m waiting for my exam (still have like 2 hours) and I’m bored. I...”

keeping fingers crossed :D

desira-sims replied to your post “I’m waiting for my exam (still have like 2 hours) and I’m bored. I...”

Good luck on you exam!

Thank you guys! The results should come on May 15th. Wish it was that day already. I think I did well, but I won’t be calm until I actually see it.

harmoniouspixels replied to your post “One day, I’ll have a nice tiny mods folder again. Today is not that...”

The TS4 community needs to come up with a Compressorizer like TS2 and TS3 has tbh

Yeah that would be nice. TS4 needs a lot of things in general though, to be fair.

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your post “Hmm...”

Hm the thing I do plan something with berries and I need a spouse for my founder which I don't want to create myself... Sooo... Yeah, I could use a sim ��

flowerhoneysims replied to your post “Hmm...”

@simmeronnie But it‘s another kind of pink ☺️

Alright guys, I have an idea. Shoot me a message and we can talk about it! I’m down for this. Here’s just a brief description of everyone I can offer (in case someone else would like a sim and would like to know what they’re signing up for), we can talk more in depth in the messages later. I have one mean pink girl who loves robots, then this one that I’ve shown (she doesn’t have too much personality yet, but she hates her other sister and loves videogames), an agender person with pink skin, white hair and white eyes (loves animals and is the total opposite of their mean twinsister - and yet they’re still best friends somehow) and one pink boy with white eyes who just aged up into a child so I have no idea what he’s going to be like yet. I just remember he got the No Sense of Humor trait.

Can I have a wish though? If I send you one of these sims, would you please share with me the sim they end up with? I would love for them to get together in my game as well.

Side note, can you already tell my bpr is going to be a bigger mess than all my other legacies combined?

lyrea replied to your photoset “Okay, clearly he didn’t ruin all the traditions. Crisis averted.”

^_^ That is an impressive cake they got.

Oh, it is! I’m not sure now, but it might be the one that came with Monte Vista?

#replies #desira-sims #tiny-tany-thaanos #whysimstho #philodendronandfoxes #108sims #dandylion240 #alfalfalegacy #nineyellowgirl #harmoniouspixels #lyrea #flowerhoneysims

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kitsuningtonshippoknockoff · 5 years

Text

Mostly Air

Heya kids. Another Kit/Ren thing. Might go through some more revision, but I wanted it to get out, since I’ve been sitting on it for months. Standard BtD warnings apply.

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Christopher Kirillovich Shiponikov (his full name; an anchor) doesn’t know what other people think about dissociation. He’s never let anyone know it happens to him—or didn’t, until Ren—and he’s never met anyone else who dissociates. Well. He’s met people who try to do it for some weird kind of fun, with drugs and music and ASMR. What they’re after doesn’t really seem to be what happens to him. He assumes, though, that most people think it’s something like catatonia—just sitting staring at the wall, unresponsive. Dead to the world with your eyes open.

And sometimes that does indeed happen to Kit. He could not count the hours he’s spent curled up in his tent, unmoving. Once he ended up pretty badly dehydrated because he just couldn’t bring himself to get up and drink. He did used to think that was part of his dissociation, but he’s beginning to suspect that’s more of depression thing, a thought he’s tried to resist because he hates the idea of being A Person With Depression. It just seems so maudlin.

Not like he’s ever gonna talk to a professional, of course, so who’s to say, really?

The point is, when Kit dissociates, most people don’t notice. Sometimes even he doesn’t notice until an episode has gone on for a full day. He can make wonderfully weird conversation; he can flirt like some kind of six-foot-plus Hopak-dancing Bond Girl; and he can get dressed and jump out the window in under three minutes in all circumstances that require it. He can do everything he does when he’s not dissociating.

He’s just not… there.

Kit actually prefers his more blatant episodes, the ones where people do see something is wrong. When he stares too long at nothing. When he asks people to repeat sentences they haven’t finished. When someone asks how he’s doing and the only thing he can think of saying is the truth: I don’t know. It’s easy enough to play those off as part of his bizarre schtick. Hey, Tommy Wiseau can get a table at the Palm just by weirding out the staff; the method works.

