xhaleslowly (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} xhaleslowly) wrote,@ 2008-09-19 11:24:00 |
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Goodbye and One Last Fic...
So, I'm done. I knew it would happen eventually, and it took a major computer crash last year to make me realize that my days of fan fic writing and QAF obsession are over.
I was tempted to just close up shop, shut down my site and call it a day, but I wouldn't feel right leaving without at least saying goodbye and most importantly, saying thank you to whoever is still out there listening.
There have been so many of you that have come and gone over the last seven years, and I hope you know how much I've appreciated your encouragement, inspiration, support, and friendship. Thank you to all of you for being a part of this chapter of my life - I've had the best time and loved every moment of it. I feel as though I've grown as a writer and as a person for having had this experience.
I wish each and every one of you the very best in the future. I urge you all to follow your dreams, to have faith in yourselves, and to embrace love and happiness in your lives.
I have a little something to leave you with. It's not my best, and I'm sad to say it's not parts 7 - 10 of FoMD, which will forever remain unfinished. It's just a fic I wrote after the finale and always thought it would somehow be appropriate to have as my last story. And so here it is.
Leaving You
The first time he left, you felt almost relieved.
It was done. Over. You knew he'd leave you eventually, and as expected, he did.
You watched him walk away, his arm around some other kid and it was right and what was supposed to happen. He'd be happy now and you fucked some trick like you were supposed to and you didn't think about it.
For about ten minutes.
And then the trick was boring and you couldn't come and so you grabbed your jacket and left this stupid fucking party for this stupid fucking superhero and went back to your loft and laid on the couch with a bottle of Beam and played your stereo too loud and didn't think about it.
Didn't think about it.
But of course you did, so you drank more until you passed out and the next morning you figured you could do it, live without him, because you had to. The headache behind your eyes kept your focus on physical pain, and away from the sharp ache in your soul.
And when you came home from work that day, and saw all his things were gone, it felt more real, more final, more like it was supposed to.
It was done like it had to be done and all you had to do was keep on going like you did before. Before you met him.
You could do that.
You thought.
The imposters were just that – fakes, pretenders, dull illusions that lasted moments in the heat of sex, but faded quickly once you came. Before you came sometimes, and those were the worst.
You lasted months without him and just when you figured that maybe you could live, he decided he'd had enough of his new love and found you again.
Came back to you again.
You took him back readily, no question of that. It wasn't like you had a relationship, like you'd broken up. There was nothing to break up. You just hadn't been fucking each other for a while, but now you were again.
And then he was hanging around the loft more... eating there and sleeping there and leaving his shit all over the place.
You started to get an inkling that maybe there was just a little more to it when you found you were more relieved to see his toothbrush returned to the holder than you were to see his back walking away from you.
The realization hit you hard one night, as you lay sated in bed beside him, watching soft blond lashes close over blue eyes. He sighed deeply as he slipped into well-deserved sleep, his bottom warm and flushed from your attention that evening.
You stared at that blond hair, at those closed eyes, red lips and soft curve of shoulder and spine that led into willing ass and wondered if maybe this was supposed to happen too. That maybe he was supposed to come back and fill that empty space in your toothbrush holder. To use all your soap and dirty your dishes and make you coffee in the morning. That maybe he wasn't meant to leave you after all.
That maybe he was meant to be with you.
And you believed that for a while.
Until he left you again.
And this time it was quiet and final, and there was a soft hug good-bye and a desire to never let go. A desperate need to cling to him. To say the words that maybe you should've said, that sat in your head, in your heart, on the tip of your tongue.
But you couldn't say them, no matter how hard you tried, and you started to believe again that he was meant to leave you.
Believe that this was never going to work, just like he said. He was constantly miserable. His misery infected you and it was an unending cycle until you both started snapping at each other and making biting and cutting remarks and everything hurt until you tumbled into bed together and there it felt right.
You could live with that. You were willing to take what you had – what he'd give you. So what if you couldn't say those words... you could still make him happy in other ways, you could buy him things and help him grow as an artist, you could make sure he was always satisfied and never wanting for a penny. Never wanting for anything that money could possibly buy.