What Christopher Kirillovich Shiponikov (his full name; an anchor) hates is when he has an episode, and nobody can tell.

He’s pretty sure Ren can’t tell.

Dissociation is often a defense mechanism that starts in childhood. For a totally random example: If one night five armed strangers broke into your house, shot your dad, burned your mother alive in front of you, forced you to eat her heart, and then spent a day burning you with a hot iron, you might start dissociating! It’s funny, really. Like your body tells your soul, Hey pal, no hard feelings if you don’t wanna stick around for this. And it is soul rather than mind; Your mind is stuck down there with the rest of you trying to make sense of things and keep you alive.

But you aren’t there.

Whatever you really are.

His body and mind reacted just as they needed to when Ren took Kit down to the basement and tortured him. When beautiful Ren took Kit down to the basement and tortured him. When Ren with whom Kit had fallen in love took Kit down to the basement and tortured him. When sad, lonely, sweet, smart, gentle Ren, Ren who cheered Kit up when he was sad about stupid things on the internet, who smelled like soap and clean water and who was the only, only, only other fox Kit had ever met after they all died, they all died, they all died, they all died—

--took Kit down to the basement and tortured him. Kit screamed in all the right places. He cowered. He apologized profusely, crying. He said he loved Ren, that he was sorry, he’d just been scared all his life and he never felt safe and his feelings were all fucked up and he loved Ren, he loved him the moment he met him, but he was scared. So scared.

All of that was true.

Understanding dawned on Ren: Kit really was fucked up. And that satisfied him. Kit wasn’t trying to withhold his love at all; he was just twisted up inside. And now, of course, Ren knew a way to fix things. He knew how to get Kit’s real, true feelings out of him. And he’d do it again, and again, and again—

You don’t know that.

Yes I do.

You don’t know what Ren was thinking.

He kept hurting me. Even after I started screaming. It wasn’t just the screams he wanted. He said it has to be like this.

Maybe it won’t happen again.

If someone tortures you once, they’ll do it forever.

I knew what would happen if I was caught.

I let him catch me.

I deserve this.

“Kit?” Ren calls softly. His voice is so lovely. A head raises itself from the couch cushion, and eyes peer in the direction of the voice.

“Christopher Kirillovich Shiponikov,” a mouth says. From far away, Kit screams in frustration. Ren looks a little taken aback, even though he didn’t hear the scream.

“Um… what?”

“Nothing,” Kit hears himself say. Head lies down, eyes close. “S-sorry. I’m—I’m still—”

“Shh…” Ren pads over to the couch. “Everything’s OK.” He smiles more deliberately. He’s trying to be reassuring. “Can I sit next to you? I thought you might be getting a little lonely.”

It then occurs to Kit that he has no idea when, exactly, he got where he is—on Ren’s couch, shrouded in blankets that smell like fancy, environmentally friendly laundry detergent. He gets lost a moment, considering the smell. It smells a little like Ren (but without the blood underneath). Eyes dart upward, watching Ren furtively. Kit doesn’t remember how long ago the basement was. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying here in Ren’s living room, alone. But he does understand that apparently Ren has been… giving him space.

You know, the kind of thing you do for someone who’s had a bad day.

Bad night.

What even is time.

A mouth says, “Please don’t leave me alone,” and Ren’s smile turns tender. His eyes shine.

“Just—scoot over a little, OK? No, other way—shh, shh... it’s OK, I’m just gonna sit here… and you can put your head down here… that’s right…” All Ren’s movements are slow, careful—telegraphed. He’s treating Kit just the way you’d treat a wounded animal, working to be as unthreatening as possible.

I wish he’d kill me like that. All gentle and sweet while I bleed out. He’d hold me, and pet me, and tell me everything was OK. I’d believe him. It would be like going to sleep again after a bad dream. It would be a nice way to die.

A head has ended up in Ren’s lap. Ren is petting him now, Kit realizes, but not killing him. Ren could. His hands are delicate and warm and soft, but there are claws. Claws just like Kit has. But the funny thing is that even claws can be gentle. Ren scratches gingerly, carding through Kit’s hair. Ren makes a quiet, pleased noise; he must like the way it feels. Kit sighs and shifts his head (like dogs do dogs do that fucking dogs) so that Ren can tell where he really wants to be scratched. Ren laughs a little, and focuses on the spot at the back of Kit’s head just to the side and above the nape of his neck. Kit makes a soft sound in his throat. When Ren withdraws his hand he manages to restrain a noise of disappointment, and then Ren starts petting his ears.

It’s been so, so long (fourteen years) since anyone’s done this for him. He never even let Mei Cai do it, and she was willing. Sometimes he’d try to do it for himself, but of course it’s not the same, and usually made him feel worse. Sometimes even nauseous, if he kept at it. His mom and dad and even his sister used to do it from time to time, when he was sitting in someone’s lap or about to go to sleep. And there was…

A brow furrows.

There was a sound, wasn’t there? A sound that went with it, with the petting. Why would there be a sound? His mind is frustratingly sluggish. Maybe he’s about to go to sleep.

Wait. No.

Fear. Fear is making it hard to think. But it’s detached. In his mind, not his body.

Terror.

Why? The body is safe. The body is comfortable.

What is…

Oh.

The sound.

Kit is… purring.

He’s pressed close to Ren. Ren had stopped a moment, shocked by the noise, but he picked up petting again readily. He’s murmuring something again, but Kit can’t focus, not with his mind, body, nor soul. It hasn’t been so long since Kit last purred; he purred the first night he met Ren, when he got down on his knees and let Ren touch his ears, feel that they were real after Ren had let Kit feel that Ren’s ears were real. When all he knew was happiness and a strange, sweet apprehension.

I knelt to you, Ren.

Was that too much?

Was that not enough?

A sigh slips out of him, and Kit purrs and purrs for Ren. For Ren, whom he loves. For Ren who hurt him. For Ren who will hurt him again, surely. For broken Ren who, shyly, hesitantly, begins to purr back. They are together. They are warm. And they are happy. This is happiness. You can be happy even when you’re in despair. Kit knows this.

Kit doesn’t know how long it lasts.

Kit doesn’t want it to stop.

The fear goes away, and there’s a pleasant numbness.

Kit is lost.

But eventually, Ren moves away a little. Kit makes a scared noise, and Ren makes low, reassuring sounds in response.

“Hey, hey... it’s OK. I’m not going far. I just have to get up to make dinner,” Ren tells him, “Remember? You can eat it here with me, don’t worry. But all you’ve had today is popcorn, right?”

Is that right? Eyes cast around. There’s an empty bowl at one end of the couch, still smelling of butter. Oh. Ren must have brought that to him earlier. He must have eaten.

He forgot.

“Did I…” he hears himself say, “Did... I say thank-you for feeding me?”

“You did,” Ren says, smiling, “Don’t worry. But we’ve gotta get some real food into you, to make you feel better. Popcorn’s tasty, but it’s mostly air.”

Kit gets confused about time again when Ren leaves. He’s not sure how long it took Ren to say that last sentence: ‘Popcorn’s tasty, but it’s mostly air.’

Mostly air.

Like me.

That little voice sounds so flat. It’s hardly even sad. But it rings in his ears, trapped in his head. Mostly air. Like me. I’m mostly air. No anchor. Cut and burned away. Mostly air. I’m mostly air. Not a person. Just a dream. Nothing left. Mostly air.

Can you tell, Ren? Can you tell how much of myself I’ve lost? No. Why would you? It doesn’t show. And maybe… maybe there’s nothing to show. Maybe I never had any self to begin with. Maybe it was all mostly air. Maybe I’d only fooled myself into thinking I was real. Maybe I’m my own bad dream. But will you notice when even that is gone, Ren? When all that’s left is a soft, hollow thing that clings to you and tells you you are loved?

Bet he’d like that, spits a much crueler, nastier voice, Bet he wants that. Bet he’ll be fucking happy. No person, just a good fucking dream.

Mostly air.