And yet...
That's not what he wanted at all. He simply wanted the one thing you could never give.
Yes, it was right that he left you again. He was supposed to leave you.
It was a little easier this time, because you'd been here before. You knew not to play with pale imposters, knew not to try and trick yourself into believing he hadn't gone. You knew that you just had to deal, had to go on, had to keep living and just do the things that you had to do.
Damn, you wished you had the balls that he did.
Damn, you wished that you could say these things in your heart.
Damn, you wished he didn't look so fucking together when you saw him after you broke up, because yes, this time you could admit that's what it was. A break-up. After all these years, all these partings, it wasn't fair to call it anything less. You just wished you could see a little of the hurt in his eyes that you felt in your heart. You just wished that you didn't believe the bite in your heart that whispered, you were right all along... he was always supposed to leave you...
He was supposed to leave you again and so he did.
And then... on the wing of a tragedy, you brought him back into your life. Because you needed him this time. Because you learned how to say those things he wanted you to say, and you realized how fucking good it felt. Realized that saying those words felt right too, more right than him walking away.
He came back into your life and it was perfect and what you wanted and you gave him everything of yourself this time, not just your money and those things you always thought were important.
You gave him you and that was all you had left to give.
But then he left you again.
This time with promises of returning, of consolations that this wasn't good-bye, just a temporary separation, just a few months or years or who knew how long but it definitely wasn't forever.
He kept saying you'd see each other all the time. You knew you'd see him every night, the image of him in your bed etched so deeply into your soul now... you knew you couldn't have anyone else there, ever.
You opened your heart to him that night, that final night together in your bed, in your home. You told him how much you loved him, that you didn't want him to go, that you wanted him to be with you forever and that you couldn't fucking go on without him now.
You couldn't do this again, you didn't think... you knew what it was like now, you knew how good it was, could be...
You'd finally learned how to hold on, and now he was asking you to let go.
You'd forgotten how to do that. You didn't think you could let go.
But you did. You tried. He walked away again because he had to and you had to let him. Because that's what he did, that's what you did.
Despite all his promises that you'd see each other, that this wasn't forever... it was time that slipped away from him. Days that turned into weeks that turned into months. Everything new blossomed before him - a new career, new people, a new life and there didn't seem to be time enough for you anymore.
And so you consoled yourself with believing that you were right all along.
He was always supposed to leave you.
Until he came back.
It was late when he came home, months and months and months later. Your bed was empty and then he crept into it and it became home again.
No words passed between you – instead you spoke volumes with your hands across his skin, your eyes drinking him in, his body a man's now, taut and lean... no longer the soft flesh of the youth you first took that night so long ago. The years in the city had hardened him, shaped him, changed him.
But when your lips met, it was the same – soft tentative kisses like that very first time. Fluttering hands on your cock, desperation in his breath – you felt for the first time in so long like you had a modicum of control over him, over this situation and you fucked him hard, relentlessly, mercilessly until he cried out your name and came all over you. Thick strands of his come dripped down your skin and it felt so familiar, felt so good, so right, that you pulled him up into your arms and vowed to never, ever let go again.
It was something that you never really learned how to do.
He told you he'd had enough of the city, of that life, of the loneliness, of missing you. He was back, this time for good.
And you wanted to believe him and so you did. For now. Until he was charmed by another's smile, driven away by you, tempted by opportunity.
You don't wait for that now though. You don't expect for him to leave, instead you live each day with him like maybe it's the last. You kiss him every morning and whisper I love you every night and take his heart and soul that he offers up. You take every opportunity to make love, fast and furious, soft and sweet. You fall asleep after him and wake up before he does, just to see the way his face changes from wake to dream and back again. You smile when he says your name and feel alive when you argue; you dance like you're the only people in the club and feel proud when you see what he's accomplished.
You live for him and yourself and this. This feeling in your heart.
You live for love, because that's what's most important. You live for today, because
that's important too.
And you console yourself with the proven truth that as surely as he's always suppose to leave you... he's also always going to return.