But that’s not true. Kit knows it’s not. Ren would be hurt if he understood what had happened. Ren would be sad. Ren would be upset, maybe he’d even regret what he’d done. But only if he could tell, and Kit…

Kit doesn’t think Ren can. He hopes Ren can’t. He wants Ren to be happy. He loves Ren. Maybe all there really is to him is love for Ren. That’s a nice thought.

Kit has forgotten all this by the time Ren comes back, or maybe he forgets it because Ren comes back. He feels a little realer when Ren comes back.

Of course he would.

He’s Ren’s good dream.

Ren helps Kit sit up. He’s set a tray on the coffee table in front of the couch, and he looks so hopeful. He’s arranged an elegant meal: There are strawberries, there’s a little rice, there’s some yakitori, and dipping sauces, and besides all that off to the side is a blood-red dish of raw flesh.

Raw hearts. A mouth smiles.

“Never… never met anybody who liked chicken hearts but me,” Kit says softly. Ren’s smile is bright and beautiful, the sharpness of his teeth soothingly familiar.

“I love chicken hearts! They’re hard to get fresh, but they’re up there with mac & cheese and dango. Ah, I’m so glad you like them too! I thought you might~” He presses a quick kiss to the corner of kit’s mouth. That feels good. Kit blushes a little.

His cuts still sting when he moves the wrong way. His shoulder aches where the nail went in.

“The yakitori is chicken heart, too. I can make something else quick if you want more variety, but I thought it might be fun to decide which we like better~”

“Yes,” Kit hears himself say. He picks a raw chicken heart first, holding it delicately in his claws. He wants to taste blood. He wants it to fill him up. Ren keeps talking, and Kit is sorry, so sorry, but it’s hard to hear him. It’s OK, though. Ren doesn’t mind repeating himself. He’s just so glad to have Kit.

He raises the heart to his teeth, and bites down.

#kit fic #cw: violence #cw: dissociation

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leiascully · 6 years

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Fic: Between A Rock And A Hard Place (Part Two)

Timeline: Season 10 (replaces My Struggle in the All The Choices We’ve Made ‘verse - Visitor + Resident + etc.) Rating: PG Characters: Mulder, Scully, Tad O’Malley, Sveta (established MSR) Content warning: canon-typical body horror (mentions of abduction, forced pregnancy, etc.) A/N: I’m collecting all the related stories that go with Visitor/Resident under the title “All The Choices We’ve Made”, because it felt right at the time. This story is an alternate My Struggle that reflects M&S’ growth/change in the ATCWM ‘verse. I’m weaving canon dialogue into the stories in an attempt to keep the reframing plausibly in line with canon.

Part One

In the morning, Mulder texts Skinner: "We're in." They get a call ten minutes later, while they're lingering over their coffee.

"You're on speaker," Mulder tells Skinner, putting the phone on the table between them.

"You've been excused from your regular duties today," Skinner says gruffly. "You will meet Mr. O'Malley on Pennsylvania Avenue at 10 a.m. near the National Gallery of Art. He'll provide transportation offsite to meet the subject."

They exchange looks over the table.

"Sounds a little cloak and dagger," Mulder says.

"Mr. O'Malley insists on taking precautions," Skinner says.

"At least he doesn't seem likely to blow up the car while we're in it," Scully murmurs.

"Don't judge a talk show host by his cover," Mulder murmurs back.

"Agents?" Skinner says, just a touch of tension in his voice. He is probably being watched. They are always being watched. Pressure comes from the top and Skinner, Atlas-like, has borne the brunt of it so that they could dart between the shadows, bringing light to the darkness.

"We'll be there," Mulder says, and ends the call. He leans back in his chair. "What's the dress code for subterfuge?"

"I doubt it's black tie," Scully says. "I'm still wearing a suit."

"Come on, Scully, we're out of the office," he teases. "You've got an opportunity to break out the leather pants and the badass jacket."

She raises an eyebrow at him. "I was saving those for your birthday."

"That's better," he says immediately.

"I thought you'd think so," she tells him.

They're at the appointed place at the appointed time. Mulder squints through his sunglasses up and down the street. "Tad O'Malley isn't very prompt."

"I imagine he's the sort of man who likes to make an entrance," Scully says, crossing her arms.

"What do you mean by that?" Mulder teases. "You thinking of anyone in particular?"

"Of course not," Scully demurs with a smile. She glances toward the Capitol. "You know, Mulder, I hate to admit it, but something about this feels good." She looks at him. "Most of it feels like we're being taken for a ride, but part of me welcomes this."

"I know what you mean," he says.

She sighs. "Something else to discuss in therapy."

"The thrill of the chase is real, Scully," he says. "You can't blame your brain for enjoying the rush."

"I know," she says. "I just thought I'd...outgrown it, maybe."

"All the more reason some part of you craves it," he says. "Recapturing our misspent youth."

"I don't want to be most comfortable with my back against the wall," she says wryly. "And yet, here we are."

"With your back against the wall, you always know where you stand," he says, and a black limousine pulls up to the curb. The door opens and Tad O'Malley unfolds himself from the back seat. He's tall, even taller than he looked on television, and dressed like he's heading to a conference where he's the keynote speaker. Scully in her suit looks perfectly appropriate next to him. She shoots Mulder the tiniest smirk. He straightens his shoulders under his jacket and extends his hand.

"Fox Mulder," O'Malley says warmly, shaking Mulder's hand.

"That's quite a coincidence - that's my name," Mulder says just as warmly. "What are the odds?"

O'Malley makes a finger gun. "They told me you were sharp."

Mulder shrugs pleasantly. "It's a sharp world."

"Indeed it is," O'Malley says. He shakes Scully's hand. "Agent Scully."

"You make quite an entrance, Mr. O'Malley," she says.

"She's shot men with less provocation," Mulder jokes.

"Funny," O'Malley says.

"Did they tell you I was funny?" Mulder asks.

"Of course," O'Malley says. "A regular one-man show. Join me for a little ride?"

Mulder exchanges sideways looks with Scully underneath their sunglasses. He expected a show, but the limo is a bit much. "Right here is fine. I'm afraid I'm not dressed for a limousine."

"Allow me my small precautions," O'Malley says, gesturing to the open door of the car. "Low-flying aircraft often use what they call 'dirtboxes' to record conversations that I would prefer stayed private."

Mulder glances at the sky. There's a kid with a kite and the faraway glint of a commercial jet, but no drones, nothing hovering.

"Aircraft employed by whom?" Scully asks, arms still crossed. She leans back slightly on her heels. Mulder can see the glint of her ring on her left hand where it's tucked under her right arm. He wondered if she'd wear it.

"I'm afraid I can only speculate," O'Malley says, as pleasantly as if they'd asked him what the weather was or whether the Cubs would win the World Series. "Shall we?"

He folds himself back into the car. Scully shrugs imperceptibly, looking at Mulder, and they follow O'Malley in, taking off their sunglasses. The interior of the car is dark, the windows tinted probably beyond the legal limit. The partition is up between the driver and the passenger compartment, but even if it's two against three, Mulder likes those odds. He and Scully are strapped and they're scrappy. They've handled worse than O'Malley.

The limo is suitably appointed, luxurious almost to the point of parody. O'Malley reaches into a high hat full of ice and pulls out of a bottle of champagne, offering it to them like a maitre d'.

"None for me, thanks," Mulder says. "Scully?"

She shakes her head. "Mr. O'Malley, your precautions would seem to imply that you have enemies."

"Not of my own choosing, Dana," O'Malley says, his teeth bright as he smiles. He pops the cork and pours himself a glass of champagne. "Truth tellers will always face opposition, as I'm sure you know.

She inclines her head in what might be a nod. Mulder turns toward the window. The old habits come back fast; he can sense her next to him, poised to act if necessary. The city slides by outside and he presses the button to roll down the window. Nothing happens.

"Your windows are broken," he says. "That's a shame. It's a little stuffy in here."

"Oh, those don't roll down by design," O'Malley says, that salesman's grin still wide. "I had the vehicle bulletproofed."

"Sure," Mulder says. ��"All those gun-toting liberals in the Whole Foods parking lot. What if there's a run on quinoa?"

"How can we help you, Mr. O'Malley?" Scully interrupts.