*** *** *** *** ***
Much love to you all,
Ethan
So, I'm done. I knew it would happen eventually, and it took a major computer crash last year to make me realize that my days of fan fic writing and QAF obsession are over.
I was tempted to just close up shop, shut down my site and call it a day, but I wouldn't feel right leaving without at least saying goodbye and most importantly, saying thank you to whoever is still out there listening.
There have been so many of you that have come and gone over the last seven years, and I hope you know how much I've appreciated your encouragement, inspiration, support, and friendship. Thank you to all of you for being a part of this chapter of my life - I've had the best time and loved every moment of it. I feel as though I've grown as a writer and as a person for having had this experience.
I wish each and every one of you the very best in the future. I urge you all to follow your dreams, to have faith in yourselves, and to embrace love and happiness in your lives.
I have a little something to leave you with. It's not my best, and I'm sad to say it's not parts 7 - 10 of FoMD, which will forever remain unfinished. It's just a fic I wrote after the finale and always thought it would somehow be appropriate to have as my last story. And so here it is.
Leaving You
The first time he left, you felt almost relieved.
It was done. Over. You knew he'd leave you eventually, and as expected, he did.
You watched him walk away, his arm around some other kid and it was right and what was supposed to happen. He'd be happy now and you fucked some trick like you were supposed to and you didn't think about it.
For about ten minutes.
And then the trick was boring and you couldn't come and so you grabbed your jacket and left this stupid fucking party for this stupid fucking superhero and went back to your loft and laid on the couch with a bottle of Beam and played your stereo too loud and didn't think about it.
Didn't think about it.
But of course you did, so you drank more until you passed out and the next morning you figured you could do it, live without him, because you had to. The headache behind your eyes kept your focus on physical pain, and away from the sharp ache in your soul.
And when you came home from work that day, and saw all his things were gone, it felt more real, more final, more like it was supposed to.
It was done like it had to be done and all you had to do was keep on going like you did before. Before you met him.
You could do that.
You thought.
The imposters were just that – fakes, pretenders, dull illusions that lasted moments in the heat of sex, but faded quickly once you came. Before you came sometimes, and those were the worst.
You lasted months without him and just when you figured that maybe you could live, he decided he'd had enough of his new love and found you again.
Came back to you again.
You took him back readily, no question of that. It wasn't like you had a relationship, like you'd broken up. There was nothing to break up. You just hadn't been fucking each other for a while, but now you were again.
And then he was hanging around the loft more... eating there and sleeping there and leaving his shit all over the place.
You started to get an inkling that maybe there was just a little more to it when you found you were more relieved to see his toothbrush returned to the holder than you were to see his back walking away from you.
The realization hit you hard one night, as you lay sated in bed beside him, watching soft blond lashes close over blue eyes. He sighed deeply as he slipped into well-deserved sleep, his bottom warm and flushed from your attention that evening.
You stared at that blond hair, at those closed eyes, red lips and soft curve of shoulder and spine that led into willing ass and wondered if maybe this was supposed to happen too. That maybe he was supposed to come back and fill that empty space in your toothbrush holder. To use all your soap and dirty your dishes and make you coffee in the morning. That maybe he wasn't meant to leave you after all.
That maybe he was meant to be with you.
And you believed that for a while.
Until he left you again.
And this time it was quiet and final, and there was a soft hug good-bye and a desire to never let go. A desperate need to cling to him. To say the words that maybe you should've said, that sat in your head, in your heart, on the tip of your tongue.
But you couldn't say them, no matter how hard you tried, and you started to believe again that he was meant to leave you.
Believe that this was never going to work, just like he said. He was constantly miserable. His misery infected you and it was an unending cycle until you both started snapping at each other and making biting and cutting remarks and everything hurt until you tumbled into bed together and there it felt right.
You could live with that. You were willing to take what you had – what he'd give you. So what if you couldn't say those words... you could still make him happy in other ways, you could buy him things and help him grow as an artist, you could make sure he was always satisfied and never wanting for a penny. Never wanting for anything that money could possibly buy.