"I know the briefing you received was brief," O'Malley says, turning the charm on her again. "I also know you've been out of the game a long time. But I'm not some Johnny-come-lately to UFO-related phenomena. I'm a true believer like yourselves."

Scully ducks her head. "I wouldn't categorize myself as a true believer."

"Nor would I," Mulder says. "I want to believe, but actual concrete proof has been strangely hard to come by. Not that that matters much these days. Anyone can claim to be an expert on the internet."

"Sometimes they even give you your own show," O'Malley says, still genial. Mulder can feel the prickle of Scully's disapproval, but O'Malley rubs him the wrong way. "I guarantee if you still ran the X-Files, you'd have a platform bigger than you can imagine."

"Perhaps," Scully says. "But for better or for worse, Mr. O'Malley, those days are behind us. We're off the paranormal beat, so to speak."

"I could give that all back to you," O'Malley says, leaning forward. He's only looking at Scully now. She gazes back, that enigmatic mask in place.

"Mr. O'Malley, how does a man with your conservative credentials come to consider himself a true believer in UFOs and 9/11 false flag conspiracies?"

O'Malley turns away from Scully, but Mulder can tell he doesn't have the man's full attention. "I take it you think my message is disingenuous?"

"Conspiracy sells," Mulder says. "It didn't in the 90s, but it's a hot property now. It pays for bulletproof limousines, among other things."

O'Malley's smile gets sharper. "You think I do it for the ratings?"

Mulder shrugs. "I think you're The O'Reilly Factor with a shopworn little gimmick. I think you're 4chan with a cable contract."

O'Malley snorts. "What Bill O'Reilly knows about the truth could fill an eyedropper."

"At least we agree on that," Mulder says pleasantly.

"Try me," O'Malley says.

Mulder taps one finger to his lip. "The Kelly Cahill incident."

"Kelly Cahill and her husband were driving home in Victoria, Australia when a craft appeared overhead. The Cahills lost an hour of time and Kelly was hospitalized with severe stomach pain after discovering a triangle-shaped mark near her navel," O'Malley recites. "As I said, my interest is real. What I need is your expertise."

"Our expertise for what?" Scully asks.

"I know what you've been through," O'Malley says. "Both of you."

"With all due respect, Mr. O'Malley," Scully says deliberately, "I doubt that's true."

"You're right," he says. "My apologies. I've heard the rumors. I've read the reports. I used to subscribe to The Lone Gunmen. Between your histories and your experience in law enforcement, you have the skills and knowledge I need."

"And why should we put those skills at your disposal?" Scully asks, ignoring the rest.

O'Malley leans forward, the flute of champagne dangling from his fingers. "I'm rattling some pretty big cages in the intelligence community, but I'm prepared to go all in. I'm prepared to blow open maybe the most evil conspiracy the world has ever known."

"That's quite an assertion, given the history of the world," Scully returns cooly. "What's stopping you from exposing this conspiracy? I assume your following would support you."

"If I'm putting my ass out there, I need to know I've got backing I can depend on," O'Malley tells her. "My viewers are with me, but like I said, these are big cages, and the players in them don't care about ratings. They know how to make people disappear."

"So does David Blaine," Mulder murmurs.

O'Malley ignores him, still looking at Scully. "I've got something to show you...and someone."

The limousine glides out of the city as they sit in silence. O'Malley sips at his champagne and checks his phone. Mulder and Scully glance at each other. Mulder shrugs and takes out his own phone, scrolling through Twitter and checking his usual news sites. Scully looks out the window. After nearly four hours of turning onto increasingly narrow roads, the limo makes one last right onto a gravel path that reminds Mulder of the driveway of the house they lived in when they first moved back, before the case with the priest and the organ trafficking. They might as well be going nowhere. Google Maps tells him they're in or near Low Moor, although there's not any signal. It's as good as he's going to get.

The limo pulls to a stop outside a small dingy house and Mulder hears the locks release. He opens the door and steps out, stretching. He offers Scully a hand out. She accepts it, surprising him, and slips her sunglasses back on.

"Aliens couldn't find this place," she says, as if aliens didn't find Skyland Mountain. "How did you, Mr. O'Malley?"