And yet...
That's not what he wanted at all. He simply wanted the one thing you could never give.
Yes, it was right that he left you again. He was supposed to leave you.
It was a little easier this time, because you'd been here before. You knew not to play with pale imposters, knew not to try and trick yourself into believing he hadn't gone. You knew that you just had to deal, had to go on, had to keep living and just do the things that you had to do.
Damn, you wished you had the balls that he did.
Damn, you wished that you could say these things in your heart.
Damn, you wished he didn't look so fucking together when you saw him after you broke up, because yes, this time you could admit that's what it was. A break-up. After all these years, all these partings, it wasn't fair to call it anything less. You just wished you could see a little of the hurt in his eyes that you felt in your heart. You just wished that you didn't believe the bite in your heart that whispered, you were right all along... he was always supposed to leave you...
He was supposed to leave you again and so he did.
And then... on the wing of a tragedy, you brought him back into your life. Because you needed him this time. Because you learned how to say those things he wanted you to say, and you realized how fucking good it felt. Realized that saying those words felt right too, more right than him walking away.
He came back into your life and it was perfect and what you wanted and you gave him everything of yourself this time, not just your money and those things you always thought were important.
You gave him you and that was all you had left to give.
But then he left you again.
This time with promises of returning, of consolations that this wasn't good-bye, just a temporary separation, just a few months or years or who knew how long but it definitely wasn't forever.
He kept saying you'd see each other all the time. You knew you'd see him every night, the image of him in your bed etched so deeply into your soul now... you knew you couldn't have anyone else there, ever.
You opened your heart to him that night, that final night together in your bed, in your home. You told him how much you loved him, that you didn't want him to go, that you wanted him to be with you forever and that you couldn't fucking go on without him now.
You couldn't do this again, you didn't think... you knew what it was like now, you knew how good it was, could be...
You'd finally learned how to hold on, and now he was asking you to let go.
You'd forgotten how to do that. You didn't think you could let go.
But you did. You tried. He walked away again because he had to and you had to let him. Because that's what he did, that's what you did.
Despite all his promises that you'd see each other, that this wasn't forever... it was time that slipped away from him. Days that turned into weeks that turned into months. Everything new blossomed before him - a new career, new people, a new life and there didn't seem to be time enough for you anymore.
And so you consoled yourself with believing that you were right all along.
He was always supposed to leave you.
Until he came back.
It was late when he came home, months and months and months later. Your bed was empty and then he crept into it and it became home again.
No words passed between you – instead you spoke volumes with your hands across his skin, your eyes drinking him in, his body a man's now, taut and lean... no longer the soft flesh of the youth you first took that night so long ago. The years in the city had hardened him, shaped him, changed him.
But when your lips met, it was the same – soft tentative kisses like that very first time. Fluttering hands on your cock, desperation in his breath – you felt for the first time in so long like you had a modicum of control over him, over this situation and you fucked him hard, relentlessly, mercilessly until he cried out your name and came all over you. Thick strands of his come dripped down your skin and it felt so familiar, felt so good, so right, that you pulled him up into your arms and vowed to never, ever let go again.
It was something that you never really learned how to do.
He told you he'd had enough of the city, of that life, of the loneliness, of missing you. He was back, this time for good.
And you wanted to believe him and so you did. For now. Until he was charmed by another's smile, driven away by you, tempted by opportunity.
You don't wait for that now though. You don't expect for him to leave, instead you live each day with him like maybe it's the last. You kiss him every morning and whisper I love you every night and take his heart and soul that he offers up. You take every opportunity to make love, fast and furious, soft and sweet. You fall asleep after him and wake up before he does, just to see the way his face changes from wake to dream and back again. You smile when he says your name and feel alive when you argue; you dance like you're the only people in the club and feel proud when you see what he's accomplished.
You live for him and yourself and this. This feeling in your heart.
You live for love, because that's what's most important. You live for today, because
that's important too.
And you console yourself with the proven truth that as surely as he's always suppose to leave you... he's also always going to return.
Much love to you all,
Ethan