O'Malley smirks. "A man in my position finds himself contacted by interesting strangers."

"I imagine that's true," Mulder murmurs, lurking at Scully's shoulder, in his best for-your-ears-only voice. O'Malley can probably hear, but even in broad daylight, he's always felt like he and Scully have a back channel, code talkers communicating sub rosa. They walk toward the house. Mulder tries not to saunter like he's in a Western, strolling up to the local bar. The door of the house swings open and he automatically reaches for his gun and stops himself. He sees Scully flinch the same way.

"Everyone," O'Malley says in a self-important voice, "meet Sveta."

Sveta lingers just outside the doorway. She is young and lovely, vulnerable-looking, her skin dark brown and her black hair falling around her face. She looks at them as if she is not quite sure whether to bolt. That's the usual attitude of the people they interview. Mulder relaxes slightly. She looks exactly like the person O'Malley might have chosen to be a smokescreen for his flimflam, but she's nervous too. Somehow, that's a comfort.

"Sveta, this is Dana Scully and Fox Mulder," O'Malley says. Everyone shakes hands. Sveta's only tremble a little.

"Hello," Sveta says formally. Her voice doesn't shake. She's got a Midwestern standard accent. Not a lot of clues there. "Welcome to my home."

"Sveta suggested I call you," O'Malley tells them, standing next to her.

"You probably don't recognize me," Sveta says, looking at Mulder. "You interviewed me and my family when I was just a little girl. Right after my first abduction."

"I'm sorry," Mulder says. "I don't remember."

"We lost the majority of our files in a fire a number of years ago," Scully says. "Yours might have been among them."

"It's all right," Sveta says. "I'm sure you've been through a lot since then. Please, come in."

Scully looks at Mulder and follows Sveta in. Mulder follows her, his hand hovering near the small of her back. O'Malley brings up the rear, closing the door. Sveta pulls up her shirt. There are six circular scars around her navel. Scully leans forward.

"May I?" she asks.

"Of course," Sveta says, and Scully peers closely at the marks. "These are from over twenty years. I've lost count of how many times I've been abducted."

"The scoop-mark scars are classic," O'Malley says. "As I'm sure you know. And then there are the memories implanted over actual memories to make the abductees forget."

"We call them screen memories," Sveta says.

"I'm familiar with the phenomenon," Scully says dryly. She straightens up slowly.

"Things come back to me sometimes," Sveta tells her, letting her shirt fall back over her stomach.

"What kind of things?" Scully asks. Mulder recognizes the gentleness in her voice. It's the one she always saved for the times they had to interrogate children.

"Tests," Sveta says in a small voice. "Harvesting." She gestures toward her pelvis.

"Harvesting your ova?" Scully asks.

Sveta looks at O'Malley. He nods. "Yes," she says. "They made me pregnant. But they took the babies before they were born. They tried to take the memories, but I remember. I remember the lights. I remember the way my body changed. They do everything through here." She points at the scars.

"Tell them about your DNA, Sveta," O'Malley says in a hypnotic voice.

"I have alien DNA," Sveta says. "For sure. They take the babies out through here. They put the DNA in."

Scully glances at Mulder. "Have you had a doctor confirm that?"

"No," Sveta says. "I couldn't be sure that any doctor I visited wasn't one of Them." Mulder can hear the capital letter when she says it. Them. He used to talk the same way.

"Is that something you could test, Scully?" he asks.

Scully stares at him. He can sense her reticence. There is something childlike about Sveta, for all that she's an adult. One way or another, O'Malley is manipulating her. They have sacrificed enough children to this quest. He thinks back to the clones of his sister on the farm with the bees, the red-headed scientists in the facility where Scully's ova were stored. Emily. William. Uncounted others.

At last, Scully nods. "I'll examine you myself, Sveta," she says. "If that's all right."

"Thank you," Sveta says fervently, her hands clasped. Mulder knows the light in her eyes. Sveta, at least, is a true believer.

#xfiles fic #xf alternate season 10 #the x-files fic #xfiles season 10 fic #mulder x scully #xf revival #my fic #atcwm verse

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